Skull And The Fangs

There was a lot of screaming. He couldn't bear it anymore. He has to go there. He has checked it out.He had been tracing it from like a mile away and now he's here. He turned into a corner and what he saw next made him hate himself.A man, a vampire, had a woman in his grip with his teeths in her neck as he sucked life out of her. The woman could only shake in the grip of her death as the blood in her system reduced, by the second.The vampire lifted his face from the woman's neck. His red eyes gazed at the person before him, then a grin broke out of his bloody lips. "Oh, Clawe. Come and have a taste.""No, no. Don't bother." Clawe replied. He could feel his stomach churn at the blood that sipped out of the punctured neck of the woman but he looked away."My pleasure." Clawe made to step out of the place but he bumped into a chest. "Sorry." He quickly apologized."Look who we have here." The English was heavy with Spanish accent.Clawe lifted his gaze and he saw who it's. His eyes

The oceans clashed and the birds from the receding woods shrieked as they flew by.A lone tent was in the middle of shore and the woods, blocked from the busy harbor of the seaside city by a large rock.Inside the tent.Amidst the searing pain that seemed to possess a power that burned through his veins like a hot brand of metal, Clawe's eyes fluttered open.The brown old view of a tent was the first thing he saw, the lantern burning softly gave the enclosed place a light. He sat up, wiping to a side his scattered, now clean, silver hair. Must have been washed clean when he was in the ocean. The clashes of the waters that reach his ears, making him realize he hasn't gone far.His coat is no more, only his baggy pants remained.But where is this place?His eyes moved around. Apart from the lantern, only a leather bag could be seen.The remaining space of the not so large tent is unoccupied. A temporary stay- he guessed.The early yellow sun casted inwards beyond the small opening of

Somewhere around Caucasian sea.Centuries ago.The villagers roared music into the air.They rejoiced that the war ended in their victory.The chief laughed good-naturedly as he addressed his warriors. They had all worked hard and we're able to stop the bandits disturbing them.The bandits that their empirical government couldn't get rid off.But the chief knew for sure who the honor belonged to. It's none other than Eleodore, son of Marcus.Everybody rejoiced and hopped around bonfires and heavily beat drums.It's a good day.Eleodore, the man in question, was away from the village square. Away from the loud yells of excitement and the bangs of drums.His chest was bare and his sword dangled at the waist of his armor pants.Gazing at the full silvery moon, the color of his ponytailed hair, he slowly settled his butts under the green olive tree.Alone, he appraised the glimmering moon, the green terrain around and the pine forest far in the west.Then all of the sudden, he heard loud

A full silvery moon, beautiful yet melancholy, drooped from the night sky.It looked more like a haunted abode deep in the Night Hills. The foliages hunkered tight overhead, making the forest darker than the deepest depth of the sea and silent as the graveyard.The rustling of dry leaves emanated.A figure in a beige cloak emerged. His steps are casual.It's Heald.Under the shadows of the night, he walked.He had told Kylian not up to a day ago that he's going out. But now he's already coming back.A swoosh made him stop.His brows furrowed. 'What's that?'His eyes glowed red as he activated his vampire abilities.His ears caught sounds of spiders threading their cocoon nearby. His eyes pierced through the dark like it's the day and he saw clearly all that's around him.He found nothing. His spiked alertness relaxed and he returned to his normal self.But he still feels uneasy. Even though it's not like the earlier.He continued his walk.But things are not the same anymore. The t

Kylian's hand lifted to touch the door but he paused.His silvery eyes ran over the red brick building and he sighed. This house is his home yet he feels so reluctant to enter it.All the insides of the house replayed what was his past, what he fears.The past isn't what he feared actually, but the dark events that made it up.The massacre. The deaths. The struggle. The animosity swirling in it like a legendary snake. It bites at every inch of his very soul.The living room occupied by walnut furniture pictured his village back then, centuries ago. It's surrounded by huge walnut trees.The library, filled all over with portraits, books, scrolls, maps and his mighty diary, made shiver run down his spine.He didn't want to see or remember the memories these things held. He feared it.'I should be able to face this.'His eyes cut to his wrists, to the dark ink running in curves of a language unknown to him. The runes work against who he is but help him personally.Things should be easie