Archive-name: Fantasy/nosfera1.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Nosferatu Unchained


Part One:  Humboldt, Bavaria   1653

     A cool mist had crept into the room, wafting through the open 
window and flowing like a heavy gas along the floor.   Tendrils of 
gray fog wrapped around the four-poster bed and for a  moment, the 
sleeping girl became restless, tossing in  her sleep.   She moaned 
once, then turned on her back.
     She was as Kyra had described: Young, blonde  and voluptuous.  
Her heavy, ample breasts spilled out of her  blue silk  nightgown, 
and her full red lips were parted in  a smile.   She was  warm and 
so, so full of life...
     The mist pulled out of the  room now,  as quickly  as it  had 
entered.  The heavy drapes shuddered slightly; the window  creaked 
once as if moved by a breeze, then became still again.  And in the 
far, dark corner of the girl's room a man came to be.
     He stood motionless as if in a trance  while he  took in  his 
surroundings.  He was a remote, majestic figure.  Like a fine-spun 
dancer, his  body was  slender but  not sparse.   Powerful muscles 
rippled in his back, arms and thighs.  The man was sensual, animal 
and completely nude.
     He glided noiselessly across the bare  wooden floor  and came 
to rest at the foot of the bed.  He studied her form --  the  soft 
curves  of  her reposing  body, the  lines of  her face,  the hair 
splayed out on the pillow.  His hard eyes traced the  firm, supple 
thighs, the  taut nipples  strained against  the thin  fabric, the 
smooth hands.  Two desires began to burn within him, one  ancient, 
the other ageless.
     He turned to the window and gazed out on the  serene, moonlit 
lake.  It brought back  half-forgotten memories  of his  youth, so 
long ago, of Lake Hermanstadt, and the Scholomance.  The ritual of 
the Becoming --  how long ago had it been?  he wondered.  He could 
not  remember,  could  not  even say  with certainty  that it  had 
happened at all.  So many memories, so many nights like this --
     The girl moaned, and he whipped  around quickly  and silently 
to face her.  Her breathing had become irregular -- panting  as if 
trying to wake herself up -- and he moved to her side  to lay  his 
hand  on  her chest.   The heat  of her  breasts aroused  him.  He 
caressed them like a lover, and presently the girl grew  calm, her 
dreams chased away and replaced with deaden sleep.   And something 
else: A longing.  She was aware of his presence, in the depths  of 
her slumber.
     He slipped into her  consciousness easily  enough, his  hands 
pulling the flimsy gown from her body.  She  inhaled sharply,  her 
breasts rising, then sighed.  As he watched, her hands went to her 
swollen nipples and caressed them.
     In her mind's eye, she saw him as  a magnificient  warrior in 
glittering armor and burgundy robes.  She  cried out  her need  to 
him: Oh, to bask in your gaze, to die in your arms...
     The girl's  eyes opened  and she  opened her  mouth as  if to 
speak.  There was no need of  it; he  heard her  call out  just as 
clearly as if she had sung.  She placed one hand on her breast and 
held out the other to him. He looked down at his erect,  throbbing 
member, then down at the girl.  It was time.
     He  knelt  beside  her  and put  his lips  against her  soft, 
pulsing neck.  His cold  breath excited  her, and  she rubbed  her 
thighs together.  Then he bared his  teeth, those  terrible fangs, 
and sunk them into the soft, inviting flesh.  She made a low  moan 
and  rolled  her  head  to accomodate  him. A  thin line  of blood 
trickled down her neck and fell  in tiny  droplets onto  the satin 
sheet.
     He drank hungrily as the liquid flowed into  him.  But  there 
was something wrong...
     DAMN!  He tore away savagely and  spat.  "It  cannot be,"  he 
said aloud.  So few were found these days -- and yet here was such 
a one.
     Her body  tossed again,  and in  her mind  she begged  him to 
complete the task.  He stood, nude in the darkness, and  shook his 
head.  Such a loss, he thought; would he find another  so desirous 
of the fate he'd held out to her?
     Still, he pondered, though  she could  not fulfill  his prime 
need, he still had another, equally strong.
     He moved down on top of  her and  smoothly entered  her.  She 
gasped, her eyes opened wide, and she wrapped her legs around his.  
Her mouth formed into an O, but as her eyes met his,  she made  no 
sound.
     Her thoughts, however, cried out to him.  Take me, my Lord!
     His silky fingers wrapped around her  throat as  he answered, 
You are already mine.
     He squeezed and felt the girl beneath him flail silently, her 
eyes begging for release.  He thrust his massive  shaft once,  and 
she arched her back for him.  Her hands  went to  his wrists,  and 
pushed, not for less pressure but for more.
     She  bucked  her  body  again,  but  he  would  not  respond.  
Instead, he  moved closer  to her  face and  stared directly  into 
those eyes, full of terror and desire.
     His hands  pressed even  harder.  For  two full  minutes, the 
girl  fought  both  against  and  for  his  powerful  grasp.  Then 
suddenly she  jerked still.   He felt  a liquid  warmth drip  from 
between her  legs, and  the girl  slumped into  the bed,  her face 
still holding  that ecstatic  expression.  Her  heart beat  twice, 
then stilled forever, as her final thoughts rang in his head.
     He pumped again into her lifeless body and  stared deep  into 
eyes that saw nothing.   Her firm  legs relaxed  and slid  off his 
back, and as he pressed his chest against her still-erect nipples, 
he  felt  the  warmth  slipping  away.   Then another  thrust, and 
another...
     His own release was near; he thrust into her as he came.  The 
girl's head lolled back, her throat  bared to  him.  Her  arm slid 
off the bed and hung limply above the floor, the fingers curled.
     He dismounted and looked down in  pity at  the body  sprawled 
out on the bed, now as cold as his own.  Her eyes looked up at him 
as if to beg him to take her with him.
     He stood back, and held the dead girl's gaze as the mist once 
again slid into the dark room.

                            *   *   *

     Kyra, his student, loved the sport.
     Their abode sat high on top  of a  desolate mountain,  near a 
stone-strewn pass.  He made his way  through the  fallen ramparts, 
down a hidden stone stairway leading to the aquaduct and  into the 
main chamber.
     Kyra looked up at him from  the stone.   "My lover  returns," 
she purred.
     He  looked  at her.   She wore  ornate filigreed  gold breast 
cups, each ending in a three inch long, needle-sharp point.   Gold 
serpents circled her upper arms, and a heavy gold belt went around 
her lithe waist.  A cermonial dagger was strapped to her left leg.
     "Just in time," she told him.  "Listen!"
     There was a faint scream, coming from the abbatoir below.
     "She's mine," Kyra said.
     Together they went to  the lower  level, Kyra  pirouetting in 
anticipation.  "I found her in Hamboldt," she told him.  "She's an 
artist at the University.  She saw me and fell in love.  Romantic, 
wouldn't you say?"
     Kyra swung open the heavy iron gate.  He saw her immediately, 
a young girl chained to the far wall, her limbs outstretched.  She 
emitted a yell, but when she saw them, quieted instantly.
     Kyra danced  over to  her.  "Tell  my lover  your name,"  she 
said.
     The girl looked up at her.  "Marissa."
     Kyra went up to the girl and slowly  untied her  lace bodice.  
She pulled it off, then whipped around once with the dagger in her 
hand.  Marissa gasped when saw the sharp blade.  Kyra giggled, and 
in one fluid motion, cut away the rest of the girl's clothing.  It 
fell to the floor in tatters.
     Kyra moved  closely to  her; the  points of  her breast  cups 
pressed into Marissa's hot flesh.
     "Tell me what you desire, dear Marissa."
     The girl looked into her eyes.  "I need...you," she breathed.
     Kyra covered the girl's mouth with her own.  As they  kissed, 
Kyra's  tongue  slid  and  probed  like  a  snake,  fighting  with 
Marissa's  as  the other  woman responded  in kind.   Kyra's hands 
encircled Marissa's waist, and she pulled herself closer.
     The spikes plunged into Marissa's breasts, and she  screamed, 
but Kyra still held the kiss.   Marissa's fingers  flailed as  she 
tried to grab hold of the chains, her  legs kicked  uselessly, and 
her eyes bored into Kyra's.
     Blood began to trickle from her  chest and  lips.  Kyra  held 
the kiss and squeezed harder into Marissa.
     The dying woman made one last cry as her life  flowed out  of 
her.  Kyra held her  deadly embrace  until the  body made  a final 
twitch and was still.
     Kyra gently pried herself away.  Her breast cups were smeared 
with blood.  She dabbed her finger in it, brought it to her  lips, 
and tasted.
     She smiled and turned to him.  "How was your hunt?"
     He eyed the body on the wall hungrily. "She was...unclean."
     Kyra motioned to the slumped body of Marissa.   "Then I  give 
you my prey."
     He went to the dead girl and lapped the blood from her  chin, 
then knelt and suckled her breasts.  The fire had died within her, 
but his own was rekindled.
     Kyra moved  beside him.   She deftly  unchained the  girl and 
lowered  her  to  the  ground.   Looking  up  at  him, she  smiled 
knowingly.  "Your other needs awaken."
     He picked the body up lovingly and carried her cradled in his 
arms to his chamber.  He placed her down  gently on  the cold  bed 
and smoothed her long black hair.  Her eyes stared upward  and her 
blue lips formed a silent scream.   The man  kissed her  neck, the 
dip of her throat, her breasts.  His hands ran down her waist, her 
thighs, her soft round buttocks.  Her elegance was even greater in 
death, and as he felt the soft, cool  flesh he  began to  plot the 
quenching of his thirst.
     He slid between her  legs and  entered her.   He covered  her 
mouth with his, tasting the blood,  and drew  her hands  above her 
head.  As a lover would, he thrust himself  into her  and thought, 
you will join us yet, Marissa.
     His terrible  strong body  arched over  her, and  the thrusts 
became mightier.  Without bidding, the words came out of him  in a 
low rushing outpour:
     "Be ye accursed, and eternally reproved; and be  ye tormented 
with perpetual pain, so that ye may find no repose by night nor by 
day, nor for a single moment of time, if ye  obey not  immediately 
the command of Him Who maketh the Universe to tremble..."
     Her lifeless eyes stared up at him, her mouth hanging slack.
     "...by these Names, and in virtue of these  Names, the  which 
being named and invoked all creatures obey and  tremble with  fear 
and  terror,  thses  Names  which  can  turn  aside  lightning and 
thunder; and which will utterly make you to  perish, destroy,  and 
banish you -- "
     With  a  fevered  groan  he suddenly  jerked inside  her, the 
piston-driving strength of his body possessing hers.
     "These names then are  Aleph, Beth,  Gimel, Daleth,  He, Vau, 
Zayin, Cheth, Teth, Yod, Kaph, Lamed, Mem, Nun, Samekh, Ayin,  Pe, 
Tzaddi, Qoph, Resh, Shin, Tau."
     Then  the  moment  of  ecstasy exploded  all around  him.  He 
thrust once more, his shaft buried deep inside her in  a dizzying, 
uncontrollable burst of rapture.
     He was utterly consumed, and yet the words still came:
     "...that ye may burn therein eternally for ever..."
     It was time for the Third Pentacle of the Moon  -- and  after 
that, the Becoming.

                            *   *   *

     Marissa's body lay in the Cradle  of Ages,  deep beneath  the 
decaying castle.  Her soft hands crossed her breasts; her form was 
covered  by  a gossamer  silk gown.   Dozens of  candles flickered 
around her.  Her eyes were open and her mouth was still drawn back 
in the deathmask.
     It was close to midnight and because of this, Kyra had chosen 
the Fifth Pentacle of Saturn.  Her  eyes were  red and  catlike in 
the darkness, and her hunger great, for since the beginning of the 
ceremony she had done no hunting.  She read from the dusty book in 
a low, quick voice.  Her garment was a crimson-cloaked gown.
     The man listened approvingly.  Though they had been  together 
for hundreds of years, soon she would pass through to eternity and 
another  would  take her  place.  He  looked at  Kyra and  felt no 
sorrow; it had been the same  with Voranna,  his previous  consort 
and Kyra's first...victim.  That was as it should  be, and  though 
he refused to think it, he knew that another would eventually take 
Marissa's place at his side.  But that was far in the future.
     Kyra finished  reading the  invocation and  closed the  book.  
She was panting, feeling the burning  desire to  once again  taste 
blood, to steal life.  He ignored her; Kyra would hunt no more.
     He rose and went to Marissa's limp body.   Closing her  eyes, 
he kissed her lips and raised the chalice above his head.  He then 
intoned the final words.
     "Some are created from water.
     "Others from Wind, unto which they are like.
     "Some from Earth.
     "Some from Clouds.
     "Others from Solar Vapors.
     "Others from the keenness and strength of Fire; and when they 
are invoked or summoned, they come  always with  great noise,  and 
with the terrible nature of fire."
     He overturned  the chalice.   As the  water hit  her, Marissa 
opened her eyes wide and shrieked.  Her hands  clawed in  the air, 
and her legs kicked wildly.  The  restraints held  her within  the 
Cradle, but still it was so awful that Kyra -- even Kyra,  who had 
seen so much! -- flinched.
     He invoked the Great Ones now:  Qadosch, Tzabaoth,  Asophiel, 
Athanatos.  Athanatos,  Eater of  Life, whose  visage turned  even 
Cardiel to stone.  Tzabaoth, Hunter of Life, of whom even  Gabriel 
was  terrified.   Qadosch,  who  dared  taunt  the Master  of Evil 
himself --  Qadosch, Destroyer  of Worlds,  who protected  them in 
their Long Sleep.
     Marissa's screams stopped.  She looked up at him and when she 
smiled, he could see the fangs.  Good, he thought.  He  would have 
another mate.

     He ordered  Kyra out,  to prepare  for the  next part  in the 
ancient ceremony.  She moved painfully, aching for sustenance, and 
closed the huge wooden door to the chamber.
     Twenty hours later he emerged and walked down  the giant  and 
empty halls to Kyra's bed.  He found her  as he  had ordered:  She 
wore her gold filigree and nothing else, kneeling on a small  dais 
before an icon of Existon, the Harbinger of Death.
     His robe fell to the cold stone floor and he reclined in  her 
bed.  He spoke to her.  "Rise, Kyra, and join me."
     She  stood,  noticed  the  door  to  her chamber  still open.  
"Would my Lord have me close it?"
     He waved his hand.  "No.  Come to me."
     She smiled and climbed up onto him.  She mounted him  easily, 
moaning with pleasure as his erect cock slid deep inside her.  She 
offered him her taut, swollen nipples.  He rolled them between his 
fingers, then cupped her breasts in his hands and lifted them up.
     Kyra drew her legs up and began to ride him like a  stallion, 
her first hunger lost in the second, and  after a  brief thrashing 
period had begun to make a smooth, steady pumping motion  with her 
hips and pelvis.  Her  sharp fingernails  raked his  smooth chest.
     Kyra never noticed the footsteps.
     She  was  caught  in  her  own  ecstasy.   The  man, however, 
glimpsed Marissa creeping into the room, and spoke to Kyra.  "Look 
in my eyes," he commanded.
     Kyra smiled again and looked down at him.  Their eyes met and 
locked.  She licked her lips with her tongue and purred.   "Finish 
me, my Lord!  Make me come!"
     Marissa moved up behind her and with a swift movement brought 
the garrote up over  Kyra's neck.   Marissa quickly  tightened the 
garrotte and  pulled.  Kyra  screamed when  she realized  what was 
happening and reached to the dagger strapped on  her leg,  but the 
man's powerful hand grabbed her arms  and pinned  them.  With  his 
other hand, he withdrew the dagger.
     "Goodbye, Kyra," he said.   Kyra looked  at him  with sadness 
and finality in her eyes, then bucked once more.
     The dagger had been prepared for  this in  the ceremony.   He 
plunged it between her  breasts.  It  went in  to the  hilt.  Kyra 
jerked as the blade entered her, and a crimson ribbon  flowed from 
her lips.  She bucked several times as the knife did its work, and 
her visage  turned from  sorrow to  anger to  hatred to  something 
inhuman.
     Marissa pulled harder on  the garrotte.   Kyra's body  arched 
backwards, and a final,  soulful scream  passed between  her lips.  
She crumpled between her lord's legs; it was finished.
     Marissa pulled her off of him and onto  the floor,  where she 
tumbled and sprawled.  "Did I please you, my Lord?"  she asked.
     He rose from the bed and  took the  garrotte from  her hands.  
"Yes, child," he told her.  "Now return to  your chamber  and wait 
for me."
     When  she  had  left,  he  carried  Kyra's body  up the  long 
stairway and out to the hill behind the castle.  He set her on the 
cold ground and pushed on the dagger.  It would be dawn soon; when 
the sun's rays found her, she would be no more.
     He returned below ground,  barring each  entrance behind  him 
with heavy metal locks.  He finally appeared in  the main  chamber 
where Marissa waited for him.
     "What comes next?"  she asked him.
     "First,  your  instruction,"  he  replied.   "There  are many 
things you will need to know for your  new life.   Afterwards, the 
Long Sleep, and when we awaken, we will feast."
     She smiled at the prospect, her fangs strong and gleaming.
     Two years later the instruction was  finished, and  they went 
back together to the Cradle of Ages.

*** END OF PART ONE ***
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