Age Recommendation: 16+
First Vampire, Queen of Darkness, She is Rising.
The darkness rose, as the light fled the night.
It was ominous, a beast barely contained, the night rose, and it’s queen stood alone, above it all, as behind her the storm grew, the waves of her anger crashing on the cold waves of reality.
She stood alone, as the world had always viewed her, her last ties to the mortal realms were gone.
The only three people to have known her, loved her as she was, were gone.
Her legacy, a bloodline stretching back to the dawn of humanity, was gone. Butchered and desecrated.
The hall wasn’t exactly packed as Ethan Raith stood up to speak; but he hadn’t expected quite so many to turn up. The concepts of identity weren’t exactly high profile stuff.
He smiled softly, “Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. I am Ethan Raith, and identities are sort of my trade, I create new personalities, new identities and social conceptions of my clients all the time. I’m a graphic designer, and branding is my speciality, and branding stretches far beyond your Chinese-manufacture t-shirt. It is the way that towns market themselves, it is the way our politics is run, and beyond that, it invades your personal life as you brand yourself through social media and market yourselves to friends, family, and anybody else you feel like. This idea of everything we do, reflecting what we are is the first step along the line moving away from the working class man and into the global social era.”
Occasionally as he continued his talk, as he glanced across the crowd, his eyes would lock with one individual, the man simply watched him, stared at him. That smoldering stare tossed anger across the space, a sheer hatred that gave Ethan pause every time he noticed it.
Ethan smiled softly as he finished, shook a few hands; and then packed up his gear and took it out the side door; packing his car before he would head back in for morning tea to talk to a few people before heading off, and the next speaker giving another talk at the small seminar hall in St. Kilda.
He turned around from the boot and blinked as he saw the same man standing there, the same hate-filled glare. “What exactly is your problem? Have I insulted you somehow?”
The man laughed softly, “Really? What a defensive response.”
Ethan clenched his fist, feeling his anger building, “What do you want?”
“Oh his blood rises!” The man laughed, and drew some sports-style fingerless-gloves and slipped them on; Ethan recognized them as sparring gloves, and he snapped back into a fighting stance instinctively and the man nodded, “Basic L-shaped footwork, good… You know how to fight, or at least the bare basics.”
There was a rush of wind, and Ethan swore as he was tossed sideways into the brick wall, he slid to the ground, wincing as he felt the sharp sting from his scalp to tell him he was bleeding and he went to push himself upright but an iron-gripping hand seized his shoulder and pushed him down, whilst the other hand gripped around his throat, crushing it slowly and he struggled, trying to bend his elbow, or push him away; but it was useless, and his eyesight began to blur, he panicked; trying to get any sort of blow in, feeling his knuckles bruise on the man’s face as the darkness closed in around the edges and then suddenly, he could breathe again. He fell forwards onto hands and knees, gasping in lungfuls of air; he pushed himself up the wall, and he saw the man who had attacked him, circling another man standing there, arms crossed; almost looking bored.
Ethan glared angrily, “Thanks…”
His voice was hoarser than he’d expected, but what happened next, was well and truly a surprise, the newcomer turned and punched, and the attacker simply vanished from sight, he turned to Ethan and frowned, “Who are you?”
© Copyright 2024, James Milne