Recent History
July: 2028
As the week unfolded, Tragedy received an unexpected visitor, an Avari vampire who pledged his service to him, telling him the tale of how it was an old Avari had come into the service of a demon named Morneau, only to discover the demon was Caine's enemy and was perverse in ways that any vampire with any ethics whatsoever could tolerate and call themselves the least bit honorable. He informed Caine that he wished to aid him in bringing the 'foulest of creatures' down, and serve him as his loyal kinsman the rest of his days until he died. When Caine asked Manon why he had agreed to serve Morneau in the first place, Manon bowed his head to him and related quite soberly and honestly, that he was determined to get close as possible to hell, to find the devil and serve his will, then added that he now realized how absurd his ambition had been, where he had resolved that no one found the devil, the devil found them. This had amused Caine, needless to say. He could sense no deception in the Avari, although he was wary. He could be a clever spy of Morneau's with the balls to walk into the snake pit. He was Avari after all. Regardless, he would find out soon enough if he was genuinely willing to help destroy Morneau. First, Tragedy placed Manon under Leon's scrutinizing eye for two days, and like himself, Leon could detect no pretenses in the vampire, but the Elder was still inclined not to trust him, and had him under constant surveylance. Leon had never trusted Avari clansmen. During that week, Manon had requested leave, and when asked why, he informed the Dark Father that he had a child in the world he needed to be a father to, and when asked who it was, he informed Caine and Leon, who were both with him, that her name was Willow Liadon, and that she was his only child. He proceeded to tell the entire story of their history, and his own, and of his enemy Mecca who had killed her daughter and taken him from her. Leon was all too familiar with such conspiracies, and his story touched a chord in him, though his guard was not lowered. Leon always had been paranoid, and as an ancient Khentkaus vampire, he was as suspicious of the Avari as he was of his female companion, who Tragedy had taken under wing. Manon made him particularly wary, because he was so damned powerful, and because he was an Avari, albeit, even he had vulnerabilities. Caine decided to have Leon speak to Mernaph, who was Willow's guardian at the time, before he informed Manon that they knew where Willow was, and that she was at their call to summon back on a moment's notice.
December 2028
Manon had been thinking about the situation at the compound. Caine had his advocates and had all his bases covered, there was really no need for he and Willow to be there. There was also an underlying dislike and distrust for the Avari clan there which made things tense. Manon met with Caine and talked it over with him, he would remain available to Caine if ever he was needed, his mind open to him to receive any contact from him, but he and Willow would be leaving the compound. There were of course several reasons for this. One, Mecca's voice was growing stronger in him, and two, he needed to feel more in control, over her and his domain. Of course his domaine was also Morneau's domain, but he meant for that to change very soon. The moment he had discovered that Caine was hunting for his notorious 'mentor', Manon informed Caine that he had gotten mixed up with the demon, having no clue that he was the monstrous deviant he was, even monsterous by Manon's standards. Manon had also listened intently to Willow speaking of the Shadowlands. He had taken great interest in what she's had to say about the place. It seemed to him like the perfect place to retreat to if things got too terribly insane in their world. Manon had scoffed at first, at the idea of another world, but listening to her speak of it, she had convinced him she had not been deceived. The vampire was in the bedroom packing their things while he had sent Willow to carry a letter to Caine, which included a detailed map of the Temple Lair, with descriptive instructions of where guards were placed, what their capabilities were, what the wards were like. It of course would be passed on to Mernaph. Manon explained he would return with Willow there, and help in any way he could from the inside, but that he would not give himself away unless absolutely necessary. He had no problems admitting that Morneau was a dangerous creature above his wherewithal to defeat alone. When Caine had asked him what it felt like to pit himself as a traitor to his mentor, Manon had said simply, he betrayed me long before I turned against him with his deceit. Tragedy had torn Manon down thread by thread and could find no lies or perversions of truth in him. He had not met Mecca. Their things would be packed by the time Willow returned, and Manon would be waiting for her, seated in his prefered arm chair in the suite, their suitcases beside the chair. He had told her nothing of his plans to change their residency. All his plans were carefully in order. She would soon be meeting Mecca, for the second time in her life.
Manon's umber gaze rose on her as she entered the suite, a faint smile creeping over his lips as she asked if they were going on vacation. "Close the door around, Willow..." His reply stepped over to instruct her, and when she had obeyed him, his pale hands extended to her invitingly, his long, well manicured nails painted with metalic gold fingernail polish matching the gold powder shading his dark eyes. Both were made of ground gold. When she clasped his hands, he guided her gently to the floor on her knees in front of him, then released her hands and swept his long fingers to her auburn hair, his large hands capable of being very ginger as his fingers were now carressing her silky locks. "It is time I told you that I aligned myself with a demon to improve my knowledge in life, only he deceived me in what his convictions were, and I found myself in service to a very dangerous and deviant creature. Understand, Willow, that it is my path in life that I must align myself to one of Acheron's own, only my judgement failed me in this case. He is no noble creature as Lord Morash is, and yet of his kind. He has even pit himself against Acheron itself in his boldness. He IS my master nonetheless, and I must serve him. Caine is aware of all of this. I have made it so. I must return to him, and as my child, you must go with me. Do not fear him, for what understanding we do have, he will not betray. He will not touch you," He assured. "As he has never touched me," he added. He would not tell her of his plans to betray Mekkor, for her own protection and his own. Morneau could look into a soul and mind and steal information he sought. Manon was the exception, his deceptions so graven and convoluted, the devil himself would have difficulty seeing into the complex facets of his soul and mind. It was his greatest advantage above all others. "We are going now, Willow. To Costa Rica. You will enjoy it there, and the city is a tropical wonder I shall show you," he said this with a warm smile.
He knew she would be shocked, and even afraid of the unexpected change, but he would give her little chance to dwell. He leaned forward, rising bent, to take her by the shoulders and lift her, urging her to stand, then picked up their suitcases as he gathered the shadows around them in elusive ribbons which formed a viel around them. A sinking sensation followed as the suite around them darkened until blackness surrounded them. The sinking feeling intensified to a falling sensation, then slowed and gave way to a lifting limbo as the shadowy veil began to part in a gradual dissolve to reveal another chamber altogether different from the room they had left. A very large, low bed hung with a heavy canopy and curtains of deep red with black tassles emerged out of the gloom, thick, ornate tapestries covering the stone walls, which had borders cut out of the stone with arcane freizes carved in them. There was no light in the chamber until Manon moved away and passed his hand over several lamps and candles in stride to ignite them with flames. He put the suitcases down by a large and darkly carved Armoir, and afterwards turned to Willow and bloomed his arms out. Our home," He announced, a slight smile tugging at his lips. There was an even greater air of confidence around him here. His presence reflected how relieved he was to be there.
Manon nodded as she asked if he had missed his home. "Yes... Does it show?" A deep chuckle escaping him. He could be so perfectly charming, his demeanor only partly feigned where as Manon, he really was far more mellow than his other ids. Manon had once been a decent creature, but his life as an Avari, his Sire, had warped him, intentionally corrupted him, just as Mecca intended to do to Willow. He smiled as she said he had better not be a bed hog. "My chambers are next door. This is your room, Willow." He moved across to a very handsome, solid mahongany dress of drawers, a great mirror framed with serpents reflecting the a great deal of the chamber in its murky looking glass. On a silver tray was a selection of alchoholic beverages, and glassed tipped over on their rims. There was Merlot wine, a bottle of local guava liquor called Guista (made that up) a bottle of fine scotch, and Manon's favorite, Jegermeister. He poured Willow a glass of Merlot after dusting off the bottles and glasses on his poet shirt's sleeves, and then uncapped the liquer to take a sip from the bottle as he passed the wine to her. "Welcome home, Willow," raising his bottle to lightly tap it against it her glass before he drank and then capped the bottle. "Get settled in and acquainted with your room. I shall show you the rest of the lair tomarrow evening. The sun shall rise soon and beckon me to bed. Good night my dear." He leaned and kissed her on her cheek, took up his suitcase and vacated the chamber, closing the door after him.
Amhenru:
A surprise was hidden in the bed beneath its tangle of thick comforters and satin sheets, one that would perhaps be both a joy, perplexing and agonizing for Willow to discover there. His scent as captured beneath the blankets and sheets he had buried himself in, as if trying to hide himself way from the world in his exhaustion, and indeed he was. Mekkor had abused Amhenru in ways that were beyond unspeakable, the liberties he had taken with the angel his 'price' for securing him. The abuse would end now that Manon had returned, but the damage had already been done. Amhenru was an emotional train wreck, and had grown weak without any breath of fresh air and sunlight in the temple beneath the mountains. He was pale as a ghost and burning with a fever of despair that drained his energy day by day, and he had gone absolutely insane. Nightmares plagued him whether asleep or awake, and the guilt which had dug pits inside of him made him deny reality altogether not to have to face himself. He had not heard them enter, had not stirred into the screams raked his mind in his dreams, a soft startled bark escaping him as he tossed over from one side to another and curled tightly into himself in a fetal position as a whimper parted his lips with a gasp. The
dream was fractured by his near rousing and his muscles sank against the bed once again, the top of his black hair evident, all traces of the gold streaks in it gone. A sign of the shadow immuring his soul.
Willow
It shows all too well. .:.Willow grinned up at him, then looked at the canopy. This room was incredible. She propped herself on her elbows, looking over at him. .:. Next door? I get this whole bed to myself?! Wow... :.She looked-pleased and suprised, then let her eyes follow him to the booze selection. Something made her nostrils flare a bit, and the scent that was brought in caused her stomach to wrench and a sharp pain to drive into her chest. She closed her eyes, looking pained. Memories could be so real sometimes. She could swear that she smelled Amhenru, though it was faint. She would not get upset now. She did not want to ruin Manon's homecoming. Opening her eyes, she smiled softly and sat up as he offered her the glass of Merlot, and she raised her glass to tap his with a grin. .:. And welcome home to you, Father. .:.She took a long sip. At least she could drown out her sorrow in booze on her off time. Finishing off the glass, she nodded to his instructions to settle in. She didn't want to be alone now...she would start thinking of Amhenru and get upset...God, she could STILL smell him.... or was it in her mind? It--was so soft of a smell....:. Goodnight... .:.She watched him exit, and she sighed softly, rising to cross to the dresser and place her empty glass on the tray. Scanning the bottles, she studied the labels, trying to figure out what would get her shitfaced more quickly. Eh, she was emotionally drained. She might as well get some sleep. Who knew what they would work on tomorrow in her lessons. Moving to the bed, Willow sat on the edge, then slid her boots and socks off, wiggling her toes. She was scared to sleep. She hated nightmares. Turning, she crawled towards the middle of the bed with a sigh, then froze in shock as she saw the blankets move. Errr, was there a house dog she was not aware of? Peering up the mound, she spotted dark hair. Someting wasn't right... Grabbing the blankets, she jerked them back, then let out a choked gasp. .:. A..Amhenru! .:.She threw the covers off and lowered herself to let her head be just over his as she cradled his face softly. .:. Amhenru wake up... Oh God no.. .:.She began to panic, then turned her head towards Manon's room, letting out a scream. .:. Manon! .:.She prayed that he would still be awake, and she tucked Amhenru's hair behind his ear. .:. Oh God...darling wake up... wake up I am here. .:.What in the hell happened to him? How did he get here? Swallowing her panic, she gently lifted his head against her stomach running her fingers through his hair. .:. Wake up...please darling...wake up...
Amhenru
The children... the babies... How gently they lifted his head up. He had startled at first when she touched him, and recoiled sharply with a fearful whimper as she had cradled his cheeks in her palms. He did not want to, did not want to feel him ramming it down his throat again. But then those fingers, those many delicate little fingers of the dead, all slid beneath his hair and moved his head to a soft, cool place which soothed his burning fever. The surface of his muscles quivered and he rolled around to bury his face in her tummy, amidst the nebulas clouds he tried so desperately to reach everyday.... Then the brilliant swords flashed and drove him back, away from peace and tranquility, only this time, the ephemereal, spinning clouds of color swathed him, let him in. He wrapped those gentle spirits which came to protect him from harm in his arms, and choked pleas whispered from his breath. "I am sorry... so sorry... I didn't want to..." A horrified sob then strangled in his throat and bubbled through his vocal chords as the guilt of the pleasure, the horrible pleasure his body had felt ripped at his heart like a hundred venomous claws, but they held him... held him so sweetly, covering him with gentle kisses begging him not to despair. He held them weeping quietly until their sweet voices of innocence carried him into the arms of a tranquil sleep without dreams as his own madness tried to convince him that the children, the infants, the babies, could forgive him.
Manon, Willow and Mekkor
Manon had not heard her call for him until he was on his way back from calling on Mekkor in his private chambers on the furthest end of the temple away from his own vault. He slipped into the room with the quietude of a ghost to watch her with Amhenru from the shadows, unnoticed by her for some moments before he stepped into the native light of the candles and oil lamps. His brows knitted as his eyes fell on Amhenru,
furrowing more darkly as his gaze shifted on Willow. "Amhenru?" His question toneless. He could smell him, his angelic scent. It was not a far step to put one and one together the way she was holding him. He feigned innocence perfectly. He had released Hadriel. There was no sense in keeping him when Willow had refused to feed from him, and it was another way of deceiving others into believing how capable he was of acts of kindness, by setting the heart sick angel free. He moved over to the bed as he concentrated his presence and shed it over Amhenru with a featherlight brush of his palm to his brow, numbing the weakened angel's mind immediately that his sleep would deepen into the tranquil haze of oblivion entrancing him. His eyes slid upward from the angel's handsome but oh so pale face to lock with Willow's gaze an instant, before with a flurry of robes he spun with a hiss and stalked away. His strides were halted in the corridor as he was met by Mekkor.
Willow would hear voices... Manon's deep, resonating tones, and another whose voice was the embodiment of seduction, vanity and confidence.
"How did he come to be here?" hissed lowly.
Silky laughter breezed from the other. "Mecca told me to fetch him for you."
A scoffing sniff from Mekkor as if to say, don't make me repeat myself.
"Why would you listen to him?"
"Because he pleases me as you will not."
Mekkor rubbed his black fingernails on his silk shirt as if polishing them in a gesture of arrogance. "Why I did of course. The price asked for to deliver him. Don't be so coy Manon, and pretend such shock. You are beginning to annoy me where you worship the ideals of corruption but throw your hands up against the reality of that force. Either embrace a path or don't, Manon."
"Corruption without death..." Manon hissed. "That angel is dying in there."
Mekkor laughed whimsically. "What if he is? If he can't take the heat-- heh heh."
Manon's palm slapped his face and he drug it over his features, his hand dropping to his side as he shook his head. "Your heat is beyond the imaginings of most," Manon grumbled quietly, his towering form of solid muscle then faintly shaken by several pats to his back.
"Sue me if I am master of corruption!" Mekkor vaunted, smiling, as he threw his arms out with express bravado.
Manon threw his eyes on him. He was not lying about that, and Manon was beginning to wonder if Mekkor had not deceived him at all, where he let himself be deceived by his own ideals, as Mekkor put it. Mecca had brought him under Mekkor, his other 'id' introducing Manon to his patron arch-demon Lord to be, or so he told himself anyway.
Mekkor was quite aware that Mecca, Manon and Ricco were the same person, but the demon understood the complexities of the kind of spilt alter-egos Manon possessed. Though they all claimed the same body, despite the masks Manon used, each alter ego was an individual all alone. Mekkor trusted Mecca, he did not trust Manon. Mekkor then leaned in, his lips brushing Manon's earlobe, making the vampire tense as the demon whispered to him on vocal path Manon alone could hear. "Did you arrange for my capture?"
Manon nodded. "Yes, Lord Desormeaux." He never used his true epitat Mekkor where others could hear him.
Mekkor's arms wrapped his tense frame for a moment to give him an affectionate squeeze. "Excellent," the charming demon commended and smiled as he slipped away. He was always flirting with Manon, but it never went anywhere. Mecca was plenty willing and eager. He embraced corruption wholeheartedly, and he was better looking too! Morneau liked them beautiful, like Mecca was, like Casey was, like Amhenru.
Manon stood some moments staring across at the wall and its rules of intriquite, arcane, hieroglyphics. The temple was ancient, but he had overseen the Egyptian engravings himself. He caught a hint of movement at Willow's chamber door, and his eyes swept over to catch Willow in his vision's gravity.
The statuesque vampire drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, then pivoted around and approached her to take her by the arm and usher her to his room, his hold on her firm but gentle, the lead of his strides relaxed. His self-possession calmed those around him as much as it let him remain calm himself. He seated himself in an arm chair and pulled her down into his lap. As he spoke to her, his fingers carressed her arm, shoulder and hair with idle tenderness. Every kindness he showed was merely part of the pretense he wrapped himself in.
"I will help you to heal Amhenru's broken spirit, Willow, but first, you must listen to me. You must understand these things I have now to tell you. We are Avari, of the blood of Sutekh himself, who will return one day gloriously. Some believe he and Avari are the same soul, others believe he is Avari's greatest enemy. I have searched long and hard in all these years of my existance for knowledge, and I have come to the conclusion that Set, Avari, and Sutekh are one in the same, and enemies of one another, that he rivals himself in his soul, not to take his place in darkness absolute, that if Avari ever claims his true, rightful place in the Underworld's order, he will rise again as Set. This knowledge I have scratched from tombs, temples and ancient tomes that have become all but dust, is most sacred, Willow, only Mekkor knows of it as well, and not through me. He is not the enemy to Avari he seems he is... He seeks to awaken Set, to serve Acheron by doing so, and swears that is his greatest ambition in life. But I am torn, and Mekkor knows this. I can not name the scars Set and Mekkor have cut into my soul, but Avari... He is a noble creature... Sadistic in his way, a shadow of Set, but his honor is respectable. He rules with both an iron fist and mercy. Set is only merciful to his obediant followers, whether mortal or immortal. I once embraced corruption completely, when under my Sire's wing, and now... I begin to think, corruption, like anything, can be carried too far; As with Amhenru. But if it were Avari speaking to me... I would have no doubts. If it were my sire who raped Amhenru... I would trust him. I would tell you... It is for the good of all that the angel be darkened as he is, and to trust in his wisdom, even blindly, for even in his cruelty he is wise... but I have no such trust with any other."
His eyes swam with a mist of moisture that was too convincing to doubt. His head bowed and for moments he just breathed in the silence and the motion of Willow's breaths, and her words thereafter as they fell with such compassion for her Sire from her lips. If one knew the inner workings of his very clever mind, an intelligence molded by Sutakh, they would know he had used Mekkor's ambitions against him, and set the demon up for a fall in Avari's place. In wits and the ability to hide his mind and soul from Mekkor alone, did he have the upper hand over the demon. Avari or Sutekh would rise as Set, as the inheritor of the black throne in his own time. He would not be forced. To do so would be disastrous, particularly at the hands of Mekkor. There was one other who knew Avari was Sutakh, and that Sutakh was Set, but he had not yet allowed that knowledge to waken in him yet. Leon Namwroth. Had someone deluded these two, ancient vampires into believing Set and Avari were one in the same, or was it the truth? Time alone would tell.
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