Soul Reaver Fan Fiction ❯ The Last Lesson ❯ Chapter 3

Vorador stood at the very edge of the platform that overlooked the Abyss, the executioner of Nosgoth. He stared down into the center of the vortex. The change of colors, from blue to green to white fascinated him. So beautiful, yet so deadly. He had never known anyone, vampire or human, to have escaped it once they were thrown in.

 

Janos stood beside him. Vorador turned to face him.

 

Janos took Vorador's hands in his. “I have but one thing left that I would teach you.

 

Vorador gripped Janos' hands, and listened.

 

Janos smiled. “You now know the difference between sex and lovemaking.”

 

“I do,” said Vorador.

 

“Vorador, it is only the beginning.” Janos spoke with passion. “Do you know that the gap between sex and lovemaking is impossibly wide? But the gap between lovemaking and love is mercifully narrow. Do not be afraid any longer to love.”

 

“Janos,” said Vorador. “I—“

 

Hands seized Vorador, tore him away from Janos. They were now surrounded by armed Sarafan guards. One held a sword to his throat.

 

. Vorador looked wildly around. Where had the guards come from? He had heard nothing, seen nothing.

 

Someone pushed through the ranks, tall and dark-haired. Vorador recognized him as the Sarafan priest, Raziel. He watched with narrowed eyes as Raziel approached Janos.

 

“So, I finally have you, demon. This time there will be no escape for you.” Raziel laughed. Vorador burned with cold rage at the human's insolence toward his Maker.

 

“Do what you will. I have already fulfilled my destiny.” Janos spoke with quiet dignity. “There is nothing more you can do to me.”

 

“No?” Raziel looked over the railing. “How fortunate for us that you chose this place. Ridding the world of you will be simple.” Vorador heard the words and blanched. Raziel was damning his Maker to an eternity of agony.

 

Vorador struggled to reach Janos. No good. More soldiers piled on him until he could not move. He cast a desperate glance at Janos.

 

“Save yourself, Vorador,” said Janos. “Do not fear for me.”

 

Raziel struck Janos across the face in a backhand slap. Janos' head jerked to one side. “Enough out of you. Guards, throw the vermin in.”

 

The guards lifted Janos easily. “Fight them, Janos!” Vorador urged him. There is no need for you to die!“

 

“No, Vorador. The time for fighting is over.” Janos smiled at him, his face as tranquil and beautiful as an angel's. Without a word, the guards cast him over the railing.

 

Vorador heard Janos cry out, “Vorador, remember!” Then Janos was gone.

 

Vorador went mad. He tore into the bodies of the soldiers closest to him, heedless of their weapons. But little by little, the soldiers kept pressing in on him, until he was buried in their bodies. He couldn't see, couldn't move. In despair, he screamed—

 

 

Vorador woke with a start, mind still ringing with his scream. He shook his head. No, not his scream. In the distance, he heard another voice lifted in agony. He sat up to find himself alone. Where was Janos?

 

In a heartbeat, he was on his feet. He threw on his clothing, and buckled his sword on. The Sarafan must have found the secret entrance to the Aerie.

 

Someone had betrayed Janos. Vorador did not care who, only what he would do to the traitor once the bastard was identified. Grabbing the door handle, he shoved, only to be stopped short. The door was locked.

 

Vorador tested it. No, not locked. Someone had wedged it shut from the other side.

 

Vorador seethed with frustration and fear. Delay meant losing precious time, and he had no time to lose. His temper exploded.

 

In fury, he threw himself against the door. The ancient timbers shuddered. On the second impact, the planks visibly splintered. Heartened, Vorador pivoted and lashed out in a vicious kick that blew the door off its hinges, reducing it to kindling. In a second, he was through the doorway, racing toward the sanctum.

 

Vorador slipped and fell sideways. He grabbed at the hallway wall. Under his feet, the ground rippled and heaved. All around him came the deep thunder of distressed stone. The entire retreat was collapsing around him.

 

Vorador fought to regain his feet. He had mere seconds to reach Janos before the floor gave way completely.

 

Vorador had reached the sanctum. He could hear nothing ahead of him but the groans of the Aerie in its death throes. The broken door now swung ajar.

 

It was too late. Vorador knew that, and did not care. Driven by insane hope, he ran down the stairs only to stop short at the sight before him.

 

Janos lay motionless upon a stone slab. Golden eyes that saw nothing were open to the brightening sky above them. His face, even in death, showed pain. His hands were curled into claws, facing upwards, red-tipped. At least he'd had a chance to fight back.

 

As Vorador drew closer, he could see the gaping wound in Janos' chest. The splintered ends of broken ribs jutted out into the body cavity. Blood had created a deep crimson pool inside. Vorador stared. Something was wrong.

 

The answer came in a chilling revelation. Janos' heart was missing. Someone using a dull knife had torn it out of his living chest.

 

Vorador was sickened by the utter callousness of the act. To have merely killed Janos was something he might have forgiven in time. But this was utter sadism that concealed sinister designs. Someone evidently had plans for Janos' heart.

 

Uncaring of the tremors that tore at the foundations of the retreat, Vorador paused. He passed his hand over Janos' face, closing the sightless eyes.

 

He looked downward, and frowned. Something was hidden beneath Janos' body. He reached down to pull out a piece of parchment, now tightly folded. Strange that his murderers would have missed this. But it was a mystery he had no time to solve.

 

Cracks appeared in the floor. Vorador turned and sprinted for safety. Seconds later, the floor of the chamber gave way, disappearing into the depths of the mountainside.

 

Vorador looked down the newly formed slope. Several large boulders were wedged together in places to form a rough path that led down to the lake. A human could never have made it, but perhaps there was a way for him. Not that it mattered. The floor beneath his feet was crumbling. He had to try.

 

As he leaped to the nearest rock below, the ledge behind him disintegrated.

 

 

Less than a minute later, Vorador dropped from the lowest boulder to land on the surface of the lake. There was silence now. Behind him, the retreat had collapsed into rubble.

 

The Sarafan soldiers, too, were gone. Vorador saw several corpses, sprawled on the ground, or poised in the air, impaled on their own pikes. The killer was gone.

 

 

Something in his hand. Vorador remembered the parchment, and looked down. He unfolded it, and began to read.

 

Vorador;

 

I do not have long now. The wait is finally over. Millennia of solitary vigilance are coming to an end. I knew this with certainty last night even as we joined, even as I knew my doom was also at hand. Please do not hate me. I could not speak of it to you, knowing that there is nothing you can do to prevent it. Forgive me, too, my actions, sealing you away. If it seems that I seek to thwart you, it is to spare myself the anguish of knowing that I could have saved you, and did not. You can only bring harm upon yourself, if you attempt to intervene.

 

Do not despise the man who even now approaches. Child of my race, an unwitting pawn of fate and time, who in all innocence will bring about my destruction. Like you, he would die in my stead, if I so willed it. I will not allow him to be harmed, even as I will not allow you. And he too will know pain and loneliness, knowing that, with my death, he is the last of his kind. You will not suffer alone.

 

In all matters, there is always a price to be paid. I make the choice to pay with my life, and would do so again, gladly, knowing what I now know. It is the fate of some to ride the great wheel of destiny, and the fate of others like myself to be crushed beneath it. Neither of us can control where it goes, and in the end, we both serve the same purpose. It is the destiny of one to die. I take comfort in knowing that my death to save his life may insure the future of Nosgoth, and of the vampire race.

 

Thank you for the most beautiful moment of my life, made exquisite by foreknowledge of my certain death. It is said that the sweetest pleasures in life are the last. I attest that it is true in my case. You gave me a rare and precious treasure, a gift that none other could have given me. The gift of yourself.

 

Vorador, my child, my friend and companion, and at the end, my lover. If I have any regrets at all, it is that I did not take the time to tell you what you meant to me while I lived. Perhaps it was fear or doubt that kept me silent. Be that as it may, it is far too late for recriminations, so I will tell you now. Now, while I still have the time. Of all those I have loved, you stand foremost in my memory and in my heart. I have loved other men, it is true. But I have desired only one.

 

Be not bitter and do not seek revenge against those who will destroy me. If I have taught you anything in this life, it is that revenge is futile, with an onerous price. You cannot destroy others in hate without destroying yourself in the process.

 

It may be that we will not meet again in this world. Such are the vagaries of destiny and cruel, fickle fortune. Yet I would hope that beyond the confines of this world we may meet again. Then at last I will have the chance to give you the love I reserve only for you, and not merely leave it behind as my legacy.

 

You, too, are destined to play a great part in Nosgoth's destiny. Take heed, Vorador, and do nothing that will bring harm to yourself.

 

Janos

 

Time froze, and all the world seemed to stop in its endless weary tracks. Vorador stared down at the letter, the words blurring. Water drops spattered the paper, dissolving the ink. Helpless rage lacerated through him, leaving agonizing emptiness behind. He could not help but grimace at the twisted irony of it all. In killing Janos, the Sarafan had torn out his heart, too.

 

Janos' love. It had been there all along, too. How could he have failed to see it?

 

Vorador's eyes closed. The chasm within him grew wide, as wide as the Nosgoth sky. Grief and desolation filled the void, rose within him, struggled for release. Vorador no longer had the strength to contain them.

 

“Janos!” Vorador's scream shattered the cold winter silence. The walls of the canyons resonated with his cry, mirroring his despair.

 

He screamed until his lungs ran out of air. Until the inside of his throat was raw and bleeding. He stopped only then, panting, his mouth full of the taste of blood.

 

Janos spoke of the price he would pay. Vorador hadn't known until then that it was a price he would have to pay, too.

 

Hate seethed inside Vorador like acid. He wished with all his heart that his hate was something tangible he could spew into the faces of his enemies. To watch them writhe in agony as their flesh burned. He would give them pain in return for pain. They had earned it.

 

Janos had been wrong about humans all along. His patience had accomplished nothing. Kindness and understanding were wasted on such miserable creatures. It was a mistake Vorador had no intention of repeating.

 

He moved forward, breaking into a full run once he had reached the shore. Vorador had no doubt who was responsible. Malek and his six lackeys were the instruments of punishment and the ones who committed the crime. But the true authors of the evil deed were the Guardians of the Pillars themselves, the Circle of Nine.

 

Vorador laughed. It would be sweet revenge to topple the demigods of this world from thrones built upon the bodies of their victims. If he could not save Janos, at least he could exact his wergild from the frail human bodies of Janos' killers.

 

Last night, he could not have imagined a future without Janos. Now he could not imagine a future without pain.

 

Vorador recalled Janos' words. Revenge is futile, with an onerous price. He dismissed the words as mere sentiment, possessing no value. They had done nothing for Janos.

 

The destruction of the Circle of Nine would be but a foreshadowing of vengeance yet to come. If that meant the obliteration of his enemies, so would it be. Whatever it took, he would do it. Whatever the price, he would pay it and gladly, for as long he lived.

 

It was his destiny.