The Last Fairmpyre. Part One

She heard the unsheathing of the blade, a ring of steel so distinct in the otherwise dim silence. Her sharp intake of breathe the only sign of recognition. The scent that filled the room was one of hesitation and regret, a shrill taste of metallic fear on her tongue. But she knew there was no other way to avoid her nature, to avoid the danger she ensured others. Her throat burnt of thirst and her skin itched as her magic threatened to be released.

“It’s okay Mika,” she said in response to the scent, which became stronger when she spoke.

“19 years Amalya, 19 years and still I find no ease in this,” Mika replied, her tone soft. Her strong grey-blue eyes, wide with remorse.  Amalya placed a soothing hand on her Ghuardian’s stiff shoulder, Mika smiled hesitantly and placed her hand over hers.

“There is no other way,” Amalya whispered.

Amalya slowly removed her hand and placed it palm up on Mika’s lap, turning her head away. She concentrated on a vase on the opposite side of her room; the vase was pristine and filled with red roses. The roses were her favourite and she cared much for them. She loved them most because she knew from where they came from, a place of freedom, a place she would never know: The outside world.

Amalya felt the pressure of another hand restraining her still arm. Although she wouldn’t move, it was a natural response to fight it. When she felt the blade upon her skin she closed her eyes and ground her teeth together. She wouldn’t scream, she wouldn’t make a sound. For it would only upset Mika more. The blade bit into her forearms skin and she felt the sharp pain, followed by a series of flow movements that could only be her blood. It was over quickly as always and she felt her body go limp. The burning in her throat eased and the itch under her skin nearly gone. Her fangs shortened and began to throb.

Strong arms caught her before she fell from her chair and carried her to her bed. Pillows were placed behind her head and her arm lay over the side. She felt the blood still flowing from her wound, just as she felt her energy drain.

She hated this, hated that she had to do this almost everyday. Her being was a curse, one that could not be rid of. She lived in a constant danger to others around her and to herself. What was inside her died to get out and be free, free of the binds that held her to life. There was no easy way to being her, no freedom.

“Amalya...” Mika’s voice was chocked.

“Leave Mika, I shall rest.”

“Are you-“

“Just go!” Amalya’s voice was strong and forceful, filled with the emotion she felt.

“Yes, my lady.” Mika’s feet shuffled along quickly and she heard the door softly close. Her use of formality only hurt Amalya more.

Amalya opened her eyes slowly and the room spun around her, she blinked a few times to clear her head. Looking down to her arm she could see the cut on her ivory skin, followed with the scars of 19 years of others. She reached her arm to her mouth, using what strength she had left and she swept her tongue along the wound, knowing well it would heal. She let it fall limply back to her bed, trying to focus her sight.

Her room was simple and elegant, clean yet empty. Her walls were cream and peach, pictures hung on the walls of places she knew she would never see with her own eyes. Her carpet was the colour of which she imagined would be the sky, blue. Her bed covers the colour of what she thought would be the grass that covered the ground others walked on.

She was a prisoner, a prisoner in a cage that was her body.

Being the last of your kind was not an easy thing to be. Her existence was known of, but well hidden. She was the last Fairmpyre, the only one left. Her species had been driven into hiding and eventually near extinction. She knew why she was hunted, she knew she deserved to die. But when she was brought into this world, she was alone. Her body was evil of nature but she was pure in mind. Her need to feed was suppressed through her cuts, as was her need of magic.  She was kept in the same place 24/7, for almost her whole life. She was being preserved and tortured because of it but she wanted nothing more than to be normal, than to escape and see the world herself.

She reached for her bed frame to steady herself, using her little strength she pulled her body upright and stood. Her head spun but she tried to ignore it, stumbling to her vanity bench. When she reached the chair, she dropped into it and stared at her reflection.

Her eyes stared back at her through the glass, one green, and one blue. Her skin was ivory pale and smooth, clear of any imperfection and cold as ice. Her skin was marked with intricate tattoos, warnings written in her kind’s language. They covered most of her body, her arms, her stomach and legs. She hated them, they lied. She wasn’t what they warned her to be. She learnt to not be a stereotypical Fairmpyre. Her nose was perfectly straight, as were her high cheekbones. Her lips were full and pink and behind them she had perfect teeth, along with her cursed fangs. They were throbbing from her lack of blood, but they were easier to ignore now that she was bled.                                                                                                                                                               

Her body was petite and gentle, she knew her body was frail and weak, from not properly feeding. She needed blood, her body craved it and her throat felt like sandpaper. But she didn’t want to be a monster, so she bled to save others.The gown she wore was white lace, falling below her knees. Her back was bear of clothing because of her wings. Her wings were sure sign of her species, they were tucked between her shoulder blades. But as she grew more upset they worked at there own accord, cradling her body with their white feathers. She was told that she was the first of her kind with white wings, others were black of the evil they beared. She was told that hers were white because she was pure and kind. But still she felt the evil in her, it was her nature, her instincts.                                                                                                 

Her small chest and waist barely fit into her gown, but if being unhealthy meant she could fight her evil, then she would die doing it. She was dead, yet alive, born into the world as a cursed body. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of the shell she wore. She wanted to die, but it wasn’t possible. Not when she was kept guarded and imprisoned.

Amalya reached for her brush and began stroking her hair with it, it helped sooth her. Her hair fell below her waist in red, brown and black waves. She knew she was beautiful, perfect even. But the evil inside her made her feel ugly and impotent. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the smooth strokes of her brush, thinking of Mika.

Mika was nothing like Amalya in blood, or appearance. She was tall and well built to fight. Her black hair was cut short for convenience and she only wore leathers. Her leathers were like another skin, they clung to her lean angled body and was as tough as muscle. It was her uniform in a way. She was strong in many ways, strong physically from being half vampire. But also strong emotionally and mentally from both human and vampire. She didn’t drink blood, she was fine on simple human foods. She swore her life to Amalya many years ago and she did her job well. Amalya trusted Mika, she was... her only friend.

When a Ghuardian is assigned to a person, they must protect them with their own life, until the day either one of them died.  Amalya knew Mika would do this, but Amalya would do the same for Mika. She knew how hard it must be for Mika, knowing what she was. Fairmpyres were feared and hated worldwide and sometimes Amalya knew that Mika feared her. But Mika was strong minded and with time, grew accustomed to Amalya and her needs.



Mika was assigned as her Ghuardian the day Amalya was brought to the academy, where Ghuardian’s trained. Amalya was only a baby then and Mika just a child. Even her time at the academy was not one of free will, she was hidden and her body too. She never knew her parents, only Mika and no one else. Ghuardians are half human and half vampire, Dhampir’s. Thus allowing them to have the best qualities of each species. Amalya didn’t know much about humans at all, but she knew of vampires.

Vampires were what hunted her and killed her species. Her enemy as it were. Long ago, a war began between Fairmpyres and Vampires. They once lived among each other, but the Fairmpyres began to succumb to their nature. As a Fairmpyre was gifted with elemental magic; earth, water, fire and wind. Like a vampire they also had bloodlust, they needed to feed from human or vampire alike. Their senses are strong like a vampire also, but theirs were stronger. Their sense of smell being the strongest, they can smell emotion. The biggest rule of Fairmpyre and Vampire alike is to stay out of the human eye, remaining a secret in the world. The Fairmpyre’s starve for power and rule drove them against this one rule and they began rebelling. Their power drove them to evil and they began turning against the Vampires. The Vampires feared the Fairmpyres for their power, but were easily outnumbering their species. So one by one, Fairmpyres were destroyed. Amalya hated to think about the war and legends, but they were what taught her. She only knew of herself because of what she heard from Mika’s teachings and she feared her being because of them. She wasn’t safe in the world, not safe anywhere other than where she was now. She only knew that she would not become what killed her people.

Amalya opened her eyes slowly and placed her brush back on the vanity. There was a soft knock on the door and then Mika poked her head in. Her black hair was wet and spiking in all directions, she smiled at her.

“Hello Mika.”

“I thought I would check on you,” Mika said as she stepped inside the room and closed the door.

Mika was dressed in her usual leathers, even at night. They were black and hugged to her lean body. Around her waist was a strap that held her dagger, Amalya trained her eyes away from it, the same dagger that cut her everyday.

Mika turned back towards Amalya with something in her hands. When she stepped closer Amalya had to squint to make out what it was. Mika smiled and crouched beside Amalya, dwarfing her even then. She unfolded her hands and on her palm was a tiny flower. It was yellow and blooming brightly. Amalya’s face lit up with joy, she loved flowers and Mika loved to bring them for her. Mika stood up quickly and placed her hands on Amalya’s shoulder to still her. Then she wrapped the flower through a plait in Amalya’s hair.

“It’s a daisy. Pretty huh?” Mika crouched back down to look into the mirror, meeting Amalya’ mismatched eyes. Amalya gently patted her hair where the flower was placed.

“Thank you Mika,” she said, her eyes stinging.

“Aw Amalya, don’t cry.” Mika rubbed her big hands over Amalya’s back, between her wings.

“I hate that you can go outside and I can’t Mika. I want to leave!” Amalya cried, her wings folding around herself.

“It’s not safe, you will be killed,” Mika said bluntly, on defence.

“Maybe I want to die,” Amalya whispered to herself.

“Amalya!” Mika hissed. “You are the last of your kind, you have to know the importance behind that.”

“I hate it! Why can’t I just go out for one day, one day of my life?” she closed her eyes and let the tears roll down her cheeks. Mika wiped them away with her hand.

“I’m sorry, I really am. But you’re too important for that risk. Your all I have left Lya...” Amalya opened her eyes to look into Mika’s strong blue-gray eyes.

“Do you think this will ever end?” she asked, although she knew the answer.

“We can only hope.”







“Anything new?” Leon asked his brother, vaguely watching him pacing the floor beneath him.

“Nothing, my lord,” Tate answered, lighting a cigarette mid stride.

“Ah fuck. This is going nowhere.” he rubbed his hand over his stubble face.

“We just keep looking, nothing more we can do,” Tate said, exhaling a puff of smoke, filling the tunnel with the scent of cloves.

“It’s like looking for a needle in a fucking haystack my brother.” Tate chuckled though he was as frustrated as Leon. Leon stood out of his throne, taking his leather coat with him. He paused by his brother, slapping his hand on his shoulder, “Good work, I’ll see you when the sun don’t burn.”

“Yeah, I’ll go pretend to wash blood off my hands” Tate smirked, while Leon shook his head.

“You are a bloodthirsty creature,” Leon said, frowning into Tate’s ice coloured eyes.

“Yup, my nature. Speaking of...” Tate trailed off, flashing his fangs around his cigarette.

“Worry not, it is taken care of. You never have a shortage of choice Tate, you know as well as I.” Leon raised an eyebrow, asking for a disagreement.

Tate smiled wider, “Well i am awfully attractive after all.” he flicked his sandy blonde hair out of his eyes to emphasise his point.

Leon slapped his hand on Tate’s shoulder once more, chuckling under his breath and continued his way to his room.

It was a hard life for Leon, if he could call it life. He was immortal, a vampire. But he was the last pure blooded vampire left, he was a king. He lived in the tunnels under the city of Tulack, with his brothers. Though they were not of his blood, he considered them his own. He had two purposes in life that he thrived for, though one he did not approve of. Number one: Reproduce. Yeah, it was as it sounds. Being the last of his kind, he had to make more little shits of himself. But there would be no other pure blooded vampire, he was the last. Any female he got pregnant would only carry a half of him, so there was no way to continue his legacy. It would end with him. But being pure blooded led to some of the strongest of vampires. To keep his brothers around he had to make more. His sons would fight, his daughters would reproduce. The circle of life.

Leon took a right turn at the end of one tunnel that led to his room. The tunnels were cylindrical and damp. He didn’t really feel the cold, but guessed it would be cold here. He and his brothers had repaired the tunnels many years ago and made a home of the place. Every few metres torches were implanted into the walls and some of the females even painted. He reached a gold framed doorway that led to his room. He tried to ignore the burn in his throat as he opened his bedroom door. He was six foot six in height and built like a warrior. Well other than being king, he was a warrior. His brothers also warriors.

He ducked his head down as he entered the door way, then closed the door behind him. His body was weak and tired, which was when he knew that the sun was rising. He flicked a switch to allow the room some light.

His room was basic, bed, television, radio, closet, bathroom. It was all he needed. Eat, shit, sleep and die-or not die as it were. He threw his leather jacket over the T.V and headed for the bathroom, kicking more clothes off on the way. When he hit the bathroom he turned the shower on and walked to the basin. It was a bitch being kept inside from the sun, but he didn’t want to be toasted. It was just one of the glitches in the life of a vampire, he couldn’t complain. Though sometimes he would rather burn than keep up with his routine.

With the back of his hand he wiped away the fog on the mirror and stared at his reflection. He was as pale as any other vampire, his eyes were crimson of blood. Only he had those eyes, as the last pure blooded vampire. His hair was dark and cropped, longer at the front and shorter at the back. He supposed he was good looking, about as appealing as it came. But no one really acknowledged him for his looks, they were more interested in his strength or what was between his legs.

He grunted and walked into his shower. With a bar of soap, he ran his hands over his broad shoulders and chest, feeling the thousands of strands of muscle beneath. His hands shook and his body was twitchy. He knew he was denying his thirst, but when he fed it wasn’t just the blood. Vampires could sustain off their own kinds blood, which was how it were. But the females he fed from wanted more than his blood. He knew his purpose was good, to continue his race, but he did it without feeling. He never cared for the females, they never cared for him. Sure, they worshipped him for his royalty, but it was nothing more.

He turned the shower off and walked back to his room without drying off. His purpose in life was clear; his second was getting near to impossible. He stared up at the wings above his bed; they were black and stretched wide, bare in some spots where the feathers had been ripped off. That was a fight he would never forget, he very nearly lost his life. So he felt the need to keep a monument to it, the wings.

Fairmpyres were his mortal enemy, he was alive when the war began, he would live to see it end. There was one left, his brothers and himself had been searching for years to find it. The world wasn’t safe with a Fairmpyre on the loose. They were powerful magical creatures, pure evil. Leon knew this from experience and lost many of his people to them, including his parents.

Fairmpyres held the power to manipulate elemental magic’s and had heightened senses beyond that of his. He had killed many of them and had many scars to prove it. They were strong, but they were out numbered. He could see clearly the way their tattooed skin glowed when they were mad, the way their black feathered wings encircled their bodies as shields. He could remember clearly when they began hunting humans, threatening to expose their existence to humans and the world.                                                                               

That is why they had to be destroyed; they were going against the world’s natural order. He knew his kinds among Fairmpyres were not meant to exist and he would be sure that it stayed that way. His throat burned and his body stiffened in response. He loved to fight, got thrills out of it. But it had been far too long since he had fought, so he vowed when they found this final Fairmpyre, it would feel his wrath.