Chronicals of the Black Rose
folder
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
820
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
820
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chronicals of the Black Rose
Tales of the Black Rose
Prologue
Screaming people fled from the scene of the massacre.
It had been just a normal night at the fairly new and popular pub; Dog’s Breath. All the tables had been filled, the barmaids kept busy, and the happy noise of hundreds of drunken old and perverted farts filled the air. Ale was being guzzled down at alarming rates and thousands of dollars were being made from the oblivious crowd drinking themselves into a stupor. No one would ever have suspected it to be a place of bloodshed and murder. Certainly not the young man who sat near the front of the pub with his friends, enjoying a perfectly normal night out on the town, nor did the surprised barkeep, who-unfortunately-happened to be the first victim of the night.
A flash of light from outside the clean windows caught the attention of the young man and his friends, and they all crowded around the glass, thinking it was a fireworks display. Never did it occur to them that fireworks were not in season, for the days were cold and often wet.
The attention of the other customers was soon caught by the pretty lights outside, and many eagerly pushed towards the window for a better view. The boy, making faces at the huge crowd that had somehow accumulated by their table, waved to his friends while he pushed through the crowd, signalling that he was going to the bathroom. As he started off towards the back of the pub, an incredibly loud boom caused him to fall to the ground and hit his head on the corner of a table.
As the young man was knocked to the floor, he momentarily lost consciousnesses as flames erupted around him and blood sprayed everywhere like some deranged fountain of death.
***
When at last he had recovered consciousness and returned to the world of the living, his immediate thought was to find his friends. Heart pounding, and eyes blurry, he began to search the rubble for any signs of the people he had entered the pub with. The boy started panicking as he was unable to find his friends, or anyone else, for that matter. Gazing around at the hundreds of dead bodies surrounding him in the debris that was the remainder of the building, his eyes were drawn to their throats; which were all red. The boy narrowed his eyes, confused. Was EVERYONE wearing the same type of scarf earlier on in the day?
As his vision cleared, it became apparent what had happened.
Their throats were all slit open.
Now, being a boy of 19 years of age, he did what any sensible boy of his time would do. He started screaming the names of his friends in a vain attempt to find them, not even considering the possibility that the killer may be in the vicinity and could easily find him by the racket he was making.
His panic eventually faded, and he realized that his yelling would do nothing but give him a sore throat; the boy finally gave up and started walking away from the bloody remains of the Dog’s Breath. Rage started growing inside him like never before and he cursed the existence of whatever destroyed his happiness. He made a pact with himself where he stood, to avenge the lives of all the innocent drunk people (who were probably not that innocent at all) that had been mercilessly slaughtered.
His mind set, the boy began his hard and long journey with a single step; a single step that would either ensure total success or total annihilation. Unfortunately it was the latter rather than the former and the boy tripped over a loose piece of wood and smashed his face on the ground.
Snarling curses and rubbing his bruised and slightly bleeding forehead, the boy wearily got to his feet and continued walking. While carefully picking his way around the debris to avoid further chance meetings between his face and the ground, he heard a peculiar sound. Following the sound like any foolishly curious person would do, he came across a sight that would forever haunt his dreams and consciousness for years to come.
On the ground before him were the mangled bodies of his dead friends. He let out a ragged cry and sank to his knees, letting his tears blur his vision into vague shapes and colors. He hesitantly reached out to touch the bodies, as if to confirm the sight his eyes had relayed to his brain was real. His hand hovered over one of their bloodstained lips and regarded the bodies with sorrow. He strengthened his resolve while wiping his eyes hastily in his dirty shirtsleeve and grimaced at all the dirt he probably smeared on his face.
He would become a hero.
He would do what heroes in fairy tales did; he would track down the vicious beast, dramatically slay it, save the damsel in distress and claim a huge reward from the grateful king, after which he would win the fair maiden’s hand in marriage.
Only it wasn’t a fairy tale. And there was no maiden. Just a killer. And dead bodies.
Releasing a defeated sigh, the boy looked sadly around him. All of the bodies laying on the ground were drenched in blood and looked like they had been ravaged, as if some sort of blood thirsty creature attacked them. He spied a trail of blood leading to the only standing remains of the pub and he cautiously followed them. They had to lead to the killer, the boy thought. Unfortunately, it was times like these where the boy wished he was wrong. The trail of blood did indeed lead to the killer.
And the killer’s current victim.
***
The boy crept around the wreckage, trying to stay silent and willing himself not to tremble, but having a difficult time of it. To his ears, his heart was beating so loudly that it would surely catch the attention of the killer. Making like a ninja, the boy snuck up behind the figure. Not an entirely smart thing to do, mind you, but fear and grief does things to you. Upon reaching the figure and comprehending the scene before him, the boy just…froze.
For there on the bloody ground in front of him, was the figure, with long curly blonde hair, and crouching over a dead body. The boy stared for a moment at the scene before him, soaking it and all its horrors up like a dehydrated sponge.
He snapped. Snapped like a dried out twig in the middle of the desert. Screaming his fury, he ran at the crouching figure, fully intending to do serious harm to the murderer of his friends. The figure suddenly stood up and turned to face the boy, making him falter in his rage-induced run. The momentary pause was all that the figure needed, and in a flash, it was in front of the boy. He had a sadistic smirk on his face that chilled the boy’s heart, as he kicked the boy in the abdomen and sent him flying into a nearby table.
The force of the blow completely shattered the innocent table and sent tendrils of pain
shooting along the length of the boy’s spine. Snarling angrily like some cornered animal, the boy jumped back up and lunged at the figure, throwing all caution and reason away. The figure seemed amused at the boy’s rage and smirked again as he easily sidestepped the boy’s attack and sent him stumbling into a brick wall. His head connected hard with the solid bricks with a sickening crack and he cried out in pain and fear as his vision began to blur.
Blinking rapidly to try and get rid of the blood streaming into his eyes, the boy looked blearily up at the figure as it approached. The last thing the boy saw before he blacked out was a glowing red eye descending towards him.
***
AN: First thing I've ever really written, its the story of the manga a friend and I are creating... Sorry the prologue is so weirdly written, let me know what you think, constructive critism appreciated. :)
Prologue
Screaming people fled from the scene of the massacre.
It had been just a normal night at the fairly new and popular pub; Dog’s Breath. All the tables had been filled, the barmaids kept busy, and the happy noise of hundreds of drunken old and perverted farts filled the air. Ale was being guzzled down at alarming rates and thousands of dollars were being made from the oblivious crowd drinking themselves into a stupor. No one would ever have suspected it to be a place of bloodshed and murder. Certainly not the young man who sat near the front of the pub with his friends, enjoying a perfectly normal night out on the town, nor did the surprised barkeep, who-unfortunately-happened to be the first victim of the night.
A flash of light from outside the clean windows caught the attention of the young man and his friends, and they all crowded around the glass, thinking it was a fireworks display. Never did it occur to them that fireworks were not in season, for the days were cold and often wet.
The attention of the other customers was soon caught by the pretty lights outside, and many eagerly pushed towards the window for a better view. The boy, making faces at the huge crowd that had somehow accumulated by their table, waved to his friends while he pushed through the crowd, signalling that he was going to the bathroom. As he started off towards the back of the pub, an incredibly loud boom caused him to fall to the ground and hit his head on the corner of a table.
As the young man was knocked to the floor, he momentarily lost consciousnesses as flames erupted around him and blood sprayed everywhere like some deranged fountain of death.
***
When at last he had recovered consciousness and returned to the world of the living, his immediate thought was to find his friends. Heart pounding, and eyes blurry, he began to search the rubble for any signs of the people he had entered the pub with. The boy started panicking as he was unable to find his friends, or anyone else, for that matter. Gazing around at the hundreds of dead bodies surrounding him in the debris that was the remainder of the building, his eyes were drawn to their throats; which were all red. The boy narrowed his eyes, confused. Was EVERYONE wearing the same type of scarf earlier on in the day?
As his vision cleared, it became apparent what had happened.
Their throats were all slit open.
Now, being a boy of 19 years of age, he did what any sensible boy of his time would do. He started screaming the names of his friends in a vain attempt to find them, not even considering the possibility that the killer may be in the vicinity and could easily find him by the racket he was making.
His panic eventually faded, and he realized that his yelling would do nothing but give him a sore throat; the boy finally gave up and started walking away from the bloody remains of the Dog’s Breath. Rage started growing inside him like never before and he cursed the existence of whatever destroyed his happiness. He made a pact with himself where he stood, to avenge the lives of all the innocent drunk people (who were probably not that innocent at all) that had been mercilessly slaughtered.
His mind set, the boy began his hard and long journey with a single step; a single step that would either ensure total success or total annihilation. Unfortunately it was the latter rather than the former and the boy tripped over a loose piece of wood and smashed his face on the ground.
Snarling curses and rubbing his bruised and slightly bleeding forehead, the boy wearily got to his feet and continued walking. While carefully picking his way around the debris to avoid further chance meetings between his face and the ground, he heard a peculiar sound. Following the sound like any foolishly curious person would do, he came across a sight that would forever haunt his dreams and consciousness for years to come.
On the ground before him were the mangled bodies of his dead friends. He let out a ragged cry and sank to his knees, letting his tears blur his vision into vague shapes and colors. He hesitantly reached out to touch the bodies, as if to confirm the sight his eyes had relayed to his brain was real. His hand hovered over one of their bloodstained lips and regarded the bodies with sorrow. He strengthened his resolve while wiping his eyes hastily in his dirty shirtsleeve and grimaced at all the dirt he probably smeared on his face.
He would become a hero.
He would do what heroes in fairy tales did; he would track down the vicious beast, dramatically slay it, save the damsel in distress and claim a huge reward from the grateful king, after which he would win the fair maiden’s hand in marriage.
Only it wasn’t a fairy tale. And there was no maiden. Just a killer. And dead bodies.
Releasing a defeated sigh, the boy looked sadly around him. All of the bodies laying on the ground were drenched in blood and looked like they had been ravaged, as if some sort of blood thirsty creature attacked them. He spied a trail of blood leading to the only standing remains of the pub and he cautiously followed them. They had to lead to the killer, the boy thought. Unfortunately, it was times like these where the boy wished he was wrong. The trail of blood did indeed lead to the killer.
And the killer’s current victim.
***
The boy crept around the wreckage, trying to stay silent and willing himself not to tremble, but having a difficult time of it. To his ears, his heart was beating so loudly that it would surely catch the attention of the killer. Making like a ninja, the boy snuck up behind the figure. Not an entirely smart thing to do, mind you, but fear and grief does things to you. Upon reaching the figure and comprehending the scene before him, the boy just…froze.
For there on the bloody ground in front of him, was the figure, with long curly blonde hair, and crouching over a dead body. The boy stared for a moment at the scene before him, soaking it and all its horrors up like a dehydrated sponge.
He snapped. Snapped like a dried out twig in the middle of the desert. Screaming his fury, he ran at the crouching figure, fully intending to do serious harm to the murderer of his friends. The figure suddenly stood up and turned to face the boy, making him falter in his rage-induced run. The momentary pause was all that the figure needed, and in a flash, it was in front of the boy. He had a sadistic smirk on his face that chilled the boy’s heart, as he kicked the boy in the abdomen and sent him flying into a nearby table.
The force of the blow completely shattered the innocent table and sent tendrils of pain
shooting along the length of the boy’s spine. Snarling angrily like some cornered animal, the boy jumped back up and lunged at the figure, throwing all caution and reason away. The figure seemed amused at the boy’s rage and smirked again as he easily sidestepped the boy’s attack and sent him stumbling into a brick wall. His head connected hard with the solid bricks with a sickening crack and he cried out in pain and fear as his vision began to blur.
Blinking rapidly to try and get rid of the blood streaming into his eyes, the boy looked blearily up at the figure as it approached. The last thing the boy saw before he blacked out was a glowing red eye descending towards him.
***
AN: First thing I've ever really written, its the story of the manga a friend and I are creating... Sorry the prologue is so weirdly written, let me know what you think, constructive critism appreciated. :)