The Sweetness of Death
I am the voice inside your head I am the lover in your bed I am the sex that you provide I am the hate you try to hide I speak religions message clear I am denial guilt and fear I am the prayers of the naive I am the lie that you believe I am the needle in your vein I am the high you cant sustain I am the pusher Im a whore I am the need you have for more I am the bullet in the gun I am the truth from which you run I am the silencing machine I am the end of all your dreams
Golden demon, dark as night; where your steps fall as light as a feather it sounds like a gong in my ears. I have trained myself to hear the breath that does not sound, to detect the wave of velvet red even as it passes down your throat; feeding a cursed hunger that will not slack. You cannot hide from me. I know you; know everything about you, seen every crime you have done. When the final judgement passes upon your head and you slip through the gates of hell in your death, it will be me who will recite all your sins.
Malcolith crouched in the deepened shadows outside the townhouses of Lineas. He watched the play of light as the party spun in its cheery fashion. It mattered not to him, none of this mattered but the occasional face that appeared in the window. Argon, toying with the mortals about him, master pretender in that they never knew that death walked, nay danced among them. A smile played on the hunter's lips, what fools they all are. Taken in by a perfect smile, lost in the crystal gaze of a blue sea. Seeing the glitter of gold in brushed curls, so innocent they are. So unknowing that any one will disappear before the sun pushes back the night.
I know you.
The doors opened and he emerged with a laugh, two noble ladies on his tailored arms. Malcolith closed his eyes, not even needing to see the carriage that would arrive to receive them; not needing to know where in this darkest of night it would go. He merely stood up and walked off through the shadows, slipping past as a wraith with nary a sigh to mark the sound of his soft boots upon the cobbled streets. He got there long before Argon did and counted the minutes to perfection exactly when the carriage pulled to a stop. He watched with tense anger as the two young ladies, by now entranced by a charm that they could not break free from, followed the gilded monster up the steps of the townhouse and vanished inside.
Guilt hit him harshly… he had wanted to save them. Malcolith closed his eyes again, knowing that neither would survive to see the light of day. He could have attacked but no, that would have ruined everything. He had worked too long on this to allow anger to shadow his thoughts. Promenthas take their innocent souls and sooth away the pain of their stolen lives.
I will come for you and you will pay for this… and for every other that I have been forced to watch die by your hand. There will come a day when your own instincts will bind you, when your passions will ensnare you, when your own dark nature will betray you. Prideful creature, there will come the day when nothing you do will escape me. A walk, a glance, a turn of the head, the flash of your throat as you speak… they are all my spies. And on that day I will come for you, hunt you down in a way that will vindicate all that you have hunted. You will feel the terror that your victims have, not knowing which way to run, where to turn, how to react for nothing you do will hold any surprise to me. Your powers will fall short; your snarls will be but a whimper of desperation. And when the time comes that your soul, immortal in damnation, slips from your shell then you will know true pain for all your deeds and plans will have been for nothing. I will strip every sense of being from you until there is nothing left.
The sweet estacy of watching your eyes close in despair for the last time.
I await that day.
Speak not whisper not I know all that ye would tell But to speak might break the spell Which must bend the invincible The stern of thought He yet defies the deepest power of Hell.
Malcolith stirred and stretched with the coming of the next day. He stood up and walked around the outside of the townhouse as he had many times before. He glanced at the carriage horses that made a soft whinny in greeting. By now they knew him by sight and scent, how ironic that was. Argon would be in town a few days more then he would move on, as its decadence will amuse him no longer. Perhaps he will change his identity again and move on to a new life and start over. Perhaps he will play the part of pauper until a noble soul, seeing the beautiful young man lost in the dirt of the homeless and hungry will take him to wing out of intrigue. The cycle was endless, as were the possibilities.
Malcolith didn’t care one way or another who he decided to be; Argon was Argon in any form. The ultimate prey… lovely, hateful demon. His hand gripped and relaxed over his sword impatiently. How he so desired to end this game, but the time was not yet right. He still had much to prepare for, so much more yet.
Turning away from the townhouse he walked towards the Temple of Evern and moved around to the back. There was a way in that only one of his kind would know about and he used it now. The few clergy here said nothing about his sudden appearance, didn’t even acknowledge his presence… they never did. Wanted and unwanted… seen and unseen, that’s how those of his order were. A necessary force that they didn’t want to admit, but were grateful to have. He moved to the small shrine in the base of the temple, kneeling before it he bowed his head.
Grant me patience, O’ wife of the Sun. You who heals the wounded heart and soul, ease the tension within me. You know well whom I seek. So much to I desire to wipe the confidence from his arrogant face, to cease the infernal beating of his heart. I tremble with the urgency and yet I know it is not the time. Let the racing of my mind ease for a time… peace, let there be peace.
Malcolith calmed bit by bit until the cold serenity that he had known was returned to him. He smiled in peace and stood up, walking out of the temple the same way he had come in. He arrived in the center of town just in time to see the carriage roll by with this prey within. His smile widened, he would be going to the gathering at the governor’s house. Malcolith walked over to a flower shop and had bought out the place in red roses to be delivered to him at the townhouse; he didn’t bother to leave his name and probably overpaid. Who cared anyway? Argon didn’t need to know who or why someone sent him a multitude of blood roses… one for each victim Malcolith had seen die. Well maybe not, but five dozen was all they had.
He walked towards the governor’s house, drawn by the lines of carriages and horses that were bringing the ruling council and respected citizens together. Without a whisper of sound Malcolith pulled the hood of his hallowed cloak above his head and took out a small vial, drinking its bitter contents. He then walked towards the open doors, not needing to check that he was invisible to all… even him. Malcolith sat curled up in an obsolete corner, watching everyone and everything. Noting Argon’s movements, his speech, and the steps of his dancing… anything and everything.
The flowers arrived, carried by three couriers and Malcolith laughed inside at the look of surprise on his prey’s face. He heard the inquiries that had no answer and saw the attention all drawn to him. He soaked it up easily, but there would be no victims this day. He was now too known. The scent filled the air, beautiful and sweet. Many teased the noble man and raved about his secret admirers. The flowers were placed all about the room, giving it a red haze of velvet petals. It looked like a funeral now… how appropriate that was.
You'll never know...
Malcolith stood up and was about to leave. He paused a moment as he passed by Argon pouring wine for himself and others. Unable to stop himself, the hunter’s feet turned and moved with mute steps until he stood an arm’s length away from the beast. His eyes narrowed slightly.
So close… so very close. Evil in it’s most beautiful form…
Malcolith reached out and with a dark smile lightly brushed a golden ringlet of hair. Argon must have sensed it even though it was far too light to feel. His senses were beyond that of normal man and must have caught the unknown chill of warning in his dark soul for he glanced over his shoulder momentarily. He would see nothing; the spells over the cloak would not allow his cursed eyes to penetrate the holy veil that the hunter dwelt under. Nothing at all, though his sea blue eyes searched. Malcolith didn’t move, barely breathed… here practically face to face with the Dampyre he had been trailing so long. His hand twitched… itching to close over the white throat, to bury his sword in the immortal heart. The hunter strained to resist the urge to grab the beast before him until he finally turned away, hatred in his eyes… a searing hole of unforefilled need. He shivered with it and stepped away.
Argon shrugged off the questions of those he was conferring with, having found nothing but a party and red roses. He turned and continued as he was. Malcolith slipped out the still open door, past the servants and the nobles, a stream of curses in his heart.
You will not win this war, Argon! Just wait for me devil. I will come for you when the time is right. I will see your perfect face twist in agony and rage. The day of reckoning nears for you
I will tear you apart...
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