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Chapter Text

For as long as Raziel could remember, he had been Sarafan, having been raised and trained by the Order since he was a small child. He held little memory of his life before. 

Raziel's family were all killed when a horde of vampires attacked their town. He alone was found alive amongst the smouldering ruins. His earliest memory was looking up at the fully armoured Sarafan Knight, bloodied and tarnished from battle yet resplendent, astride his mighty charger, making one final sweep of the area. The Sarafan, Malek, halted in the town's blackened, rubble-filled streets before the child. He held out his hand and bid Raziel take it. 

From that moment on, Raziel knew what he wanted to be. He wholly dedicated his life to eradicating Nosgoth's vampire plague, a task in which he would soon become highly proficient. Tenacious, with an intelligent mind, quick of wit and unmatched prowess with the blade led him to rise to the position of a favoured young acolyte of Lord Moebius, Guardian of the Pillar of Time.

The sponsorship of his Lords Malek and Mobieus was very influential in the Circle of Nine, Nosgoth's highest court—the Guardians of the Pillars for whom the Sarafan served. Under Malek's watchful eye for over twenty years, Raziel worked hard to become Moebius's closest, most faithful servant.

By the time he reached adulthood, Raziel was a brilliant but ruthless strategist who now held the second highest rank of all the Sarafan Knights - the Grand High Inquisitor. His commander would send Raziel when failure was not an option, for Malek knew his protégé to be single-minded when hunting down and destroying their vampire enemies. Raziel stopped at nothing to complete his mission.

Raziel's boyish charm and beauty were as famous as his success in the field. Slightly built and clean-shaven, he appeared young for his age with jet black hair cropped short to his jaw and tucked just behind the ears, flawless pale skin with a little rose in his cheeks that dimpled when he smiled. His youthful good looks would often catch people off-guard. The ladies of courts all over the land would whisper about the Grand High Inquisitor's dark come-hither eyes and joke about how some would gladly confess their sins to him in private. 

He often used this to his advantage, flirting with his unsuspecting victims until it was too late; the merciless bastard would not hesitate to spring the trap. Sinners and those foolish enough to cross him practically walked onto his blade, which he would twist with great relish. As cruel as he was handsome, 'Grand High Inquisitor Raziel of the Sarafan Order' soon became a feared title throughout the land. 

Even Kings and Queens of Nosgoth's various feudal states bowed to the Grand High Inquisitor's will. No one was safe from his tyranny. If his party arrived at your gates, you knew there was a vampire, a thrall, or a sympathiser amongst you and that Raziel would torture you until he found them. Nothing came between Raziel and his vampire prey; God forbid any of you had been turned. He'd enjoy it too, hunting vampires like it was sport. He was ruthless and without mercy. 

His vampire purges were infamous; he once set an entire southern city ablaze, closed the gates, and watched it burn to the ground from the safety of a nearby hillside. All to destroy one nest of vampires. The loss of the city was regretful, but Raziel was resolute. The innocent would go to their god, martyrs, for the cause. This outbreak was contained, and his Lords Moebius and Malek cared not how he accomplished it.

Hunting vampires was an entertaining distraction, but nothing set the fires of religious zealotry burning brighter in Raziel's chest than rumours of Janos Audron. The history books taught them that he originated the vampire plague. It had become Raziel's personal crusade to track down and find this Janos. Even if it meant doing things others would find distasteful, as far as Raziel was concerned, some evils were necessary. Their god commanded it. 

One day, they traced the latest sighting of the ancient vampire to a single mansion in the northern forest. But arrived to find a group of mercenary vampire hunters had already razed it to the ground. Raziel had them staked outside as a warning. He didn't care whose side they thought they were on. They had challenged his authority, and the Sarafan must be obeyed.

Leaving his soldiers to their grisly task, Raziel entered the ruined building, and in the cellar, he discovered a strange mirror in a large gilded frame that stood floor-to-ceiling amongst the ashes, untouched by the fire. Raziel was intrigued. If everything else had been destroyed, how had this one item survived? 

He stood before it, vainly appreciating his reflection when the image changed. Instead of himself, he saw a tall shadowy figure, a fireplace lit from behind, the silhouette of a winged demon, with eyes that burned bright with the very fires of hell.

"What devilry is this?" Looking around, he found himself without guards; Raziel drew his sword.

"Do not fear, Grand High Inquisitor," the figure replied calmly. "I cannot harm you through the looking glass."

"State your name and purpose," Raziel demanded, "one so bold to presume they could harm me."

"I am Janos Audron," the figure told him plainly and without ceremony.

Raziel's heart leapt up into his throat as he steadied his sword arm, turning again to see if any of his guards had seen.

"This mirror once belonged to a dear friend of mine." Janos continued, "Quite how it has fallen into your hands, I cannot say, but it is a pleasure to finally meet you after so long, Raziel."

The way Janos pronounced Raziel's name in his thick accent, rolling the 'r' slowly, the emphasis on the 'z' and how his tongue held onto the 'el' briefly as though he savoured it. 

Shivers ran down Raziel's spine, and for the first time in his life, he was struck dumb, unable to speak.

"Lord Raziel!" his guard's approach surprised him, "what is wrong?" 

Raziel looked back to the mirror and saw only his reflection. So, you wish to speak only with me, fiend, he thought. He informed his men that he wanted to return to the Sarafan Stronghold with this mirror and ordered them to install it in his chambers.

"Are you sure, Grand Inquisitor?" asked his personal guards, "It could be dangerous!"

"Don't be a fool. It's just a mirror." Raziel shut them down, choosing not to inform anyone of this revelation. Curious about what he could learn about Janos, he decided to keep this enchanted mirror to himself.

That night, Raziel stood before it. 

Janos appeared as before and greeted him politely. He was calm and forthright as he told Raziel that the Pillars of Nosgoth had been raised by his kind and that they did not belong to the mortals. He claimed that a powerful ancient enemy had cursed Janos and his brethren, cutting them off from god - the same god Raziel served.

If this ancient enemy of the Sarafan Order harboured any hate, it was exclusively for Lord Moebius and his fellow Circle Guardian, Lord Mortanius. Janos claimed they had conspired together in an insurrection against Janos's race. Raziel and the entire Sarafan Order were misguided insurgents in a holy war that had lasted for millennia. 

But now, Janos believed it would finally come to an end.

"How do you know this?" Raziel laughed nervously, humouring this vampire spinning vicious lies about his Masters and attempting to have Raziel believe the Pillars belonged to demons like him—the audacity. Only Lord Moebius possessed such foresight. How could Janos claim to know this?

"Because of you." Janos replied, "I have seen your face in my visions, never sure who you were or when you would be born. You are finally here, and I can hardly believe it. Raziel, you are our saviour."

Raziel smiled and shook his head, "For someone who confesses to watching me, you clearly don't know me very well. Why would I save vampires?"

"No, not just vampires. The whole of Nosgoth. You will save the entire world."  

Raziel once again found himself unable to speak. Here was his enemy, the vilest and most depraved vampire in history. Yet Janos flattered Raziel, charmed him and played on his vanity by telling him he was the most remarkable and beautiful creature ever seen. He fawned over Raziel to such a degree it would make even the greatest egomaniac blush.

It was highly unexpected but strangely not unwelcome. Raziel basked in this adoration but knew he was playing a dangerous game. No one, save his men, was aware of the existence of the mirror, and no one knew that it was so enchanted. Or of the nights Raziel spent before it, engaged in battles of wit with their ancient enemy, enticing information from his pleasantly eloquent opponent. It made for a delightful change of pace. The vampire would give away his location one day, and Raziel would be victorious.

Quite what Janos got out of these exchanges was debatable. Was he just lonely? Or was his interest in the most favoured servant of his arch-enemy a much darker agenda? Perhaps he hoped to control Raziel, gain his trust, and make the High Inquisitor his thrall? 

Thralls were mortals bound to a vampire. They were made when a vampire fed and chose not to drain his victim completely. Instead, the target was kept alive, giving as much of their own lifeblood to sustain the parasite while only receiving enough of the vampire's addictive poison to preserve their wretched existence, not to turn them. 

Passing on the dark curse required a harsher ritual, a more acute and prolonged ordeal. The result was an instant, life-changing event. 

Thralls, however, were created by a more insidious yet subtle form of entrapment that happened over time. They were a means to an end, a tool for their despicable vampire masters, able to run errands in the daylight hours and further their master's influence in the world of the living through subterfuge and sabotage. Thralls were spies of the enemy walking amongst the humans, recruiting until the whole settlement was bound to these creatures. 

The vampire would court and seduce their victims, much like Janos was attempting to do to Raziel now. As much as he enjoyed it, it was sickening to Raziel. As Sarafan, he had seen it all and knew exactly the risk he took talking with Janos. How he, Raziel, must present the most auspicious prizes to the vampire. The Grand High Inquisitor would make the ultimate thrall. 

This did not scare Raziel. He believed he was chosen by god and above all things, including the laws of his Order, and especially the temptation of a filthy vampire. Nothing could keep Raziel from what he wanted. And he wanted to take down Janos most of all.

Keeping the mirror was risky, but Raziel vowed silently never to allow the accursed vampire to touch him. Raziel believed he could resist the Janos, play his game, and defeat him. Along with all Sarafan, Raziel had been taught that if they destroyed Janos Audron, the origin of the vampire plague, all of the vampires would fall. 

This, however, was something Janos always denied. 

It had been almost a year since they had started these little chats. The purges continued, yet Janos still preached the same tune. "You don't know what you're doing, Raziel. We are your salvation, holding back the enemy that cursed us, for they would be your destruction." 

Raziel shook his head in disagreement, "Vampires murder hundreds each day. They infest cities, turn whole kingdoms against us-"

"Those in my service do not," interrupted Janos, a large talon raised on his three-clawed hand.

"That is a blatant lie. My spies tell me the one in charge is Vorador. He claims that you are his sire."

"Vorador is his own man. Eventually, the child flies the nest and no longer heeds the council of their wiser parent. I do not condone his course of action. I watch in horror."

Janos dropped his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Our race was never meant to conquer, Raziel, only to protect. After our enemies cursed us, we could no longer create life, only take it. What's more, we needed to take it."

"Then how can you call yourselves immortal? Can you not spare us the grief and starve yourselves and die?" Raziel smiled, but his tongue was vicious.

"Death will not take us. However, if a vampire fails to feed over time, we devolve into monstrous forms. Like a wounded lion, we become desperate and more dangerous. Many of us went mad with grief, and the rest tried to adapt. To guide the new human Guardians as best we could. Feeding only when necessary. The curse was passed on so we may better protect the lives of our human charges, but it was never meant to go further."

Raziel's mind wandered back to Janos's motivations, "So, you and this Vorador are estranged?" Raziel asked, gazing at the vampire in the shadows while lost in thought.

Janos retreated like a shadowy wraith into the darkness behind the mirror, his eyes like jewels still reflecting the light. "Goodnight, dear Raziel. May angels sing you to your rest and watch over you while you sleep."

Raziel laughed and replied, "Goodnight, Janos. I do not require angels. I have Sarafan." 

Raziel began to suspect through his loneliness Janos's endgame was not enthralling the Sarafan Order but simply about replacing Vorador, the first mortal ever turned, with Raziel. The thought thrilled as much as it repulsed him. Let the vampire try. 

But Janos claimed he had no interest in the affairs of mortals. In fact, he claimed to have never left his retreat in over a thousand years, not since he'd been betrayed.

"I don't believe you," laughed Raziel one night, half-drunk with wine, dressed in a simple wrapped skirt tied at the waist, he laid bare-chested, reclined in a nest of large pillows on the floor beside his bed.

Through the looking glass, the ancient vampire turned slightly in the shadows, the glow of the nearby fire, soft and low, illuminating the contours of his face while setting his eyes ablaze.

"There was a sighting in Vasserbunde last month." Raziel accused, "Why do you think I've been gone so long? I was sent to investigate, and I heard the accounts first-hand. Eyewitnesses confessed they had seen you feed indiscriminately on a small funeral party, the monstrous Janos Audron himself!" 

"Monstrous?" Janos seemed hurt, "am I so monstrous?" For the first time, he stepped fully into the light. 

Raziel was a vain man. He knew beauty when he saw it, and Janos was so painfully beautiful. Tall, in a white floor-length robe, open chest to his navel, exposing a firm, athletic figure. He had pale blue skin with clawed feet and hands, while his dark wavy hair was pushed back from an angelic face. His golden eyes were alight with pride, and the tips of his pure white fangs were exposed as his full, dark red lips broke into a smile.

But the most striking thing of all about Janos was his wings. They were not bat-like and demonic as told in the victim's stories, but elegant wings of long dark feathers folded behind him, extending high above his shoulders, adding to his already lofty height.

Raziel drew in a sharp breath, stunned at this revelation. Slightly annoyed that Janos dared to be so attractive and was smiling at Raziel's reaction as he lay transfixed on the cushions, his jaw hanging open in surprise.

Janos was not the monstrous thing people had told him. Janos was a true angel like the ones depicted on the walls of Nosgoth's most ancient holy shrines. 

"Saraphim!" Raziel breathed in awe.

"You have heard of us, then." Janos nodded, and the look in his eyes softened.

"You accompany the fallen on their journey to the great wheel, to god!"

"Sadly, no more. That was our original purpose, yes. Before the war. Before the Pillars. Before we were cursed and cast away from our god, we were healers and priests. But how could we offer your kind peace and absolution? He no longer speaks to us, either. We have fallen so very far." Janos's golden eyes shone as if with tears.

Raziel was genuinely curious. How had the holiest of creatures in Nosgoth's ancient mythos been cursed and turned from the god they had once so faithfully served? "How did this happen to you?" He asked.

"We sacrificed ourselves out of love," replied Janos, "The ancient enemy would have cursed either us or the world we had sworn to protect. The wheel of fate must turn, Raziel. We took it upon ourselves so the world would never need to endure it. So that mortal souls could complete their journeys."

"And now?" Raziel asked. For that initial plan had clearly gone awry.  

"And now, thanks to your crusade, only I remain. Armed with his accursed staff, Moebius killed my remaining counterparts, making me the last." He retreated a little into the half-light. "This war with mortals, it's regretful. It's-"

"A reminder of your sin," Raziel cut in absentmindedly while sipping on the last of his wine.

"Yes," Janos agreed, "I suppose so."

Raziel placed the empty glass on the floor and settled further into the cushions. Pleasantly drunk and thoroughly enjoying the view. He sighed. Janos was perfect in almost every way. He mused to himself and wondered precisely how perfect? His hand had instinctively entered his own skirts, and he readjusted himself for comfort before realising that Janos was watching intently from the half-shadows. 

Attempting to hide his embarrassment, Raziel withdrew his hand and smiled.

If he had to guess, Janos was blushing. Ugh , he grew even harder at the thought. Why did Janos do this to him? 

"You don't have to be so coy with me," Janos teased, "I'm sure you'd enjoy cutting off my head and skull-fucking it or whatever it is that you soldiers do."

Raziel would not be compared to a common soldier, "Oh, please. After a long day killing vampires, great warriors of the Sarafan are pampered!" he exclaimed. Looking at Janos, he began to stroke himself once again over the top of his loose skirts, "we bathe, kneel in prayer," he said, locking eyes with the vampire, who flexed his wings and shuddered, "we partake in a modest meal, a soft bed, and maybe… company." 

The effect he was having on Janos excited Raziel even more. His fingers had contoured his hardened appendage beneath his skirts. He was feeling bold. It may be time to up the stakes. Still unsure of his motivations, he dared to break his vow, "It's time we met in person, don't you think?"

"No, no, I do not think it is necessary," drawled Janos, still smiling face half-hidden in shadow, but those bright golden eyes were fixed on what Raziel was doing.

"Oh?" Raziel teased, "I just kind of have the impression that you wish you were here?"

Raziel boldly unhooked his skirts, throwing the top half to one side and the other, exposing a neat pair of hairless balls, rising to an equally perfect column of human flesh, hard like pink alabaster topped off with an exquisite darker pink capital.

A deep moan of appreciation escaped Janos's lips, and he breathed in deeply, "Raziel, you are… divine," said Janos, his voice low and husky, "I confess, I wish it."

"It's your turn," Raziel's features darkened as a wave of delicious lust washed over him. He gripped himself tightly, stroking his hand down his shaft, making the tip engorge, "it's how this game is played. I showed you mine, and now you must show me yours."

"Raziel, please," Janos visibly squirmed.

"Show it to me," Raziel demanded.

Janos capitulated, running a hand down the revealing slit in his robes. He pulled them open, laying bare full and clear evidence of his desire. The vampire may have been sterile, but it did not show a lack of virility because, displayed before, Raziel was an almighty edifice. The pillars themselves held not the same awe. Dark blue, thick and tall enough to fit comfortably inside one of those enormous, three-clawed hands, glistening wet from blissful release - the vampire was so well endowed he put any human to eye-watering shame.

The sight of it brought on Raziel's own climax. It spurted forth with the force of a cannon, high into the air and across the opulent cushions. He called out in surprised satisfaction but immediately flushed again with shame, for this sordid little game with his sworn enemy had felt so good.

There was laughter from the mirror, "ah, my friend, what a mess we have made."

"Damn it, Janos," sighed Raziel.

"Oh, no," Janos laughed again, "should we ever meet, I feel it is you who will be damned."

"Don't be so quick to discount me," Raziel said breathlessly, pointing at Janos's dishevelled appearance as he smiled, "it appears the first round is mine."

Chapter Text

A new battlefront opening in the north and further so-called' sightings of Janos Audron' had kept Raziel away from the Sarafan Stronghold and the mirror. 

Whilst away campaigning, Raziel wondered if Janos kept a nightly vigil, alone in his secret retreat beyond the enchanted looking glass, in case of Raziel's return. The thought of keeping the vampire waiting following their previous encounter - that impressive display, that little game- thrilled and empowered Raziel. 

How long had he been on the receiving end of his enemy's lustful desires and not even known it? Since the beginning? He should have felt repulsed, yet something about discovering his opponent, his mortal enemy, was an astonishingly beautiful fallen angel of the same faith who had already lost control at the sight of him. That was incredibly hot. 

Vampire or not, Janos was a Saraphim who had singled out one perfect example of humanity as the object of his erotic fantasies. That he, Raziel, was enough to make such a holy creature groan, weep, and hunger to the point of climax. How deliciously sinful and exciting. Was there anything Raziel could not do? 

But oh, the audacity, Raziel was the High Grand Inquisitor! Janos was the enemy. How dare the vampire even think of defiling him! Raziel would have to kill him, of course.

But Janos's glorious artefact, though, nurgh, dear god. Raziel wanted it. He wanted to use that thing in all the human ways possible. 

Janos's true identity had been unexpected; nowhere in all the religious texts and history books he had studied mentioned the fate of the Saraphim. They were still said to perform the same task, ushering fallen souls to the Wheel of Fate. Maybe they still did, and Janos was a deviant, spinning this web of lies to tempt Raziel from his true path.

Meanwhile, The Circle of Nine had done an excellent job of painting their enemy in the most horrific light. For Janos was not frightening and foul on the eye as they had always claimed; Janos was beautiful. Cursed, yes, but stunning. If they had been lying about that, what else had they been misleading him with? Had his Lord Moebius orchestrated the genocide of Nosgoth's holy ancient winged race? The implications, if true, were unthinkable. No wonder Moebius covered it up. He might as well have torn down the Pillars themselves. Without their faith, the world would have descended into chaos. 

Part of Raziel couldn't believe he was considering Janos's version of events. For the first time in his life, he was conflicted. All he knew for sure was that his enemy did have a weakness and that he, Raziel, was it. The next time he saw the vampire, he would make Janos beg for it. 

Raziel would then… 

What would he do? 

In some fantasies, there was no mirror. They would be together, lie in each other's arms, and Janos would blow far more than Raziel's mind. 

In others, Raziel would open the demon's chest and take his heart, returning to the Sarafan Stronghold in triumph.

Raziel found himself thrilled and aroused, yes, but very, very annoyed. He didn't know if he wanted to fuck Janos Audron, be fucked by Janos, or kill him. Either way, he was frustrated and amused yet determined to stay in control. And totally unaccustomed to being denied anything, particularly someone he was attracted to. The infamous Janos Audron was perhaps the only person he could never have, which only heightened his desire. He began strategising ways to somehow take what he wanted while fulfilling his duties as Sarafan. 

He knew if they ever met in person, Janos, a powerful and ancient vampire, could snuff out Raziel's life with little effort. A vampire's strength and talent grew with age, and Janos was the oldest of them all. The mirror had levelled the playing field, allowing Raziel to gain the upper hand. But he knew should they ever meet, without the protection of his Lord Moebius's staff, Raziel would be at Janos's mercy.

The weeks turned into months, and he couldn't get Janos out of his mind. He wondered what the vampire was doing at that moment. If Janos wanted him, thought Raziel, he would have to find him. Something the ancient might find difficult while Raziel marched at the head of the Sarafan army, heading north to lay waste to this latest vampire mass incursion.

The attacks had been unprecedented. Vampires poured out of the forests at night, down from the mountains and terrorised the towns there. But the Sarafan arrived and pushed the enemy back past the forest boundary and into the Northern Wastes, an area of Nosgoth with a sparse population. Few humans had occupied the place for centuries. So where were all the vampires coming from? 

Raziel had always been a true believer. There was no doubt in his mind that the vampires had to be eradicated from Nosgoth. Moebius commanded it; their god demanded it. Their cause was righteous! Raziel was blessed and had killed hundreds of vampires during this campaign alone. To go home having killed Janos Audron and ending the war, would that not be the ultimate prize? Would that not make him the most beloved son of Nosgoth? His name would go down in history. It was the type of deed he had dreamt of all his life.

His men already celebrated Raziel for being fearless and standing proud in the heart of the battle. The Grand High Inquisitor commanded from the front, in a dazzling display of red and gold, with a plumed and winged helmet. Raziel stood out like a comet in the night sky. He tore through the enemy lines, meeting the vampire's blood lust with one of his own, the mighty host of Sarafan warriors, at his back. He was said to be unstoppable.

During the day, the Sarafan hunted for the places the nocturnal vampires went to roost. Those found were rounded up and set to flame on Raziel's command, tossed into large pits exposed to the sun for sport. Large nest-filled caverns were flooded by a dam broken on Raziel's orders, and entire villages were lost to kill as many vampires hiding underground as possible. Raziel didn't care. He represented the highest authority in the land. He spoke the will of the Circle of Nine and wielded a terrible power to destroy their enemies with ruthless efficiency. By all definitions, Raziel was a monster.

But sometimes, does it not take a monster to catch another? And who was worse? Raziel? Or the vampire he hunted? Janos was the cause of the plague, and as far as Raziel was concerned, he, the dutiful and righteous Sarafan Knight, was the cure. Whether the vampire possessed foresight or not, Janos had said it himself, Raziel would save them all. Raziel intended to do just that. But why not if he could have a little fun on the way?

Summer was falling away with the leaves on the trees, and an icy chill in the air promised a harsh winter, yet the campaign dragged on. Raziel was growing tired of it. He secretly longed for the clean and warm interior of the Sarafan Stronghold, the privacy of his chambers and Janos's far more refined conversation.

The Sarafan were now camped just outside the small town of Uschtenhiem. There were rumours that Janos Audrons's lair was somewhere close.

The following night was suspiciously quiet. There were no attempts on the town. The eerie silence descended on the surrounding forest and made Raziel feel uneasy. It was almost as if everything, animal and vampire, had fled at the sight of much more foreboding evil. He had sent out some scouting parties, but they had yet to return.

Eventually, Raziel left his officers sitting around their campfire, and he retired to his tent. There he found a small note on his writing desk. It said in beautiful ornate letters: 

"The ruins, west of here, at midnight. Come alone. J."

Raziel called for his squire, "Did you take delivery of this note?"

"No, my Lord," they replied.

"And you haven't seen anyone here?" 

"I've been fetching water for your ritual bath, Grand Inquisitor; I saw no one."

He was here. Thought Raziel, Janos Audron himself had stood here in my quarters . How brazen, he could hardly believe it.

Raziel put the note to his face and breathed in, hoping to catch a scent that could have only belonged to the vampire. Then he burnt it to ash in a brazier, lamenting that he'd rather keep it. His heart quickened at the thought of meeting Janos face-to-face for the first time. Invitation accepted, he thought, as the flames died and the ashes of the note disappeared into the coals. 

Raziel was ritually bathed by his manservant, with his scribe and personal guard in attendance. They checked every inch of the Grand High Inquisitor's body for signs of potential corruption and enthrallment. It had to be witnessed that Raziel was blemish-free and documented to be unviolated, a pure and righteous Sarafan Warrior Priest. He then knelt in silent prayer before his war altar. 

Instead of prayers, Raziel's mind raced with thoughts of Janos's meaning. The anticipation was almost unbearable. Would this night bring blessed victory or his own damnation? Would he even recognise one from the other in his lustful yearning? Would his faith and training be enough to see the righteous path? 

Did he need to see one? Could he not forge his own?  

A thought crossed his mind to bring his personal guard just in case. But then, what if..? What if Janos had entirely different intentions, and a party of guards only scared him off? Ruining Raziel's only chance of getting up close and personal with Janos Audron himself.

Oh, but to what end? 

There was only one way to find out. He told his servant that he didn't feel hungry. In truth, he was too nervous to eat, so he dismissed all his attendants and retired to bed alone. Sleep did not come; he lay awake, watching the shadows playing on the tent's walls. Listening to the distant sounds of his army encamped below.

Finally, the witching hour was upon them. Raziel heard the call for the changing of the guard. He rose, pulled on his breeches and tucked in his nightshirt, concealed a small blade in his boot and buckled his sword's scabbard to his waist before stealing away into the night. It wasn't hard for Raziel to slip out the back of the tent and avoid his guards. He knew their patrol patterns; he'd designed them himself.

Raziel walked for a while into the forest before he came to his senses. Here he was! The Grand High Inquisitor offered himself up to their enemy, and he'd long left the noises of the camp far behind. What was he thinking? 

Just as he pondered if he should return, he came across the bodies of one of his scouting parties. All dead, all drained, with two neat puncture wounds at their necks, a classic vampire attack. So there was one here, after all. But which one? 

The scene wasn't one of carnage; this was a calculated ambush. Each Sarafan had fallen as if without struggle. Their weapons lay unused, cast aside or lost in the undergrowth as if they hadn't even seen their assailant. This was no fledgling vampire attack. Whoever the vampire was, they were skilled.

Raziel then spied the ruins referred to in the note through the trees ahead. Curious to see if his quarry was really there, he approached from the south, his hand on his sword, sticking low to cover, but found the ruin deserted.

The forest had long reclaimed this place as its own. Raziel entered the largest structure and found a tall tree rose from the centre of this ruined chapel. The ground was soft under his feet, with moss and fallen leaves. And, there, high up on the empty ledge of the ruined east window, illuminated in the moonlight, sat Janos Audron. He was naked to the waist wearing only loose-fitting breeches, his large two-toed feet armed with claws like a raptor left bare for better purchase.

His skin appeared a darker shade of blue than before, his lips a little brighter red. Perhaps a symptom of having just been well-fed? Raziel held no doubt that Janos was responsible for the scouting parties' demise. 

He was suddenly overcome with the need to see it. He wished he had witnessed Janos descending upon his guards, throwing them about like rag dolls, feeding from them. It must have been easy for him, like picking ripe fruit from the trees, and seemed contradictory to Janos's gentle nature. Secretly Raziel wanted to see Janos at his worst, most terrifying form. 

Instead, he found the peaceful, angelic Janos waiting patiently, resting his perfect head in his hands. He lifted it upon seeing Raziel arrive. His bright golden eyes gave away his smile as he spread his wings and jumped from the window ledge. His enthusiastic descent caused a great flurry of dust and leaves and a great downforce that whipped up Raziel's hair and almost knocked him to the floor. 

Raziel quickly recovered and prepared to meet his enemy. Before those clawed feet could touch the ground before him, Raziel had drawn his sword and held it up to Janos's throat. 

"Is this why you have come to murder me?" Janos seemed amused, "Your true purpose prevailing at last?" 

"You are my enemy. Are you telling me you are not here to do the same?"

"No, and neither are you," he replied with a smile.

"How presumptuous," said Raziel, "I should kill you where you stand."

"Perhaps you should. But I believe you have already made your choice. You're just trying to understand it. A lifetime of indoctrination isn't so easily broken."

The tip of Raziel's blade bit into Janos's skin. A fine line of dark blood began to seep from the wound. "What makes you so sure?" Raziel asked.

"You came alone," Janos said, flashing his fangs this time, "I suppose you may have thought you could defeat me in single combat. I certainly wouldn't put it past you. You are glorious out there." His voice was soft and full of reverence, while the emphasis was pure adoration, with not a glimmer of hatred.

Raziel felt flushed, the heat rose through his body, and his chest inflated as he allowed Janos to stroke his ego. He lifted a haughty highbrow while pressing his blade forward a little firmer. Yes, he was magnificent, a perfect prize for the ancient vampire.

The edges of Janos's mouth curled up once more, gouging deep dimples into his cheeks, "But I do not believe a man as intelligent as you would walk into this place alone, dressed and armed so lightly, if you thought for a moment that I meant you any harm," he said simply, "Nor do I believe that you mean to destroy me. You must know that I can easily overpower you."

A sharp wave of arousal stung Raziel's chest at the vampire's threat. To be overpowered by Janos, to what end, exactly?

Janos's eyes were alight with amusement, and he toyed with Raziel, "Do you ever wonder what if this war did not exist? What if you and I were free to make our own choices, two people who clearly enjoy each other's company? Two people dare I say it, painfully attracted to one another. Let's suppose we had free will."

"I have free will. Nobody controls me," stated Raziel defiantly.

"Then prove it. If you were free to follow your heart, Raziel? What would you do?"

Raziel's blade faulted, and Janos waved it aside as if it was made of parchment on a strong gust of wind. The sword left Raziel's hand by force unseen, falling to who knew where; he no longer cared. It all happened as if in a dream. In an instant, Raziel was in Janos's arms, going in for a different kind of kill.

A pained moan of relief escaped Janos's throat as their lips met, and the kiss quickly deepened. Janos towered over the small mortal that clutched at him, both readjusting their grip to find better purchase in feverish need, to somehow pull each other towards the other harder until Raziel's feet were off the floor and he and Janos were locked in a fight, one of passion and pure madness.

Angry at himself for this weakness, Raziel took his frustrations out on Janos; his kiss was fierce and forceful. Now they had touched. He wanted everything. He demanded all of it, all at once, including the conflict.

But Janos gave in too readily. He allowed Raziel to knock him off his feet, and with Raziel in his arms, he used his wings to arrest their fall into the bed of moss and ferns that covered the ruined chapel floor. The wind of Janos's wings sent the murmur through the boughs of the tree above in the otherwise still autumnal night, causing the last of the leaves to fall over them. He curled those strong feathered limbs like an enormous second pair of arms around them, the broad taloned thumbs on each elongated hand resting on Raziel's shoulders, pinning him there. 

Raziel had never been held by such a being before, no vampire, winged or not, had ever stood closer than the length of his blade and lived. The sensations were overwhelming. Raziel laid upon Janos's chest, his legs astride, still fighting to gain control of the kiss and win. 

Janos surrendered. His lips were soft and yielding. In his frustrated haste, Raziel treated them like they were something to be smacked. He could feel the vampire's fangs hidden carefully away beneath the flesh. The unusual sensation made Raziel wary, yet his lust for Janos was infinitely stronger. His mouth still locked to his enemy's, so perilously close to those instruments of destruction, Raziel surreptitiously drew his dagger, and he placed the cold, sharp edge across Janos's throat.

Janos seemed to understand the silent warning and relaxed under the assault of Raziel's kiss under duress that was entirely one-sided. He allowed the Sarafan to slip his tongue into his mouth, touching Janos's briefly, causing the vampire to jerk away slightly in denial. At the same time, Raziel's blade once again bit into Janos's skin, demanding that he stay very still as Raziel took what he wanted through the useless threat of further injury. Raziel lapped at Janos's, which was lithe firm, and there was something immensely satisfying about how the vampire tasted. Raziel couldn't quite grasp it, but he liked it. He wanted more. 

The need to kiss those dark red lips sated for now; Raziel pulled away and withdrew from the vampire's maw, sucking hard, dragging his teeth across Janos's bottom lip as a testament to how much Raziel wanted this, far beyond his better judgement. The skin of their lips finally peeled away from each other, releasing the breath Janos had been holding. 

Raziel was breathing heavily, too, as he looked into Janos's golden eyes and felt the need to launch another assault on the vampire's face. He hesitated only before those white fangs that Janos flashed in the moonlight.

He renewed pressure on the blade at Janos's throat. "For every engagement, there must be rules," Raziel declared, "This is no different. You must keep those fangs of yours hidden at all times. If you should even graze my skin, it would be discovered during my ritual bathing, and I would be undone." 

"You have my word, Raziel," Janos's eyes shone with tears, but he still smiled.

"If you should ever turn me-" Raziel warned.

Janos raised his hands to defend himself, "I have no such intention, only to love and protect you." 

"Liar!" Raziel snarled.

"It is true. Do you know of the origin of the Sarafan order?"

"I need no history lesson from you. We were born to destroy the vampire plague."

"And you accuse me of lying while blindly believing the history written by the insurgents. You call yourself 'Sarafan' - the ancient tongue that means 'against 'us", my people. But before the revolt, you were Saraphilim, our closest human allies and protectors."

"Your thralls."

"No! Thralls were forbidden. To keep someone in perpetual torment was cruel, and we were never cruel, Raziel, not unless we had to be. Some Saraphilim were given a choice, but we taught you our ways and armed you with the knowledge that we had been damned, that eternal life was a curse. The Saraphilim were always devoted to god. We would not take that away from you.

"We passed the dark gift onto the Pillar Guardians out of necessity!"

"Vorador was not a Pillar Guardian," Raziel accused venomously.

"No, he wasn't," Janos's voice cracked, and he swallowed. "He was my lover. We had commissioned the most talented blacksmith in the land for some important work. I was summoned as its Guardian. He and I worked closely together during the design, and...

"One night, I lost control, and to my horror, I discovered he had become my victim. I was forced to either turn or lose him forever. Out of love, I committed a dreadful sin. In turning him, I created the situation we find ourselves in. He left me to re-enter the world of mortals while I retreated. I was horrified by his actions. How he passed the dark gift onto others, less worthy. It sparked a plague that quickly ran out of control."

"You admit it then?" Raziel sat up astride Janos's chest, still holding the blade to Janos's throat.

"Yes, yes, I admit everything to you, Grand High Inquisitor Raziel of the Sarafan Order. I await your judgement. But you must know that killing me won't make any difference. They will feel my loss keenly, but they will endure it. It will fuel their vengeance against you."

"How about we test this theory? I'll cut out your heart this instant!" Raziel flipped the knife, catching the handle and placing the tip in the centre of Janos's chest.

"Can't you grant the condemned one last request?" Janos pleaded.

"Out with it! These are your last moments, vampire!" Raziel's mind raced, both elation and sickness rising in his chest. 

"All I ask is for one of those moments. Can we pretend this is a dream? Will you not leave the war behind? Are you not weary of it?"

"I wish to end this!" Raziel cried in frustration. Tears blurred his sight. At least if the vampire were dead, he wouldn't have to endure the need to lie with him. He wished the decision would be taken away from him. For now, here was his chance to claim a future sainthood, yet he hesitated!

"Then end it, take my life." Janos lay prone on the mossy floor, his wings outstretched on either side, "Do it. I will not stop you. Forever you will be hailed the victor who caught Janos Audron with his vicious web of promised love. And I betrayed at the final moments as I let down my guard."

Raziel held the blade aloft, perpendicular to Janos's chest. He gripped the handle with both hands, ready to make the killing blow, to put his total weight behind it. Every Sarafan that had come before him chanted in his head, 'Kill him, kill him, kill him!" the echo of a thousand years of war was deafening, drowning out his own cry in frustration.

"Do it! Release me, Raziel, for loving you from afar is the torment that has dragged me from my retreat to this place for the first time in a thousand years. Do it! Punish me for my hubris - my love of a Sarafan High Inquisitor shall be my undoing. Take your victory! I'm giving it to you."

Raziel's hands trembled. He could feel Janos's heart beating fast in his chest beneath him. Shaking, Raziel discovered he could not. His need for Janos was too great; he cursed and threw his blade down to one side.

Janos reached up and caressed his face, "there is the truth. The same truth I saw in your eyes through the mirror the night you ruined your upholstery." Janos's voice was soft, tinged with humour. His hands unbuttoned Raziel's shirt as he spoke, pushing it open and letting it fall from his shoulders. There was a hunger in the way he admired Raziel's skin as he ran his fingers over the contours of Raziel's chest.

Raziel glared back at him; his body racked with a self-loathing he'd never experienced before. How dare this fiend do this to him! How dare he be so damn warm…  he could feel it growing beneath him, the vampire's pillar was erecting, and he wanted it. He wanted…

"I believe you want to kill me. Yes, that's is your nature, Sarafan, that is all you have been taught, and yet," Janos's large clawed hands were gentle, turning Raziel's firm smooth skin into raised bumps, "Every fibre of your body is begging to feel my touch, no?" He found the cord that held Raziel's pants tight and pulled at it until that, too, fell open, causing Raziel's erected column to spring forward, and at last, he could touch him. Take that perfect mortal device and gently squeeze it, causing Raziel to let his head fall back and gasp!

A wave of pleasure washed over him and carried his mind to a distant warm shore where only he and Janos existed. The world around him dissolved as he stared up at the stars through the boughs of the tree above them. Tiny snowflakes began to fall and land on his skin, and he shivered in the contrast of feeling Janos's warm hands.

"Raziel, forgive me," said Janos, noticing his discomfort, "I forgot how keenly mortals feel the cold." 

Stunned, as if in a drunken haze, Raziel allowed Janos to gather him up like a doll in his arms. He curled his soft wings around them both, and he then laid them again, once more, on the mossy chapel floor. The vampire's robes were open, and he pulled the mortal inside, removing all garments between them, pressing his firm, warm flesh against his body, a shuddering sigh of relief running through them both, all animosity temporarily forgotten in Janos's tender embrace.

"Thank you, Raziel…" Janos was crying. Warm tears soaked Raziel's hair and shoulders as Janos encompassed him, "I have waited so long for this."

Raziel watched the vampire's hands massage his cock from behind and was transfixed by the sight. It was incredible how Janos gently threaded Raziel's hardening spear between his three clawed fingers, exploring Raziel's length and form! Janos continued to shower Raziel's skin with warm kisses, deliberate little pecks that lasted only long enough for his lips to make contact, yet Raziel waited. He closed his eyes and waited for the seemingly inevitable pause signalling the vampire's widening jaws upon the throat Raziel offered him so readily. The inhalation, the brief moment that would precede Raziel's death at the hands of Janos Audron, but it never came. The fact that Janos could snuff out his life in an instant while Raziel had longed dreamed of doing the same to him, and yet they were both so lost in this moment, it heightened Raziel's arousal, he feared he wouldn't outlast the Janos this time.

If Raziel had ever been guilty of recklessness, it was that night. He had fought for perfection in all areas of his life: his skills, mind, appearance, and physical prowess both on the battlefield and in the bed chamber. He had always strived for that perfect level of wit, skill, and physical perfection in his sexual partners; they needed to keep up with him, but not this night. This night he finally met his match, for Janos was edging him closer. He risked it all for the perfect orgasm. Raziel watched with disbelief as the tip of his member disappeared again in Janos's mighty grasp, feeling the tug just before the change in direction, as the head of his swollen arrow broke through between blue fingers, leaking already. Raziel couldn't stop it. 

He felt himself willing the vampire on. He wanted to fall entirely back into Janos's embrace, firmly against the vampire's rigid and weighty member, which was burning up between Raziel's cheeks, threatening to penetrate him. The thought alone sent Raziel to the blissful heightened state of release. He issued a lustful cry as he came over Janos's hands, followed quickly by the warm tingling sensation as Janos's split his blessed libations over Raziel's back, cursing in a language Raziel did not understand.

Sated, safe and warm in Janos's soft feathered embrace, Raziel dared allow sleep to take him. 

He woke nestled in his own bed, in his own tent, to the sound of the morning call and change of the guard. How Janos had managed to spirit him back to his bed, perhaps Raziel was better off not knowing, for who could possibly plan for an invasion by an enemy who could steal him away and return him unseen? 

Or it had all been just a dream. 

Raziel rubbed the sleep from his eyes, turned his head on his pillow, and discovered a single, perfect, dark feather next to his head. He picked it up and ran it slowly under his nose, breathing in the heady bouquet of clean mountain air with a hint of open fires and temple incense. How soft it was, how badly Raziel wanted to be wrapped up in those angelic wings with Janos at the centre. Part of him yearned for it. The other part wondered how long they could keep up this madness before one was compelled to destroy the other.

Chapter Text

And so their twelve-year-long affair began.

Raziel found himself living a duplicitous life. It wasn’t even hard to hide. Malek, Meobius and the rest of the Circle of Nine spent most of their time closeted away, distancing themselves from the lesser mortals, leaving Raziel, the by-proxy ruler of the whole of Nosgoth. It was the highest honour and his most holy duty, and he carried out their will with ruthless efficiency. 

With this new responsibility, Raziel soon became known for being extraordinarily pious and adhering to a strict routine. When the day of passing judgement, training his men or killing vampires was done, he’d bathe, pray, eat, and retire alone. As far as the entire world knew, the Grand High Inquisitor was a celibate monk who only preserved himself for his lord god. A shining example of purity and devotion. 

Except it was all a lie. Raziel spent his days orchestrating campaigns against the Sarafan’s vampire enemies while spending the long Nosgoth nights in the arms of his vampire lover. The level of hypocrisy was only overshadowed by the heights of blasphemy their union represented. Should their affair ever be discovered, Raziel was under no illusion of the absolute hell that awaited him.

But Janos made keeping their encounters a secret extremely easy. They continued to meet secretly in dark places throughout Nosgoth, of which there were many. Raziel would find more cryptic notes- locations of where he would find Janos that night, should he be able to slip away unnoticed. Raziel would go armed each time for a battle of words and test of will at the end of a blade. It was exhilarating. As before, Janos would always use his impeccable logic to win. If that failed, he’d cheat with his telekinesis. It was a strategic loss, however, since no matter how the battle ended, Raziel would always win the night.

Janos was a slave to his sexual desires, and his appetite for Raziel was insatiable. He worshipped Raziel and claimed he lived for having him impaled on his girthy blue pillar. Janos said it was where Raziel looked the most divine.

Before long, Janos became impatient waiting for such an excursion and dared to slip by the guards at the Sarafan Stronghold and enter Raziel’s chambers from his private balcony - leaving just before sunrise.

Raziel had never experienced anything like it before. In the past, he had mostly been the giver, and while receiving Janos was a challenge, doing so made Raziel feel powerful; drunk on the might of Janos' affections. The Sarafan's arch-enemy would truly do anything to have him.

Janos made him feel like he could achieve anything, despite how irksome it was to Raziel that he enjoyed being fucked by a vampire. That he allowed the demon even to touch him, let alone use him like that, would have made him the laughingstock of the Sarafan Brotherhood. He would be a traitorous, blasphemous joke that his brothers would revel in tearing apart and discarding. He might as well throw himself into the abyss. 

Conflicted, Raziel felt compelled to atone daily for these most heinous transgressions by matching Janos’s desires in bed with ferocity on the battlefield or the harshest judgements at court. As if his duties as a soldier of light by day could absolve him of his nightly sins. But it didn’t matter how many vampire heads he removed from their degenerate bodies, thralls or sympathisers sent to the gallows; it would never be enough. The affair continued, and in those dire moments when the sun had risen and he awoke alone, Raziel knew he was damned.

But he couldn’t stop it. He wanted it; no, he needed Janos as much as it disgusted the Sarafan in him. Meanwhile, he grew crueller and colder by the day as if to throw anyone suspecting off the scent. If ever they were discovered, the scandal would shock the world, and Raziel, as Grand High Inquisitor, would be executed in disgrace. No. He would not give his brothers satisfaction. He knew how much they resented his favoured position at court.

If only they knew what it was really like. That ruling was tiresome, while sex with a fallen Saraphim was some of the best he’d ever had.

Whether journeying throughout the land with his company or holding court at the Sarafan Stronghold, Raziel counted the hours until sunset while he listened to laborious testimonies of delusional peasants, how they ‘definitely saw the hideous Janos Audron tear his wife to shreds in a field the night before. How the son was a thrall to the great vampire and could lead the Sarafan straight to the monster’s lair.’ 

Oh, please. If only the victim had been so fortunate to meet such a rapturous end in his lover’s embrace. 

A cold shudder ran over him, rescuing him from a stray daydream in which he witnessed Janos surrendering to his thirst for human blood. For some reason, it thrilled him.

He shifted in his seat for comfort. Raziel had been sitting on the absent Balance Guardian’s throne, tingling and sore from his encounter with the real Janos the night of the alleged attacks. He listened with barely concealed boredom while privately feeling a dozen places Janos had touched and been. 

None of this was worth Raziel’s time. He had already caught the real Janos Audron and had him exactly where he wanted. Almost nightly .

Still, he kept up the facade of hunting the Sarafan’s ancient enemy. It was laughable, really.

Since his liaisons with Janos began, Raziel became painfully aware of the one thing missing from his life. A competent lover who constantly pushed his boundaries.

Raziel needed more. He began inciting Janos’s competitive streak, demanding harsher treatment upon collecting Janos’s prize, knowing how total control over Raziel polished Janos’s desire to the highest shine. Yet true to his word, Janos never harmed him. He was insistent, yes, but calm and gentle, wearing Raziel down with love and praise, kisses when he was close enough, until Raziel, in the face of such an onslaught of adoration, acquiesced.

Janos stated his love for Raziel repeatedly. He rarely showed any malice, especially for the object of his desire, despite how Raziel represented his most deadly adversary. Janos seemed incapable of hate and had gone to great lengths to be as soft and non-threatening as possible. His voice was always gentle and calming, and his aftercare was heart-wrenchingly tender. Their parting kisses

were a long sweet lament that would have to sustain them both until the next they met.

No one but Janos made him feel like this. Raziel needed it but had trouble letting go of his faith. Which called for Janos’s death. He duelled with his conscience whenever he found himself in the vampire’s embrace. Told himself that this was just an infatuation that would pass, like all the others. That he was still a righteous and dutiful Sarafan Knight, that this was nothing more than a means to an end.

In truth, he wanted to tell the world. How he was so perfect, even the infamous Janos Audron had fallen for him. How shocked they would be. How defiant it would make him feel. He would grow hard at just the thought.

I am Raziel, Grand High Inquisitor of the Sarafan Order. Janos Audron worships me and bends to my will. In reality, I have already won.

Quite what Raziel’s victory over Janos would look like, he wasn’t sure.

Perversely, the thought of surprising Janos and taking his heart still appealed. The fact that the vampire confessed to loving him while Raziel’s motivations were entirely selfish was in itself a victory.

He still wanted to beat Janos. He still wanted to kill him. Yet this sordid game of theirs had taken on a life of its own and become addictive. It was wrong, and yet, it felt incredible. He needed it. As far as Raziel was concerned, he was winning this game with no intention of giving it up just yet. This was the most fun he’d had in his life.

The rivalry between Raziel and his Sarafan brothers, all jostling for position in the court, was tiresome but still burned fiercely. Some believed in Raziel that they were close to finding Janos Audron’s lair and ending the war. Others felt that Raziel delayed and that there should be a change of leadership. The thought of finally ending this, of holding Janos’s heart aloft to the adulation of the crowds, the chagrin of his brothers, and his hold on the title of Grand High Inquisitor assured, pleased Raziel.

Then at night, whilst riding Janos’s mighty weapon, he would have a change of heart.

The beautiful Janos lounged on the cushions in Raziel’s bed. Janos’s wings were surprisingly strong, and he wrapped those long, elegant, soft-feathered appendages around Raziel’s back, making escape impossible. A large three-clawed hand held tight on Raziel’s hips, the other gripping Raziel’s own smooth column, working him up to a frenzy while he thrust himself inside. It was pure sensory overload. A sublime state that Raziel, fated saviour of Nosgoth, had surely earned.

Janos convulsed beneath Raziel with his multiple orgasms and filled Raziel until he overflowed, calling on his silent god while he did so. Upon feeling Janos lose again, Raziel celebrated his victory by finally spurting forth a long-fought-back, pure white jet of liquid jubilation. 

Janos opened his mouth and caught Raziel’s seed out of the air with his long, lithe tongue, humming in delight and wiping the excess from his chin. The hunger never left Janos’s eyes, and he renewed his thrusting because although he’d lost this round, he was still hard and wanted an immediate rematch.

Raziel’s dark eyes closed, and he let his head hang. Janos had fucked him until all awareness had left him, the world seemed to melt all around them, and Raziel was sent to another blissful plane of existence.

Janos slowed to a languishing rock, back and forth, long, slow and loving. He tutted and shook his head, stroked Raziel’s face and teased, “Poor little human, unable to take any more, there is no shame in defeat, my love- ah!” Bright yellow eyes flew wide in surprise.

The taunt had brought Raziel back from the brink. With renewed strength, he squeezed Janos hard and pushed his sweat-soaked hair back from his face revealing a vicious smile, “You wish that I gave you respite, vampire!” Bracing his elbows against the bed, he leant back and launched another attack, pumping himself up and down on Janos’s great spear, his balls bouncing, his own cock slapping against his body.

Janos’s wings stretched and flexed on either side as he gripped the sheets, “Raziel! Please, I yield!” More of Janos’s offerings ran thick and liberally between them. His cries devolved into the pitiful groans and grunts of the beaten and the broken, calling for mercy.

The night was still young, and Raziel was two-for-two.

Oh, how they’d fucked each other that, and many nights before and since. It felt like Raziel’s calling, just as much as the role of Grand High Inquisitor. Was he not worthy of Janos’s love, the most beautiful creature who’d ever lived and was hung like a horse? Raziel was god’s chosen, after all. As Janos would constantly remind him. 

Janos, meanwhile, had been cursed twice over. To be a vampire and to love the enemy who will eventually destroy him. As far as Raziel was concerned, Janos deserved his fate. 

But not yet. Raziel planned to draw this out as long as possible. That final climax would be everything. This was almost too good to end.

For twelve blissful years, nobody knew that the ancient vampire, Janos Audron, regularly fucked the Sarafan Grand High Inquisitor.

Until this night.

“Good evening, Janos,” Raziel greeted, having become well used to the vampire’s arrival on his private balcony. He hadn’t even looked up from the pile of parchment on his desk, the tip of his quill still scratching out his signature ‘by Order of the Grand High Inquisitor, Raziel’.

“It never ceases to amaze me how you manage to avoid all the guards. I placed a hundred between us tonight.”

“Ninety-nine.” Janos said casually, inspecting the elegant talons on the one hand, “One of your tower guards had a little accident, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Janos. Please tell me you didn’t feed on him. I can do without an investigation into how a vampire entered the stronghold. We both know you regularly come, almost nightly.” Raziel teased, “In fact, it seems like you can’t stay away.”

“From a beautiful creature such as yourself? Can you blame me?”

Raziel’s face flushed and dimpled as he smiled and looked up at Janos, eyes narrowing with more than amusement behind strands of loose hair. “No, I suppose not,” he sighed, heat growing in his groin.

Janos was earlier than usual. If he had teleported here, Raziel knew the vampire was dangerously low on whatever magic they used to defend themselves. This could give him the upper hand.

From out on the dark balcony, Janos’s eyes glowed like a cat’s caught in the torchlight. “Working late tonight?” He asked.

“Sending the traitorous damned to the hell that awaits them,” Raziel replied as he returned to his work.

“Oh? Which poor souls are you condemning?”

“A mother and the thrall she protected. The vampire, now dead, was just a child, the sister.” Raziel said with venom. He’d finished his signature, “They’re turning children now, Janos. What kind of sick joke is that?”

Janos bowed in shame and sighed deeply, “Let them go, Raziel. Is it not enough that they lost a child to this plague?”

Raziel placed his quill in its holder and a slender index finger to his lips, hushing his clandestine visitor behind the veil of curtains before ringing for his scribe. The door opened, and in walked the servant, “My Lord?”

“Take these to Dumah with my compliments,” Raziel commanded, handing them the stack of parchments. “I’m not to be disturbed for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The scribe bowed and left, closing the door behind them. 

Dressed in simple robes following his bathing, Raziel stood to bring the heavy blot across the door.

As soon as the door was secure, he felt Janos’s presence behind him too late. He turned, and Janos struck him hard with the back of his hand.

Raziel was sent face-first into the soft furnishings in front of the mirror, where they had spent many nights debating. His head reeled in pain, and Raziel was sure Janos had just dislocated his jaw.

“I shouldn’t be angry,” Janos’s voice cracked with pity, “you cannot help being who you are; or deny your nature any more than I, Sarafan.”

Raziel’s duality warred inside him; how dare the filthy vampire strike him! He believed the condemned deserved their fate, as written in law of which he was the protector! And yes, god dammit, it would have pleased him no end to wake in the morning to the sounds of the sinner’s execution. How it would have added to his glorious reputation, no mercy in the performance of his duties. The fear Raziel projected before him everywhere he went thrilled him. He was in his prime and his element, Raziel, the Scourge of the Vampires!

And lover of Janos Audron, the most ancient vampire, with a heart so large he could see the good and beauty, even in his most deadly enemy.

Yet for the first time, Janos had struck him in anger.

As the initial shock took hold, a shard of fear pierced Raziel’s heart as he struggled to recover from the force of the unexpected blow. He reached up to his face and forced his jaw back into place with a painful crack.

His head ringing, Raziel tried to push himself up onto his hands but stumbled as his wrists collapsed under his own weight, all the time sensing Janos’s approach, the shadow looming above him growing darker, the meaning of this still unknown.

Raziel’s face was throbbing as he scrambled in a vain attempt to get to his feet, “I serve our lord god-”

There was another great downforce pinning Raziel to the floor as Janos spread his wings and landed on top of him. A heavy blanket of feathers fell upon him, too, as Janos grabbed hold and snaked his fingers around Raziel’s throat, “No, divine one, you serve me tonight,” Janos spoke low in his ear to remind him, his breath hot against Raziel’s cheek, his grip tightening.

Was this how it ended? Would Raziel’s guards break down the door in the morning and discover their master dead, killed by a vampire in his own private chambers?

The tip of that shard of fear that pierced Raziel was also poisoned with the need to please Janos and shame that he had not, “Janos, please, forgive me,” he begged, his voice strained under the restraint.

Janos paused and released him. He drew in a loud, long breath, “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? We are finally making progress, it seems.”

Raziel struggled to rise again, his head still reeling, and managed to push himself over onto his back, his chest heaving. He tasted blood in his mouth, he quickly touched his hand to his face, and it came away bloodied.

Janos had retreated. His eyes lit up as he looked at Raziel’s broken lip and visibly shuddered. The tremble ran through his wings with the sound of a thousand quills vibrating together. A low murmur left him.

“How could you!” Raziel was suddenly enraged. With renewed energy, he quickly sat up and checked his appearance in the mirror, noticing at the same time how it did not reflect Janos behind him. It was as if the vampire wasn’t there. He turned back, “How am I meant to explain this!” he cried at his appearance, offering his bloodied fingers to Janos, who visibly winced. 

Janos held up his hands, “Raziel, I am sorry. Some lessons are painful.”

“I do not need you to teach me how to do my job.”

“No, you don’t. But you do need to open your eyes to the truth. You are on the wrong side.”

“Oh, so the side that makes monsters out of children is the right one? Please enlighten me.”

“Like the Sarafan did to you? Grand High Inquisitor who sends women and children to the gallows for reputation’s sake. When will you understand that we are the same, just two sides of the same coin? The darkness and the light, one cannot exist without the other. We must find balance.”

Janos moved towards the balcony as if to leave.

In all their time together, Raziel and Janos had never parted in such a manner, always they had a war of words, always ending in either Janos claiming Raziel in victory or Raziel making Janos beg to use him in that way. Never had they parted in anger. In all their dalliances, even the vanquished felt they left with a prize.

Janos was punishing him.

“Janos, please don’t go,” Raziel asked.

Janos turned, and there were tears in his eyes. He trembled again as he looked at Raziel, “You need a lesson in humility,” he said bitterly.

“Then stay. Give it to me.” 

Janos looked at Raziel and shuddered again, “turn around,” Janos instructed, “do not look at me.”

Raziel, his face wet with tears, turned as he was told.

“Ask again, Sarafan,” said Janos.

“Please, stay?” Raziel’s throat tightened as he choked out the words.

“For what purpose?” Janos asked.

“I want you to fuck me hard,” Raziel admitted sorrowfully like it was the worst thing in the world.

“Again, louder so that your god can hear you.”

“I want you to stay and fuck me, Janos!” Raziel wailed. Oh, the penance those words would cost him. Janos was torturing him.

“Good,” Janos stepped back into the room, “Perhaps you understand the struggles I go through daily, denying myself the one thing I wish I could do. I can smell you even more now. Do you have any idea what that is like? Or what true strength is?”

Raziel boldly turned his head to look at Janos, “Is it strength or simply atonement for what you have done? Or perhaps your true motive has always been to murder and turn me, as you did Vorador. After all, as you said, you cannot deny your nature, vampire!”

“Enough!” Janos had loosened his belt and allowed his robes to fall open. He stood exposed with an erection so hard it was purple, rising from his body like a terrible horn of poison, growing out from an otherwise pristine tree with an angry black cap. The blood lust had the most horrible effect. His voice was almost a growl, savage and demonic, “Turn away from me, Raziel, do not see me.”

With unseen force, Raziel was turned and thrown back across the seating area.

“Do you really want it, Raziel?” Janos warned him, “It will be painful.”

“Another lesson, then?” Asked Raziel from his place on the cushions, “Do you think I cannot take it? Or is it your resolve that is failing? Are you about to retreat to your mountain hideaway like a coward?”

“You may regret saying that.”

“Try me,” Raziel said defiantly in the mirror, looking up at where he could feel but not see Janos behind him.

“Look at that beautiful face,” said Janos with feigned pity, “marred now, how that must sting, but not half as bad as what’s to come.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Raziel said, “You’ll lose your mind and fire everything in one salvo the moment you enter the keep.”

“Challenge accepted,” Janos chuckled, picked up a small gilded jug of oil from a nearby serving tray and poured it liberally over his hulking erection. It dripped and pooled on the floor, the head glistening in the torchlight.

Raziel found himself pushed forward again. Janos held him down with his mind, jerking Raziel’s body around violently and pushing him into the cushions, tearing his robes to shreds while he positioned himself behind him.

Raziel could feel it. Janos meant to ruin him. Clawed hands fondled his backside, and a hot, slick tongue ran between Raziel’s cheeks, finding a sweet spot and flicking it, sending a jolt up Raziel’s spine. Raziel knew that it wasn’t for his benefit. Janos was preparing the way for him, not for Raziel’s comfort. 

How could a human take one so large? With gentle nurturing and patience, two things Janos lacked that night; instead, he forced his way in.

“Foul beast!” Raziel’s vision was still blurred from the blow. He attempted to clear it but saw only himself lying prostrated before the mirror, unable to see the force that held him down. He could not see Janos reflected in the mirror, only himself grimacing as the vampire parted and entered him. His whole body convulsed and protested as Janos forced himself inside. 

He felt Janos run one hand up his back to his neck, where large, strong fingers closed once again around his throat, skin dimpled in his reflection from Janos’s hand on his hip. It felt like Janos was trying to force his whole body apart from the inside. How could something so painful also feel so good? My god.

Just as it felt like Janos would break through and end him, he began to withdraw, and Raziel steeled himself for the thrust that truly made him believe his end was near. Janos’s great cock, pushing and stretching, the head unfurled inside, dragging against his flesh like a barbed arrow refusing to be removed.

Janos’s hands closed tighter around his neck, and his talons threatened to break the skin. As Janos's pace increased, the thought of how Raziel would explain these injuries to his attendants crossed his mind. Raziel felt undone, uncontrollably convulsing, as his cushions were again ruined. Still, Janos’s pace did not slow, yet he knew from his demonic guttural cries with each thrust that he was close. 

Raziel looked at himself; the tears streaked down his bloodied face, and his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his skin; he was a shattered mess. His vision swam and then cleared. He was no longer looking at his reflection but at a figure in the mirror.

Someone else was watching them.

Janos was at full speed and fever pitch, growling and groaning with every thrust, and then, he stopped. His body still rising and falling with laboured breaths, Raziel could feel Janos's heartbeat pumping as hard as the battering ram he had just forced into him.

But Janos wasn’t looking at Raziel; he was staring forward at the mirror with a pained expression. “Vorador!” he cried.

Raziel called out in agony and collapsed in the cushions as Janos ripped himself away from Raziel’s body, unfurled his wings and departed without a single word.

Janos, no!

The lesson was indeed painful and utterly humiliating. Would Janos ever return? What of Vorador? For the first time in his life, Raziel found himself stunned, scared and alone.

Chapter Text

"But does one even truly have a choice? One can only match, move by move, the machinations of fate... and thus defy the tyrannous stars." 

— Kain , 'Legacy of Kain: Defiance'.

"Really, Sire?" Vorador complained sarcastically, "I know our parting brought you great sorrow, yet I visit to find you so indisposed? And with not just any Sarafan, the worst one!" Vorador chuckled,  "Only you could fall for such a creature."

"He is the chosen one, Vorador, the one I have foreseen," said Janos; immune to Vorador's amused disdain, his voice remained calm and gentle.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolute." 

Vorador grunted. "How strange that the prophesied blade's wielder is our most feared enemy. What do you think this means?"

"It means that love can truly conquer all," said Janos softly. 

"Even death?" Vorador challenged.

Janos hummed a low half-growl in agreement, "Death, especially." 

"I wish that were the case," Vorador's voice broke, but somehow, he found the strength to carry on. "My Olena, they burnt her alive at the stake. All I have left is ash."

"I am truly sorry, Vorador," said Janos, sadness contorting his face, the tone of his rich voice, and the dulled light in his golden eyes. "You have every right to hate them."

"Turn him, Sire!" Vorador urged suddenly, "While you still can. He has access to The Circle. We may yet have our revenge."

"You know I cannot," replied Janos with conviction. He paused and changed the subject. "Your progeny are impressive. How do you get them here so quickly?"

Vorador's burning eyes met his old Master's, but he flashed a fang with a wry smile. "A portal from the human Citadel."

"I commend your ingenuity."

"I had a good teacher."

Janos scoffed. "How are you finding all these new followers so quickly?"

"Avernus Cemetery." 

"You don't mean-?" Janos was startled.

"Yes. We discovered how to raise the dead."

"Necromancy?" Janos asked in horror, "It is forbidden! Vorador, their souls!" said Janos, aghast.

"Haven't gone anywhere, have they? It seems a vampire can split his soul and draw another back from the other side," Vorador proudly announced. "How's that wheel of fate looking for you now, Sire? It appears something has jammed the gears."

"No, this cannot be." 

"And your chosen one?"

There was a pause as if an incredible force of certainty destroyed every other option they had. "If what you have told me is true, he must be protected." Janos paused, then concluded, "I will find a way."

Stunned, bloodied, and sore, Raziel lay face down among the cushions in his chambers. In many ways, it was an incredible feeling, if tinged with the sourness of defeat. That Janos had left without offering his usual aftercare, hurt Raziel more than his physical pain. But he counted himself lucky in this instance. It could have been so much worse.

He could still taste the blood in his mouth. Janos had lost his mind with lust at the sight of Raziel's wound. It had heightened the vampire's arousal. Raziel now realised why they'd never engaged in any blood play before- they risked winding Janos up tighter than a bowstring, risked him losing control as he had with Vorador, and being powerless to stop it.

He lay there, breathing steadily, and thought about what Janos had said. Raziel had always known that Janos yearned for more than just sex. He didn't know how the vampire had resisted murdering him in his hunger thus far…

"Perhaps you understand the struggles I go through daily, denying myself the one thing I wish I could do…."

"...you cannot help but be who you are or deny your nature any more than I, Sarafan."

Over the years, partaking in their carnal pleasures, they had ignored this uncomfortable truth, but Janos could not deny that his need for human blood was always there.

Raziel crawled over to the mirror and checked his wound. It wasn't too bad. Perhaps he can convince his manservant that he'd walked in his sleep and fallen in the night? He was more concerned about having been discovered in such a compromising position by Vorador. That could be a problem. Could his enemy hurt him with this information? 

No, Raziel decided. It would be just hearsay. Laughable, ridiculous, desperate propaganda by the side that knows they are beaten. Raziel would command the faithful to pay it no heed. 

How will Vorador take this news? What words would he have for Janos? He wondered. He wished he was a fly on the wall there, right now. But the mirror stubbornly refused to show him anything but his own reflection. Yet he knew somewhere in a private chamber beyond the enchanted looking glass, Janos met with Vorador. Raziel wanted to know what was being said.

Raziel was not satisfied with merely beating his enemy - utterly destroying and humiliating him, taking away everything he loved and erasing his legacy; that was the ultimate victory. So, Vorador had just discovered his ex-lover-come-sire fucking his most hated enemy; oh dear, that must have been a terrible blow. Raziel almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

For years, Raziel had fantasised about being discovered while having sex with Janos. Not by a vampire but by a fellow member of the Order. Oh, the scandal! How he'd be ruined, made the most grievous example, by execution in front of baying crowds that he had previously silenced with just his reputation alone. 

It had been close on occasion. The danger of discovery added a delicious, thrilling edge to their game.

Despite Janos's claim that it was clearly Raziel, they no longer knew who was winning. They'd lost count. It no longer mattered who made who come first or who had beaten who by outlasting the other.

In even his most deadly enemy, Janos's capacity for love and trust amazed Raziel. Awake and alert, Raziel could never hope to defeat Janos in combat, whose telekinesis could turn a thousand arrows. 

At the beginning of the war, old legends claimed Janos held back an entire legion of Sarafan, freezing them to a near-standstill with this power, allowing the surviving ancient vampires to escape. Janos was the strongest of them all, but like any other being, he was vulnerable when he slept. 

Many times, Raziel would wake before sunrise and find Janos lying beside him, after hours of the most intimate coupling, sexual desire for each other temporarily sated. The Sarafan in Raziel needed to reach for the knife by his bed, beaten only by the sheer beauty of the creature that held him and the love and trust Janos had placed in him. The soft bed of wings that curled around their entangled limbs was a place of safety and peace. Almost sacrosanct.

In those moments, Janos sensed Raziel stirring and closing all his limbs, pulling him in tighter and making him wish the war would end with Vorador and that the false sightings would cease. He wished Janos would disappear from the minds of the populace, back into myth, and Raziel would not be called upon to vanquish his lover. 

He dared to dream that he could enjoy both worlds together until the end of his days and then go with grace to the Wheel of Fate, unpunished for loving a cursed Saraphim. For it was not their fault, a sin, but one committed out of love? 

Was he, Raziel, in love with Janos Audron?

Of course, Janos would tell him, over and over, that his love knew no border, race, or religion. He was a gentle spirit, corrupted by his curse, yes, but by no means a cruel and vengeful being. Usually. Thought Raziel, rubbing his sore jaw.

Janos wasn't doing this for position, renown or belief. His reasons were entirely of the heart; he confessed repeatedly to being madly in love with Raziel. The poor fool! He'd had numerous opportunities to feed and end Raziel's life, to make him his thrall, or even to turn him. 

But instead of destroying each other, both had been weak in desire. Raziel's true test of strength was yet to come. Could he hold off any thoughts of love to complete his mission and kill Janos Audron?

Janos worshipped Raziel the Sarafan. Not Raziel the vanquished, the mindless slave, or the fledgling child. Janos's belief in prophecy and non-interference in mortal affairs would be his downfall. Unlike Raziel, Janos concealed no guilty desire to kill his antagonist-come-lover and claim victory. He harboured no subterfuge for turning the Grand High Inquisitor with the dark gift- although… again, Raziel often thought of it.

To leave it all behind, the responsibilities, the fear and adulation. To instead be offered an eternity in the arms of Janos would be highly tempting. 

But Janos was adamant - he would not inflict the curse on anyone. He had done it once and vowed to never do so again. Even though, at times such as that night, Raziel had seen a crack in Janos's calm exterior and felt Janos come so close to bringing those fangs to bear on Raziel's flesh. He'd tease Janos mercilessly. Claim that the vampire was salivating at the thought, though Janos always denied it.

He didn't know why he teased Janos; did he want to be a thrall? Of course not. Raziel would never degrade himself in such a way. He kneeled before none but the Pillar Guardians.

But turned? Perhaps… Eternal life and unlimited power held a certain appeal. And what a vampire he would be, indeed a far more noble creature than the current degenerate race. 

Occasionally, Raziel wondered if their rough play was a precursor to Janos breaking his oath and turning the one person in all of Nosgoth said to be pure and incorruptible, Janos's prophesied saviour! But that night never came. And now, after being discovered by Vorador, Raziel wasn't sure it ever would.

Days and nights passed, and Janos did not return. Raziel took to drowning his sorrows in wine. The familiar restlessness had started, making him more irritable and quick-tempered than usual. The people closest to him, his Brothers, his squire and his servants, had grown tired of his sarcastic, drunken behaviour, and where possible, all gave the Grand Inquisitor a wide berth. 

Raziel secretly feared his irascible disposition was a sign of enthralment, which only worsened it. He may not have ever been bitten by Janos, but he was beginning to suspect their affair had eventually resulted in the same effect. It was inevitable, he assumed. Part of Janos's curse had been transferred to Raziel, and he now hungered as much for Janos as the vampire did for him. 

Dear god, he was a thrall, forgive me. He refused to give in, throwing himself into his work overseeing the campaign, training and praying for a chance of redemption. 

Meanwhile, the Circle of Nine were still closeted behind the large, heavy doors leading to their sanctum. Just what was going on in there? Did they really see everything? What did they know of Raziel's relationship with Janos? Did they grow impatient, waiting for him to kill their ancient enemy if they knew? Or would they simply execute Raziel for his transgressions?

It had been a month since Janos's last visit, and dressed in full armour, helmet included, Raziel was on his way to the training ground when his scribe interrupted him.

"Lord Raziel! We have received a message bearing Brother Turel's seal."

It was the news that Raziel had feared for many years. Turel's forces had Vorador on the run, but worst of all, having taken advantage of the unusually mild weather, they had chased some vampires away high into the mountains. There, they happened upon what Turel believed to be the entrance to Janos's lair. Turel had captured three of Vorador's lieutenants and requested the Grand High Inquisitor's presence at the earliest opportunity.

As Raziel finished reading the note, there was a shout from down the corridor. The great wooden doors of the inner sanctums were opening. Gods, after months of silence, now The Circle chooses to end their conclave! This was not a good sign. The Circle of Nine are symbiotically bound, and there was a see'er among them. The timing of this was not a coincidence. 

Raziel pushed the parchment back into his retreating scribe's hands and marched to the doors of the sanctum. 

Every available Sarafan Knight in the Stronghold quickly assembled on either side of the hall. All stood to attention, and with a fist held to their chests, they bowed to Raziel as he took his place beside them. The opening in the centre of the doors widened, and every Knight in attendance drew their swords with an underhand swing. In one perfectly timed synchronised motion, they knelt in genuflection before their approaching Lords. 

Raziel could not help but feel a sense of pride. His men were well trained, just as his Master had taught him.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Lord Malek, Guardian of Conflict, and Lord Moebius, Guardian of Time, emerged from the Circle's most private chambers. The ancient heavy doors closed slowly behind them.

All Sarafan knelt, heads bowed in respect as the two Pillar Guardians slowly passed.

Malek, dressed in formal robes and ceremonial armour, was the ultimate protector of The Circle, their final line of defence. Armed with his favourite ornate glaive, a wickedly sharp blade attached to a long pole arm, he strode slowly with the confident swagger of a great warrior. His heavy red cloak was thrown nonchalantly over one arm. He spoke quietly to Moebius, and they moved down the line towards Raziel.

In stark contrast to Malek, Moebius was a frail old man, covered from head to toe in dark robes, leaning on his staff as he walked. His dead white eyes gave him the impression of a typical 'blind see'er', but Raziel knew this was untrue. As was often the case, those with the power of foresight would lose their present sight. However, Moebius would lock those dead eyes onto yours as you spoke with uncanny accuracy and was so aware of the future that he moved without aid.

"Raziel!" Malek greeted him with a broad smile when he recognised his former ward at the end of the line.

Raziel stood and removed his helmet as was their custom when directly addressed by a superior, bearing his face, lightly flushed and newly scarred.

"Ooo," Malek winced in sympathy at Raziel's appearance, "age finally catching up with you, dear boy?" Clearly indicating the healed wound.

Moebius chucked under his breath.

"Just a lucky shot, My Lord; it won't happen again," Raziel said smoothly, his heart hammering in his chest. Just how much did they know?

"Of that, I am sure," Malek smiled. Please join us," he indicated for Raziel to join the pair.

Raziel escorted them to the Circle's gathering room, a large octagonal chamber with high windows and a divination pool in the centre.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Meobius slammed his staff upon the floor, causing its orb to flare with arcane light. All the candles around the room and the pool instantly lit while Meobius moved to stand at its edge.

Now they were alone; Malek relaxed and threw his arms around Raziel, squeezing him gently. "It's good to see you," he said, then released him, "As I told you. Moebius, we were right to leave Raziel in charge. He is more than capable."

"The apple never falls far from the tree," Meobius commented, turning his head, the edge of his thin mouth curling up in a cruel smile.

Raziel raised a questioning brow. Malek was his sponsor in the Order; he was a father figure, but there was no relation. He shrugged it off. "How goes it with the other Guardians? I trust your time with them has been productive?"

"Oh, Raziel," Malek gushed, "to be joined in communion with our fellow Guardians and The Elder God himself is a sublime state of ultimate power. I wish you could experience it. It seems one day, you may."

"My apologies; I do not understand," Raziel confessed. Only Pillar Guardians may enter the inner sanctums."

"Yes, and on that, we have some news," Malek deferred to Moebius.

Meobius consulted the waters before him while he spoke, "We have deduced that Malek may have been dead at the time of your birth, technically speaking."

Malek put a hand on each of Raziel's shoulders, and a prideful smile adorned his ageing face, "I had fallen in combat, into the Lake of the Dead, no less! It was several moments before my men dragged me out and revived me, but in that time, we believe that I had crossed over."

"All the evidence suggests you were born to take his place, Raziel, future Guardian of the Pillar of Conflict."

Malek was positively beaming at this new theory, "I knew there was something different about you from the moment I laid eyes on you. Add that I sowed enough of my seed in that town over the years that you may be mine. That place might have been a hell-hole, but at least their women were pretty."

Both Guardians chuckled.

Raziel shuddered and smiled but was too stunned to speak. Was he born to be the Pillar Guardian of Conflict? If true, this would explain a great deal.

"I'm sure you wouldn't pick up just any urchin from the street, Malek," Moebius agreed, "No ordinary child would have survived that fire. You have a destiny, Raziel. One, I confess, is sometimes hard to see, but I know you will certainly achieve great things."

Raziel smiled inwardly. Is this what Janos had meant? The vampire had inundated Raziel with adulation for being his prophesied saviour for years. For someone who also claims to see the future, Janos had not recognised him as a Pillar Guardian. 

Didn't the ancient vampires turn the human Pillar Guardians? Raziel shivered.

According to Janos's account of events, Moebius and Mortanius started this war by refusing the curse. That was thousands of years ago; how old are those two, anyway? Raziel wondered. 

"To have two Guardians of Conflict at such a pivotal moment in history," Malek was still gushing.

"Yes, it would be unprecedented and fortuitous," Meobius agreed.

"Raziel," Malek commanded, "go to your brother Turel, ascertain if he has located Janos Audron's lair and report back to us."

"It shall be done, My Lords." Raziel placed a closed fist to his heart and bowed before leaving them to their schemes.

Raziel rode north with his detail that day, dreading what he would find. His fears came true when he saw a mighty escarpment with a stone-worked ledge visible in the moonlight, so high it could have only belonged to winged beings. 

He knew that they had reached an impasse. The Sarafan would not stop until they breached Janos's mountain retreat. Raziel's two worlds were about to collide, short of ordering Turel's forces back to their Stronghold and answering to the Circle of Nine as to why they delayed after finding the very thing they'd been searching for in a hundred generations… no, there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

"Is it not what we hoped for, Brother?" Turel asked as he brought three ragged, filthy and beaten figures before a still-mounted Raziel. A female and two male prisoners were dragged by Turel's guards through the muck and thrown at Raziel's horse's feet.

"Ah," said Raziel from his lofty position in the saddle, "if it isn't the terrible twins of Stahlberg." Despite their dishevelled state, Raziel recognised them immediately. The smaller female hissed and spat at him while she strained against her bonds. She was missing an ear, and her brother, an eye. The larger of the three raised his head and glared at Raziel, who smiled, "and their older brother, the prince of the vampires, Nehemiah. Congratulations, Turel, you have captured three of Vorador's cursed offspring."

"As I suspected," Turel sounded pleased, "So, we have found the source, brother, the nest of Janos Audron himself! We tortured these fledglings as best we could without killing them. Still, they refuse to give up the location of the ground entrance to the lair. I was hoping that we could benefit from your experience, Grand Inquisitor. How best can you get them to squawk?"

Raziel looked up at the ledge so high above on the mountainside that it was occasionally obscured by low clouds, and he thought for a moment. A faint light came from the edge from time to time. So, there was someone up there. But who, he wondered.

He looked back at the three beaten vampires glaring up at him. He knew they would never give up their Sire, let alone the father of their race. "Stake them," Raziel said simply.

Turel's eyes widened in surprise.

Raziel repeated his order, pointing to the locations in the open, upon a hillock and a little snow-covered ruin just beyond the treeline, "Stake them there and there, so they can be clearly seen."

Turel chuckled, "You mean to antagonise the beast, draw him out?"

"If he does not take the bait, he can watch them burn upon sunrise," said Raziel venomously. As far as he was concerned, Janos and Vorador had brought this on themselves. The discovery of the affair and how Janos had left so unceremoniously and still not returned upset Raziel more than he cared to admit. He would send them both a message.

"Send word to our Brothers to gather at Uschtenheim and ready the vanguard," Raziel ordered Turel, "I will ride back to the Stronghold to inform The Circle and pray for victory at the altar of The Elder God."

"Blessings be with you, Grand High Inquisitor," Turel's eyes shone with reverence from beneath his helmet as he bowed to Raziel.

"And to you, Brother. I accord our opponents three nights' grace. When I return, it will be with our army and a way to breach the villain's fortress." Without waiting for acknowledgement, Raziel turned his horse and rode hard back toward home. His pace was so unforgiving that his guard could barely keep up. 

On and on, he rode. Raziel's heart was in his throat, and his mind was on a singular purpose. He must see Janos; the mirror was the only way to reach him. Their time was up. If Janos was ever going to claim him, he'd best do so tonight. For unless Janos fled, this would be their final chance.

Raziel reached the Stronghold just before sunset on the second day. The surprised shouts of the tower guards roused the sleepy stable hands to greet their masters as they entered the gate. Raziel's horse collapsed with exhaustion from underneath him. Without pausing, he threw the reins to his squire as his feet touched the ground and strode purposely away, leaving all eyes wide and mouths agape. Something serious vexed the Grand High Inquisitor, and from experience, they knew not to ask, only to obey.

After Raziel had been stripped and ritually bathed, he did not immediately seek out the Council as perhaps he should have done. Instead, he fled to the privacy of his chambers, scattering his staff with angry dismissals.

Alone at last. "Janos!" Raziel pleaded before the mirror; unfamiliar guilt, fear and sadness had gripped him. What if Janos had already made his decision and decided not to appear? He didn't think he could take it. "Janos, please, you must speak to me." 

"You need only call, and I will be here," said Janos, his voice coming not from the mirror but from behind.

Raziel turned and found Janos standing tall and proud behind him in floor-length robes of black and gold. His elegant black wings folded behind him, his dark hair combed back from his face and tucked behind pointed ears revealed streaks of white at his temples. Raziel wondered how he had not noticed the subtle passage of time in Janos's appearance before now. Janos looked good but worn, perhaps a little worried? There was a great reason to be.

Raziel was overcome with relief. He wanted to run to him but dared not in case he would not be welcome. There was an uncomfortable pause before a gentle smile crept on Janos's face. His golden eyes shone kindly, and he held his large tridactyl hands out invitingly. Immediately, Janos took the eager Raziel into his arms, and they kissed with all the wanton need of a couple in love, long forced apart.

"Janos-, they-, we-," Raziel tried to get his words out but could not halt the kiss. Oh, how he needed this! 

Janos's lips left Raziel's, causing him to whimper in protest. "I know," said Janos, "that's why I have come."

Raziel greedily demanded another before asking, "But what of Vorador?"

Janos sighed and cupped Raziel's face in his hands, running his clawed thumbs over Raziel's lips. His golden eyes gazed down at him. "Let me deal with Vorador. I love you, Raziel. I would never let anyone harm you." Janos drew Raziel in closer.   

"Janos, I must secure the door-" Raziel tried to escape, but Janos held him firm.

"So what if we are discovered?" Murmured Janos playfully, burying his face into Raziel's hair, his breath warm on Raziel's neck as he spoke.

"The Grand High Inquisitor in the arms of Janos Audron, on the eve of our victory? You know why," moaned Raziel, "I would be executed as a traitor. My head will adorn a pike outside the hold as a warning to others."

Janos rewarded his answer with further kisses over his throat as Raziel spoke, sending shivers down Raziel's spine before Janos paused and teased. "Indeed, that would never do." 

"Ah, so you admit that we will win?" Raziel couldn't help it. The temptation to taunt Janos was too great. But just what did Janos have in mind? Raziel wondered. He could not help but melt into Janos's embrace. Raziel's hands ran down the ancient's torso, searching for a way into Janos's robes.

Janos laughed softly and tutted, "I meant such a pretty head would look far sweeter impaled upon something more intimate, no?"

"Agreed," said Raziel, his tone even more pained. He was frustrated in his search for access to Janos's skin. Janos usually wore loose and open robes, inviting flesh on unashamed display. Yet this evening, he had denied Raziel immediate contact. It irked him, "Janos. Please."

Janos seemed to enjoy this new urgency from Raziel; a little pink rose in his cheeks as he caught Raziel's wrists and drew them tightly around himself, holding them there, "Not here. I have something to show you. Come," Janos gathered him into his arms, enveloped him with his dark wings and teleported them away. 

It made Raziel's head spin, but the sensation stopped, and a sharp cold breeze blew through his hair and rushed in his ears. He no longer stood but was held tightly in Janos's arms, and they were flying.

Janos's wings stretched in full as they rematerialised high above the clouds. Terrified, Raziel gripped him as tightly as he could and felt muscles and tendons that no human possessed flex under taught, smooth skin with the beating of Janos's great wings, holding them aloft in the cold, clear night air. 

He felt Janos's strength, carrying him as if he weighed nothing. Janos curled one of his large hands around Raziel's buttocks, pulling him close against his groin, his talons curling around Raziel's thigh. Janos smiled and said, "Do not fear, Raziel. I will not let you fall."

Raziel looked up at him. He could feel Janos's body adjusting against him as if to sample his hardness through their clothes. They kissed again. It's too late, mused Raziel to himself; I think I already have.

The kiss released him, and he became aware that night's sky was a riot of countless stars, far more than Raziel had ever thought possible. The pale moon hung in its first quarter, cold and alone except, there in the distance, reflecting its light, were the majestic Pillars of Nosgoth. They pierced the clouds from below and continued on into the night. Even at this altitude, their end was nowhere in sight.

"Where do they end?" Raziel wondered aloud.

"They don't!" Janos chuckled, "They continue on through time, space and dimension. They are ever-present. They have to be. They are the pins that hold the fabric of reality together. Without them, this precious plane of mortal existence will be lost. We must protect the Pillars at all costs, for they protect us from unimaginable horrors."

Janos beat his wings again and changed position. His left arm tightened further around Raziel so that he could point to another feature of the night sky with his right. "There—is what I wanted you to see," he said. "You are written in the stars, Raziel, the Champion, Saviour of Nosgoth." He stroked Raziel's exposed cheek with his free hand.

"Ah—are you sure? Moebius told me I was born to replace Malek," stammered Raziel, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Janos scoffed in disbelief. "No, divine one, you are not as mundane to be bound to a Pillar. Your stars are rogue; they move in an unpredictable pattern. Sometimes, your constellation appears with me in the tenth house," his golden eyes flashed a wry smile. "At other times, you appear in the ninth, with the Balance Guardian."

Suddenly, Raziel was so tired that he laid his head against Janos's chest again. He could feel Janos's heartbeat and sighed, "The Balance Guardian?" He said dreamily, "Hmm, strange… We have never met."

"Nevertheless, the Balance Guardian plays a pivotal role in your destiny. You, however, travel across the cosmos of your own free will. You seem unbound to the same laws of fate as the rest of us. You are free." 

Raziel was now visibly shivering, "What does this mean?" he struggled to ask.

"It means you have a choice, the freedom to choose your path." 

"Janos, is there somewhere…" he started to feel so lightheaded, and it hurt.

"Yes, of course," Janos clutched Raziel to his chest. The dizzy sensation of being teleported fell away as his bare feet hit the cold stone. Janos kissed him once more before opening his wings and relieving their surroundings. 

He'd brought Raziel to his mountain retreat. Raziel stood on the balcony, the fuzziness in his head clearing, looking out across to the Pillars that held up the night sky, the mountains, the valleys and forests below, and the lights of his assembling vanguard. 

After fighting this war all his life, it was strange for Raziel to be standing on the front lines but staring down at his army from the opposite side.

A final rush of wind blew through Raziel's hair and goosed his skin as Janos stretched out and folded his wings behind him in a flourish he knew made Raziel smile every time. He drew Raziel into his arms once more.

"I thought I had lost you," admitted Raziel.

“I am sorry, Raziel, I-”

"It's been over a month!" Raziel protested. What had kept you from me so long?"

"I was afraid, ashamed of my behaviour, scared of losing control," Janos admitted.

"You won't, Janos," said Raziel, "you have always been the strong one." Did he really feel that? He guessed it was true. Since Janos seemed confident, he would never harm Raziel, while Raziel knew for sure if he stood before Janos right now in full Sarafan armour, given half the chance, Raziel would still kill him with little hesitation. His god demanded it. 

When Raziel finally killed Janos, he wondered, would it be out of strength of faith or weakness of the heart?

Did he have the strength to carry on regardless, or was he simply too weak to stop it?

"Janos, you know we are preparing to attack. Why don't you leave?"

"I cannot; I am bound just like the others, and my guardianship has not ended," Janos confessed solemnly.

"You've called yourself the 'Tenth Guardian' before, but only nine pillars exist. What is it that you guard?"

Starlight shone in his eyes as Janos flashed his fangs in a brief smile, "You will see."

Raziel stepped away and took in the room. It was a workshop, a slightly chaotic studio littered with paintings, drawings, diagrams, models, globes and astrolabes. There was a moon dial, many canvases of all sizes, various works in progress, and pots of paint and brushes that lay abandoned. What a wonderful place to work, thought Raziel, free from distractions, literally on top of the world. It was so peaceful here.

The paintings were of lonely vistas. A single ruined cathedral standing alone on a hill. He started to recognise the figures in some pictures; some were ancient vampires, at war and at rest. One depicted a wild orgy of many of Janos's fellow winged beings. There were even paintings of himself. Some were of him in battle, fully armoured. Another was himself lying naked and asleep.

"And this?" Raziel asked, moving to a covered painting, pulling at the cloth that concealed it from view until it fell to the floor.

"Raz-i-el, oh, erm, I was going to show that one to you later," Janos flustered in pointless protest.

The painting was of Janos and Raziel himself, kneeling together naked on a temple floor, locked together in the most intimate embrace. Raziel faced the viewer, his desire plainly obvious. Janos, equally nude, held Raziel from behind, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other hand at his neck. Raziel's head was held back, eyes closed, calling out in ecstasy. Janos's lustful look in his bright gold eyes, expression purposeful but joyous, his mouth open, fangs bared and held paused at Raziel's throat. All framed by Janos's enormous dark wings, his pale blue skin shining as he had his smaller human lover in the glow of some nearby firelight.  

It was the most beautiful thing Raziel had ever seen. It was so real, life-sized. Raziel felt like he was having an out-of-body experience, looking at himself and Janos there, like it was happening right now or as if he had wandered into a memory.  

"It's so beautiful. Looks real! Like I'm looking at myself through a mirror- Janos, how was this achieved?"

"I have been blessed with perfect recollection and used some artistic licence," Janos admitted shyly. His ultimate fantasy lay bare for his lover to see.

Raziel practically flew into his arms, pushing a surprised Janos back against one of the marble columns.

Janos's eyes were heavy-lidden, long dark lashes over pools of liquid gold, with his pupils blown wide. His skin was a slightly darker shade of blue, with even darker lips. His jaw was loose, his mouth open, the tips of his uppermost fangs showing from beneath his lips. A dark cherry-red mouth invited Raziel in for the bite. Fearless, Raziel kissed them, feeling Janos's intake of breath through his nose as if this was their first time.

Hungry and desperate, Raziel tore through Janos's defences to reach his skin, the small delicate hooks of Janos's robes popping off as Raziel ripped the garments open. Janos groaned as Raziel slipped his hands inside.  

Against the marble, Raziel sensed the movement of Janos's wings, his tight shoulder muscles refusing to give under Raziel's grasp. His hands wandered lower over Janos's pecks and proud nipples, flicking under each thumb, provoking another shiver and a sigh as Raziel's lips followed his fingers across Janos's skin. 

Janos was enraptured watching Raziel as if he almost couldn't believe what he was seeing or experiencing. 

Raziel could feel Janos growing hard as he pressed himself further against him, teasing him with his own obvious arousal. Raziel allowed himself to slide down Janos's body until Raziel was on his knees before him. He looked up at Janos. 

Without another thought, "Master," he declared with reverence.

Raziel's tone made Janos gasp! Janos's hands flew to his own mouth at the sound of the title on the lips of his saviour after all these years. 

Raziel paused, then ran his hand over Janos's bulging crotch, "Master, may I?"

Janos issued a spluttering grunt in reply.

All those years of games and banter, adulation and insistence wearing down Raziel's resolve each time until win or lose, the result was the same, Janos took him roughly, or Raziel rode him until Janos could no longer stand it. Those tender moments are only stolen in waking or lavishing kisses before many tortured goodbyes. Raziel had never begged without coercion. Never had he acknowledged his Master as Janos Audron! 

And yet, here was the Sarafan Knight on his knees before him, begging to kiss Janos's cock. "Master!" he pleaded again.

"Beautiful Raziel, Divine One, Saviour of Nosgoth, you may, with my blessing." Janos cried; tears of joy streaked his face.

Raziel's deft fingers had already found and untied the knot in the leather lace that held Janos's pants in place. 

Janos's dark blue spear broke free, smooth and perfect. Its darker cap already released a string of white pearls, gleaming in the moonlight.

"Oh," a starved Raziel moaned at the sight. He held his hands out in supplication and greedily received Janos's gift in an open mouth with his tongue outstretched.

Janos's groan was accompanied by a loud shivering of all the keratinous quills of his feathers vibrating together like rain on a forest floor of pine needles. He called out again as Raziel sucked on the tip.

Janos's poison hit Raziel's tastebuds in an explosion of sharp, pungent flavour, heady and potent. Raziel's whole body relaxed as if given a draw on life itself. The warm sensation flooded his mind and limbs as he took sustenance directly from the source. There was no doubt now that Raziel needed it. He was Janos's thrall, yet he hardly cared at that moment. He just wanted more. He pushed Janos's tip past his teeth and into his throat, attempting to swallow him whole. 

Janos wailed and hissed through bared fangs, his eyes burning like fire!

He drew back a long hard suck. Janos squirmed and panted; he fixed his gaze on Janos before falling upon the organ again. Janos called out, "No," he grabbed Raziel by the shoulders, pushing him away.

Give it to me, Master. Feed it to me. 

"No!" Janos held Raziel still and pulled himself free.

Raziel keened like a wounded hound.

"No, Raziel," Janos commanded, "that is enough. I must save my energy for the Ritual."

Ritual? "What ritual?" Raziel asked.

Notes and re-written scenes:

Raziel laughed, "This is madness. I can hardly stand the irony. You're Janos Audron. I am your mortal enemy, Grand Inquisitor Raziel of the Sarafan Order, who seeks your annihilation. Why would you want to protect me?" 

"Ah, how you wound me, Raziel. You speak of eternal love in paradise with one breath and then of our utter ruin with the next. How dare you taunt me so. 

Raziels searching hand found Janos's hard cock beneath his robes. He enclosed his fist around it, causing the vampire to stall in his sermons. "Ah, I… Can't… Raziel."

"Yes, my love, what would you tell me?" Raziel asked, pushing Janos's robe aside. He fell to his knees.

Raziel looked up at Janos, his eyes full of lust as Janos caressed his face and ran his talons through Raziel's hair. 

Janos didn't stop him filling exposing the vampire's dark blue cock. It rose as thick as Raziel's wrists from between Janos's thighs, curling back slightly with a delightful curve that touched all the right places inside. The midnight black point bulging, sticky strings of pearls already emerging from it. It was beautiful and deadly; Raziel had the overwhelming urge to taste it, even knowing it would kill him. 

Janos bit into his own bottom lip, his lustful gaze pleading. 

Raziel needed no further instruction. With his mouth open, he fell upon the engorged blue organ and ran his tongue over it. The wonderful zing of pleasure flooded his mind. The rush was intoxicating, he pulled his tongue in, opened it wider and attempted to swallow Janos's cock, but the great blue pillar was too broad. Only three-quarters of the head managed to push past Raziel's teeth. Janos's fingers tightened around a tuft of Raziel's hair. He looked shocked but hungry, mad but complicit. His fingers found purchase on Raziel's head, and he pushed himself further in, hissing as the head of his cock was forced past Raziel's teeth. 

Raziel moaned as Janos's cock filled his mouth, forcing his jaw open and dripping hot cum down his throat. Immediately he felt all his muscles relax, save one, the need to suck. The more he feasted on Janos, the more he needed. It wasn't enough. He needed it all. He needed Janos to climax, but just as he thought Janos was going to, instead, he begged him to stop.

"No! Raziel, please, stop," Janos cried, pulling himself free.

Raziel moaned and groped for Janos when that large wet phallus left his sucking mouth and kissing lips with a pop. Yet missed and whimpered and pleaded, "Please, Janos, feed it to me."

"No," Janos scolded him, "I need to save my energy for the ritual."

Raziel stopped pleading, "Ritual? What is this ritual? Janos, will you turn me? Tonight?"

Chapter Text

“Here at last, in the flesh, I beheld my former brothers-in-arms – the warrior-priests of the Sarafan order, their lives devoted solely to the annihilation of the ‘vampire plague’.

And while I confess, I felt a twinge of longing, a pang of grief for what I had believed was my lost virtue; I regarded them now with none of the reverence I formerly felt.

For I had seen the human face of the vampires, and now I beheld the monstrousness of these men."

― Raziel, ‘Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver 2’

“Do you mean to turn me, Janos?” Raziel tentatively asked. Heat rose in his face, and he couldn’t help smiling. Was this what he truly wanted?

Part of him hated this blasphemous affair for which he feared there would be no forgiveness. Some fateful day, he knew he would have to choose between his Sarafan brothers and the cursed Saraphim that held him in such a powerful attraction.

Raziel hated the hypocrisy. As Sarafan Inquisitor, he often tortured a vampire’s human thrall, calling them degenerate, defiled, and beyond redemption. And yet here he was, offering himself to his enemy. This is a necessary deception, he told himself, to protect their relations. Raziel would preserve them at all cost, for no one meant more to him than Janos Audron. Oh, how he sought him on so many levels.

But Janos was nothing like those wretched things he’d hunt and kill by day. Janos was beautiful; otherworldly with his pale blue skin, pointed ears, dark hair highlighted in silver wisdom, eyes alight like the sun, his body hard in contrast to his soft, soft wings and full red lips that spoke with honied words in a thick, exotic accent of an ancient culture long since past.

Sometimes Raziel would muse that Janos, the Saraphim, was sent by The Elder God to protect him. To fill his nights with love, counteracting all the evil done by day. There were times when he wondered how their relationship could be so wrong. And others when he revelled in how dangerous and abhorrent it was.

A Sarafan, loving a vampire, was against everything he’d been taught. Had they not warned him of how evil would come and tempt him in the guise of beauty? Perhaps this was his test.

Kneeling there before the most infamous of the vampires, Raziel was suddenly overcome with a sense of self-preservation that attempted to take hold of his desire for Janos and shake himself free. Why didn’t he run? More importantly, why wasn’t he armed?

He looked up at Janos and into the face of an angel weeping, struggling to regain his composure as he chastely folded his ruined robes around himself, and a realisation dawned. With his sudden, unprompted capitulation and submission, he had fully exposed Janos’s weakness and tested it to his limit. After years of fighting this attraction, he finally knew how far he needed to go to break his enemy.

The taste of Janos still lingered in his mouth. The war raged inside him just as much as it did for real, out there. His need to lash out and kill his enemy fought against a great thirst to feel Janos inside. Just one last time… after which Janos’s final decision would seal both of their fates. If Raziel could not have Janos Audron, he would make damn-sure no one else would.

“I’m sorry, Raziel, I cannot,” Janos’s voice cracked as he spoke, “do not ask this of me.”

“Why, then, have you brought me here?” Raziel pushed for answers while tears of his own stung the back of his eyes and a slight twist of regret in his gut. Janos wounded him deeply, denying him eternal life at his side. Was he, Raziel, promised Saviour of Nosgoth, somehow still not worthy? In his mind, there was only one other option.

Janos sighed, “I am the tenth Guardian, and my true purpose is now clear. We have reached an impasse, Raziel. A fractured moment in time approaches. I can feel it. I must prepare for the event that I can no longer protect you. And you, most of all, must be protected.”

“No longer? Janos, I don’t like the sound of this. You must turn me now, or it will be too late.”

“Please, Raziel, do not ask this of me. Once turned, you begin a new life. You may not remember the old. Worst still, you might grow to resent me. Forgive me; I do not want to lose your love. It means too much.”

“You mean the way you lost Vorador,” the name felt like venom on Raziel’s lips.

Janos visibly winced.

Raziel clutched at straws, “Then lock me in your dungeons, force me to remember! Or woo me, cause me to fall in love again, Janos! Please.”

“Who you are will be destroyed. I can’t do it, I will not. However, I will ensure anyone who tries will not hold onto you forever. In time, my influence will assert itself, and you will surpass your lesser Sire. You will take my place as the Tenth Guardian, protector of the Reaver. With the power to heal the world!”

“I don’t want it! I want to be at your side! Janos, this is madness!”

“Enough!” Janos commanded.

Raziel flinched and sucked in a breath with a sharp note of surprise.

But Janos raised his hands in defence, not attack, “You do not understand the subtleties of our culture. Do you know how vulnerable you are? How fragile? How instantly and indefinitely could I snuff out your life if the whim should take me? You are but a tiny morsel, yet you sit on my jaws and bid me to bite. And you talk of madness.” Janos shook his head and tutted. He turned his back to Raziel, his winged shoulders rising and falling in a deep sigh. His feathers shivered in rippling waves behind him. “Do not be so quick to throw your life away. You have no idea of the strength of will it has taken on my part to not harm you these past blissful years.”

“Blissful?” Raziel could barely stand to hear any more. His life had been far from blissful; war was all he had known. “Thousands have died while we dance around each other. Are you blind to the carnage that surrounds us?”

“Our destinies are entwined more intricately than you know. Forgive me for enjoying what little time we have had.” Janos admitted. “I saw you many times in my visions, I was in love with you before we had even met. I have ignored what must be done for as long as possible.”

It was as if Raziel’s feet acted of their own volition. He rushed to kneel at Janos’s feet, desperately clutched at Janos’s robes.

Janos stroked Raziel’s face as more tears fell over his angelic face, “I have seen my future, and it is dark and empty. I am trapped, alone, in the inescapable darkness. I do not know where I am or what binds me. I only know there is no hope. I confess it frightens me.”

“Yet you head towards it regardless; why don’t you flee?”

“This is my calling, as Tenth Guardian. You have your own path, dear heart. You cannot follow me to where I must go.”

“Damn, your foresight!” Raziel snapped, “Please, Janos, let us just leave. To hell with it all! Can you not change your fate?”

Janos huffed, “From one such as yourself, unbound-“ he broke into laughter.

“Are you not changing mine with this ritual?” Raziel wondered.

“No, I am protecting you,” Janos shushed him by holding one of his elegantly taloned fingers to Raziel's lips, “Do not despair, my love. We have tonight, at least. But you will wish to clean up for such an occasion, no?”

Before Raziel could grasp his meaning, Janos held out his hands as if to push him. A swirling, sickening sensation came over Raziel; he closed his eyes and willed it to end. The room stopped spinning, and he opened them to find that Janos had teleported him away, alone, into what he assumed was a guest bed chamber.

Steam rose from the hot bath in a gilded tub in the corner, soft, warm sheets awaited to dry him, and brand new robes similar to Janos’s but fitted him perfectly were laid out on the bed. It all happened so fast, like in a dream, without even a single servant attending. Fruit and wine had been provided for refreshments, and he’d just drained his glass as someone knocked on the door.

“Yes?” Raziel asked.

The doors opened, and Janos stood in fresh attire that perfectly contrasted Raziel’s. He wore his usual long robes of white, open chested to the waist, sleeveless with dark epaulettes, and a long ceremonial stole of gold graced his shoulders and hung to the floor. As he entered the room, his enormous dark wings followed, newly groomed and shimmering with iridescent colours and not a single feather out of place. His skin seemed paler than usual, leaving Raziel wondering if Janos had fed that night.

A fiery lump warmed Raziel’s throat as he knelt before Janos, as if for any of the other Guardians, “My Master,” he declared in a pained whisper and a devilish smile. At least, it was true, for tonight.

He was rewarded with the way Janos basked in this victorious title. His golden eyes shone with joy, and he swooned as he approached, his jaw slack and his fangs glinting in the firelight.

A sudden rush of anticipation washed over and quickened Raziel’s lust. It seemed for a moment that Janos might take him in his arms and feed from him. Playful, lascivious thoughts of revealing his obvious desire raced through Raziel’s mind. Would Janos join in once again? Damn, he loved watching Janos work himself to a state of ecstasy while he did the same. It made him feel so powerful. They were so perfectly matched, he and his beautiful, worthy opponent.

Janos looked down at Raziel with so much pride it hurt. He once again ran a clawed hand gently over Raziel’s head, through his hair, sending a tingling sensation down Raziel’s spine. His hand rested on Raziel's chin and tilted his face to meet his. “It is time,” he said, lips so tantalisingly close that Raziel almost leapt for them with his own.

Instead, Janos gestured for Raziel to rise, held out his hand, and bid Raziel to take it. Raziel hooked his fingers over Janos’s palm as if to join a dance. Janos brought his hand up to his lips and kissed it before closing his thumb over Raziel’s fingers and gently leading him away, stroking the back of his hand as he did so. A teasing glint in his eyes as he looked back at Raziel occasionally, as if to check on his reactions, the corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile.

In a daze, Raziel allowed himself to be led down through the mountainside’s stone-cut corridors sumptuously decorated with more of Janos’s artwork, rich velvet carpets and torches glowing softly to large ornate wooden doors that opened ahead. Janos slipped a hand on Raziel’s waist and guided him into a vast temple of arches that stretched up to a vaulted ceiling, at least two stories high. It had a polished marble floor with an expansive balcony that opened out to the same vista he had seen before, if a little lower, it seemed; this was the portal Raziel had observed with Turel from below.

The scent of a large fire burning in the grate to one side of the room mingled with incense and the many bouquets of flowers that adorned every available surface. Ribbons and banners of all colours decked shelves. It seemed very festive. “Janos, is someone getting married?” Raziel laughed nervously.

“Until death do us part?” Janos laughed, “No, my love. What I propose is something far more permanent. It is the binding of our eternal souls.”

“What?” Raziel choked on the word. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of commitment. “How?”

“This is ancient magic of my people, not performed in over a thousand years. During this ritual, I will bind a part of my soul to yours. In doing so, I will protect you even beyond death,” Janos paused and pulled Raziel towards him, bid him slip his arms around Janos’s waist while Janos held Raziel’s face in his hands, tracing lines with his talons over Raziel’s skin, leaning down to offer his mouth in a kiss.

Raziel savoured the softness of Janos’s lips, how delicately he treated his human lover carefully, holding those fangs just a little out of reach, teasing him with the tip of his tongue. Raziel wanted more and slipped past Janos’s lips and sampled the taste. His assertiveness made Janos hesitate and pull away, only granting a single sweet parting kiss on the lips before finally declaring, “After tonight, no matter what the Great Wheel has in store for you, our souls will be joined, and we will always find each other from now until the end of time.”

It sounded beautiful. But fanciful. Raziel mused if only such a thing could be true. He was so desperate for Janos. Raziel felt that he would throw himself from the balcony if they did not consummate this sinful union, and soon, his body ached so bad.

Had this night not been their last, Raziel would have agreed to this pointless ritual without question. The thought of being bound in secret to Janos changed the nature of their game. No Sarafan ever married, for no oath the Sarafan made could be higher than their commitment to The Circle of Nine and, through them, The Elder God. If the affair between them hadn’t been bad enough, how damned would his soul be if he went through with this ritual?

Just let him, he told himself, then if he doesn’t turn you, kill him. Release yourself from this curse. It had been weeks since Janos had taken him so forcibly in front of the mirror. Even longer since he had been filled to overflow. The anticipation was killing him.

But Janos released him and let him properly take in his surroundings. Murals adorned the walls of Janos’s kind, a great battle, the pillars, Moebius and Mortaius’s treachery, Vorador and …the Reaver! Its image was everywhere. This must be the Sanctuary of the Reaver. Finally, he had been brought to Janos’s most holy sanctum.

He spied the vampire’s infamous sword lying in a small shrine set against the wall. It was Janos’s charge and holy duty. He treated it like it was his child and preached the prophecy endlessly. Raziel had become a little tired of hearing about it but had often asked Janos if he could see the legendary blade, a request Janos had always denied.

Based on what it meant to the vampires, the Reaver had become a secondary target for the Sarafan. It was a symbol the Sarafan coveted. To destroy Janos and possess the Reaver meant they had won.

Raziel would seek it at any other time, as much as he should seek Janos’s death. The fact that Janos had brought him here, into his most highly secret place where his treasured sword resides, meant he trusted Raziel and held him in the highest regard. What a duplicitous creature I have become. I must indeed be cursed. Thoughts raced as Raziel watched Janos lift the Reaver from its resting place and approach him.

“This is where our ceremony begins, divine one,” Janos warned, “I must caution you, this is dangerous magic. Once we begin, the incantations must be completed, or the result may be unpredictable, even deadly. Nothing must interrupt the ritual, Raziel, and it will not be easy.”

Janos knelt before Raziel and presented him with the most exquisite weapon he had ever seen. The Reaver…

The handle, bound in leather, was generous in size, at least to his human eyes. Its guard was a splay of wicked talons, and its hilt was the skull of a fanged demon, its eyes inlaid with jewels of green fire. The blade spilt from its unholy maw as if it were the demon’s own tongue; the metal was bright and flawless, with an edge so delicate it seemed to cut the light, splitting it into endless multicoloured waves down its serpentine form, tapering to the vicious point.

Raziel felt an immediate affinity, for it was a thing of beauty that radiated hunger and malice. He instantly loved this deadly instrument and immediately wished to possess it. He could tell it was a vampiric blade, and just like its Master, Raziel wanted it just as much as he feared it. He felt drawn to it, compelled to touch it, but feared he would be lost forever if he did. His life was now done, for nothing he ever held in his hands would be as beautiful as this precious blade.

“Oh, Janos,” Raziel gasped, “My God, it’s beautiful.” He reached out for the handle but hesitated.

“Take it, Raziel, it is my gift to you, a token of our binding,” Janos instructed without raising his head.

The command broke Raziel from his reverie with the blade. “Yes, Master, but I have nothing for you,” he stated sheepishly as if anything could compare to such a gift.

Janos looked up at him with a playful grin, “I’m sure you can think of a suitable gift, something just as valuable to me?”

Raziel’s trembling hand finally found and gripped the handle. He lifted the sword from Janos’s hands and felt its weight. For its size, the Reaver was surprisingly light and perfectly balanced. It just made him want it even more. The air seemed to hum with arcane energy as Raziel held the blade with both hands before him, the edge almost touching Janos’s shoulder as he knelt before him. Janos’s head was down his neck inches from the wickedly sharp Reaver. The blade glowed darkly red as if in anticipation.

Raziel adjusted his grip. How easily he could remove Janos’s head and end his life. If it wasn’t for his need to be pinned by Janos, right now, bent over across the temple's altar, legs spread wide, hard bodies thrusting- ahh! The thought warmed his groin. His erection pushed against his robes.

Now, man! Janos Audron is at our mercy; seize your chance! It was as if his Sarafan will manifest to command him.

He tried to move the blade, but it was as if it was made of stone; it refused to obey him. He struggled against it, trying to move it this way or that, but it was stuck fast. He could not hurt his master. At least not with the Reaver; it wouldn’t, he couldn’t!-

Janos must have sensed something was amiss. He looked up at Raziel, his golden eyes running over with tears and a look of dawning horror. “Raziel, my love? What is wrong?”

Raziel gasped as he released his pressure on the blade. The Reaver fell to the floor, as did he into Janos’s arms, shaking.

Had it been the blade? Or was it he who had refused to do the deed? To end the war at that moment? “The test, I have failed,” Raziel announced to no one in particular. He had not killed his enemy.

“No, you have not failed at anything. I do not know what game Meobius and Mortanius are playing, but I will not allow it. I have seen and read the signs. You are not the Guardian of Conflict. You are their polar opposite, in fact. You do not bring war. You bring light to cleanse and restore. You are peace personified. Our Saviour. They have corrupted you.”

Janos paused as if in thought. “Perhaps after our binding,” he mused, obviously unaware of Raziel’s attempt to assassinate him, “the Reaver will accept you as my successor, and then you too shall believe.”

It was over then. The Sarafan inside Raziel roared harshly in defeat. It demanded retribution and penance for this betrayal of Raziel’s faith, for his failure to kill Janos whenever he had the chance. Instead, Raziel decided he would offer himself to Janos. Yes. A fitting punishment! One that he felt he deserved. Raziel sobbed uncontrollably as he finally and wholeheartedly rejected his Sarafan life.

Laying in Janos’s arms, Raziel cried and pulled on the silver chain holding his robes together. He was completely naked underneath, with a smooth, hairless chest and toned stomach. His small but perfectly formed human cock rose between his legs, “Take me, Janos. My body will be my gift,” he declared.

Janos smiled through his tears. He ran a soft, warm hand from Raziel’s throat, over his chest and stomach, and played with Raziel gently, making him engorge a little more and turn a little pinker against his large blue hand, “Sex is a potent gift for a binding ritual. It will form a strong connection. Then you accept my proposal, my beloved, you and I, bound now until the end of time?”

Raziel would have said anything at that moment, “Yes.” He said although he still did not believe in this magic, he only wanted Janos to turn him. “Perform your ritual, Master,” Mine until the end.

The candles all around them instantly lit. Janos took both Raziel and the Reaver and approached the altar. “Istok Kodis Los Onchyedis,” Janos spoke in a calm voice, words Raziel did not understand, but it sounded like a mantra, words of power that commanded a mystical force.

Soon, Raziel found himself bound and prostrate across the altar. The Reaver lay before him while Janos had removed Raziel’s robes and poured generous amounts of oils over them both while he continued to chant; now also working sky-clad, Raziel watched him move gracefully around the circle, his wings outstretched, he held the Reaver aloft and then turned to display unabashed his heightened state of arousal, his fiery eyes half-closed, his painted lips softly chanting, he placed the Reaver on the altar in front of Raziel before closing the circle behind him.

There was a pause filled with so much anticipation; Raziel knew that Janos approached from behind; he could hear the wind softly play like raindrops through the quills of his wings, the sound goosed his skin. “Janos?” Raziel tried to ask but was immediately silenced as Janos ran his hands over Raziel’s skin and buttocks and chanted some more. It was too late now. Janos was mid-ritual, and Raziel was already drowning in the sensations. Janos had found a sweet spot at the top of his crack and tickled it, making him whimper and bash his bound fists against the altar.

If that wasn’t enough to make him squirm, Janos spread his cheeks and inserted a smooth, cold talon into Raziel, making him convulse as he pulled it out, only to replace it with the hot head of his slick, hard cock.

Janos’s words became louder, more urgent, and the air felt charged as Raziel lost himself in total bliss as Janos pushed his way in for the first time in weeks.

Dear god, if I die now. It’ll all be worth it just to feel this!

Janos began as always, inching his way in, gentle and slow, to the rhythm of his chant, gasping between the words. He gripped Raziel tight at the waist with both hands while his wings folded around them. The talons of his wing’s wrists slipped into Raziel’s closed fists, and with both sets of limbs, he clung to Raziel for a little more purchase, to go just that bit deeper.

With impressive length and girth, Janos was part the way in. He didn’t have to move away too far to send Raziel into orgasm. But Janos clearly was nowhere near his climax. As Raziel released across the alter’s finery, Janos took it further than ever. With one loud, angry chant, he roared and pushed himself in further, all the way up to the hilt.

Raziel saw only white. For a moment, he thought he was dead.

Then the world fell away. A sound like crunched-up parchment filled his ears, and his sight returned. He opened his eyes, but his vision wasn’t clear; more like he was viewing the world from the bottom of a water-filled jar.

The room was the same, but it wasn’t. No light where light should be. Darkness where there should be light. The fire burned blue in the grate. It was as if the world around him had turned upside down. The temple's columns were twisted and broken. Wherever they were now, he was still bound to the altar and to Janos. Both still lay together, joined within a bright pool of blue light that surrounded them.

There were screams and calls in the darkness, crying, shuffling with echoing footsteps… and then they arrived. Tall, slender beings, wrapped in tattered robes, their eyes alight, their own wings naked stumps of bone, each wrapped in the decayed trappings of the grave, yet they glided around the pair. Watching. Observing the two as they made love.

Raziel had never felt more exposed.

“It is Janos!” Said one to the others.

“He performs a binding!” Agreed the next.

“To protect the Reaver!” a third declared.

“He has found the prophesied hero. All hail the champion!” said the fourth.

“And so his guardianship is ending! Janos crosses over!” Said the fifth with excitement.

“At last, Sire, join us!” Called the sixth.

“No!” Janos broke his chanting but did not pause his spellcraft, gasping as responded to the ghastly wraiths of the former Pillar Guardians, “You cannot be trapped here!”

“You must complete the binding,” said the seventh, “A gift must be given and received.”

“My gift was the Reaver,” Janos said between thrusts and laboured breaths.

“His gift is insufficient,” the eighth declared, “You cannot give what is already his. Or take what was already yours.”

Raziel found that he could not speak and had been fucked so hard by Janos that he was sure he was hallucinating. But Janos continued, and Raziel could not stop him if he wanted to. He began to feel like a toy, limp and helpless. For the second time in as many encounters with Janos, he had surrendered. A great wave of relief and euphoria as he relinquished control. He was no longer Sarafan. And it felt wonderful.

“He-” Janos stammered, “He is divine!” and he came. Janos thrust so hard that he pushed their souls free from their bodies and out into the aether.

Raziel cried out as his awareness left his physical form, along with Janos. Together, they still copulated; only the tail of Janos’s soul broke off inside, meeting no resistance, like a spear impaling his opponent, Janos pushed a fragment of Raziel’s own soul free and clear of his chest. Raziel watched it helplessly as it floated away into the aether, past the spectres of the original Pillar guardians.

Out of nowhere, a long tentacle appeared and snatched it up.

Raziel could comprehend it. He screamed at the sight of the monster who came out of the walls, the multiple eyes that opened around the gaping maw that drew the tentacle in and sucked upon the fragment of Raziel’s soul until there was none.

The creature called out in joy as it devoured the tiny fragment. Then, it reached for him, for more. Only to hit a force that stopped it dead. It tried to get past the barrier once more, to pierce and devour more of Raziel, but found, to its obvious horror, it was denied.

They were safe in the circle.

“Noo!” It called, its disembodied voice boomed, “You will not take him from me!”

Upon realising the creature couldn’t reach him, Raziel glanced down and saw the shard of Janos’s soul, bright and as sharp as the Reaver, which had pierced his chest from behind. He pulled it out and held this precious thing in his hands briefly before pushing it back inside. It slotted back into the hole the piece of his soul had left perfectly. It shone in his chest like a small but brilliant star. Such a beautiful gift. But my love, I have nothing for you.

Behind the wall of protection, the creature still raged. It coiled more of itself around the room as if to try and pull it down, but it was unable. All its efforts were in vain. It cried and writhed and lashed out in despair.

The spectres of the original Pillar Guardians seemed to fade.

Meanwhile, Janos’s soul had slipped back into his body. He was still wrapped around Raziel on the material plane but was dying. His head had slumped across Raziel’s shoulders. Unable to stop in the throes of passion and death. His life force left him and poured into Raziel.

“Janos! The circle must be complete!” Called the ninth guardian in earnest. “The ritual demands a sacrifice. His precious lifeblood will be the gift!”

“Yes, the circle must be complete, or the binding will fail,” agreed the others, “Janos!” They cried as they slipped away.

The world returned to normal, and Raziel felt Janos was near his end. He pleaded with him, “Janos, please don’t leave me,” and tried to rouse his lover back to life by pushing himself back into Janos’s arms.

Never had Raziel been so pleased to feel Janos’s breath upon his skin. Janos stirred and turned his head. Lazily, he kissed Raziel’s throat. Then there was the pause. He drew a breath.

Raziel closed his eyes, and his head rolled back against Janos. Yes, I mean no… oh god!

Janos’s fangs touched, pierced and sank into Raziel’s skin with a flash of pain and dark, bitter delight. Raziel couldn’t help writhing against it. He tried to pull away but was impaled twice over by Janos; he could not escape.

Janos’s grip around Raziel tightened, the air left the room as his wings flew open behind him in the throws of his lust, aiding the first sinful intake of Raziel’s precious blood.

Raziel’s eyes were open, yet all he could see was a galaxy of stars as his blood left him, followed by another thrust as Janos filled him with the essence of an entirely different nature.

The circle was finally complete.

Janos shuddered as he drew hard on his victim again, and Raziel felt he was falling away from this life and his god.

Finally, their game had ended, and it was everything Raziel had ever wanted: a cursed, sweet victory through inevitable defeat. Janos would have to turn him now or lose him forever. From this moment, his life as a Sarafan was forfeit.

Another thrust and Raziel believed he was dying, “Janos, please, stop,” he begged.

Janos ignored him and, with a lustful moan and further beat of his wings, drew from Raziel again.

Raziel’s world turned black, “Janos, no…”

Raziel woke to the sound of birdsong. As the sleep-induced fog in his mind cleared, a cool breeze ruffled his hair while warm sunshine poured through the high windows of his bedchamber and danced gently across his exposed skin.

Raziel sat up and found himself in his bed at the Sarafan Stronghold. It was as if the events of the night before had been just a dream.

The pain in his neck told him it hadn’t and thrust him into a nightmare. Frantic, he rose and checked himself in the mirror. He pulled aside the loose nightshirt he inexplicably wore, and there, at the base of his neck, was the tell-tale sign that he had been the victim of a vampire. “Janos,” he whispered, “what have you done?”

“Call it insurance.” Janos’s voice said from behind his reflection, which dissolved into the vampire's image, once again veiled in darkness. Only his golden eyes, half closed, could be seen. It appeared that Janos couldn’t bring himself to look Raziel full in the face. “You have a part of my soul inside of you now. I am the father of our race, you can have no other master. Should you ever be raised by another, as Vorador does to corpses right now, the part of you that is me, in time it will assert itself and grow. You will surpass any other sire, and eventually take my place as the Tenth Guardian. Guardian of the Reaver.”

“I don’t care about your goddamn sword! You’ve turned me into a thrall! How dare you! Janos, after all we have been through together! We’ve been so careful.” Raziel was horrified.

“I am deeply sorry, my love, the ritual went astray. Once again, I lost control.”

“Damn you! Why did you leave me here? Do you know what you have done?” Raziel was incensed. He looked about his location, an icy grip of terror made him shiver.

“This is part of the binding ritual. You belong to the Reaver now, just as I do. You must go and say goodbye to your old life.” Janos explained.

“Fool! Our union will be discovered, and they won’t let me go. By leaving me here, you have condemned me to die!”

“Yes, death eventually comes for us all,” Janos replied, almost coldly. “You will indeed die from the blood curse, my beloved. You should have known that before you asked for it.”

Pain and anguish flooded Raziel’s being, along with renewed hatred for Janos’s kind: “I will kill you for what you have done to me!” He threatened.

Janos retreated into the darkness. “Then come, child. Let us finish this.”

Janos was gone, and Raziel’s reflection returned. He didn’t wish to look at himself.

Instead, he flew into a blind rage; screamed himself hoarse, overturned furniture and threw whatever he could get his hands on. Lastly, he picked up a small chair, threw it at the mirror and instantly regretted it.

The ancient enchanted mirror, his only means of communicating with his vampire lover, now his maker, his would-be vampire sire, exploded into a thousand shards. As the pieces fell, so did he, along with the part of him that still loved Janos, and he cried a lament. “Janos! No!”

A sound made him jump. Someone was banging on his door, “Lord Raziel!” It was his scribe, “Lord Raziel, are you okay? Lords Moebius and Malik, they request your presence at once!”

I have been discovered! Raziel wanted to run, but as if fate compelled him, he found himself obeying the command. He retrieved his Sarafan regalia from the debris now covering his chambers, put it on over his bedshirt and buckled it with haste. He opened his door, ignored his scribe’s horrified expression at his dishevelled state, and the chambers beyond, and made his way down the stairs to the Time Streamer’s sanctum. He’d always been a favourite of Moebius. Perhaps there was a way he could salvage this disaster?

He pushed the heavy wooden doors open and his heart sank when he saw what waited for him inside. Mobius, Malek, and his brothers Dumah and Rahab stood before a tall painting of Raziel and Janos, locked in carnal embrace.

Raziel forced himself to hold back the nausea. How? How could this be here? He thought. I am ruined!

“Your brothers took delivery of this cursed artefact this morning, left at the gates of the stronghold.” Moebius turned and fixed his dead eyes on Raziel. “Care to explain this abomination?”

“Vicious propaganda by our enemies, my Lord, it has to be!” Exclaimed Raziel, trying desperately to disguise his own shock as revulsion for the glorious image Janos had painted. How did it get here so swiftly? Who brought it? It seemed an uncharacteristically bold and antagonistic move for Janos…

No, Vorador! It has to be him. He hated that Janos was with me. This is his doing!

“So, you deny there have been relations between you and our most ancient and ghastly enemy?” Moebius challenged. His hurt and pitiful tone grated against the bone like the turning of a knife.

Raziel looked across to Malik for support, but his adopted father, fully armoured with helm and clad in a heavy red cloak, stood with his back turned on the other side of the room. He refused to acknowledge his favoured son.

“Yes! Of course I deny it!” Raziel cried, the lie burning in his stomach like swallowed hot coals.

“Grand High Inquisitor,” said Moebius, “When was your last bathing ritual?”

“Last night, my Lord,” Raziel’s voice faltered slightly as the Time Guardian approached.

“You shall be tested, of course,” Moebius waved a wizened hand, slammed his staff on the floor, activating its magic aura.

Rahab and Dumah grabbed Raziel by the arms and shoulders from behind. They forced him to his knees.

“Hold him!” commanded Moebius, he stood over Raziel, the light from his staff was painful, causing Raziel to move his head away.

“Look!” cried Dumah, “It affects him!”

“It’s bright, you idiot!” Raziel snapped.

Moebius peered over him, his eyes narrowed. He slipped a cold, gnarled hand into Raziel’s shirt. Raziel tried to pull away at his touch as Moebius’s bony fingers found and exposed the fresh wound at the base of Raziel’s neck.

Rahab and Dumah both gasped. Tightening their grip on their brother, their commander, the Grand High Inquisitor who had become a vampire’s thrall!

Raziel suffered a flashback, he was a child again, greeting his adopted father, Malik, back from campaign.

“Father!”

“Raziel!” in a rare show of affection, Malik had taken the boy up in his arms and kissed him on the head, “Are you ready for your dedication ceremony tomorrow?”

“Yes, father. But why can’t you teach me?”

“We are already too close, my son. You must find your own path, and Moebius can help you do this, as he did for me.”

“What’s he like?” Raziel had wondered.

Malek’s smile twisted into a grimace, “he’s very… intense.”

Moebius looked at the painting of Raziel, locked in a vicious and carnal embrace with their arch-enemy, Janos Audron. The Pillar Guardian of Time stunned them all, raised his hand, turned and struck Raziel hard across the face. “How could you betray me like this! I loved you like a son. I gave you everything!” The old man whined, “I should have kept a closer eye on you.” His pained white eyes searched Raziel’s face. “No. Not my beautiful Raziel. How did this happen? Why did I not see it? What dark magic is at play here?”

Moebuis’s voice lowered as he started to pace the room, “There is no atonement for what you have done. Your life is forfeit, the other Guardians will demand it.” He looked across to Malek, who had hung his head. “But,” Moebius continued, “you can choose to meet your maker with a clear conscience. I offer you one last chance, Raziel. Go to this vile creature’s lair and kill him.”

“But, my Lords,” Raziel spluttered

Finally Malek spoke, “You were my finest student, yet you disappoint me.” He said, his voice broke under his helm. “When did the vile creature ensnare you? How did he do it? Why did we not see?”

Raziel’s mind betrayed him. He could think only of that first time with Janos in the forest ruins by moonlight. That time on the roof of the Stronghold while he was meant to be on guard duty. The countless nights he rode a naked Janos in his own bed chambers, barely a few hundred feet away from where they were standing. Finally, that truly blasphemous encounter in the Grand High Inquisitor’s private chapel.

Quite how they’d gotten away with it, under the same roof as the Circle of Nine, was incredible. He was strangely proud of them all. Why was his mind fixated with those images?

Malek stepped back away from his protege, simply sat on the edge of the pool in defeat and put his head in his hands, “It is over, then, Moebius. The beast has him.

“We must judge and punish one of our highest clerics. You …” he turned finally to Raziel, “Do you know what you have done? Listen to our Master, my son. Only he can help you now.”

Moebius stopped pacing and placed a protective hand on the Malek’s shoulder and patted it. The pillar Guardians were symbiotically bound. Anything that affected a member of the Circle of Nine affected them all. “Calm yourself, Malek. The guilty will pay an appropriate price.”

Moebuis activated his staff once again and looked into the waters of his scrying pool. “Go now to the creature's lair”, he commanded Raziel, “Take my staff, you will need it. If you hurry you will encounter the strangest being you have ever seen. He is the assassin, winged and blue. Do not approach him. Do not engage. You only need to follow him. He will lead you to your prey.“

He turned once more to Raziel, took hold of his chin with his skeletal hand and forced him to look into those dead white eyes, “Cut out Janos Audron’s poisonous heart and bring it to me as proof of your allegiance. Along with his accursed sword- this is most important. Do this, and I will see this painting destroyed. Your execution will instead be that of a martyr befitting your esteemed reputation and title.”

They rode hard and reached the rest of their forces at the base of Janos’s lair on the third day. Raziel was beginning to feel weak. He’d already thrown up twice on the journey. His body was rejecting food. He hungered only for a taste of Janos.

So this was what it was like to be a fledgling thrall? He was a vampire in waiting, compelled to return and drink from my master. He knew that was what his dying body craved. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself accost and sink his own teeth into Janos’s flesh.

Then he saw his accompanying brothers taking both their heads. He shuddered.

“Fear not, brother,” said Rahab, he must have noticed how pale and sickly Raziel was looking, “by the end of this day, Janos Audron will lay dead, along with all of his kind, and you shall be free of this curse.” He leant on the pommel of his saddle and seemed genuine in his fondness for his elder brother. Far more so, than the others. “This day will be remembered for your victory, not your defeat. Anything else is academic. History is written by the victors, brother, so go, be victorious.”

Raziel grasped Rahab’s forearm in thanks, and then looked up at the imposing edifice across the frozen lake. He swallowed his fear and allowed his brother’s words to bolster him.

Leaving Rahab in charge of their main forces, Raziel focused on the direct path, and as Meobius had foretold, he discovered the curious small wraith to which the Time Guardian had referred. They watched this pathetic creature from the safety of the tree line. His brothers sucking in breath and praising the Nine for their foresight.

In the end it was laughably easy. When they arrived all those weeks ago at the base of the mountain, it had appeared whole. And now, after weeks of wondering how they would ever penetrate this fortress, the wraith performed feats of unimaginable strength and cleared the way.

Following at a discreet distance, With his Sarafan brothers Dumah, Turel, Zephon and Melchiah as escort, Raziel casually strolled into the ground levels of Janos’s mountainside retreat.

Raziel knew what he had to do. He took the weak part of himself that was still in love with Janos and he caged it inside the fully armoured shell of the Sarafan Grand High Inquisitor, only his dark eyes visible from behind his burnished gold helmet. Trapped beneath this armoured visage his tortured heart was screaming.

He stood in the courtyard and looked up at the latticework of platforms and drawbridges, perfectly designed to keep whatever wanted in, out. Unless you were winged, of course. From the sounds and falling dust from above, clearly this creature was blazing a trail in which to follow. through the centre of the mountain. The place was deserted, the way left unguarded, and cautiously Raziel and his small party of brothers made their way up to the Temple of the Reaver.

But those tall wooden double doors that had opened for Janos with just a thought blocked their way. It was no matter, with enough physical force the locks on the ancient portal soon crumbled and gave way and together the Sarafan rushed into the sanctum.

Janos was there, speaking to the wraith. He took one look at Raziel and his cohorts and magically teleported the protesting creature away. Raziel was suddenly reminded of the feeling, having recently experienced it himself. Who was this wraith and why was Janos protecting them?

It was of no matter. Janos was the one they wanted.

Despite this inevitable outcome, Janos’s beautiful face full of shock, a look of horror in his bright eyes as his lover, and now blood-child, Raziel approached, fully armed and ready for battle. Janos’s wings dropped to the floor, his face pale with horror.

Raziel had drawn his sword, his brothers fanned out behind and around them, ready to support and to witness this confrontation.

Janos’s golden gaze targeted and followed Turel, armed with Moebius’s staff, but for a moment, before Raziel placed himself between him and Janos, capturing the vampire’s attention.

Janos’s eyes welled up and his tears spilled over as he spoke, “Raziel, my love, I have made a terrible mistake.”

“Yes, you have,” agreed Raziel smoothly. “You should have fled.“ You should have turned me.

“You were not ready for the Reaver.” Janos croaked. “You are the chosen one, but not yet-”

“What is the beast blathering about, brother?” asked Dumah.

“D‘aw, Raziel never did like to share his toys,” drawled Zephon, their wicked laughter echoing through the high vaulted chamber. “Oh, bother, he is divine. I can see why you kept this one all to yourself!”

“I want its wings,” declared Melciah, “Let me pluck them for you, brother, you can make yourself a little pillow,” the others laughed again cruelly while they circled the pair like a pack of hungry wolves.

“Enough!” Commanded Raziel, “Let our enemy explain himself.”

Janos cried, “Raziel, Redeemer, Destroyer, Pawn and Messiah! I have seen what is left behind when they take everything from you.

“They will take your name, your title, your beauty, everything until all that is left are my gifts. Wings, skin, the Reaver, but above all, a kind and gentle heart!” Janos almost reached for him, but stopped as Raziel and his host raised their blades.

“This creature seems obsessed with you, brother,” said Dumah.

“All the more reason to kill it,” said Turel, “End this now, Raziel.”

“Aw, such a shame,” lamented Zephon with a vicious smile.

A darkness crept over Janos’s face as he took in the room, “I wondered why the Reaver would ever choose one such as you, cursed Sarafan. I don’t know what horrors and torment await you, but if I have to die to get you there, Raziel, my love, our saviour, I will.” Janos lunged at Raziel, and the battle began.

Janos’s speed was astonishing. Raziel barely managed to turn his body and avoid the blow. Janos bared his fangs and hissed at the rest, making them back away.

As the battle continued, a sound from above startled Raziel, the doors on the gallery above opened and the wraith returned.

Raziel could waste no more time. “Now, Turel!”

Turel activated Meobius’s staff.

Janos cried out, and fell to his knees.

Dumah and Melchiah wasted no time, grabbing and dragging the immobilised vampire face up onto the very same stone altar were Janos had performed his ritual and defiled Raziel a mere hours before.

Janos struggled against his captors.

“Hold him!” Raziel commanded.

The orb on the staff glowed and its effect was immediate, Janos grunted as he found himself at its mercy, unable to move.

With all of his weight and strength behind the vicious twin blades upon his gauntlet, Raziel cracked open Janos’s exposed chest.

Janos screamed in agony, but failed to reach Raziel through the blood lust.

The cruelness of it, the pain Raziel inflicted it was intoxicating.

He urgently searched for Janos’s heart. The feeling of plunging his hand, deep into Janos’s chest, after years of being violated by this creature, was perfect irony. Raziel was taking from him what mattered most. His hand groped through the flesh, the blood and bone and felt the heart beating. He closed his hand around it, Janos’s scream reached a fever pitch as Raziel tore his heart free. He held his bloody prize up for all to see.

“Look at his black heart! How it still beats!” Cried Turel.

Raziel looked up at his bloody trophy held aloft. In a way, it was a relief. At least the torment of the past twelve years was finally over. He looked back at Janos’s corpse. Vae Victis… He thought. Woe to the conquered. A part of him somewhere deep inside was weeping.

He looked up at the wraith, who had witnessed the entire gruesome deed, apparently still with shock. He wasn’t sure what the creature’s intentions were but whoever he was, he had failed to save Janos. There was a small glimmer of recognition, as if he knew this being but wasn’t sure how. An ancestor? A former foe that had long been sent to the grave? Raziel couldn’t shake it.

Meanwhile the heart still pounded in his grasp, as a vampiric heart it would continue to do so. After years of hunting the beasts Raziel knew of all the ways to kill a vampire, and unless their hearts were staked, their bodies submerged in water or exposed to the sun, they were immortal. The darkness Janos was trapped in, it was a fate perhaps worse than death.

At that moment, a tremor shook the mountainside, “The fiend intends to bury us alive,” said Dumah, “Raziel,

It was time to leave. “Remember the sword!” Raziel commanded, and they left with haste, leaving the collapsing mountain retreat behind with the prone corpse of his recent lover, and would-be vampire master, Janos Audron.

The rain lashed down on their journey home. Turning the tracks to mud, through villages and towns, they marched.

The faithful still lined the streets despite the rain, cheering and shouting blessings to the Sarafan. They threw flowers at their feet, praised the Nine and the Elder God. All hailed their saviour, Grand High Inquisitor Raziel.

As the grizzly procession crawled at a sober pace, Raziel felt glad of the rain, at least no one could see how hard he cried. It washed away his tears as well as the blood from Janos’s heart. The heart still fluttered like a caught bird in his caged hands, no end to the constant flow of blood. It stained his clothes and his horse’s caparison. He clutched his prize to his breast and sobbed, knowing his utter devastation would be interpreted as rapture from blessed release from a task that had eluded him all his adult life - find and kill Janos Audron.

Before long they reached the stronghold and still clutching Janos’s heart in his hands, leaving a bloodied trail in his wake, Raziel climbed the steps to the Sanctuary.

He all but stumbled through the large wooden doors, open to the elements for the first time he could remember. The sound of trumpets called him home. Rose petal confetti filled the air and laid thick like a red carpet lining the aisles.

The Nature Guardian was responsible, she was the first to greet him. He found all nine of the pillar guardians standing there silently waiting for their champion and their prize. Raziel fell to his knees before them.

The Balance guardian, distinct with her shaven head, was the first to step forward while the others looked on. “Thank you, Raziel,” she said, holding her hands out for the heart, while Malek received the Reaver from Raziel’s brethren.

The Balance Guardian took the precious heart and turned to Mortanius, Guardian of Death. He held a small glass casket in which they placed Janos’s beating heart. They bowed to each other.

“We, The Nine, declare from this moment forward that the remains of our enemy shall be known as The Heart of Darkness.” Said the Balance Guardian.

“Dearest, Raziel. Protector of us all. You are now its defender. Take up your new position, see to it that no harm ever befalls this most dangerous of holy relics.”

And so, Raziel, former Grand High Inquisitor, became the Tenth Guardian, as was prophesied by Janos. He knelt in his new sanctuary, deep within the Sarafan Stronghold, where the casket containing Janos’s heart was interred. Blood still poured from it, filling the central fountain at which Raziel knelt, in prayer and agonising torture. Just feet from the source of his vampire master’s power.

All he had to do was drink from it and his transformation into a member of the bloodthirsty undead would be complete. His body yearned for it, yet it was the one thing he was charged never to do.

Mortanius, Guardian of Death, made his presence known behind him with his unmistakable laugh, “Poor Raziel, how far the mighty have fallen,” he put his hand on Raziel’s shoulder, squeezing tightly on the area that Janos had bitten, “and how much further there is yet to fall.”

“Janos Audron is dead,” said Raziel in an accusatory tone, “and yet I am not free of the curse,” He could sense the satisfaction on Mortanius’s face behind the mask as the Death Guardian nodded at the realisation, “Killing Janos has not ended the war.”

Mortanius laughed again. “It was never meant to, only to bring the heart to me. You have been a good servant, Raziel. I regret that it has ended in this way.

“You have one last chance at redemption. The wraith you followed into the monster’s lair has returned to the Stronghold. It kills your brethren as we speak. It means to steal back the heart, and it is armed with the Reaver. Go and do your duty, Tenth Guardian. Protect the Heart of Darkness.”

Mortanius laughed once more, full of malice, “By the blade or the vampire’s poison, you shall be delivered to the Wheel of Fate on this day. Go now, Raziel, and meet your destiny.”