In which Blackmoon transforms...
98
On they came and on he fought, his clothes torn and being torn, wound upon wound opening all across his all too human body, each one healing but each one slower. More than the Sahajin they were, a veritable wall of the undead, their feverish red eyes, their wicked slavering jaws gnashing, their razor sharp claws slashing.
Frostfire lashed out, it's white hot tongue incinerating all it touched. He waved it all about him, taking dozens of them in moments. They cared not at all, on they still came, fully intent on tearing him apart, on fulfilling their unseen master's wish.
The fairy circle was shattered, in the ensuing chaos it's magic had dissipated. Lorelei had gone with it, taken he assumed by Sigurd, his ancient enemy, spirited away to his master.
Reginmal wanted her, he'd always wanted her. He'd wanted Virginia Dare centuries before. He'd never taken one of the Fangs. He'd known of them, all Dragon's could sense the presence of a human touched by one of their own. He'd taunted him back in Roanoke with his very presence near the Dare family. He'd never dared though to take one of them himself, but that was in all likelihood because in all these centuries he'd never dared approach one long enough before sensing his brother near.
Something was different now, he'd grown more powerful, powerful enough to finally challenge him, something he hadn't dared to do since Sigurd, the blade and the river.
But first he'd butter him up a bit. The Vampires couldn't kill him unless he let them, not even a thousand of them. He could wipe them out almost immediately if he took his true form, but down here, that could bring the entire roof down and spell the end for Price.
Reginmal knew, somehow knew that his brother wouldn't, couldn't allow that. He'd finally realized that his brother had acquired a weakness after all these millenia, a weakness he'd not had before.
He cared about them now.
And so Blackmoon, the one that cared, perhaps foolishly, fought ever harder, ever stronger, with greater fury, greater determination. He wiped out scores of them with each swing, ended hundreds of immortal lives in those long terrible minutes, the fragments of his jacket billowing behind him, his jaw set, his blue eyes ablaze.
They crumbled into piles of ash about him as he swung that great weapon, the black ash mixing with the red of his own blood which poured in rivers to stain the tunnels below the great metropolis.
He held out as long as he could, obliterating as many as he could before the pain disappeared, became nothing more than a dull throbbing. Now there was trouble, now he could die, if he stayed in this form any longer, all the regenerative ability he could muster would be for naught. Even a Great Wyrm would fall then.
He stopped, if only for a moment, closed his eyes and felt for her. She was close, she stilled lived. He'd taken her someplace close, just far enough that if Blackmoon stayed here any further he would lose her scent again, and this time for all time.
He dismissed Frostfire, sending it home before releasing himself. He felt his body expand, felt the flame within, his own and that great churning thing he'd taken from the Gorgamok, the flame that carried voices within it, begging to be released.
Soon, my friends, he told them. You'll be free, soon, and you'll see that it will not be for nothing. There will be retribution for what has been done to you.
Then he opened his eyes and howled, unleashing his full fury, his full power.
The Vampyr had only moments before they saw their true maker, just long enough for a thousand tainted souls to scream.
End Part 98
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