The Vampire's Edenian Inamorata

The Nest of Lebab

Ę œ wärr ÿ rêmæøz ò å mœl ívæ āùt vėzįërz į ÿ tæš ò böuxøtž.

(It is where the remnants of a man live and festers in the teeth of beasts.)

As with all the contrivances of Terra, the inhabitants of night sought coverings where Light could not penetrate.

A pit stretching toward a molten core within the many layers of earth neighbored Babel. No mortal dared invade its boundaries, nor would warm-blooded mammals venture past the safety of the meadows surrounding it.

Truly, the luminescent flowers and the glow of quelled bark unsettled many beasts, aside from the malnourished walking carcasses who took to its endless abyss.

Vampires, men called them. Soul-sucking leeches who bore no consciousness, succumbing to their glutenous nature. Despite these unruly circumstances, they found solace in the extended cave. And they gathered from the forests and villages, seeking the former whom many rumored to be the Spirit of the Void.

Sitting on his throne of alabaster and soot, Sövœk overlooked the sleeping horde before him. Several hissed from the sudden turns and light kicks. He chuckled and shifted in his seat as a maiden greeted him. Unlike Tôpęshnå, her flesh was riddled with teeth marks and blood stains. Her emerald eyes were hollow, and the bags under her eyes told the hours of her last rest—seven moons.

Her dingy maroon hair lay matted to her scalp, and dirt filled beneath her nailbeds. If she bathed habitually to rid the smell of sulfur and copper, she’d appeal to Sövœk’s unquenching appetite.

“I-It is time, Mÿånæ,” she finally spoke, too nervous to gaze upon him.

He nodded and stood, towering over her. “Time does not exist,” he assured her. “Void consumes it, just as I do with mortal flesh.” He disregarded her submissive stature. Bearing her neck with the markings of his fledglings eradicated his cravings.

“Feed from me,” she murmured, shivering from the abrupt cool breeze.

Sövœk scoffed and proceeded down an elongated catacomb of mangled corpses. The rotting flesh invited swarms of buzzing flies and delicate butterflies. Larvae and caterpillars dispersed from the skulls’ sockets, devouring pungent muscles.

The woman shuffled behind him, her face pale from the rancid iron filtering through what little air they had. And the entrails on the floor squished beneath her, proliferating her breaths. Soon, she plodded through the pathway, succumbing to the putrid air, and collapsed on the ground.

His eyes softened momentarily toward the pitiful woman before whistling a strange tune. “Suffer no more, pet,” he mused as a malnourished vessel approached. “Fløråkū.” Sövœk turned to the creature. “Rebirth her.”

Grunting as he stalked toward the woman, Fløråkū climbed over her and sunk his razor-sharp gnashers into the nape of her neck.

She wailed for some time, then went silent. Levitating, the woman thrashed about, gasping. The markings fused, her flesh now pearly white and smooth. Her hair recoiled and cocooned her figure.

Silk threads pooled toward the floor from the woman’s hair. Fløråkū gathered the iridescent lines and anchored them to moldy pillars. And Sövœk saw that his fledgling’s work was good and so dismissed him.

Vampiric transformation fascinated Sövœk. It’s similar to the Edenian woman he encountered thousands of moons before. But the birth of a fledgling was more peaceful. The harrowing bit, however, traveled from the saliva of the Marker. Witnessing it, he concluded that each creature in his horde endured similar strife in their rebirth.

So much for living reclusively. He now lived amongst specks of pale leeches. Sövœk relented over his subjects. They so longed for warmth and love that the peoples of Light so freely discarded. What he would give to relinquish his cursed burden... Understandably, his will for endearment and worship subjugated the ideologies of man.

The hardened shell of hair cracked. Tresses of bright rose sprung forth, shattering the rest of the cocoon. The woman descended, her eyes—now gold—with shards of emerald jabbing the pupils. She grasped her plump breasts and pinched her pink n*****s. She explored herself more, gasping in delight.

“What do I call you?” Sövœk intervened.

She jolted back from his sudden query. Her brows furrowed as she stared at the crimson floor.

Seconds turned to minutes. Time was naught but the constraints of a crystallized hourglass.

Realizing her prolonged silence, she huffed and gazed at the dangling roots above them. The moon came and gone beyond the rolling grey cotton. “Ręånÿøl,” she declared. “For I shall be the Daughter amongst the Clouds.”

Gruntled, Sövœk traversed her way, sending her off the land above. Not long after, however, he received remnants of a fire lily. It signified the arrival of the Pleiades. Much to his dismay at their arrival, he delighted in the possibility of sharing his neoteric ventures with Jealousy and Deception.

Entering his candle-lit chambers, Jealousy lay sprawled over his midnight hides, with Power sitting beside her, petting her chest. Deception, holding a tusk of wine while leaning against the corpse wall, snickered. Klothod sat at the base of Sövœk’s bed, clutching a hatchet in one hand and a whip blade in the other. Blood drenched her silver mane and gossamer tunic. And her eyes drew shut, allowing sleep to collect her.

A brooding maiden with raven tresses pried the whip and hatchet from Klothod, receding once more to a darkened corner. A wet cloth and bucket filled with golden water sat there, which she used to clean the weapons.

Error stood by an obsidian mirror, her sunken eyes staring back at Sövœk as he crossed the chamber. Unlike the others, her lanky skeletal frame sent his mind at unease. Her head was barren of locks. Scars and lesions occupied what follicles remained. Murderous was she, with eyes aching to send yet another soul underground.

The last of seven stepped into the candlelight: The Worst. Her aura emitted death and decay, and locusts embedded themselves in her unruly golden mane.

“It is unfortunate that you come here on the night of yet another Rebirth,” Sövœk addressed.

“Lebab is nothing more than a nesting ground for strays,” The Worst retorted, cackling at the end. “We have come with qualms only you can reprieve.”

“For whom do you speak?”

“Jäcûlę,” Error interceded. “It is known that she carries within her a river-filled womb. One bestowed upon her by the wrath of Ęrêmø.”

“We have seen her from our cluster,” The Worst continued. “Her sorrows carry amongst the stardust between our realms. Her plight with Terra intrigues me.”

Sövœk, clenching his fists, traipsed to the far end of his room where a pit of wood sat, and set it ablaze. “What of her quandaries, hmm? Look around this dismal prison. She took everything from me. Punished me. Watched me from above as I destroyed everything I loved!” He heaved the last bit, anger present in his glowing irises. “Tell me, Last Sister of Seven, what is it that you truly desire?”

Taken aback, The Worst stumbled back. She recovered, albeit conserving her pride. “Sanctuary in your nest,” she replied.

His jaw clenched.

Her request meant more than safety from Ęrêmø’s bitter indignation. War amongst mortals. Something she often amused herself with during her few visits to the plane—now coming to fruition.