*King

War, I detest it. Here I stand in front of a mirror and watch the horror of an era I wish not to see revived. I care to remember my crime but also a life-changing decision that allowed my species to survive. Many hate me, but everything I did, I did for us.

Denmark 1762

The subjects hid, slid along the walls, and the floors retracted themselves from the conflict. The once sparkling castle of Egeskov resembled a lugubrious graveyard. Crisping crackles, echoes of chuckles, and creaking closing doors swayed in the air around us. Decaying bodies of Repugnants grazed every level. Soulless, they sought blood and clung to me and my horde. The knights beheaded them; the carcass immediately became masses of white larvae devouring itself.

The Seconds waited for us. Aligned and on their knees on both sides of the corridor leading to his room. We took the stairs; we found no resistance on the first floor, though regrouped and ready to battle.

The large doors to the vast chamber opened, and fear gripped every one of my limbs as I advanced. If I possessed at least one beating heart, it would have galloped like a wild horse fleeing the fire. The guards meant to support me hid and shuffled behind, their armors banged like pots of copper and brass. 

There he stood, his back turned to me in his reddest satin robes harboring our coat of arms which trailed on the floor, the first of all Firsts Vlad IV king of Wallachia and lord of Kvaerndrup. He lived, died, and revived as the father of the Strigoi. All the bats on the ceiling remained still though the room filtered the sunlight. 

Blind, the echolocation allowed him to draw the outlines of my silhouette. When the distance seemed sufficient, I stopped. 

"Venit aici."

My vocal cords strummed like broken lute strings as I mustered a reply, "It is the least I can do."

"Thank you for this honor, you at least you are not a coward," he swerved and bowed like a page with the cynical grin which showed his fangs, "your long hair misled me. For a second, I thought you were your brother."

"It was not my intent."

Once more, he delivered a crooked smile, "sorry, I was not expecting you. Do you want to join me for lunch? I have three young maidens I reaped at the crack of dawn.

He hovered to the round dining table where sat a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde woman. The virgins were motionless as dolls in their black velvet gowns.

His hands caressed each of their heads, and finally, he chose. His fingers glided along the blonde girl's face, and nails lengthened as they slid from her cheek to her neck. There, his index slit her throat in a smooth straight line. 

The cut was not profound enough to kill her instantly but wide enough for him to drink without making much effort. He tilted the maiden's head to the side and let her blood drip into his glass before allowing the girl to drop back into the seat to die, a slow death, while her soul screamed for help from behind the gaze, which held it hostage. 

He inspected the blood and identified the aromas by orthonasal olfaction.

"Hmm, how about a cocktail? A little mix will not do any harm," he moved on to the brunette. The girl was of rare beauty; her green eyes sparkled like a trapiche emerald. 

I turned my head away a second too late; he heard my thought.

He took the blood from her wrist and added it to his glass. His finger then twirled its contents before he proceeded to assess the taste. From mere violent and exalting blood sucking, the King rendered our savage habit to state of the art almost as refined as wine tasting.

I swallowed the excess of saliva, which mounted in my mouth and menaced to overflow from its rim. The vessels of my eyes swelled while my pupils dilated as lust and thirst escalated. There, the drums of my ears throbbed to the beat of the dying maiden's heart.

"Are you sure you do not want some? Look, I even have a redhead. I know how you like those," he teased, "their blood is peculiar, almost spicy, but sweet with tangy accents. Hmm, perhaps it's the iron that underlines the sour taste. I have never understood your preference for their blood, but it blends in well in a cocktail. I do not fancy it alone; it's a little too exotic if you ask me."

As usual, he weaved; he had a way with words, alwayss coated with an undertone of cynism. Unlike me, the art of rhetoric has never been my forte. Ignored for most of my existence by my father, I talked little when necessary. The day seemed to be a good one, his dementia was dormant, and I seized the opportunity to speak.

"Father."

"Son, can I not have one last fest? Let me relish the nectar of these virgins. They came willingly, I assure you," he said, placing a hand where his still heart was.

"Father."

He lifted a hand in protest," when shall it be?"

At that instant, it was not fear but shame and guilt which paralyzed me.

He pursued, "do not feel disgrace; none shall ever stone you. I am aware of the manipulation. How painful it must be to realize the one who wishes your ruination is your kin. The Hawks say we are emotionless, yet one could consider our exuberant passion as a form of empathy." 

Space was something father mastered; his movements remained swift despite the years. Before I knew it, his hands touched my face; they thrived in the warmth of the blood; he drank, circulating temporarily in his veins. He stroked my face as he tried to read its expressions. The practice seemed strange for an entity able to rummage through my soul, "you signed the Hawks treaty?"

"To end the war. Without it, there would be no victor."

His grip hardened, I endured the agony, "they asked for my head." 

Hiding the truth was inevitable, father read all, "yes, your head is the price, yours, and those of all the remaining species leaders."

The King chuckled, "Is that how they count on stopping the natural selection? If the vârcolac do not devour them or the zânele and spiriduși do not manipulate them, evolution will have the best of humanus just like it will of us. Look at you; you have two hearts for a reason unknown, but no heartbeat. You can walk in broad daylight like one of them. One generation of Strigoi sets us apart; your age is already a better, more evolved version of me. Never forget we are alike. As Firsts, we have the power. The Hawks can say all they want; humanus are beneath us. They are a fantasy created to entertain Tanwen." 

"Fa-ther."

The nails withdrew from my face and, I took a few steps back to regenerate as they drilled deep into my flesh and through to my jaw. Instantly, skin growled like ants on the bare flesh, and the wounds found themselves sealed.

Father paced in front of me, "what if I resist?"

The stress took hold of my tongue and twisted it. I wished not to battle, knowing the loss would be mine, "ㅡI-I wi-ill ha-haㅡve to use fo-foㅡorce."

Father smiled knowingly and wagged his finger in my direction as he taunted me once more," ne-ne-ne, never stutter, my son. Never give your enemy this advantage."

"Yo-you are not maㅡmy en-enㅡn-n-my, fa-father."

Father tilted his neck from side to side, making it break, "for the hawks and the houses, I am a threat. I bet the house of Arcadius is happy. Cowards, they found no one else than my youngest son to perpetuate their coup. Here you stand like a Trojan horse ready for the kill." He walked away to sit on his chair, where he regained composure and inhaled, "when shall it be?"

"Before the next daybreak."

Father remained silent; his hollow eyes examined me, suddenly, the bats began to fly. The guards lifted their heads to observe the overhead commotion as the bats flew down to attack. Everyone was distracted by them except me. I saw how his cauldron camouflaged his movements when he stormed at me, leaving me no choice but to wield the sword given by the Hawks.

The weight of his body on mine made me drop to my knees, and he whispered, "I rather die by your hands than in those of Hellsing vrăjitoare. Do what you must do to protect our species."

The silver sword immobilized him, but he was still amongst us.

Never had a first been killed. Regenerating constantly, the only way to delay the process is to use silver to wound.

So we hurried, the guards placed father in his coffin to travel. By night the bats would have followed the coaches with rage, but here they were delayed by the sun's curse; this gave us time.

An entire assembly waited in the castle of Alva in the neighboring city.

All were to witness my father's scattering.

Weakened by the wound, father could not shapeshift or fly. The guards' placed sliver anchor chains on him without much effort.

The instruments began to pull his limbs apart; no scream or cry came out. He spoke, the walls trembled, "comrades, open your eyes, do not be fooled. No good will come of this; they want us to repress our nature. Rezistă tentației de a fi uman. They feed us lies, nu o să mai poți fi om niciodată. They seek to enslave usㅡ."

The triad lasted until only his head was left to rip; still, he orated, "I will not let you dispute the throne, before I perish, hear the name of your lord, hail king Søren."

There, I, Søren, the stammerer, found myself a victim of fate. The father, who never acknowledged my presence, placed me on a pedestal, and he gave me a poisoned gift. The gesture made me wonder if he ever loved me. Never did I wish to rule, third in line in a fraternity of three legit heirs, the throne was something Inerglas, Vladislav, and even my father's bastard, my fourth sibling, desired. Their will alone to endorse the role gave them merit.

The sunset and the assembly found its ceiling darkened and invaded by the bats. They flew around me in a procession that lifted my feet of the floor. They obeyed my father's last will. Never did I feel such power as they filled me with knowledge. Through their eyes, I saw not only the neighboring cities but beyond the seas—lands no man had explored, where people of different skin spoke languages unknown.

Finally, I understood why the Hellsing pursued us, it was not our immortality, nor our healing powers, but the wisdom held by these Chiroptera who were there from the beginning.

The Arcadius left the hall, Magnus lingered but followed those of his known lineage. Each wing where stood the nobles of the houses bowed to pledge their allegiance. 

Finally, my older brother Vladislav approached. No one, not even him, expected this outcome. I survived my encounter with my father, and he designated me as his successor.

"Hail, king Søren," Vladislav said behind gritted teeth while he bowed and kissed my hand, accepting his defeat.

They burned father's limbs and placed the ashes mixed with Zână dust in fifty-two boxes, which the hawks took with them to scatter in places where no man can retrieve. 

Days passed, all was calm. Humans spoke of us as though we were myths. The war ended, and I was lonelier than ever. The castles abounded with traitors. The tribute I paid was heavy; my mind was haunted by my father's memory, still vivid, contradictory thoughts collided as the siege of Egekov replayed. Everything was too easy, and my father also toyed with me. Here I was trapped; they plotted to get rid of me. Mother and Ingerglas chose to immure themselves as the era was not to their liking.

Paranoid and without an ally, the Arcadius countered every law I wished to establish. I had no one to talk to; angst lurked and hung on every word I pronounced.

Only the bats remained faithful and true; father's isolation became comprehensible. How could one survive in a bed of vipers?

Vladislav's voice broke my pondering as he came to stand next to me on the balcony of my chamber, "how does it feel to be king?"

I turned to face my brother and intruded directly in his mind, "I know Vlad, you desired my death. You believed the Hawks would get rid of me, and if not, father would finish me.

"Søren, Iㅡ."

"SILENCE," I shifted, grabbed his face, lifted his body, and hung him over the ledge, "live, be faithful, assume your role as my brother. Cross me, and I will scatter you across the earth. 

Vladislav dropped off the ledge to the depths of the surrounding cliff; the punishment was light, Vlad would be back, my act was without consequence, for I was King, after all.

Oh my goodness,

This is the flashback chapter I wrote when I first published it. 

It was the first chapter, and I think it confused many readers who probably expected a story set in 1762.

I kept it as I thought some readers would be interested to know what Soren sees every time he looks in a mirror.

I hope you enjoyed it.

Thank you