Vincent The Vampire Essay Research Paper Vincent

Vincent The Vampire Essay, Research Paper

Vincent The Vampire

The darkness breathed in the cavernous tomb. The walls of granite that formed their underground catacombs had served as a shelter and a symbol. They were carved with the ancient rites and laws that governed their species and glowed now as if alive through the inconstant flickering of a single torch blazing in the center of the central cavern. To those in the room, the darkness was not their cloak. It revealed all to their pale eyes. The circle of light was empty, devoid even as the outer rim of darkness writhed with beings. The light was also a symbol and even more feared than thoughts of rites or rituals.

A battle had begun among the most powerful of their kind and they stood divided as the accusers and the accused. The accusers stood many but weak. They had forsaken their natures and now never ventured to the world above. They “sanctified” their blood of mice and deer, too frightened of the unknown mortals to test their luck. They now only practiced the dark rites in their misery.

However, the others had not fallen into a weak cowardly life. They were few but strong. They ventured into the cities, danced in the moonlight, and drank from the font of life. They chose their prey carefully. None of the innocents were taken. None that would be missed. But the evildoers. The wrongers of men. He deserved his lot in life. So the strong stood proud and glorious and cursed by the jealous many who gazed upon their restored and powerful forms with hate and fear.

“Do you think you are better? That you deserve more? You that has betrayed us with your decadence! Rogue, trator, bloodmongrel!” Albere called across the space that divided their once united sect. Albere had a fine bone structure and a deliberate, controlled way of moving and now every tendon within him seemed to vibrate with emotion as he stepped slightly forward. His hand was raised in gesture and he gazed at it a moment before swinging the black hatred of his eyes to his opposer. He receded back from the light without seeming to move then, with a surreal power, his voice roared from him, “YOU ARE NOT ONE UF US!”

The hoard behind him moved restlessly, shifting their weight, as they snarled and screeched in unison, their eyes beady and intent with their fervor.

“I care no more for your secret meetings and politics, Albere. Call me ROGUE, but WE are Vampires! Powerful creatures born of ancient rites. Rites carved upon these very walls so that we may grow strong and many!” The fiery intent of Vincent’s speech captivated the vampires. He enchanted them all. His hair was long and fell straight almost to his elbow and his eyes bespoke power as much as how he carried himself, with complete self-assured confidence. “You are lost,” his voice was low and vehement as he stepped forward, grasped the torchstake thrusting it high aloft so it illuminated the horrified shrinking vampires, “you are nothing!”

That this enchanting figure should not bend to them and be as them made their rage boil up so that it could no longer be contained or controlled. The room that had held their most sacred blood rituals deep within the heart of their world was once again steeped in blood. They fought against their own kind. The supernatural shrieks and crys of battle rent the air. The strong threw aside the weak, scrambling figures but the endless mass kept coming at them, fangs bared, hands clawing, and terrible snarls of hate.

Their own kind against them in the combined power of their mass forced the strong back. The rogues ripped at frailer limbs and tossed aside vampires and as the blood spilled and they heard the cracking of bone, they wept. As their kind, their species, their family fought and injured them they wept but still they fought with all the ferocity and rage that was in their body, nature, and souls.

Finally, the open darkness of the world above shrouded softly in the gray light of dawn. The world the others would never venture into. The world only they of their kind could thrive in. But they were weak and injured and shelter from the burning sun must be found NOW! The battle had taken its toll on Vincent and he knew he could not go far. With a pained smile he sped his brethren on relieved they had escaped the kindred below and knowing they could survive and well in this world of delights. “Run, shield yourself,” his whispered voice carried to their ears, “we will be together again. I will find you but you must find blood. Heal.”

They turned, their lean powerful forms raced with inhuman speed, breaking through the trees. Vincent turned to the opening of the cave mouth where Albere still lurked, pale and tense and roared with all his vampiric power and ferocity, his whole body bowing upward and his fangs terrifyingly big and sharp. Albere faltered back for a second, his hand grasping the wall, but then he receded back into the darkness. Vincent knew his cry of victory and pain had reached every vampiric ear and his top lip curled back in a satisfied smile. So much of the sustaining blood had been drained from him, so many wounds that could not yet be healed throbbed and bled yet still. His eyes lost focus and his knees hit the ground. He gasped at the sudden impact as the pain and weakness became too much. He could no longer hold himself up proud and strong and he collapsed onto the ground. <