Vampire Hunter D Fan Fiction ❯ Innocent Souls ❯ Black Voices on the Wind ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Lord Blackmoure meets the Unseelie Faerie face to face with undesirable results. D proves that he's not a force to be triffled with against the arrogant fey, but is still scathed in the battle. Then, to make matters worse, the faerie shows D how helpless the children of the village really are.

Anime/Manga: Vampire Hunter D Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Fantasy / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 07.07.2005 | Updated On: 08.21.2005 | Pages: 8 | Words: 10.7K | Visits: 512 | Status: Work In Progress

Disclaimer:Vampire Hunter D is the property of its creator, Hideuki Kikuchi. I do not own D or any of the characters related to the novel series.

Innocent Souls

Chapter Three: Black Voices On the Wind

By: Elf

Blackmoure was ancient. He remembered a time before the great wars. He remembered a time before the first World War. He remembered when humanity was plunged in darkness and superstition. He remembered when magic use to leave its mark upon the world.

Truth to be told, Blackmoure missed those days. The days long before gunpowder, before the rifle, before chemicals obliterated the use of plants to heal. The days long before the vampires rose up from the ashes of human society and used man's forgotten super-science to reshape the world in their image. To breed back the things that had hid themselves from man and the vampires, except this time the vampires made the fairies and pixies like what they read about in stories, not how they truly were. Before the vampire clinched freaks to their breasts to use for their own needs.

What the current Nobles called their Sacred Ancestor, Blackmoure knew personally as a friend and confidant. He even served beside their king in battle. He even tried to stop his dethroning, but was pushed back and kept safe so he could make an example.

Dracula had infinite foresight in that aspect.

Just Blackmoure grew tired of playing at being a saint of darkness. It wore on his soul. Unlike Carmilla and some of the others, Blackmoure couldn't throw himself into darkness and blood. However, unlike his highness, Blackmoure couldn't rule.

So he protected his village the best that he could, despite what that little troll of a mayor said.

His village was one of few on the Frontier that did not boast an asylum for vampire victims. In fact, most vampires were terrified to tread there. Even mutant and lycanthrope garbage refused to enter his village.

Yet, Blackmoure hated technology.

He stared at the surveillance and defense systems around him with distaste. He sneered at the computer screen that offered no reflection of himself. He resisted the urge to pound at the infuriating contraption and rip it to shreds with his hands.

“Lord Blackmoure, what's a matter?” a tiny, thin voice piped up from behind him.

Blackmoure spun around to see the last awake child of his village. Seth Evans was tiny, frail, and had hollow cheeks and large greenish eyes that were too big for his gaunt face. His mousy brown hair stuck up in all directions from his head. His bones could easily be seen under his almost translucent skin. His ribs hitched with each breath before the boy turned his head and coughed.

Seth was a sickly little boy. Blackmoure had done everything in his power to make sure that the boy had lived his first seven years of life. It had been a long struggle, and while the super technology and science had only let Seth live a half life, a nurse who knew of the Old Ways was starting to make Seth thrive. Which was a blessing, for Seth was rumored to be quite brilliant and able to put anything together or make it work.

Blackmoure bent down and asked, “Can you make this infernal contraption work, Seth?”

A wide, toothy grin spread across Seth's gaunt features as his head bobbed up and down eagerly. The boy took off to the massive control panel and studied it. Blackmoure stood up and backed away from the child. Within moments of observation, the little boy was almost dancing around the apparatus as it hummed to life.

“Cedric knows how to make it work, Mr. Blackmoure, I showed him how,” Seth told him with a puzzled frown, “Why didn't you bring Cedric, Mr. Blackmoure?”

While Seth knew about how things worked, including science and technology that most humans couldn't comprehend now, he knew little of the world's workings outside of his sterile environment. Blackmoure doubted if the boy knew what was happening to the children around him. It wasn't as if the other children played with Seth, in fact, he was even more of an anemia than his own son. Blackmoure made sure that Seth had at least Cedric of his own age to talk to.

Now Blackmoure had to tell his son's other best friend that Cedric was . . . Do not think that Malcolm. Moira would have my head if I thought our son was going to die. No, Cedric will live, even if I have to die for him to do so. That bastard will be stopped, no matter what. Even if I have to walk up to Satan and bargain to do so.

“Cedric has been hurt by a terrible monster,” Blackmoure explained with a sigh, “As were the other children of the village.”

Seth's green eyes brightened as he proclaimed, “No way! Moira could've stopped it! Moira can whip anything!” In his excitement, the small child began to cough and hack furiously. His whole body shook as he struggled for air. Blackmoure lifted the child up and placed him in a chair.

Lights began to flicker on all around them in the stronghold, bright enough to make Blackmoure shield his eyes. Electrical humming filled his ears and rippled all around them. Defense mechanisms roared to life with the sharp shrill of a siren's cry. The stronghold shelter had armed itself. Blackmoure figured if it could protect a sleeping vampire during the day, then it could protect an awake vampire and a sick child.

Seth began to rasp and wheeze. His little hands fluttered helplessly as he looked at Blackmoure with fear filled eyes. Blackmoure stared intently in the boy's eyes and searched his mind. He focused and concentrated. Seth stilled. His breathing became easy as Blackmoure's trance took effect.

“I'm sorry, son,” Blackmoure sighed as he smoothed Seth's wild hair down.

He sat in the room's other chair and sighed. He watched each screen idly. All around him was the country side. Nothing unusual to account for except for the humming from the climate generators at the far edges of town as they shut themselves down for the night.

A loud popping sound filled the room. Everything went still before the air seemed to ripple. The control panel shot sparks and wheezed. The machinery lurched into death throws before everything went dark and quiet save for the tiny rattle in Seth's breathing.

Blackmoure rose to his feet as unnatural darkness seeped into the room. He lifted up Seth. The boy's eyes opened as Blackmoure broke the trance. He clutched onto the vampire's cape and Blackmoure started to slowly move towards the door.

Blackmoure felt a solid presence behind him. He felt hands rest on his shoulders. Ozone and juniper filled his nostrils, and power crackled behind the inky darkness around him.

“Well, my lord, it's the end of the line,” a velvet voice purred into his ear as moonlight hands reached for Seth.

Seth froze with terror. His heart was like a caged bird fluttering to escape, pounding rapidly in his chest as his breath hitched. He opened his mouth and screamed.

Blackmoure spun around and kicked out at the figure behind him. The wraith laughed and stood up right. Blackmoure's eyes widened at the terrible beauty of the thing in front of him. The tri-ringed violet eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Bastard!” Blackmoure roared as he swiped at the wraith with a clawed hand. The wraith laughed and danced back from Blackmoure's razor talons. Blackmoure bared his fangs and snarled as he attacked again.

The wraith smiled a beautiful chilling smile and waggled his finger disapprovingly at Blackmoure. “Now, now, Malcolm, be good.”

“Go to hell, you bastard!” Blackmoure hissed as he put Seth down so he could better rip the wraith's head off. I'm going to rip out that heart from that pale chest. I'm going to eat it in front of him while he still has life in his body. I want him to see it.

Blackmoure took to the air to fly at the wraith again, but out of the inky darkness rose spiraling tendrils. They whipped towards Blackmoure in a frighteningly fast array. He dodged and wove, but there were too many of them. They wrapped around his waist, his wrists, his elbows, his knees, ankles, shoulders, and the bend of his throat. He snarled out as they slammed him back into the control panel.

Sparks shot everywhere when Blackmoure crashed into it. His skin burned and bits of metal sliced and stabbed through him. He roared in pain as he was jerked up and helplessly pinned against the broken machinery.

“Ah, yes, that works just nicely,” the wraith chuckled as he turned towards Seth.

The boy's eyes were wide in terror. His heart was beating so fast that Blackmoure couldn't count the heartbeats. He shouted, “Go, Seth, run!”

Instead, the boy fell forward.

Blackmoure screamed as he heard Seth's heart burst. The wraith walked over and looked at the boy. He nudged Seth's still body and his lip curled with distaste.

“Fragile whelp, maybe it's a good thing that his heart burst, don't you agree?” the wraith asked in his velvety voice as he turned those striking eyes towards Blackmoure.

Blackmoure sneered, “Damn you.”

“Ah, that's not very polite,” the wraith scolded mischievously, still shaking that glowing white finger at the vampire.

The shadow tendrils tightened around Blackmoure. They bit into his skin and were so cold that they burned. He winched at the pain, but he knew the wounds would heal. He waited for his regeneration to kick in.

It didn't.

The tendrils tightened more and more. Blood spilled forth from each place he was bound. It splattered hotly on the ground and formed a crimson pool around Blackmoure's dangling feet.

Blackmoure screamed.

The wraith moved forward, a smile on his seraphic face. His long, black hair seemed to dance and fade in the magical darkness around him. Blackmoure looked at the wraith with glowing crimson eyes as he struggled with all of his might.

“You bastard,” Blackmoure managed, “Who are you?”

The wraith clapped his hands together, looking much like an eager child. He rocked back and forth on his heels and giggled. “Well, since you're going to die, I'll tell you,” he sang in that velvet voice.

Blackmoure glared and writhed in pain. His garnet eyes focused on the wraith as he continued to smile impishly at the vampire. The tentacle at his throat stopped cutting him while the ones around his arms, legs, and waist continued their assault.

The wraith smiled and said, “I am Ciaran, but not that it matters to you now.”

He flicked his hand at Blackmoure and the tentacle sawed and twisted through his throat. The vampire gagged and gasped. Bone made a sickening scratching sound as living shadow cut through it.

Blackmoure's unseeing eyes looked up at Ciaran from their place on the floor.

Ciaran watched impassively as Blackmoure's body started to dissolve into dust, mingling into the vampire's blood on the floor. His nose crinkled at the dead child sprawled out beside the vampire's remains. He nudged the boy's corpse with his boot and his lip curled.

Suddenly, his shadow weaving started to disintegrate all around him. A brilliant blue light filled his vision and he blocked his eyes from it. He felt his magic, his very being, begin to tremble at the sudden power.

It was draining him, leaching the darkness he created away. Something was feeding on his magic and he heard a throaty chuckle from a tinny voice. Ciaran drew shadows around himself to protect himself, becoming the fearful wraith once again. He held out his pale hands to increase the effect.

Except Vampire Hunter D was not impressed by such theatrics.

The dhampire had his long sword out and slashed at the shadows. Ciaran glared as he blocked them with his power. He nimbly wove himself into the darkness, becoming part of it, always moving and never still. He moved through the shadows, everything a dark violet blur.

“You killed Blackmoure and the boy!” that soft, unyielding voice accused.

Ciaran laughed and retorted, “The boy died of fright, Toll_toine. Blackmoure's arrogance did him in. What about you, Toll-toine?”

D's reply was curt and surprising. “Thalla gu Taigh na Galla.”

“Oh, will you send me there?” Ciaran laughed.

D darted forward with the sword. Ciaran slid away into the shadows and brought himself back right behind D. He drew his shadows and gave them form and shape. They lashed out at the vampire hunter like whips.

D spun around, dodged a few of the lashes, and blocked the rest with his sword. He jumped back away from Ciaran and the faerie laughed. He flung his hands down to his sides, closed his eyes and summoned the very Darkness around him.

Ciaran smirked as the brilliant blue glow of that infernal amulet began to dim. In the presence of this much Darkness and faerie magic, such a dampening trinket was useless. D was now cast in the dark blues, violets, and greys that Ciaran saw in when wielding the Darkness. The dhampire looked around, his long lashed eyes narrowing, as he pivoted gracefully on his foot while he searched for the faerie.

He drew the Darkness up and launched it out all at once.

D struggled, truly remarkable, but in the end fruitless. His sword separated one length of the dark ribbons only to be overtaken by three more. Ciaran wrapped the strands around the sword and jerked it out of the hunter's hands. He then intertwined the hunter in thousands of tendrils and lifted him off the ground.

Ciaran met the hunter face to face. He studied each delicate line, the upswept ears, the wide, sensual mouth and the tiny fangs bared at him. He reached out and stroked a lock of wavy black hair behind D's ear.

“Indeed, you are quite comely, I must say,” Ciaran mused thoughtfully, “A beauty even among my kind.”

D glared silently at him. Ciaran shrugged as he honed the shadowy ribbons into razor sharp blades to render the lovely hunter apart just as he had Blackmoure. There was a cracking sound as the ribbons began to cut into D's onyx like armor. Ciaran watched with a tiny smile.

“Your fondness for those who mock and punish you has led you to your downfall,” Ciaran taunted with a tiny smile, bending forward so his glowing eyes met D's. He made sure to cut the tendrils in deeper. The cracking grew louder and D grimaced, showing a bit of a fang.

Ciaran turned with a flounce of his cloak. “Go ahead and show me those fangs of yours, hunter. Give in before you die. It would be vastly amusing,” he chuckled.

“Amuse this, dipshit,” the tinny, nasal voice he had heard from before taunted.

Ciaran felt the shadows and Darkness being ripped apart. He felt them being ingested and processed for more power. He spun around to see the shadowy bondage snap around D and the hunter landing nimbly on his feet.

Ciaran glared and spat, “How the hell did you manage to do that?”

D leapt for his sword. Ciaran snapped it to his hands using the remaining tendrils. He lifted the beautiful weapon up and inspected it. “You've killed a great many with this. I think I'll keep it as a souvenir. Such as the blood stained sheets on the bed that I'll take Bronach on as well,” he scoffed with a smirk.

D snarled at him. His blue eyes shifted into a bright, glowing crimson that eclipsed the pupils and whites as well. Ciaran laughed as he folded himself into the shadows, bringing D's infamous blade with him.

“Tell Bronach that I'll be seeing her soon,” he called out, his voice echoing as he left the vampire hunter alone in the room with the ashes of Blackmoure and a child's corpse.

His laughter continued to mock D long after he was gone.

******

Bronach was looking at the sleeping child. Cedric. His chestnut curls felt like raw silk under her fingertips. She stroked the little boy's head as he lay still as a corpse. She looked at him with a pained expression, noting the tiny fangs protruding from his cupid's bow mouth. Her thumb traced under his lower lip thoughtfully before she settled back down in her chair beside him.

Her leg was a dull throb now. She could stiffly walk on it now, so she ended up with the children again. She'd walked in and seen their bodies anew.

She was going to rip that Unseelie Faerie apart with her own two hands.

“Aren't they pathetic?”

Bronach stood up and spun around. Leaning against the open French window was none other than the culprit himself. He was idly inspecting his hands before he looked at her with his sickly three-ringed violet eyes. A slow, easy grin spread across his pristine, glowing features.

He gestured to the children with his glowing hand. “So fragile. Delicate. Mortal. Fodder actually,” he mused thoughtfully.

Bronach tensed as she looked at the little ones. They were prone and helpless. Their families had no defense against the monster who had stolen their most precious gift.

It was hard for Fey to breed. Ladies' cycles were once every decade and the chance that a Lord's seed would take was slim. Despite that, Faeries loved physical pleasure. They reveled in it and sought it at any cost. And if a tryst brought upon a child, even an illegitimate one, then even better.

Another mark against her in both courts was that she'd never taken anyone to bed. In actuality there had been no one she had wanted to form a tryst with. She wasn't going to be part of some political game or just someone to fulfil an addiction.

So she made sure she never developed that particular addiction herself.

Still, that didn't mean she didn't think children weren't precious or that she didn't want one herself. In fact she did, but that was for a much later date. And to see another Faerie do this made her ill and lit rage within her.

She opened her mouth and drew a breath. She braced herself as she prepared to let loose the full destructive quality of her voice. Then the bastard slid his hand into the voluptuous folds of his cloak and pulled out something long and shimmering.

Her eyes widened. Her breath came out in a shuddering gasp. Her heart twisted and she began to tremble. D. Lord and Lady no . . . No, she thought as her eyes welled up with hot tears.

“Like my trophy?” he asked thoughtfully as he inspected the blade.

Bronach drew herself up and braced herself. She opened her mouth to scream. The Dark Faerie pointed to the helpless children around her.

Closing her eyes, Bronach fell still.

“That's right. Scream enough and you'll kill them all at the worst, or render them deaf at best,” he chuckled as he walked over to her.

She tensed as she felt his cool hands on her shoulders and his warm breath against her ears. There was a delicate flicker of wet warmth against the top of her ear. She trembled. The hands moved from her shoulders to hover over her breasts to rest around her waist.

He pulled her closer and her eyes flew open. She felt him pressed hard and ready against her back. She spun around and launched her leg up in a roundhouse kick.

The blow landed and the Faerie staggered. She landed and thrust out her hand with her fingers curved towards her upthrust palm. The second blow never landed.

She gasped as her feet were yanked apart and her arms outstretched above her head. She looked at the shadows holding her in place and turned to face the Faerie. She glared as he smiled at her.

“You sodding wanker,” she spat.

He lifted D's sword in position and traced it's insanely sharp edge against the curve of her bosom. She drew in a breath and arched back away from the blade. She snapped, “If you're gonna kill me, go ahead and do it and stop tossing around!”

He smiled at her. It was the sort of smile that shed rainbows. Insanely beautiful and charming. The sort of smile Lucifer had, she reasoned darkly.

“Why would I want to kill you, Morrigan's Grace? There are better things to do with your sweet body than harm it. You know how rare of a creature you are among our kind?” He purred as he leaned towards her face. She tightened her hands into fists as the sword easily sliced through her blouse. Her nails began to bite into her palms as she seethed at him.

She snapped, “Bloody hell is this about . . . Go toss off in the loo then, you giant pillock! There would be thousands that would be more than willing to shag you senseless. Why the hell do you want me?”

“Because you're unattainable. Because no one else has had you, that's all. You're passing fair, but as far as Faeries go, you're rather homely,” the Faerie answered as he turned her face towards him. She snapped her head and twisted it to the side.

He smirked as he leaned towards her. His lips danced around her ear. She bit her lip at the gentle caress. He was going straight for the weak point. Her ears. She shivered and he smiled.

She looked at the children. Then she looked back at her tormentor. She moved her face towards his and he smiled against her cheek. “I knew you wouldn't stay unresponsive for long,” he whispered in her ear.

Her lips brushed past his ear. She pressed a kiss into it. He shuddered from head to toe and held onto her tightly. She tensed in loathing and drew a breath.

Then she screamed right into his ear.

He screamed and crumbled to the ground. He held his head as he wailed in pain. The shadows dissipated and dropped Bronach to the ground. She landed in a crouch and took the opportunity to kick the Faerie viciously in the face.

Then she noticed D's sword lying prone on the ground.

Rage welled up within her as she picked up the sword and turned back to the Faerie. She wrenched him up by his hair and kneed him in the throat. “You sodding bastard!” she cried, tears welling in her eyes again.

She back handed him and he fell backwards. He looked up at her and she smiled in grim satisfaction. Blood gleamed like rubies as it trickled from his ears, eyes, nose, and in a tiny stream down his mouth. He coughed and she spun the sword back.

She began to sweep it down for the final blow.

A massive amount of shadow tendrils shout out at her. She tried to dodge. She even cut some with the blade, but there were too many. She even opened her mouth for another scream, but one wrapped around her mouth, silencing her. They held her pinned helpless and spread eagled in the air.

The sword fell to the ground again.

The Faerie wiped blood from his face. He glared at her with gleaming eyes as he took another step towards her. Bronach wiggled, but that only drew the sprigs tighter around her wrists and ankles. She attempted to scream even though the shadow would stop her destructive cry.

“I should leave you like this. What do you think will happen once the lesser creatures find out there is a veritable feast of defenseless children waiting for them? The gluttons would feed, and to find someone such as yourself helpless like this . . .” he drew off, a manic smile gracing his seraphic features.

Bronach glared at him and fought and twisted some more. He touched a lock of her blonde hair thoughtfully. “One lust sated, but the bloodlust leads to something worse. Unfortunately for you, death won't come as swiftly as it will for the children.”

Bronach sent her thoughts to the Faerie, launching them like an arrow into his mind, Blackmoure won't allow it. He won't let anything befall his son. So, I hope you enjoy the hell that you choose, you son of a bitch.

Bronach, listen to the wind, he replied, a haunting, static filled voice in her mind. He smiled at her and leaned forward. He sniffed the column of her throat before licking up her cheek to flick his tongue at her ear. She shivered and tensed again, her wrists twisting uselessly in their velvety bonds.

He pressed his mouth to her ear as his hand trailed up and down the curve of her shirt. She scowled as her nipple hardened against the palm of his hand. He idly began to rub the extended nub between his fingertips. Her heart beat quickened and she was breathing hard. Sweat was trickling down her face and back.

She heard something faint in the distance. Whispers on the air. It was enticing, like a banshee's song when she wasn't being destructive. It was promising a feast. That the protector and lord of the manner was dead. She heard it sing of static children that were helpless and unprotected. She discovered it was traveling along the darkness, and that it was specifically looking for creatures that would do such a thing.

Her eyes widened.

The Faerie laughed as he released her breast. He gave her one last kiss on the cheek. She jerked away with a muffled cry and glared at him.

“Enjoy yourself, Bronach. You might even survive the rebirth of the Hunt,” he said as he faded into shadows.

Bronach writhed in the static bonds. A howl rang in the distance. She twisted her head to look at the children.

She began to fight even harder.

******

D was almost standing on his horse. The cyborg's hooves barely touched the ground as it ran. Its long mane brushed past D's face, and he had to bow his head to avoid getting horse hair in his eyes. His grip tightened on the reins and the horse propelled itself forward.

The weak lord is dead. Helpless lambs await you. Sate your hunger and your thirst. There will be no one to stop you . . .

Left Hand stirred and said, “They'll hear the whispers. That bastard is telling anything that there's an all you can eat kids buffet at Blackmoure's. Since they think Blackmoure's now dead, they're gonna take him up on that offer.”

“I know that,” D replied tensely as he spurred his heels into the mechanical horse's sides. The horse flew down the worn path. D kept looking left to right to behind and in front of him again. The whispers grew louder, more tempting, and promising more and more.

Bronach was at the castle, as well as the nurse. Hopefully the nurse would have sense enough to get the children out of the castle. D knew that Bronach would stay behind and face whatever came to feed.

A howl cut through the seductive whisper. It echoed through the mountains and the horse reared. D kept seated as the horse whined and danced backwards on its hind legs. Its glowing eyes were rolling back and forth in their sockets as the mechanical animal's natural instincts took over.

D tightened the reigns and settled the horse back on all floors. The horse's nostrils flared as it darted uneasily back and forth. He reached down and patted the horse's flanks reassuringly, yet the creature still panicked.

A longer howl sounded, and it was followed by a whole chorus of howls. D's ears twitched at the sound as he looked around. It wasn't a full moon, but D knew better than to trust that particular myth about lycanthropes.

He clicked his heels together and tugged at the reigns. The horse whinnied again before taking off like a bolt. It soared down the road at a frantic pace, thinking with the instincts that man couldn't replace with its technology. D simply leaned forward, making himself more aerodynamic so the horse could run faster.

The horse was fast, but D had a feeling it wouldn't be fast enough.

He looked up to see Blackmoure's castle looming towards him. He urged the horse faster. He just hoped that the horse didn't hear the gentle panting of running wolves behind it.

To Be Continued!