The interesting thing about today, however, was that this death was not to be the end. I was to see played out the character of a creature who, in death, would show his true nature... and yet I was to meet him again, to play friend and traitor, enemy and brother. It would be... interesting. The heart-wrenching, soul-draining part was to come after, as the necessary destruction of his entire Clan. What a pity. I had, of course, allowed them to be created in the first place, to live out their lives. I had taken a certain godlike pride in their little everyday triumphs and tragedies, knowing that they existing only because I allowed them to. Perhaps it was my mind, corrupt as it is, trying to drown out the approaching roar of guilt. All those lives were to be snuffed out. All of his clan. I had a choice between forbidding Raziel to reproduce, or allowing his clan life, for a time. I chose the latter, as much out of curiosity as out of any weak emotion.

I sighed loudly and came back to the present, yellow eyes flashing around the throne room. Turel glanced up with a start, nodding at me as if he were alert. What a fool. Rahab sneered at him, then turned and caught me staring at him, and dropped his eyes at once, submissive. They were my sons, yes, and each had their good points. But they were common, especially next to their eldest brother. He was special. I looked up, impatient, staring at the archway and tapping my claws on the stone armrest. How could he be this late? Was he not the one with... But who knew. Perhaps this was not the change. Perhaps next time... Then I would get a bit more time admiring him, seeing those qualities which I always thought I saw in myself. I don't have them, I don't think, or if I do they are drowned in an abyss of cruelties. I saw in my lieutenant courage, humility, and a good heart, an artist's thoughtful, gentle ways. It showed in the way he walked, the way he observed the world around him, even in the way he fed. He was quiet, calm, gentle, strong and intelligent. Everything his brothers were not, and much which even I was not. I had power, and a hunger for it; I was proud and arrogant, and had control and knowledge. Raziel just was. He accepted his lot, and dealt with it; he was intensely loyal. A pang of guilt at this thought was followed at once by a renewed curiousity--how would he react to his death? Frightened, a mewling mess? Furious, likely, swearing all the way into the abyss? I felt my soul stir, pity and guilt flooding me. I shoved the emotions away. They were useless; this had to be done. For Raziel, for Nosgoth.. for me. Would I do this, even if it were only for me? If it had nothing to do with our sad, delapidated world? If--

But now clicking footfalls echoed through the stone tunnel beyond the throne room. The creak of a rusted gate being raised and lowered; the muffled greeting of the guards. And a dark figure, tall and bold, striding (with a touch of hesitancy?) toward the throne room. The guards stepped aside, and in came my firstborn son, my lieutenant Raziel. He looked nervous, and yet proud. I watched him, trying to conceal my intensely curious interest with disdain and an aloof nonchalance. He nodded to me, to his brothers, who were still snarling at one another when they thought I wasn't looking. He looked grand in the red banner draped over his arm. With my crest on it, how loyal, I thought without emotion. I was staring, and he was staring back--I knew what game we were playing. He, perhaps, did not. He kneeled, bowed his head, and with a soft cracking sound, flipped out two beautiful, velvety beige wings. Now my feigned disinterest vanished. I leaned forward, astonished; the visions could not compare with the real thing. Raziel watched me, then dropped his eyes, secretly proud. Best enjoy it while you can, I thought grimly as I stood. I walked toward him, absorbed by the sight. The wings were tall and wide structures, slimly boned and stretched with skin as fine as a bat's. Thin reddish veins threaded through the wings, and a single talonlike claw protruded at each joint. The pigment was darker near the center, where the bones joined. Oh, how I should love to see him fly, my son! To see his freedom! And I did not truly know if he had flown at all, or if he had come straight to me in his undying loyalty. I felt a flood of guilt, of anger at myself, as I ran my claws gently along the top of his left wing, feeling the natural springlike tension coiled in the powerful new limbs. I let my fury take over, my anger at myself, at fate, at what I had to do--and my anger that Raziel knew none of it, that he was blissfully ignorant of my intent--I let it enrage me, engulf me. And destroy him.

I tore downward with a severe and sudden rip, shredding his wings and pulling the entire bone structures from his back in one quick tug. He cried out and went down, and I felt his agony tear through the room as he collapsed. He tried to stand, but I think he was nearly unconcious already--so tired and weak from the metamorphosis, and now so suddenly attacked, his blood spilling and weakening him fast. I stepped back quickly, and his brothers were standing around horrified, trying to figure out what to do.

 "AM I YOUR KING?" I barked at them. They stared back, astonished. "AM I YOUR KING?!" I repeated, taking a menacing step forward. I had to instill obedience in them, at once. Turel nearly fell over backward, and I rejoiced inside at his fear of my power. Raziel lay on the cool stone, bleeding heavily, his breathing weak. I spun, advancing on Dumah. "AM--I--YOUR---KING!!!" I roared, and he jumped back. 

"Y-Yes sire. Yes. You are my king." I whirled and thundered to all of them, "AND YOU? AM I YOUR KING?" They all began nodding and assuring me of their total loyalty.

"Then," I snarled in as nasty a tone as I could, "Do not question me. Lift your brother Raziel, for he is an angel and he has fallen. He will fall farther before the sun has set." I don't think I was making much sense by now. I was caught up with adrenaline, with horror at what I had done to Raziel, with the urge to get this finished and out of the way as quickly as possible. Truthfully, I did not want to see him suffering. I knew the abyss held even less comfort for him, but at least I would not be there to bear witness. Oh, how cruel. But it had to be done, and my own mind might as well be at ease sooner than later. "LIFT him," I growled as my sons exchanged uncertain glances. At once, they obeyed, cowering a bit.

"Now, you are all my loyal lieutenants. But if one of you disobeys me you will share the fate I am to give Raziel, and all your clan along with you. Do not question me." They nodded their assent, too frightened to speak, and too proud to admit their fear. I nodded and turned away quickly, leading the way out of the throne room. "Now. I will order you--do not speak a single word. Do not hesitate. Just do as I say, exactly as I say. This," I added with a cruel sneer, "will not be complicated." I waited, watching their reactions, judging their fear and their uncertainty. Then I turned away.

"Bring him," was all I said. They did. I emerged into the sunlight, my sons behind me (my sons--and the last time they'd all be together, I thought a bit sadly). My thoughts raged through my muddled mind, the wind whipping at my white hair. I squinted toward the Abyss. The wind howled, and roughed up the waterfalls as if the abyss knew what was about to happen. Perhaps, I thought, it did. I walked near the edge, not close enough to be pushed in by a dissenting son. Pausing, looking down into the roiling, burning water, I wondered what it would be like. And I supposed that, in a way, I would soon know; Raziel would let us know. And here he came, I saw as I turned back, the sun blazing brightly in the cool air. Being dragged along by the two brothers he would come to hate, one of which would escape him for a while. They pulled him reluctantly but silently to the edge. He was coming awake now, groaning and struggling feebly. I looked at the trail of smeared blood that twisted thickly from the keep to the edge of the abyss. And here it would end, I thought, watching Raziel, my poor unfortunate son, my most loyal, fighting to gain conciousness. I looked at his brothers, adjusting their grips on his arms; they kept slipping off because of all the blood. It would wash away, I thought suddenly, then pushed the horrific thought away. Turel was looking at me, dread in his eyes. He knew, but he did not want to believe. Same with the others. They were waiting for the punchline, for the last second repreive. There would be none.

Then Raziel looked up at me. For an instant, his pale face turned up toward me, his wolf's-yellow eyes gazed innocently up at mine, full of unspeakable pain and horrible anguish. He did not have to speak; it was all in his eyes. He wanted to know why. Why did I hurt him, who was always so exceedingly loyal to me? Why did I take away his new freedom, his new identity as a flying being? What was I going to do? And why? I turned away, unable for once to watch the results of my atrocities, my face a mask and my eyes cold.

My back turned, I took a deep breath, even as I heard him take a rasping gasp as if he were about to speak. I hesitated. 

Then, decisively, as a king and master should: "Cast him in." It was an order, a powerful command. And as they had been told, Raziel's brethren did not hesitate. They dragged him to the edge, where he cried out a little and tried to pull back, fighting with whatever little strength he had left. They pitched him forward then, and I heard a scuffling sound... and then nothing. And then, almost two seconds later, a distant (but so close!) splash. And an agonized scream. My gut wrenched in pity, in guilt. Raziel howled from the roiling waters below. His pain at being abandoned was gone, and suddenly there was only white-hot agony. I could hear him screaming even under the water, descending quickly into the depths of the Abyss. 

I hear him screaming still, his agony a poignant accusation, piercing me, confronting me with the proof of my own cruelty, my own callousness, my own hard, cold heart.

I turned and walked off, trying to appear noble and proud but feeling foolish and greatly in pain. And thinking how weak I was.

"It had to be done." And yet that did not help. And for once, I felt some solace in the fact that I was actually feeling remorse. Perhaps I was not so evil as I had led myself to believe. 

And then I felt my curiosity. It dimmed out the pain. When would he return? I had seen the images, but they were vague, and varying in possibility and consequence. What would Raziel look like? He had seemed twisted, warped... melted somehow. Would he be strong? Fast? And... would my plan work? Had I done enough to fill him, brimming and frothing, with hatred? It hadn't seemed so. Raziel had died the same way he had lived--without complaint. Innocent, confused, trying to figure it all out. And hurt, now. So hurt. I sighed and made my way to my chambers. I wound up the stone stairs, weary and depressed. I was a king, the ruler of a great world, and until now that had been enough. More than enough. I felt like a god. I ruled; my hand meant life or death, riches or ruin. And I was intoxicated with power, arrogant and cruel. But I had not realized how very like a son Raziel was to me. Now I knew. 

I also knew that perhaps I had made the wrong decision in allowing Raziel to create the Razielim. Now I had to give the order to have them all murdered. I was certain that Raziel's brothers would go about this with... gusto. Especially once I had told them that they were to divide the spoils according to the victor. And that somehow made it even more disheartening. Nosgoth was a ruin. The vampires who ruled with me were mirrors of me--cruel, savage, merciless. Even worse, I had just destroyed the one being that had had some decency, some good heart, some kind spirit.

But I was waxing poetic. Truly, I had to look to the future, and what it held--beyond the slaughter of the damned Razielim Clan. Raziel would return. He would forgive me--eventually. And together, we would reshape the future of Nosgoth into... into something better. As I stared beyond, out past the ruined cities of Nosgoth, into the gathering dusk, I listened. 

Faintly, faintly, echoing through the forests through the roaring of the waterfalls, I could still hear Raziel screaming. I suppose I always will.