Author Topic: so i was writing a diablerie story..  (Read 493 times)

Offline Raven Corella

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so i was writing a diablerie story..
« on: September 19, 2018, 11:32:12 AM »
   
I need not breathe. And yet, I feel as if I am being suffocated every night. Something heavy keeps me shackled. Pain, regret. It fills my lungs and chokes me from the inside. It’s time I confronted my demons and freed myself. It’s time I went back to where it all began.
Home.


   Shayara bid farewell to those closest to her and left the tower, heading straight to Los Santos International. She hadn’t even packed her bags… Why? Perhaps deep down she always knew she would return. The taxi left her at the cheap motel, a few dozen kilometers away from Cairo. The Ashipu rested in the shower for the entirety of the night, allowing each droplet of cold water to wash away one of her many sins. Her tough skin cracked apart with the light of dawn, and after she satiated her thirst - Shayara fell asleep.
   It was Spring, at last. A time that calls for rejuvenation, a calling to life and beauty. There was nothing of the sort in Shayara’s heart. There was nothing at all. Just like the dry, lifeless desert - the only thing that remained was the guilt, seeping like sand in all directions and consuming the remaining bright oases. Every memory she had was surrounded by lies, deceit and murder. Nothing she had was real, the beast took it all away. Her mind was devoid of any thought, and for a while she simply wanted to roam the desert alone - just her and the beast. The desert foxes she encountered provided nourishment to her famished companion, and just like that - moon after moon, half a year passed by in what seemed to her like a decade. O’, how the mighty have fallen.

 
I wish I could say my exile was of any worth. I might have told myself I’ve reached some sort of epiphamy, but I was simply lying to myself in an attempt to feel better. It was months before the solitude gnawed at me, and when the growls of my blood thirsty beast became the only sound I heard - I thought I was about to go mad. In retrospect, half a year was merely a fraction of my unlife, but when you listen to your own voice for so long - you stop enjoying the company of a smart woman and gradually degrade into despair.

   The cold, lone and long nights changed her as the desert’s sharp wind chipped her very spirit, a cataclyst which would allow her to morph into somehing new. The Ashipu made her way North, the tedious trip finally coming to an end once she arrived at the outskirts of New Heliopolis. The valley which she had once been intimately familiar with was now remodeled into a lively city. Dawn neared, and the sorceress sought shelter in a cave. She recalled taking cover from sand storms in this cave growing up as a child, though it seems with time the opening erroded. The tall entrance had now collapsed, leaving only a crack between the ground and the boulder suspended above it.  Everything had changed, and surprisingly it took only a few centuries. How is it that the whole world around her had moved on, yet she remained almost the same. A puppet tied to her own past demons, dancing lifelessly on a stage set by the masters of her fate.

   The days were short, and as if closing her eyes to rest for but a moment - the sun had set again. Just as she was about to awaken, a blinding light forced its way into the pitch dark cave through the crack at the entrance. A echoed shout made its way into her ears and she suddenly rose. Although she reached forth to cover her eyes, the rays of light still made their way through the cracks of her slim fingers. The light turned off for a moment, and she briefly saw the rugged face of an old man who called to her in a foreign language. It seemed to him as though she’d been trapped in the cave, and given Shayara’s complexion and unclean skin, she couldn’t convince him otherwise even if she tried. Deciding to entertain that train of thought, she allowed herself to be ‘rescued’ by the man, who even offered his abode as housing for the night. And indeed, who could resist the offering of a warm meal? She had no qualms about accepting his invite.

   ”Mother..?” Shayara muttered in disbelief. She had come here to simply feed and then be on her way, how is it that her past found her even here? The family of her valiant savior were just as puzzled as the sorceress. She was quick to regain her composure, and eventually redirected the conversation. Jaqhar introduced the rest of his family. Niel, Samara and Lucas were the names of their offspring. Each smiled warmly at the stranger, who in turn surveyed their appearances with distant eyes and nodded, before turning her attention to their mother. Either the desert had made her halucinate, or that woman looked exactly like her progenitor. Many forget the faces of their parents once they’re gone, yet for Shayara - in spite of centuries flying by, she could never relinquish that memory. After all, it was her anchor to humanity. Akila - that turned out to be the name of the woman who shared an identical apperance. But was it really just the appearance? Had she not been an infamous kind of blood sorceress, perhaps she would’ve believed in something as preposterous as reincarnation. Needless to say, the thought of feeding on that family were put at the back of her head. Her bloodthirst had now been replaced by unsatiable curiosity. Was this power of destiny?

   Within the short span of a few weeks, Akila had befriended Shayara. Surprisingly, the cold sorceress was also open to this relationship idea. Perhaps it was because she never had  a chance to have one with her own kin. Jaqhar did not support this. To him, saving this woman was akin to inviting trouble into his house. This lunatic that only appeared at night became the hot topic for rumors among neighbours, and he confronted her in an attempt to drive her off. This of course didn’t sit well with Shayara, so she simply got rid of him. As if squashing an ant, she first drove him through despair after toying with his mind, then - even his children wouldn’t suspect a thing when he disappared into the wind. Unbeknownst to Shayara, the impact of this tragedy affected them to a greater degree than she had predicted. The family had sunk into a depressive state, with no source of funding or backing. On the other hand, the bond between Laylah and Akila had only strengthened, and she became a pillar of support for the young woman. The plan to embrace the family and take them in was set into motion, however - she would not disregard traditions. A seven year period of observance was required, and so she watched from within and afar how they would handle the difficulties of life.

   At this time around, like vultures gnawing at prey in distress - The Cairo Electric Railways & Heliopolis Oases Company had approached Akila with the proposition to sell their home. These propositions were done openly and at an alarming pace, almost half of the town had sold their properties and moved elsewhere. The district soon became a ghost town, with most of the residents gone. Akila was had sunken further into the despair, and even Shayara’s encouragements no longer seemed to have any effect on her. The woman had fall into silence, overcome by illness and depression. The sorceress decided not to involve herself too closely, instead keeping up appearances and observing from a distance. After many visits from their lawyers who left disappointed every time, a city convention was eventually called. A big-shot representative from the company  had come all the way to New Heliopoles, and the remaining citizens who had yet to sell were all invited to attend the gathering. Akila had asked Shayara to go in her behalf, and having nothing better to do - the sorceress indulged.
   The speech was great, even Shayara nodded from time to time in acknowledgement of the man’s silver tongue. In a single hour, he swayed the opinion of two thirds, all of whom signed the contracts to sell within the same day. It was shocking to say the least, but she didn’t press into the matter and left. What she did not know, was that words were not their sole weapon. Following that meeting, drastic measures were taken and the area went on a downwards spiral. Shops were closed, people were uprooted and houses were demolished left and right. The authorities were too corrupt and ignorant to get involved, thus the company reigned freely.

   (...)

   As soon as the sun had nearly set, Shayara left her shelter and headed for Akila’s house. The sun still radiated with an amber glow in the distance, soon after falling behind a cliff. To her surprise, the door was wide open. An iron stench permeated the area and soon hit Shayara’s nostrils. She took a whiff of the intoxicating smell, her bloodshot eyes surveying the area with acuity. Upon reassessing her control over the demon within, she paced further into the home. Blood stains riddled the entire living room, indiscriminately coloring the floor red. Drip… drip… She suddenly looked up. Something had been endlessly dripping down onto her face like clockwork. Suddenly, it hit her. Rather than screaming, she brandished her fangs and growled. In an instant, she found herself in the room upstairs - standing over Akila’s motionless body. She was dead, and so were her children. Niel… Lucas... Both had their throats cut from ear to ear.
She rushed aside, almost relinquishing whatever degree of control she had left to the beast. Were it not for her sorcery and the ability to preserve tranquility even amidst a tornado, she would have long since abandoned her humanity. Monsters like these did not deserve to be treated with humanity. Beasts shall be hunted by greater beasts, that was the law of nature.

   “If you intend to plead for mercy… Let her go!” Shayara had come across a pair of people dragging the unconscious Samara away. They were about to embark in a vehicle. If she were to guess, Samara would end up as profit for human traffickers. She couldn’t allow such a fate to befall her. Without a second thought, she rushed forward. A weapon formed out of thin air in her hand, and with ichor coating its blade - the head of one of them had flown in the air. By the tie it hit the ground, the heart of the other one had been impaled by a blade. Thud, thud. As if rhytmically - one after the other, the head and bodies of the kidnappers had fallen onto the ground. Thus began Shayara’s song of vengeance.

   An endless blood ode sung by the wailing souls of company lackies was dedicated to her friend. Death and torture were her strings, and the melody was nowhere near its end. Once she composed the song, she would see it through till the bitter end. Enemies crumbled at her feet, their corpses piling up until a stairwell to heaven ascended, as if meant for Akila to tread. The thought of her achieving peace in the afterlife somewhat aleviated Shayara’s pain and anger. It has been a while since she had last allowed her emotions to gain full control. This must have been the third? She counted her mother on a finger, her sire on the other, leaving her with the remaining one. Akila’s death had taken a toll just as important as the death of her blood progenitor. One thought kept cloudin her mind - she simply could not allow this death to go unavenged as the others had. Blood must flood this city, only through that will she be able to absolve herself of her sin and cleanse her past from the pain.

   Two months later, the damages caused to their little project had reached an irreversible state. Once she had thinned the herd of sheep, it was only natural for the wolf to come out. The man who hid under the wolf’s skin was in fact a snake. He was the same man who gave the speech at the convention. It was this moment that she understood that Cainites were involved. Cursing at her fate, she briefly entertained the idea of yielding. But how could she end the play when the song had reched its crescendo? Like an incarnation of Eve, she relentlessly crushed the head of the snake, bringing final destruction upon it. By the  time her wounds had nearly reached a full recovery, Mohamed El Shahwy personally came out to oversee the situation. Upon scouring the memories of the setite ancillae she had slain earlier, Shayara had discovered who the masterminds behind the show were. And now, it was time for the final keys to be struck. The shepherd himself came out into the field.

   (...)

   While the hotel was brimming with security, it was hardly an obstacle for a trained Assamite. She effortlessly made her way into the presidential suite, using her sorcery to fully conceal herself and pass harmlessly through walls and several security layers. Upon arrival, she materialized and reached for her weapon, but before she could even grasp the door knob leading into Mohamed’s office, she suddenly felt a cold chill down her spine. She turned around. Before she could even blink, darkness enveloped her entire body. It felt as if the entire world had sunk into the abyss. For a moment, she could even hear the cold river of Duat flowing beside her. Stuck in this nightmare for more than a few seconds would have been fatal. She desperately tried to take control of her own mind. The enemy, although with sluggish moves, kept striking her down. Blow after blow was dealt, and it felt as though an unending streams of strikes would drop her in an early grave. She collapsed on the ground momentarily, but before the enemy could deliver a final blow - the Ashipu disappeared from view, leaving behind all of her clothes and possessions. Having teleported away, she once more concealed herself and observed the individual who attacked her. It was not Mohamed, but it was his close aide and presumably enforcer. She mended the superficial wounds she had incurred, and by the time the enemy closed in on her hiding spot, she brandished her sole weapons left - a pair of fangs bit into the rear of the man’s neck. A piece of flesh was torn out, and then, by the time the opponent could recover from the strike, a stream of blood was spewed from her mouth. It landed on the opponent’s wound and corroded away at his exposed bone. Within a few seconds, he collapsed into a torpid state. Shayara had poisoned his body and stripped him of his resilience, but in doing so she had to use up nearly all of her blood pool. The enemy’s resistance was no joke, but in the end - few can survive the renowned Scorpion Touch of the Assamites.
    The battle was as good as over, but this was not the head of the snake. She had brought down the enforcer, yes… but he was still a pawn, and not the king. Without wasting any time on clothing herself, she brought herself before the brute, then bit in. While at first merely intending to replenish her vitae, it proved quite difficult to release her grip on him. With the elder’s vitae fueling her insides, she felt empowered. It wasn’t that her force of will wouldn’t allow her to stop, on the contrary - it was the allure of achieving complete vengeance. She would not simply kill them, she intended to absolutely destroy them and their legacy. Before she rationalized all of this, the Kindred at her feet was nothing but an empty husk. The blood had been drained completely, a bitter taste of rotten flesh entered her mouth - yet she did not let go. She felt the flesh decay as every last drop of energy was absorbed into her maw.
    Having achieved victory over the enforcer, she hastenly took care of the tracks and moved into the office. To her relief, Mohamed was not there. While pondering whether to leave and return later or lay an ambush in spite of her wounds incurred from the previous fight, she stared blankly at the window. Silence. As if no one but God knew of her sin, the whole world remained silent, seemingly unaware of her heinous crime. Having reasoned that she wouldn’t likely get a second chance and that the security would tighten once word of their enforcer’s death would spread - the sorceress decided to lay in wait. She assumed the skin of a chameleon, blending in with her surroundings. While obfuscating her presence, she lowered herself down and rested in silence, mending her wounds.

    A few hours flew by, all the while Shayara remained completely frozen. Stillness was paramount in any sort of ambush. By the time she recovered to a degree where she could fight unimpeded, an overwhelming presence filled the room. Even as the doors opened, she felt the urge to emerge from her hideout and prostate herself before the man. This was Mohamed El Shahwy in person. If she were to describe him, then the word authority would take first place. This man’s presence put many Camarilla Princes to shame. A majestic aura, the alure of which was nearly irresistible, contoured by veiny strands of red that pulsated endlessly around the pale core. How terrifying. She knew that she would be discovered very soon, and without giving the Setite even a chance to sit, she emerged from the pal of shadows veiling her and dealt the first blow. The war fan ripped through the person’s jacket and tore a diagonal hole across his spine. Still, it was not enough. Even the poisonous ichor of the assamites proved to be insufficient. How troublesome. They exchanged a few superficial blows, each being blocked by either one or the other combatants. While this looked to Shayara as if the enemy would soon give in and make a mistake, she was soon proven wrong. A slim layer of scales formed on the man’s skin, before completely enveloping his body. His legs melted like wax into a single form, then extended backwards. He had assumed the full form of a serpent, a maw wide enough to swallow a human whole.
    How in he world was one supposed to defeat this monster? Having lost her surprise effect advantage, they had fought on equal grounds - and even so, Shayara seemed to be losing. Now that he had assumed his form, it would be twice as difficult to even flee. A miracle was needed, a mistake on the opponent’s side… Though, could you really rely on errors from an enemy who had lived for centuries? A thought hit her then. She laid her hand on the marble wall, her fingertips sliding across the smooth surface almost seductively. Her skin’s surface toughened up as she absorbed the elemental durability of the stone she touched. Afterwards, she charged forth like an absolute maniac. Every blow she delivered was brutal, she was like a primordial beast, a berserker. A deadly flurry of calculated and precise strikes put the snake on the defensive, but it was to no avail. It would not give in. It was at this moment that a die was cast, a gamble that could cost her unlife. The war fan slashed against the rough scales at an angle, the chipped blade tearing off entirely, her arm kept going forth in an overextended attack. An opening showed itself up, and any respectable enemy would not let go of it. By the time the fangs of the serpent inserted themselves in Shayara’s torso, it was too late. Who would have thought it was a trap. This Ashipu must have been insane, she had allowed herself to be bitten just to poison the enemy. The setite’s maw widened and he tried to break contact, a vicious ichor seeping from his fangs. Both of them stumbled backwards in the aftermath, the game was almost over. The sorceress brandished a wide grin, then - with her immense wrath as a foundation, she charged forth, ignoring the open wound and blood dripping from her abdomen. A black obsidian dagger briefly manifested in her hand, and she thrust it forth into the beast’s throat. A coating of red blood stained the blade’s surface, and it easily corroded the scales of the beast. Having lost its resilience and speed, it was not a victim waiting to be crushed. Whilst still bleeding, the snake morphed into its original humanoid form. Mohamed El Shahwy looked at her with blood stained eyes. His majestic presence extended over and tried to cloud her mind, to toy with her emotions. It was futile, there was no emotion greater than hatred. Nothing could overcome wrath, and her resolve was unwavering. Checkmate.

    Akin to his flesh melting under the Assamite’s ichor, Mohamed’s resolve had been torn apart. He could no longer escape his fate, and neither could he plead for mercy. How could one beg an ant for forgiveness? Well, it was too late for either of those things. Shayara’s fangs sunk into his neck, and within moments - he collapsed at her feet. A blood red palm soaked in Shayara’s own blood left an imprint on the man’s chest, as if she had aimed to grip his heart and pull it out. A final struggle ensued. Now that the chess board was laid bare at Shayara’s feet, it was time to stomp on the player itself. A struggle, that’s what it was. The last roar of a dying beast, akin to a dragon who knew that it would be wiped from history - the setite gave his all. His will to survive almost reached the same heights as Shayara’s hatred. Almost, but not enough.

   Having taken care of the organization, Shayara returned to the ghost town that was New Heliopolis. She intended to quite literally bury her past in the desert, letting it burn under the schorching sun - forever. Whilst covering the remains of her mother, a smooth voice was carried by the wind, and a whisper resonated in her mind. The sound was hoarse, yet incomparably bewitching. It felt as if the devil had landed on her shoulder and whispered sweet secrets in her ear. Without a second thought, she knelt and looked around. It was clear to her that a higher presence had descended there, but who could it be? What sort of demon possessed a presence as overwhelming as this? The winds howled, and whilst still dazzled by the voice, she looked upon a cliff. A figure veiled in a torn cloak stared at her from the top for a second, then faded away, as if melting and becoming one with the desert.

Look at how far you've fallen, daughter of Hakh'ueem. (Haqim)
The father of justice weeps in his slumber while his children tear his legacy apart.
 Soon he will awaken, and the moon will hide its face in shame of how far you've strayed.
 The judgement day will then be upon you.

  Those were the words the man uttered. She stood up, her knees still trembling. She stared absent-mindedly at the horizon until the sun made its presence known. Only then did she snap out of this fugue. She put the prophecy at the back of her head and decided to never speak of it.
Shayara had returned to the United States. Though she had originally aided the Camarilla of Los Santos, she knew it was unwise to return to the city in this state. Instead, she made her way into Red County, claiming that she ventured there to push the interests of the Camarilla and bring justice to the men who murdered Kristijan. While her wounds healed and she regained her composure, she intended to lay low in the countryside. Having buried her hatred, she lost her foundation. Now that she could no longer be angry at someone, she would be hate the world itself. That is no way to live. Even the dead need a goal. Perhaps the prophecy in the desert was not an ultimatum… perhaps she could still seek redemption? She knew that the judgement day was approaching, but who would judge her and for what remained a mystery.


then i realized, it's too long lol  :-\
« Last Edit: September 19, 2018, 11:34:07 AM by Raven Corella »

Offline cantbearmaros

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Re: so i was writing a diablerie story..
« Reply #1 on: September 19, 2018, 12:26:33 PM »
darko: too long

when youre natively english but cant speak it

Offline Hades

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Re: so i was writing a diablerie story..
« Reply #2 on: September 19, 2018, 11:11:31 PM »


Offline Coeus

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Re: so i was writing a diablerie story..
« Reply #3 on: September 20, 2018, 10:19:20 AM »
Cute, someone has mommy issues

Offline Jeffrey Gain

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Re: so i was writing a diablerie story..
« Reply #4 on: September 20, 2018, 05:06:03 PM »
A very interesting story not gonna lie, I was intrigued while reading it.

keep dat shit up
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Offline Carl

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Re: so i was writing a diablerie story..
« Reply #5 on: September 20, 2018, 10:01:22 PM »
Nice story, putted some emphasis on some expressions which gives it a little bit of surprise to the story.

Well done, nicely made!
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