The Nocturnals

Chapter one.

The man walks gracefully, firmly holding another in his arms, who had once been his victim the night before. The victim has been comatosed, sleeping with carefree in the hands of the one who had caused him that fate. Only if he could wake, he'd certainly yell for help, while adrenaline course through his veins, making his legs take him away from the man as fast as he could.

A side of his neck is bruised from the attack, two nippled marks at the left side, few drops of blood occasionally drips down, even as the wound is almost healed. He is a traveller from another town, who most likely haven't heard about the believes that runs in the veins of this very town. His travels delays him till night where the fate of the... Untamed as called by the villagers, beams onto him, turning him into what he shall become when he awakes. Now, his life would be changed. He'll become one of the men of the Beast.

The man hands his new victim to another man, yet again. "Explain who he was, and who he will become to him when he awakes, and share in my royal bloodline. Do not hide anything from him."

"Surely, Sire." Says the other man, who's very much the same as the man, who starts the conversation. The same being. "His name?"

"Robert." The Sire says, his accent thick, and very ancient. He has those booming, irresistible authoritative tone that could make any creature bow before him. But then, he wasn't always like this.

"Thank you, my king." The other man says again, before he turns his back, but inhumanly fastly, he's shifted to his king once again, the weight of the man, who's been outstretched to him remains undisturbing to his figure in his strong hands. "Mind if I ask, where are you off to?" 

"Somewhere where I can face something other than my sinister reality." As the royal says, to his assistant, his dear advisor, he laughs, remembering events from the past as anticipation dwells on him, urging him to want to leave as soon as possible. 

"Mind if I know more?"

"Oh, Seth. It's very personal." Now, it's Seth's turn to find his King hilarious. He doesn't press more as he's already known where his master is going even if he doesn't act like it. Additionally, only an uncaring advisor so close like he is to his king will not know what he's up to.

"Very well, your highness, why don't you hurry go? Let me not keep you waiting." His chuckles isn't long live, as the air swooshes it away in his flashy run, dashing through the forest, where they are. 

Though, in the eyes of the king, Seth was slow, it had been as if he's only jogging, and not running in the case of synonymizing it in terms with the human knowledge.

The king looks down at his clothing— tattered. His white shirt has gone torn when the inner barbarism took over his mentality, subjecting him to continuously live with that same fearful name he's known with by the villagers. Most of his muscular chest is showing, the current wear making him look in contrast to what he actually is... and was...in the very beginning. Down from his left ribs to his pelvic, there's no garment covering the area. His long woolen trouser is now a pieces short, its length stopping around his knees is wild in its stained form.

He shakes his head, trying to turn down the memories of the night, and many many more nights this same type of likewise torn cloths— which had been a luxurious, fancy cloth— when he awakes to himself every mornings is drifting to him. He doesn't want to remember what he did, and will do.

He's got somewhere to go, someplace he can laugh to himself. With determined eyes staring ahead, past the surrounding tall bushes, and trees, and many other sections of greeneries, he runs, dashing past the leaves, the cool air of the morning brushes harshly against his face, trying to claim resistance over him. He doesn't let that take him down, as he never let the memories take him down. The memories, starting from the day his misfortune knocks in, till this day.

He can smell crispy smell of the damp atmosphere, as he leaps into the air, his head almost aligning with the tallest of the trees. His legs meet up with the grassy ground once again, and he takes off more speedily. These are one of moment where he would vouch for his barbaric powers.

About twenty seconds more, he's neared the town called Mulan, where he and few of his subjects feeds every night. The remains of his men; they prefer much better larger place with many population, but though he made sure that they don't just feed as they like. When they feed on humans, they select some. Some that they know will appreciate the powers if they don't take back their venom. This dark gift to some humans helped them know the value of their life, gave them a cause, made them become more of what is called living beings even if there aren't. They are suitable for being called living dead.

His nails elongate the moment he gets near a nearby tree where he use to watch the whole city from. His nails helps him dig hastily as he uses his bare legs to hold onto his lower part so he doesn't slide back down. It's so easy for him to climb to the top.

The town, Mulan is so small with small brick buildings. He could count every building in this very small town. His eyes dart from the bar stock where includes varieties of fun games, or at least that's what they call those yawn-causing thing they do, but the other, the slapping game is far more interesting, with him seeing many going home with red eyes, some with dislocated cheeks — if cheeks can be dislocated — and many other funny moments. 

The memories flashes across his eyes again, making him whine and almost lose his grip on the tree. He regrets that he has to forcefully have to feed on these people, who wants nothing more than protecting themselves and their families. It ever wasn't his intention. He just couldn't control that beast inside of him. He's been cursed.

From the bar, he wanders his gaze to the bakery where the one person he's been dying to see to give him comfort buys her bread, cookies... If that's what she and the other humans calls it. They'd eat those things with humming sound of satisfaction as though it's as delicious and as urgent as the blood he yearns for every night. The Flower's shop as well calls his attention, his nostrils taking in the fragments of that particular crimson rose the girl he's fond of usually buys. 

With a smile, understandable to only himself, he takes off to the lecture room, where he knows he'd find her. He will never forget her name. Kara... as he does remember, he smiles, and leaps from one tree to another. No one...no one can ever catch his silent, fine movement.

From behind one of the same sets of trees, he uses his super hearings along with an unnatural amber eyes of his to penetrate through obstructions just to see Kara.

He could feel it. That pull and emotions that gushes down his veins, cooling his systems and telling him that everything will be okay. He breaths out, and accesses her. She's wearing a tight under-gown, the colour of sapphire blue, with a mixture of grey woolen coat, covering most of the gown's length. Her long, slender body is well sat, one leg crossed over the other, making her look so different from the rest of the girls in the room.

Her blonde hair is not into much fixing this time around, just packed into french braid, with a transparent light blue scarf, draped across her back to slightly cover the braid, able to adjoin with her set of beautiful green eyes, and ivory skin. She looks so perfect in his eyes, finding himself smile at the sight of her. She's looks exasperated, but to him, she's so energetic, and full of many lights. One of the many reasons, he reminds himself not to near her ever.

When his gaze move to the instructor, teaching her and the other students nothing more than how dangerous he, the Untamed is — obviously, no one knows they are many, or so he thinks that they think he's the only one being the Nocturnal — he jumps off the tree and runs to her house.

There he sees her father. He's working on his... things? Where he would always call himself a scientist, or something similar to that. He always finds both Kara, and her father amusing, because they are the only ones with the differentiation. He wonders how her father is able to create those technologies of his — as he calls it — when in his own world, where he had came from in the beginning, he believes those can only work when magic is in terms. Yes! He could still remember many things about where he came from even though he's used many years on this world. 

Suddenly, a blasting sound, followed by a gust of smoke, sweeping across the room with a repetitive cough calls back his attention. He places it onto the man, watching as he curses his own invention for not working, before he moves to a book to read something, and do some thinkings, then go back to that...thing.

"You better work this time, machine." 

The name Kara's father calls that... thing. He chuckles inwardly and turn to the forest. Sighing, he throws himself backwards, into a backflip and before getting to the ground, grips a trunk, and hurls his very frame into the insides, and run off... inhumanly.