The Nightwalker's Bride

3. Gift or Curse ✠ Part 1

He had lost.

The battle was over, the last of the Wallachian army was being cut down by the invading Ottoman forces. The air was filled with blood and smoke. And Death. Men cried in despair as their lives were cut by their enemies blades. If they were lucky they would suffer a quick death, but if they were unlucky they were destined to have their entrails displayed before them while they still breathed. Soon they would all smell of rot and all manner of carrionic parasites would invade their bodies and feast off the remains of their putrid corpses. If only they had known this would be their last sunset.

He had lost.

A large spear had completely lodged itself in his chest, entering him from the back while its head came out just under his ribcage. A few arrows had also implanted themselves on the steel of his armor.

The man could feel as his life slowly seeped out of him. But he had a moment of life still within him. His eyes scanned the gruesome battlefield one last time before falling on the holy cross. The insignia he had been carrying since his first major battle, the holy emblem under which he had committed the most unspeakable cruelties. He fell to his knees and removed his helmet dropping it to the side.

"You abandoned me." The man spoke, his eyes never leaving the cross. "I did this for you, in your name. I put my faith in you, I gave you everything." His eyes filled with tears and his voice with anger. "I--How did I come to this?! How is it that a man like me puts his life and the life of his men for a God to leave him downtrodden at the last moment?" Suddenly he began to laugh, an incredulous laugh. For a moment his eyes left the cross and scanned the battlefield, but once again returned to the cross.

"Look around, do you see the blood you have spilled. It is the blood of your children, of those you have abandoned like me. Blood is what gives us life. It runs in our veins and spills when we die. Blood is what the pagan gods demand, blood is the offering that cures their wrath." His eyes once again leave the cross to fall upon a dying Wallachian soldier. His throat has been severed and his blood flowed down his neck like a river. The soldier's face is twisted in agony looking up at the reddening dusk sky.

"And all this blood has been shed for you. But you don't deserve it. Every holy mass I drank the blood of your son, but of that blood, I will drink no more. I will drink this blood, the blood of the men you let die and claim it properly. And this blood will give me life. And I will renounce you as you have done with me and I will drink from your children." The man took the body of the dying soldier and lifted it up to his lips. The smell of iron was overwhelming. Slowly he drank from the soldier's neck draining his blood and his remaining life. He could feel the ambrosial liquid flow down his throat and for a moment he felt the strength and power of a hundred men. But suddenly the blood began to turn in his lips. He felt the sting of what he had ingested all through his body and it burned like a firery poison. His body contorted in the greatest pain conceivable to man and his human soul left his tortured body, only to be replaced with the cold soul of a monster, a demon.

The man had turned into a vampire, a creature of darkness.

The man died that day, but Death itself had spat him out of the Hell where he belonged and condemned him to a life in the mortal plane. And so the vampire lived his days in hunger for more human blood but the more he drank the least satisfied he felt. He retreated into the confines of his castle, hunting at night for the poor souls who dared to wander by. There he lived in solitude for a hundred years.

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It was a peaceful winter night, a slight layer of snow covered the mountains and more continued to fall on the roof of the castle. A hundred years had passed since the place had been abandoned and become a shadow to its former glory. The vampire stood in his balcony watching the snowfall. He looked on, with tired eyes, at the mountain valley where his castle stood. The howling of wolves could be heard in the distance. As he stood gazing at the horizon, time stilled around him. Snowflakes were suspended in place in his close proximity. He looked up at the beam of pure light that descended from the heavens on planted itself next to him on the balcony in the form of an angel. He was made of soft yellowish light; his features were timeless and beautiful. His golden curls swayed effortlessly as he moved. Vaguely outlined in the light was the armored breastplate above his white robes. His helm and sandals were framed by wings that mimicked those that sprung from his back. Politely the archangel bowed before the vampire.

"What mockery is this?" scoffed the vampire.

"You know who I am, so-called Impaler. I have come to deliver His message," the angel spoke.

"His message? " Laughed the vampire, "God forsook me a hundred years ago, even Lucifer cast me out of hell. What would God want with me now?"

"He has not forgotten you. He has been watching you since you renounced Him." The angel continued, "And so, he would like to offer you a second chance, of sorts. A gift, if you will. If you should choose to accept it."

"A second chance?! The Almighty sends his archangel Gabriel to give me a second chance!? Truly, His cruelty knows no b--" The archangel Gabriel waved his hand and the vampire's voice disappeared.

"I will not have you blaspheme in my presence," Gabriel said sternly then lowered his hand. "I am only the messenger, your petty qualms are to be taken up with Him."

"You angels are so condescending." the vampire spat, his voice returning.

"Insult me if you wish. But I will not leave without an answer. Do you accept? If you do, be warned there is no turning back."

"What is this 'second chance' you speak of?"

"The Almighty has seen that which you lack, what He gives all his creations. He offers you a chance to see for yourself what you lack. That which, He gives you still. Only then will you be allowed out of the mortal plain, only then will your soul be free." Then angel produced from his palm a small pear-shaped diamond. It floated above his hand in a white flame. Gabriel presented it to the vampire.

The vampire contemplated for a moment. He knew he was not dead, but his survival was not life either. His existence was a punishment for becoming a monster. The vampire took a deep breath his hand holding his chin.

"I accept." he decided, taking the diamond from the archangel. The vampire examined the inch long gem in his hand, it was glowing.

"You have chosen well." Gabriel smiled. "This gift was made just for you." The vampire looked up at him with brows raised cleary forming questions in his mind, but before he could ask anything the angel instructed in a commanding voice:

"By the light of the next full moon, you shall lay this gem to the ground and bury it in good soil. Every night hence you shall water it with your blood and every following day you shall shield it from the sun. Thereafter a seedling will sprout and you shall care for it as He commands, until the night blooms. That night I will return to watch it blossom."

The vampire unconsciously nodded at Gabriel's instructions taking in all that he had been told. The archangel smiled once again and vanished the way he had come. Time then resumed leaving the vampire alone on his balcony, snowflakes landing on his shoulders.

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