Vampire Origin

The Shattering: Episode 5

The Cathedral of Thorns quaked under the weight of ancient energies. The ground trembled as the final seal burst apart with a thunderous c***k. From the dark pit below, Anselm the Butcher—an ancient power of destruction—rose. His skeletal hand moved toward Lilith, and despite Victor's orders fell on deaf ears, the Butcher's steadfast stare never left her. It was as if the hunter had been summoned by a cause far beyond Victor’s directives. Victor stood paralyzed, arms outstretched, uncertainty distorting his features. The very thing he sought to control—Anselm, the living form of death—had tarnished his triumph. Rising slowly from the depths of the broken seal, the massive, hideous form towers over the fragments of the holy space of the ritual. His sunken, dead eyes fixed on Lilith as though the years of hostility between their families had prepared for this one moment. "No," Victor murmured in incredulity. His voice was sharp, his black eyes gleamed wild as he turned towards the Butcher. "I charge you to follow!" Anselm, however, answered nothing. The Butcher's eye never strayed from Lilith; his skeletal figure moved with inhuman quickness. Every step he made caused the cathedral to vibrate, the dark energy emanating from him like a death sentinel. His body loomed over Lilith, a chilly, terrible chill enveloping the space. "Lilith"! Alaric yelled, attempting to get up from where Victor had driven him to the floor. Blood gathered around him, soaking the stone under him, yet his resolve stayed broken. His voice sliced through the tumult, raspy but deliberate. End the rite! Now! Though her heart hammered in her chest, Lilith's hands stayed still as they held the Midnight Mirror. Dark power throbbed in Alaric's hand from the bleeding chalice. Their final hope was their combined bloodline magic; if only they could direct it through the seal before it was too late. The brief quiet was broken by Victor's howl of wrath. "You cannot stop Alaric!" He advanced, black energy flickering in his palms. "The hunters are free." You failed. Lilith's eyes never strayed from the Butcher, who had now closed their distance. As his presence neared, the ground shattered under his skeletal feet. His hollow eyes gleamed with a terrible intelligence, one that had survived millennia of violence. His very being shone darkness, and Lilith could feel the weight of his stare, as if he had seen through every one of her anxieties. She inhaled deeply to help her to relax. She started chanting, and her voice rang out, clear and rebellious. She held the Midnight Mirror, which reflected the agony as well as the power at her disposal. Alaric's voice urged weakly, his own chant beginning to falter from the strain of the battle. Driven from his hand, his blood, mixed with centuries of Blackthorn magic, traced the symbols of an ancient spell on the altar. Frustrated, Victor snarled, his hands lifting higher to prepare another dark magic surge. But Sebastian's voice cut across the chamber, sharp and forceful, before he could strike. Alaric! Lash! You cannot harness the Butcher's power in this way—destroy him! Sebastian had emerged from the darkness, his bow poised. Made from live shadows, an arrow shot towards the Butcher's chest with a lethal whistling. The arrow landed with a loud thud but bounced off Anselm's bone-like hide with little effect. It left just a faint trace, and the butcher seemed to hardly notice it. His only concentration stayed on Lilith; now, as though he sensed her fragility, he advanced even more quickly. "Stay back!" Lilith sobbed; her voice echoed with force. Her body shaking as she battled to keep the ritual, she raised the Midnight Mirror higher. The Bleeding Chalice in Alaric's hand flared brighter, their link momentarily pulsing stronger. Anselm stopped, his skeletal head twisting oddly. The surrounding air rippled as if reality itself bent under the weight of his presence. Then, without warning, he lunged. In a flash, Alaric was on his feet, drawing a crimson line of blackthorn bloodfire across the floor. The flames slashed through the air, stopping Anselm in his tracks. The Butcher screamed in wrath, swatting at the flames, but the fire stung; its heat was sufficient to drive him back. "Tonight!" Alaric yelled, his voice full of desperation. "End the rite!" We cannot keep him off forever! With the strain, Lilith closed her eyes and concentrated her shallow breath. As she said the last words of the counter-ritual, the mirror's power grew stronger, throwing a blinding silver light. Blackthorn bloodfire and Nightshade shadow-weaving combined to create a barrier pulsing with amazing strength, her magic surged. Victor's eyes grew wide with an understanding of what was occurring. He yelled, lunging towards the mirror, but the energy had already started to gather. Lilith finished the ceremony with one last incantation, and the Midnight Mirror and Bleeding Chalice shot a flash of light from the altar enveloping Anselm, Victor, and the cracked seal. The force of the power surged too much for the cathedral to bear. Once more, the ground shook—this time, it was more than just a vibration. The cathedral itself looked to be falling apart. The stone walls cracked and fractured; the black energy withdrew from the Butcher's form as the magic of the seal started to hold once more. Anselm howled in pain as the seal of the first vampires turned back the harm done. Constructed in blood and death, the undead hunter was being dragged back into the abyss from where he had come. Unable to react, Victor stared in terror as his power collapsed right in front of him. Though it was too late, his hand extended towards the collapsing seal. Working together, The Midnight Mirror and Bleeding Chalice locked the seal in place and drove Anselm back into the dark. Alaric remarked, "Victor," his voice austere, and he stood upright despite the blood still soaking his clothing. "The hunt is done." Victor slumped to his knees, his power fading with one last ferocious yell. The seal stayed strong while the Butcher's might have faded into nothing. Gone was Anselm, the personification of ruin. The cathedral kept shaking as the last traces of the ceremony disappeared, the energy rippling out in waves. Resolved but bloodied and battered, Alaric and Lilith stood together. Apart from the distant sounds of crumbling stone and the wind howling through the broken windows of the cathedral, the room was quiet. Their eyes locked across the broken altar, knowledge and shared goal coursed between them. "The seal is locked," Lilith said, her voice shaking. "But at what cost?" Alaric cleared his lips of blood, staring at the anarchy all around. "The cost of everything." Though the war was far from ended, they knew at that instant the battle had been won. The two of them would have to negotiate the effects jointly; the vampire world would never be the same again.