Satan's Portal (Mature Content)(solo RP for now)

[Mal Evolence]

Before I begin, this needs a little back history about where this RP comes from and the game it's based on. This RP started in another forum, where RPs are based on an online board game. The theme is based on vampires, and it's played in a city named RavenBlack and the city is referred to OOC as 'the grid.' The game itself is easy and boring, hence the corresponding RP. To RP in the different forums, you must have created a vampire in the city of RavenBlack. The RP should be based on the powers you acquire for your grid vampire and the friends you make there. The Vampire I RP has been in play for over 20 years and has every power available in the grid game. There are a dozen RP discord sites and as many forum sites the same as this one. To join the grid game requires a link called 'biter link.' It is against the rules of that game to post it to public forums randomly, but if there is an interest, message me.

Let's get this party started.

 

[Mal Evolence]

The Awakening​

Neagoe Basarab III lay on his overly plush bed in northern Spain, a light sheet covering him to his armpits as a gentle cool breeze floated through an open window, across the room, and out another window opposite it. The breeze carried the scent of spring flowers and the sounds of a vibrant city alive with the music of street performers and the voices of shoppers as they went about their daily activities.

Neagoe was at the ripe old age of 101, but as with everything, he was at the end of his life. There was a machine to help him breathe, another to help his heartbeat and clean his blood. He had a pretty young nurse who reminded him of one of his great-grandchildren. She would feed him when needed and change the body waste bag hanging from his bed. He could no longer do either for himself. He had been bedridden for the last few years, not well enough to live a productive life any longer but too stubborn to give up and die. He knew what death meant for him, for any member of his cursed family, and he was willing to do anything to prolong that fate, but he also knew he could fight it no longer. His mind was as sharp as ever before; unfortunately, his body was failing him by inches as one system shut down after another. The process was slow and painful; he hurt constantly, the pain meds helped, but not much, and in the end, he would die; there was no avoiding it, and he knew it.

"Bring me my youngest grandson." He croaked to the nurse who was making adjustments to one of the machines that kept him alive.

She gently patted his arm, left the room, and quietly closed the door behind her without a word. Laying alone in the room, Neagoe Basarab III knew it was time. He had protected his family for as long as he could. Still, it was time to pass the responsibility to the next generation of the Basarab line, as it had been passed to him almost 80 years ago.

It had only been a few minutes since the nurse had left, and as silent as a whisper, the door opened to admit a young man into the room. He had brown eyes the color of polished oak, a full head of flowing black hair pulled back in a ponytail and held at the nape of his neck by a leather cord, his stark white button dress shirt contrasted with his deep golden tan and was tucked into his black slacks. A gold chain hung around his neck, the end of which was hidden down his shirt. Neagoe knew a pendant of the house Basarab would be attached to the end of that finely crafted chain. Every male member of the house wore one. Even on his death bed, Neagoe could feel the cold metal of his pendant as it rested on his chest. Only at his death would it be removed and then given to the youngest male of the line. It was a tradition dating back almost 580 years, and that tradition would play out today.

"Come closer, Thomas, it's time," Neagoe told the boy. Was he a boy, Neagoe thought, or was he a man? Thomas was twenty now, about the same age Neagoe had been when he was forced to protect the line. Back then, he had been considered a man, and even as a man, he had not been ready for the responsibility thrust upon him. Thomas was a man then, Neagoe thought, and if not, he would be after today, ready or not.

Thomas stepped closer, taking up a position at the side of the bed opposite the machines as his father had told him to. A few years prior, his father had taken Thomas aside and given him vague instructions as if he knew Thomas would need them soon. Thomas wasn't told the why of things, only the how. His father probably didn't know the why, but the how had been passed down to every youngest male at some point, which meant that every male knew the how, but Thomas didn't think any of them knew the why. Today, he would find out the why.

Without a word, Thomas knelt beside the bed, taking Neagoe's hand. He recited the words his father had made him memorize, each carrying the weight of generations of duty and secrecy.
"For you have called, I have come."
"For you have protected, I am ready to protect."
"For you have kept the secret, I will keep the secret."
"Your duty is now my duty."
"I pledge my soul to the task, per the pact, and keep safely hidden that which he seeks."
"I vow never to let darkness shine upon it and to keep it in light forever."
"This is my task for as long as I live, and I will pass this task to my youngest blood only at my death."
"This, I swear."
Thomas felt the weight of the words as he said them. Before, they seemed silly; they felt like superstitious nonsense, and now they seemed as heavy as a stone. He had heard the rumors about Neagoe while attending family gatherings. Outlandish things like Neagoe being a wizard or sacrificing small children to demons; some said he was not really from this world. He was sent to prepare the Earth for alien domination. The last one was Thomas's favorite. Though dismissed by most, these rumors added an air of mystery and intrigue to Neagoe's character. But suddenly, the words seemed ominous and filled Thomas with foreboding. With a whisper, Thomas added,
"May God have mercy on your soul." Thomas didn't know why he added that last part, but somehow, it fits.

Neagoe pulled his pendant from his shirt and tried to remove it by sliding it over his head. The chain tangled itself in the air hose that ran from a machine to the breathing apparatus that looped under his nose. Thomas stood up and quickly helped the older man untangle the mess, then he replaced the hose. This pendant felt heavier than the one Thomas had worn his whole life. Thomas turned it over in his hand. The pendant and chain that he wore were gold, whereas the one Neagoe had worn was silver. Also, the chain was thicker, and the pendant was half again as big as Thomas's. He had always thought it was a strange tradition that every man in the family wore the same pendant, like a family crest.

Neagoe pointed to a large tapestry that hung from the ceiling to the floor on the wall behind Thomas and said, "Behind that." Thomas stared at the tapestry for what seemed like an eternity.

"What's behind it?" Thomas asked. Silence answered his question. It was a strange silence, the kind that was so complete he could hear his own blood as it pounded in his head. Not even the previous noises from the city outside the windows existed. It was as if someone had flipped a switch and turned off the volume of everything. "Sir?" He prompted his query again. Again, nothing but silence. Turning his head to look at Neagoe, Thomas received an answer, not the answer to his question, but the response to the silence. Neagoe, his eyes closed, hand hanging limply off the side of the bed, mouth open, and a chest that no longer rose and fell, had passed away. Thomas would receive no answers from that source. The sound returned with a crash, music, birds chirping, unintelligible voices, and the breeze as it ruffled the curtains to either side of the window. It left Thomas's head spinning.

Turning his back on Neagoe and facing the tapestry, he walked forward, tentatively reaching out his hand and pulling it aside. Behind the tapestry was a wooden planked door. Bands of iron as wide as his hand ran across the door from side to side, spaced about a foot apart; they were held in place by large iron rivets. There was no handle, no nob to turn, and no visible way to open it. He looked at the door, confused. Thomas wondered why hide a door you couldn't open, but he knew he would have to find out for himself.

The bands of iron that crossed the door were held in place by large metal rivets. Four rivets, four rivets, four rivets, three rivets, four rivets, four rivets. Thomas examined the door closely, one missing rivet. The whole was prominently placed in the center of the door. Running his fingers over the hole, he realized it wasn't a hole; it was an indentation, and a symbol was stamped inside it. No, not a symbol, a logo; he'd seen the logo his entire life, wearing it every day he could remember. He took Neagoe's pendant and fit it to the indentation without thinking. There was an audible click, and the door opened down the middle; each side swung inward.

The room was small, maybe five feet across, and perfectly circular; what caught Thomas's attention was a single stone pedestal three inches wide and three feet tall positioned in the middle of the room. A mirrored surface adorned the top, and on the mirror rested a ring. Four lit oil-burning lanterns were hung from sconces placed evenly around the room, and behind each lantern was a curved mirror that reflected the flame's light at the ring.

"I pledge my soul to the task, per the pact, and keep safely hidden that which he seeks."
"I vow never to let darkness shine upon it and to keep it in light forever." the words were chiseled into the wall between two lanterns, a room filled with light that focused that light on a ring. A chill ran through Thomas as he stood in the little room kept safe by a door that only opened with the pendant key and hidden behind a tapestry.

Thomas leaned closer to examine the ring. It was an ugly distorted thing, not silver or gold, but black like coal. So deep was the blackness that the ring seemed to drink in the light, extinguishing it as it touched the surface. There were symbols etched on the ring, but none of them looked familiar. Thomas felt an unexplainable hatred for the ring, a desire to rip it from its place of apparent honor and stomp it flat. He could almost feel the evil animosity emanating from it. It was as if it took his hatred, multiplied it, and fed it back to him. The hatred turned to fear, then panic. Thomas spun on his heels and fled from the little room and broke into a run, past the corpse of Neagoe, out the bedroom door, down the stairs, and out the front door of the ancient house. Once on the street, he turned left and kept running; he didn't look back, not even once. He had to get as far away from it as he could. Apparently, Thomas was not a man, and his childish fear had caused something that had not happened in 580 years. In his haste to get away, Thomas left the pendant in the indention, and that pendant kept the door to the little ring room open.

The gentle breeze that floated through Neagoe's room picked up intensity. Slowly, at first, it moved across the still-warm, now-deceased body of the old man, causing the sheets to stir. The breeze grew slightly more substantial as it passed in one window and out the other, faster, picking up speed as it whipped through the room. The heavy tapestry started to move slightly as the breeze, now more like actual wind, pushed at the edges. Then the tapestry lifted outward from the wall, and the wind made its way behind it, past the still-open door and into the tiny room. The chain attached to the pendant, still placed in the indention, got caught by the torrent of wind and swung wildly. As the current entered the circular room, it swirled around and around; the flames of the lanterns blew out, the wildly flapping chain pulled the pendant free, and it clattered to the floor inside the room, the doors swung closed, the tapestry fell back in place, and the little room that had seen constant light for 580 years, was plunged into total darkness. Darkness now shown upon the ring.

On the opposite side of the world, Mal Evolence opened his eyes and saw nothing, no light, no color, nothing. Darkness had found the ring, and Mal Evolence awakened into the night. It was time.

Mal had been on his back, asleep, but he had no idea for how long. Seconds, years, decades? Reaching out with both hands, he felt soft velvet and pushed. A lid swung upward and to the side. As Mal sat up, a faint light filtered through cracks in the ceiling. Looking around, he could make out the four stone walls and remembered where he was. Lifting himself up and out of the coffin, he swung his legs over, pushed off, and landed on his feet. The loud splash of water echoed around the silent tomb. Years of rain had seeped through the many cracks and filled the bottom of the room with about a foot of cold, putrid water.

Mal glanced around, found the sealed-up entrance to the tomb, and moved over to it. With a gentle push in the center of the bricked-up opening, the wall collapsed. Mal Evolence stepped into a moonlit graveyard in the middle of RavenBlack City. He was home again.

 

[Mal Evolence]

Dominick​

A full moon rode high in the night sky, bathing RavenBlack City in its silvery white light, shadows forming where the light failed to reach. Nights such as these were what horror stories were made of. There was just enough light for humans to venture out feeling safe and secure, yet just enough darkness for them to be dragged into and killed. This city was home to real monsters and had been for generations. RavenBlack was not a city on any map; one did not just take a bus or a plane to get here. Some said it was a living city, and the city itself brought people to it. You can get here from almost anywhere in the world, usually by accident. Turn down an alley in any city, and you could exit that alley directly into RavenBlack. Walk in the woods, enter a shadow, and you could find yourself standing in a street in RavenBlack. It was one of the best-kept secrets in the world. Vampires, werewolves, hunters, and paladins, good versus evil, a war was fought every night in the streets, alleys, parks, and cemeteries of RavenBlack. Still, it went unseen primarily to its human inhabitants. The humans walked around, utterly oblivious that literal death could wait around the next corner.

Dominick was also oblivious, and he was one such monster. He had been an archeology professor in his former life; he was not a young man. He was sixty-five when he first came to RavenBlack. Doninmick's knees were bent, his back hunched over from hours of standing over one table or another reading this book or that one, and his gray hair stuck out at odd angles and looked as if it had not seen a comb in a year. He wore a pair of black loafer shoes, tan slacks, and a white collared shirt, and over that, he wore a gray single-breasted sport coat. To top off his scholarly look, he even wore a maroon bowtie.

He kept to himself, cooped up in his library surrounded by dusty old books, manuscripts, and scrolls that he rarely left. On those infrequent occasions when he was forced to go, it was usually to locate and procure some lost book that someone had recently unearthed somewhere in the world. As soon as he had it, he would flee back to the safety of his home and lock himself away with it. His collection of rare, one-of-a-kind books was the largest in the world; no one knew for sure because no one ever entered his home, and fewer still ever left it.

"After about 2000 B.C., the Sumerian civilization led directly to the Babylonian civilization in Mesopotamia, which is credited with discovering mathematical truths such as trigonometry and prime, square, and cube numbers." He said, "But here, around 4000 B.C., the earliest phase of the Sumerian culture arose as the Mesopotamian region's oldest civilization. Don't you see it?" Dominick pointed to a page in a book on his desk, then looked around the room as if he expected someone to answer his question. With a sad sigh, he returned to reading, mumbling and furiously writing notes in a large leather-bound book containing his life's work.

Dominick wanted to prove the existence of God and the location of the actual Garden of Eden. It was his life's work and why he had turned up in RavenBlack City. He needed time, yet he knew he would never finish his discovery or manuscript after being diagnosed with terminal cancer. Lucky for him, in his search for answers, he had come across the mention of a city believed to hold the fountain of youth, where particular city residents never died. Unfortunately for Dominick, he was wrong. There was no fountain of youth, no glorious waters to turn back time and cure his cancer, no everlasting life. He found the opposite.

Death came for him during his second week in town, and death was a man. The man who killed Dominick looked to be no older than 20 or 21 years old. He met him in a bar by chance. The man was wise and more intelligent than his age should have allowed, and they spent the night talking about Dominick's work. The man would ask questions Dominick had never considered and offer points about things Dominick had missed. In turn, Dominick would fire back with facts and questions that caused the man to pause and think about. It was one of Dominick's funniest nights in a long time. He told the man about his cancer and about coming to the city seeking the fountain to get the time he needed to finish his work and how he had failed. The man listened silently, told Dominick good night, paid their bills, and left the bar.

Dominick remained for a bit as he slowly finished his drink, and then he, too, left the bar. Returning to his hotel, he felt like he was being watched. Turning to look behind, he saw nothing; then, someone pulled him into a dark alleyway. The rest was a blur. He woke the following day in his hotel bed. He remembered being attacked, he remembered that whoever had attacked him wasn't totally human, he remembered the face belonged to that of the man he had spent the night talking to in the bar, and he remembered the man-thing's words as he died. "Now you have all the time you need. Use it wisely." Dominick remembered nothing after that, but he knew there was a lot of pain.

Something in the library moved, and Dominick looked up from his scribbles and nodded. "There goes the neighborhood. So much for peace and quiet." He said to the empty room. Dominick seemed to change; gone was the addled, bent, crazy-haired, half-mad man who talked to himself, and in his place, standing tall and straight with eyes that shone with a clear focus, was the professor from a time before death. Running his fingers through his hair, he attempted to straighten it, then giving up, he wandered around the library, picking up books and scrolls, seemingly at random, and shoved them in an old brown leather satchel.

Dominick concentrated and sent a telepathic message. "Two years. Welcome back, Mal Evolence. Meet me at the bar. I have all the information you requested."

Looking around the room, Dominick wondered if he would ever see it again. This guy was just as likely to kill him as not; it all depended on his mood. With a heavy sigh, Dominick left his house, safety, and sanctuary and headed to the bar.

 

[Mal Evolence]

Mal Evolence​

Mal Evolence looked around the graveyard; grave markers stood out in the moonlight in stark relief against the blackness. His eyes pierced the shadows as he scanned for the presence of anyone, or anything, that might be lurking nearby. His nostrils drank in the air, testing every scent, and his ears absorbed every sound, but nothing seemed amiss. Suddenly, he was struck by a telepathic message: "Two years. Welcome back, Mal Evolence. Meet me at the bar. I have all the information you requested." The message was from Dominick. Somehow, that crazy old bastard knew Mal was awake again; either that or he had the best timing in the world. Dominick could barely remember to feed, so Mal doubted Dominick's timing. He must have figured out a way to let himself know when Mal woke up, and Mal would remember to ask him about it.

"Two years?" Mal thought to himself, "Had it been two years?" It must have been; Dominick was never wrong about the time; his whole life centered around it. Dominick could remember how long some civilization or another had lasted or how long some long-forgotten city had stood. His ability to track time and events was why Mal had sought him out in the first place, and according to Dominick, he had finished the research Mal had tasked him with.

The bar Dominick had referred to was directly across the street at the cemetery's north end. Mal and Dominick had used it as a meeting place several times in the past. It was the type of place where, even when crowded, people minded their own business, and eavesdropping was discouraged.

It would take Dominick an hour to get there from his place if his place was still in the exact location as it had been two years ago, whereas it would take Mal about five minutes; this meant that Mal had time to run a quick errand. Pulling out a scroll, Mal read the words, and as he did, those words burned themselves from the parchment; when he finished, the whole scroll turned to a fine gray ash that disappeared before it ever touched the ground. Mal didn't witness the transformation from parchment to bust because he was no longer standing in the graveyard; he was now standing at the city's edge facing a house that looked almost as old as the city itself.

The house was nothing special to look at; it was made of local stone and wood, and it was a two-story square structure with creeper vines that clung to the surface and ran up the front of the home, almost obscuring the stonework altogether. Five evenly spaced windows adorned the second floor facing the street, a single white front door flanked by two additional windows on the first. All the windows had shutters closed as if the homeowner was expecting a terrible storm or just wanted to keep out the uninvited. Mal was often uninvited and almost always unwanted; it was his nature. A stone walkway ran from the street to the front door, but Mal already suspected walking on that would be a horrible idea. The man who lived here would most certainly have nasty surprises set up to punish any wayward visitors who chose to use the little walkway. Without hesitation, Mal walked across the grass to the first window at the left of the door. The shutters being closed were more to keep out the light and any wayward thief; they were not intended to keep out anyone serious about getting inside the house. The bottom of the window was about chest high on Mal. Reaching up, he gripped both sides of the shutters and pulled them free; hinges, fasteners, and all came with them. Setting the shutters to the side, he was greeted with a sliding window, sectioned off in four rows of three glass squares. He smashed a lower window pane above the lock, flipped the lock open, and slid the window up.

Mal placed two hands on the window seal; he hefted himself through the now-open window, and his feet landed on an ancient hardwood floor. The room was sparsely furnished with a plush couch and two matching armchairs. A single bookcase stood against the far wall. There were no paintings or pictures on the walls, and the wallpaper peeled at every seam and bubbled randomly.

Two doors led from the room opposite each other, one to the left and the other to the right. Mal left the room by the right doorway and entered the foyer. A set of stairs ran up the center with a passage on either side that led farther into the house. The stairs were flanked by a large polished wooden handrail held up by circular carved posts spaced about six inches apart that went from the bottom to the top landing.

Mal made his way up the stairs to the second floor. At the top, he found one large room that must have been as big as the entire bottom floor; in the middle of the room was the item he was after. Quickly gathering it, he returned down the stairs, through the room off to the side, and back out the window. Turning around, he slid the window back down, more to keep out animals and critters than to keep out people. Most people would never notice the broken window pane; even fewer would dare inspect it.

Mal had used a scroll to get here, but since he had not run into anything that slowed him down and could get in and out quickly, there was no need to rush back. Everything would be alright if he reached the bar to meet Dominick. He pulled out a small crystal bottle, uncorked the top, and upended it. The contents slid down his throat, and Mal could feel the potion take effect; taking a step forward, several city blocks passed in a blur. Drink, step, blur. Drink, step, blur. He repeated the process with the sprint potion a dozen times and was back in the graveyard in several minutes.

Mal strode back into the mausoleum that had hidden him for the last two years. There were several of them in the old cemetery, many of them hundreds of years old, and the knowledge of their residents was lost to time. Years ago, Mal took one of them for his daytime use. He had removed and pilled the bones in a corner to empty the coffin.

If it had hidden him, it could hide his latest acquisition. Setting it inside the coffin, he removed something from the item, shoved it in his pocket, and then closed the lid. As Mal left the little place, he had to step over the collapsed entrance's remains and look back at the hole in the side of the wall. He would need to fix that soon, but he had a meeting to make for now.

 

[Mal Evolence]

Dominick​

The moon rode high in the night sky; its light was as bright as day to Dominick, another gift of his change. Humans were scuddling from one place to another, running late-night errands, going to work, going home, and going places only they knew where.

Not long ago, he had been one of those, running around like he had a purpose, thinking his actions would have made some world-changing difference. Dominick had been wrong; looking back on it now, he knew that even if he had not been diagnosed with cancer, he still would not have had enough time.

Humans did not live long enough; most did not start their lives until they were in their late teens, eighteen or nineteen, and even then, they usually lacked any real direction. Add five years of fumbling around trying to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives and another one to start it by age twenty-five or twenty-six, is when they started. Most of them only worked until they were sixty-five, meaning they had only about forty years to accomplish anything meaningful. That was if they didn't die or get killed before that time, which was very likely considering how fragile they were.

Dominick was one of those thankful for having been turned; others like Mal Evolence resented it. Dominick had all the time he would ever need to finish his work; he would never get sick, would never be killed, and would never die. The only drawback was the blood. He had to consume blood, or he would wither, get weak, and could go into a coma-like state. He knew it firsthand; it had almost happened to him a few days after being turned.

Two days after being turned, Dominick was starving. He had ordered everything on the hotel's room service menu and eaten everything, but nothing satisfied his hunger. Gorging himself until he could eat nothing else, he still craved more. His mind and body told him it was not enough; he had to have more, so he would vomit everything up and eat more. The cycle repeated that day until the third day when hunger forced Dominick to leave his room for something else. It was about noon the first time he tried to go; stepping outside had hurt him as his body began to burn. He quickly retreated to his room, not understanding why the sun had affected him like that; he had never had that happen before; in fact, he had spent months in the desert on an archeological dig in the blazing sun, and not even then had this happened.

Hours later, hunger forced him to try again. Dominick rummaged through his clothing, finding enough. He covered every inch of exposed skin; a hoody covered his head and shaded his face, and an old shirt wrapped around his face hid the rest—a pair of sunglasses to complete the outfit and hide his eyes. As ready as possible, he returned to the entrance and tried again. The sun had set; it was twilight outside, but not knowing if it was the sun or just being outside that had caused his skin to burn, he stayed as covered up as he could manage.

Dominick headed off down the street. Every restaurant he had come to was already closed for the evening. He felt weak, his head hurt, his hands trembled, and walking had grown complicated. He knew he was running out of both time and options; restaurants were wasteful places, and Dominick knew they threw out what they didn't serve; at the next place, he went around back and into the dark alleyway. It smelled of old refuse, stagnant water, and sewage, but he knew a garbage dumpster would be somewhere.

Strangely, as dark as it was, Dominick had no problem seeing in the darkness. He spotted the dumpster a few yards up the alley, blundered forward, and heaved open the lid. The stench of week-old trash hit him in the face, and the smell nearly knocked him over. He had to eat something, and he had run out of choices. A rat, disturbed by the sudden exposure of removing the lid, hissed, squeaked, and bared its teeth at Dominick. Something inside Dominick snapped, and without thinking, he lashed out his hand and ceased the rat. Putting his hand to his mouth, he bit the rat in the gut. Warm blood shot out, filling his mouth and spraying across his face as some slid down his throat. He started to drink involuntarily, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to his side on the dirty alley's pavement, sucking on the rat as if it were a bottle.

Suddenly, someone grabbed Dominick by the back of his hoody and tossed him through the air. He hit something hard and immovable, probably the alley wall, and a second later, he crashed back to the ground.

"Stand up." a voice said. Dominick struggled to gain his feet. The blood of the rat had invigorated him; he no longer felt as weak as he had. Dominick did not feel as strong as he had three days ago, but he felt well enough to face whatever this situation was. Forgetting about his burns yesterday, he pushed the hoodie back, removed the shirt and glasses from his face, and turned toward the voice.

That had been the first time Dominick had ever met Mal Evolence; it would not be the last. Something about Mal screamed of barely controlled rage as if he wanted nothing more than to slaughter Dominick right in the alley, but he didn't. They talked. Mal asked questions, Dominick answered as if compelled to, and once Dominick fished, Mal started filling in the blanks. He told Dominick what had happened to him, why he felt the way he felt, why the sun had burned him, and most importantly, why he had drunk the blood of a filthy rat. Mal explained that it was usually the responsibility of the one who turned him to guide him, and whoever had turned him must have been newly turned himself or just a lousy sire. Once Mal finished, he turned and walked away, saying over his shoulder, "Have some pride. Clean yourself up. If I ever see you in such a condition again, you will find out that our kind can die, in a way, and it's an excruciating process.", then he was gone.

Dominick shook his head from side to side as he pulled himself back to the present. Lost in his thoughts and memories, he had covered half the trek across the city and never even noticed.

High in the night sky, the moon cast its slivery white light across the city of immortal monsters. A storm was fast approaching; the wind had started to blow, picking up speed and intensity as it pushed tendrils of black clouds drifting by the moon, temporarily blocking out its light and plunging the city into blackness for a few seconds before clearing again. Soon, the blackness would be absolute as the clouds swallowed the moonlight. Blinding lightning flashed; an electrical charge tingled in the air, followed almost instantly by thunder as it rumbled and cracked. Large raindrops were already starting to fall, making a wet tapping noise as they struck the ground and rooftops. It would be a torrential downpour in minutes.

Dominick picked up his pace and soon stood outside the bar; the storm was now in full effect. He regretted that he had not had a chance to prepare himself mentally for this meeting, and now he didn't have the time. Mal was certainly already inside waiting for him, and if he had been waiting too long, everyone inside had probably been killed and mutilated by now.

 

[Mal Evolence]

Mal Evolence​

A storm was coming, and Mal could feel it. The streets were empty of life. Anyone with sense was somewhere safe or headed there. Mal Evolance was among the latter. He walked down the pathway through the cemetery with his head hung low; his black cloth cloak pulled tight around him to shield himself against the wind and occasional raindrops. The hood of his cloak was drawn as far forward as it would go, casting his face in shadow. His black leather boots made no sound as he walked; the long cloak muffled any noise his footfalls might have made.

As Mal exited the red brick archway entrance to the eternal resting place, a blinking neon sign halfway down the block flashed his destination. A sudden, powerful gust of wind swept down the street, overturning trashcans and various items stacked against the fronts of buildings. Street lights swayed, causing some lights to flicker and making the shadows drift back and forth. Lightening arched across the sky, turning the street as bright as day, and the thunder was instant. It rattled nearby windows, set off several car alarms, and added their piercing wail to the echoing thunder as it rolled into the distance. Mal pulled the cloak tighter and hurried the last half-block; he hated weather like this.

Reaching the front door, he pulled it open, holding it firm against the wind to keep it from slamming open. It wasn't his door, so he didn't care if the door was ripped off its hinges and tossed down the street, but since he planned on being inside, a gaping hole would let the weather in, and he would prefer it stayed outside. He pulled it closed behind himself. The Sign of the Times was a run-down little hole-in-the-wall bar. It was not a place Mal would come to willingly; he wasn't here because he wanted to be but because he had to be.

Mal walked into the main section of the bar; it was a horrific assault to the senses. The smell of stale beer, cigarettes, and weed hung thick in the air, and flashing alcohol advertising signs hung from numerous places on every wall, causing kaleidoscopic colors to dance around the room, hurting Mal's eyes. A beat-up old jukebox blared out a classic eighties song; someone must have damaged the speakers at some point because the music was scratchy and distorted.

The room had half a dozen wooden tables spaced around the room and a row of booths along one side. Despite the weather, there were still several people present. A homeless man occupied one booth in the corner. His clothes looked dirty and disheveled as his head rested on his arms on the table; the man's unkempt, bearded face was hidden under long, gray, unwashed hair. He appeared to be sleeping. Four men and a woman took up another table, talking and joking. All of them were wearing black leather vests with the name of some local motorcycle club across the back top area, a death's head face in the middle, and RavenBlack across the bottom. Other patches adorned the fronts, but Mal paid little attention. The woman was balancing on the lap of one massively muscled human while he had his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, and her arm was around the back of his neck.

Mal located the bar positioned on the opposite wall from the booths. A couple of men sat at the bar; they flanked a pair of women and tried their hardest to gain favor with the ladies. The ladies seemed to want nothing to do with the two men, who did not notice the subtle hints of wanting to be left alone. One of the men was rubbing his hand up and down one of the woman's back as he spoke to her, and she noticeably cringed at his touch, occasionally trying to move away from him, but with her girlfriend on one side and the man on the other, there was nowhere for her to go. Mal thought about killing the men, sinking his fangs deep into their soft necks and draining each one dry. He knew that if he did, he would have to kill all the humans in the bar. or leave it because they would flee and bring back hunters or paladins to deal with the vampire. A loud clap of thunder reminded him about what was waiting outside, and Mal decided to mind his business. Besides, it's not what he was here for.

Mal made his way to the bar as far away from the two men and two women as he could. The bartender, a bored-looking middle-aged man, shuffled over and raised his voice to be heard over the tragedy of a jukebox's blaring music, "Whacha haven, my friend?" He asked.

"Blood wine," Mal replied.

The man raised one eyebrow with a quizzical look. "Look, man. I run a quiet place here, and I don't need no trouble," he said.

Mal leaned in closer, pulled his hood back slightly, and locked eyes with the bartender before saying, "I'm not here to cause any. I'm here to meet someone, and then I'll be on my way. You don't want me here, and I don't want to be here. Now, about that drink."

The bartender made a sound as he sucked through his front teeth contemplating what Mal said, then nodded, "I'm out; we don't usually get many authentic traditional types in here. Most of those we do, tend to be the more modern, sparkly, fairy, wannabe type, and all they want is the End Of Times," he said in a disgusted tone.

"What the hell is that?" Mal questioned.

"It's our signature drink," he answered, "Hang on, I'll make you one on the house if the night goes peacefully." Thunder boomed loud and hard enough that it rattled a couple of liquor bottles in their racks behind the bar. "Or, as peacefully as this damn storm will allow, at least," he chucked slightly. Then he looked past Mal, raised his hand high, and made a come here motion. The woman sitting with the four bikers jumped up, and the man whose lap she had been sitting in reached out quickly with both hands as she dodged just out of reach.

"Get your ass back here, woman!" the big man yelled at her as she flounced around the end of the bar and came to the bartender.

She ignored him, looked Mal over from head to toe, and smiled seductively. "An End Of Times for this..." the bartender paused for a second, glancing at Mal, then back to the woman, "man." Her smile faded instantly, replaced with a look of fascination and a little fear. "Now." he prompted. She seemed to shake herself back to the present, turned, and hurried through a door Mal had failed to see behind the bar.

Mal leaned an elbow on the bar top and looked around; the big man was glaring at him with pure hate, and his buddies were prodding him with insults to his manhood for letting the woman run off. "Shut the fuck up!" the big biker said as he stood up.

Mal turned to the bartender and said, "I guess I'll be paying for that drink after all."

The man looked up, past Mal, and saw the biker coming their way, "Oh shit." he said and quickly came out from behind the bar. The two men that had been hitting on the two women turned their attention towards the upcoming confrontation. Mal could have sworn he heard them taking bets on the outcome.

"Hey asshole," the biker said when he was halfway to Mal. Mal turned, stood upright, and faced the biker head-on. Mal wasn't tall, but he wasn't short, either. At five foot eleven, Mal was still six or seven inches shorter than the man approaching with murder in his eyes. Mal wasn't worried about the biker; he was just upset that this would cause a scene that would effectively ruin the night. The bartender reached the biker several feet short of the biker reaching Mal and placed both hands on the biker's chest. The music was too loud for Mal to make out what the bartender said to the biker, but eventually, the biker tore his eyes from Mal and looked down at the much shorter barman. After several seconds, the biker nodded, glanced at Mal, turned around, and returned to his table. His friends leaned in as the big biker said something to them, and they all looked at Mal again before returning to their quiet conversation.

The bartender returned to the bar and said, as he passed Mal and went behind the bar, "Everything is fine. They've just had a lot to drink. They won't cause any issues." He looked at the two men at the end of the bar, "Mind your business or leave." Both men avoided the man's gaze, acted like they had not been watching, and returned to trying to get lucky with the women. "Aww, here we are," the barman said as the waitress came out of the back holding a margarita-style glass. She set the glass on the bar in front of Mal; the bartender whispered something to her, and she quickly returned to rejoin the bikers, again dropping down on the big man's lap.

Mal could smell the drink from where it sat and wrinkled his nose, but he decided to try it since it was free. Lifting it to his lips, he could feel the coldness in his hand. It was some frozen drink, which explained the glass. As the liquid passed his lips, an explosion of flavor crossed his tongue, and without a second thought, he spit the drink back into the glass and set the glass back in the bar. "What the fuck is that? It tastes like fruit," he said in disgust. "Who the hell drinks that crap?"

The bartender laughed nervously, "I told you. It's very popular with the younger generation of your kind."

Mal glared at the bartender and said, "It's a good thing that's on the house because there is no way I would pay for it." Mal turned and went to a table in the corner. Knowing he did not have long to wait and to pass the time, he watched the humans in the bar, imagining how he would enjoy killing each one. Mal wanted to carry out his fantasies of disemboweling the humans and playing with their entrails. Still, he knew that if he did that, Dominick would probably freak out and run, and Mal needed the information he was bringing.

The door opened, and drawing his attention, Mal noticed the storm still raged outside. Dominick had a strange look of relief on his face as he gazed around the bar. The older man was dressed in a plain white shirt and black pants, which looked like he had worn them for a week and slept in them every night. He didn't look homeless, but he was very close to it. They say that Albert Einstein had to be told when to eat, sleep, and bathe because his brain never stopped working on one problem or another. He just couldn't be bothered to think about little things like food and personal hygiene. Dominick suffered the same affliction. He got lost in his work and did not consider the little things.

Mal was amazed Dominck made it as quickly as he did and had not become distracted by a butterfly or a squirrel and run off in search of it. That might be exaggerating, Mal thought to himself, but not by much. "In the back." Mal sent a telepathic message to the man. Dominick's eyes locked on his, and he stiffened slightly.

Dominick placed his bag in a chair and sat down. "It's been a long time. I am guessing by your return that the last piece has been uncovered?" he asked as he positioned his hands on the table.

 

[Mal Evolence]

Dominick​

Dominick pushed open the door and went inside. The sound of voices, music playing on a jukebox in the corner, people laughing, and the sounds of life, in general, were all welcome noises to the man who generally enjoyed solitude and silence. So he hadn't murdered everyone inside just because he got bored, or maybe he was not even here yet.

"In the back." the telepathic message said.

He looked toward the back, and sitting alone was a figure in a long black hooded robe. The hood pulled forward and hid his face, which Dominick thought was good. He had seen Mal's face once, and it was not something he wanted to do again soon. It sent a shiver down his spine just thinking about that skeletal Vistage. Nobody had bothered to sit close to the table occupied by Mal; it was like the other people unconsciously didn't want to be too near the black-cloaked figure.

Dominick walked over, put the satchel in the chair to the side, and sat across from Mal. "It's been a long time. I am guessing by your return that the last piece is uncovered?" Dominick questioned as he placed his hands on the table, watching the other man.

Mal looked at Dominick, and the man was practically on the edge of his set with anticipation. When Mal had assigned him the task of researching two particular things, he had mentioned a third thing, but he never told Dominick what it was. Had Dominick known the third thing, he might have surmised why Mal wanted the information and what Mal was attempting to do. Dominick might refuse to help him, or he might even grow a backbone and try to stop him. Mal would kill him, of course, and then Mal would have to figure it out on his own. Mal wasn't optimistic he could even do that without Dominick.

"It did. Tonight." Mal told him, "You said you finished the research on the other things? Tell me, and explain it like you would to a student. Assume I know nothing; that way, you don't leave anything out."

Dominick nodded his head in understanding. Pulling the chair closer that held his satchel, he reached in and pulled out several books and scrolls and placed them on the table. He picked up one particular book and opened it to a marked page.

"Let us begin." He said. "The first thing you wanted me to learn about was a book called 'The Codex.' The manuscript was created in the early 13th Century in the Benedictine monastery of Podlažice in Bohemia. The Monastery would have been in what is now a region in the modern-day Czech Republic. Ledgened says the scribe who wrote 'The Codex' was a monk who broke his monastic vows and sentenced to be walled up alive. To avoid this harsh penalty, he promised to create," Dominick paused dramatically and glanced at Mal as he said the next part, "in one night," another pause to let that fact sink in, "a book to glorify the Monastery forever. It was to include all human knowledge."

Dominick looked back down at the book and continued, "Near midnight, the monk became sure that he could not complete this task alone, so he made a special prayer, not addressed to God but to the fallen angel Lucifer, asking him to help him finish the book in exchange for his soul." Dominick shuttered at the thought.

He knew Mal's history. He had researched the vampire after their fated night in the alley. Mal was over 2020 years old. After losing his wife and child to Roman soldiers, he also sold his soul to the Devil to exact revenge and regain his family, but as with all deals with the Devil, it did not turn out exactly like Mal wanted. Dominick shoved the wayward train of thought aside and continued. "The Devil completed the manuscript, and the monk added the Devil's picture out of gratitude for his aid. After turning over the book, the priest told the scribe was told to leave the Monastery and never return. That night on the road, the monk fell asleep next to a stone wall being built by a farmer. He fell into a deep, unnatural sleep, and the grass grew taller overnight. The next day, the farmer finished building the wall, never knowing about the sleeping monk within."

Dominick could almost imagine the smile on Mal's face at the irony of the monk's death. Once again, the Devil got his due, and a deal did not turn out how the dealmaker envisioned.

Dominick cleared his throat and continued. "The Monastery was destroyed sometime in the 15th Century during the Hussite Revolution. Records in the codex end in the year 1222, and shortly after being written, it was pawned by the Benedictines to the Cistercian monks of the Sedlec Monastery, where it remained for 70 years. The Benedictine monastery in Brevnov reclaimed the bible around the end of the 13th Century. From 1477 to 1593, it was kept in the library of a monastery in Broumov until it was taken to Prague in 1594 to form a part of the collections of Emperor Rudolf II." Dominick glanced up from his book to look at Mal.

"This is all pretty boring stuff. Are you sure you want to hear the rest?" Dominick asked

"I said everything. Continue." Mal answered

Dominick looked back at the book and continued. "At the end of the Thirty Years' War in 1648, the Swedish army took the entire collection as war booty. From 1649 to 2007, they kept it in the Swedish Royal Library in Stockholm. A maquette in the town museum of Chrast marks the site of its creation." He paused for a breath.

"On 7 May 1697, a fire broke out at the Tre Kronor royal castle in Stockholm, which destroyed much of the Royal Library. The Codex Gigas was thrown out of a window; according to the vicar Johann Erichsons, who wrote 50 years after the fire, it landed on and injured a bystander. In September 2007, after 359 years, the Codex Gigas returned to Prague on loan from Sweden until January 2008 and was displayed at the National Library of the Czech Republic. A National Geographic documentary included interviews with manuscript experts who argued that certain evidence indicates the manuscript was the work of a single scribe." Dominick finished.

Mal sat forward, "Where is it now?" he asked.

Dominick closed the book and opened one of the scrolls. Scanning over it quickly, he said, "The National Library of Sweden in Stockholm has it on display for the general public."

"Good job, Dominick, you did very well," Mal said, his voice dripping with contentment. "We are going to need to get that book."