Dynasty of Darkness 2

Pacing, pacing always pacing - it had been three hours. Why hadn’t she come? – It was too late now; it was well past midnight, her festival had already started. He stepped outside and with little effort he threw himself high into the air and soon was far above his earthly troubles. If she wouldn’t come to him, he simply would come to her.
His wings beat powerfully and swiftly against the air, pushing it out of his way so he could take its place in the sky. Wind roaring past his ears, darkness enveloping him, hugging him close like a blanket, these were his only thoughts as he gave himself over to the feeling of the night. He pointed himself upwards, toward the moon and time stood still for a moment as the light of the full moon struck him and basked him in its beautiful glow. He was immediately illuminated with its unearthly light and his pale, light deprived skin absorbed it hungrily. Unconsciously his palms turn up toward the moon, trying to grasp the moonbeams and hold on to them forever. His arms slowly follow until he is reaching for the moon, his true Goddess, the true mother of his kind. He didn’t realize he is falling until he almost hits the tree.
His wings carry him straight and true, like an arrow, to where she is. He doesn't have to guide himself, he could feel her presence a million miles away, and he could probably feel her presence on the moon if he ever got there. Soon he relaxes into the familiar pattern of his beating wings – the gentle rise and fall of his body along with his wings.

He came to a small wooded area and he drops to the ground; he is hungry. He is not as careful on the ground as many of his kind are. He is confident in his ability to fight and win against anything that threatens him. He comes upon a rabbit and after snapping its neck he devours it; the tender still-warm meat fills his stomach and the sweet, hot blood quenches his thirst. As he walks his bulging muscles are very visible under his sleek dark robes. He is strong and he well knows it. With his well known strength comes courage and fearlessness, he fears nothing neither living nor dead. The only thing he fears is destiny; he fears what he cannot change and what is inevitable. He walks a little further into the forest and slowly draws to a shuddering halt. He crouches down upon the ground and focuses his senses to the sky. He hears a far away cry. Whether it is for help or not else he does not care, he must see for himself. He draws into the air and sees a battle far in the sky. But before he can arrive any closer one of the beings drops silently through the air and lands with a sickening crunch on the ground below him. He recognizes the dead figure – it was his kind and of his clan, the Laxong. The thought rips through him, burning a path of unrestrained fury, shredding his control over himself. He hurls himself far into the night and mercilessly chases his opponent. He comes upon the being, male by its size and flying style and grabs his dusky blue-grey hair forcing him to a crude stop. He holds the other with one hand by the neck and recognizes him as a rogue of his clan. No one will miss him. They are a dying people; a single death can be the cause of many more, so instead, they are killed. He stares into the other’s eyes and whispers “this is the law” before just barely tightening his hand and cruelly crunching his neck into pieces and then letting him fall the distance to the ground relishing the sound of breaking bones and the delicate drip of blood he hears from his altitude.

Putting the brief fight out of his mind he flies on. Soon he comes to the graveyard. It is cold and it seems to ever so slightly repel him, trying to expel him from the premises. If a human was feeling these same feelings, they would turn and run as fast as they could away from it. Humans are weak; humans are timid. Their only confidence comes from the great numbers they mass themselves in. He knows he shouldn’t be there and he laughs, a deep, sharp laugh that sounds like steel-tipped thunder – since when has he done what he was supposed to? Though he has never been there before he knows he is in the right place because there is a feel to the air, an air of expectance, an air of mystery. The very breeze rolls with electricity and static, like being in the middle of a thunderstorm even though the sky is clear and silent. He flies into the middle of the graveyard. He lands quietly on his crouched legs steadying himself with his hands. He comes to a large, white marble tomb; she was here. He can smell her, like a hound smells blood. He straightens up and strides to a spot where the feeling of the place is just slightly more intense than the rest; this must be the place he was seeking. He takes a long slow breath to calm his jangling nerves, he is never nervous, so why now? He steps into the spot and all of a sudden he is there.
He stays unnoticed for many minutes. Most have never seen him, so they assume he is very young but many things prove them wrong. A young grey notices him first. His aura frightens her. It is too dark and powerful, as strong as her goddess's. He carries the stance of a clan leader; he looks down at the people willing them to talk, challenging them to notice him. Of course he is a clan leader, just not one of the four recognized clans. He was cast out of the Jesumid clan many years ago, for killing the former Jesumid clan leader and plotting against their God. He enjoys power. Instead of becoming a rogue like the one he killed so recently he created a clan of his own, the Laxong. They are strong, ruthless and fierce and are many to their ranks; they count to the thousands. They are the largest clan of them all, even outnumbering by far the colossal Jesumid clan. He is their God, their Ruler, their King.

He takes the arm of the timid grey who noticed him and leads her away to a dark corner of the cavern. Fright washes around her, this man scares her beyond reason and beyond rationality. He leans close and whispers into her ear “where is your Queen?” she is so frightened she doesn’t answer for a moment, her throat is too constricted with fear, but then she points out somewhere into the massive crowd of people. He leaves silently and swiftly, like an assassin.

He makes his way through the crowd parting it effectively. He has a frightening power about him, powerful and strong. Even the dead make way for him. He glances at some of them and they shudder and turn their heads away. His gaze pierces to the very mind and heart. When he looks at them, their souls are laid bare before him. He sees her and approaches. His gaze travels to her hair; it is so black it absorbs the light around it, never reflecting, then it travels to her neck, such smooth white skin and under that, hot coursing blood. She recognizes the power of him but she doesn't turn. He comes upon her and leaning over her, he grasps her shoulders and abruptly they disappear.