A Memory of Sin

The air was filled with the thunderous roars of stormy waves crashing into the White Cliffs of Dover. Two men were present at the precipice, staring each other down. The dishevelled old man, his silvery haired stained with soot and blood, was surrounded by the broken figures of their lesser brethren. One was still in his grasp, dragged along as he walked toward the angelic youth. His movement was stiff, filled with erratic ticks as the pain of his cursed existence shot through him.

"Why are you doing this? What has Trhvmn promised you?"

The words were spoken with a mix of pity, sadness, and a hint of fury as he heard the whimpers of his progeny nearing their final moments. The steely gaze observed the rival coming towards him, and his blood sung the song of vengeance. He suppressed his instincts, if for a moment; he wanted to know.

"Death."

The whimpers ceased as one of Abel's fallen angels gets thrown under his feet. Judas wiped his hand on his robes, but both were equally stained.

"I knew you were low, but I did not suspect even you to fall that low. To give in to the bloodlust like some neophyte? To come so far searching for carnage? You're a wretched beast."

The rage built up as the sound of Hebrew echoed. Judas grinned satisfied.

"Your brother would understand."

The response in Aramaic was spoken in a measured, teasing tone. For mortal ears, it'd have been drowned out by the gale.

"Do not bring up his name! You know nothing about what took place there, you foolish child!"

Judas giggled as he stroked his beard.

"If you want to silence me, there is only one way."

He did not have to explain any further.

A fanged hand pierced his chest. It held his still beating heart for a moment before squashing it like a rotten fruit.

"Quiet!"

Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth, but he stood strong.

"I wouldn't have to search for you if that was enough."

The seed of hatred sprouted inside Abel. His other hand grasped near the first, and he pulled. With a heave, he ripped the other vampire apart. Two macabre halves fell onto the grass with a thud. 

"I'm just getting started."

And then, the world started to shift. 

The grass wilted and was replaced with sand. The chalky ground underneath it turned red with clay. The air shimmered with heat.

And then, the storm picked up.

The bodies that were strewn nearby were swept around, and shallow graves rose up to meet them. They ground on the rough dirt. Rubble swirling in the air cut into them. Abel observed that, unmoved.  

And then, the blood started to flow.

The grazes and shallow cuts festered and grew larger, a passage through which vitae rapidly drained towards the place where Judas fell. Abel felt the stung when he felt the reality bite into his own body. Wounds opened, and his own blood spilled. 

A scratching sound came from under his feet. A wooden crack. A hand shot trough and started to dig. Finally, Judas crawled out in front of him. He wiped the grime from his face and looked up.

And just as abruptly, they were back in Dover.

He leapt up and grasped Abel by the shoulders.

"I've waited too long! You have to take this seriously!"

Abel knows he shouldn't. Not against him. Not against this trash.

But his blood sung. Urged him to consume him. Whispered to him of power, of revenge, of making the world better without that monster in it. It promised to fulfil his every desire. All it wanted in return was but those remnants of his souls that were not yet defiled.

And at that moment of frustration and pain, he relented.

His existence untwisted, as the primal forces inside him reared their heads.

In the void, a chorus of souls welcomed their new member.

The dark vortex reached out and grasped the sinner in front of them.

They pulled him towards the centre, to bask in the proximity of the core that held them together.

They stripped him of the mortal flesh, purifying him for what is to come.

And then the world shifted again, and Judas slipped their grasp.

Two ancient forces clashed. The umbral spectres searched for their meal, only to get consumed in return, for their nature was that of ichor.

And once again, Judas returned.

But the dark star was still there, and it still hungered.

The battle raged for three days and three nights.

Each time Abel thought he'd finally satiate his hunger, his foe slipped his grasp.

Each time Judas rose up, he got torn down again.

Like a beating of a heart, it came in cycles.

Until its pulse started to grow weak.

As the third night came to an end, and the dawn started to paint the horizon, Abel's strengths left him. He was tired. His reserves of magical energy were gone. He was physically spent. The collection of souls amassed over millennia exhausted. But most of all, he was tired of his own hatred.

He failed to devour his adversary, but he came close enough to taste the nature of his existence. Close enough, to understand that this is what he would become. That that's where the path he was on would lead to. That a part of him was already like that. He no longer had the will to fight, to oppose him.

Weak and broken, he knelt before Judas.

But in the victor's eyes, there was no triumph. He cared not for glory. He cared not to see Abel's fall. He certainly did not care about what Trhvmn's wanted. This was a failure. Rage built inside him. The hatred for the world that hated him so. But in the end, it was the disappointment that resonated in his words as he leaned over his fallen foe and picked him up.  

"You will not grant me what I wish for."

Those were the last words Abel heard before Judas cast him away down the cliff, and he was swallowed by the frothy maw of the sea, doomed to sleep for centuries in the bowels of its depths.