Introduction: Michael’s Children
It all began with the Creator, as all things do. However, the Creator in this story is not a god or a deity or a spirit. No, he is the son of man, an ordinary mortal. Yet not so ordinary, for he was the first man to consort with a demon. This demon he fell in love with was one of the first and most powerful of demons. A wild creature that took the shape of a monstrous wolf and drank the blood of humans. This demon was Lethe. They fell in love at sight, and united as one. Such a union was forbidden by nature itself, for humans and demons were natural enemies. And the universal law existed even in the beginning: Never fall in love with the enemy. Yet they did, and from this union of the man Michael and the demon Lethe, came two sons of strange birth.
Twins, yet not twins. One called Marcus, a deathly pale boy born of feline appearance and the need to drink the blood of the living to sustain himself. The other named Willyem, a pale wolfish child with sharp canines and the ability to become a fierce creature of the moon at will. Both immortal, both with the golden nocturnal eyes of the mother-one cat, one wolf-, and both with the a half of the humanity of their father in their breast. With their birth, Marcus and Willyem became the first of their kind. Lethe looked at her sons with love, their father with pride, and asked, “What shall we name their blood?”
Michael placed one hand on each son’s head. “Marcus is a blood drinker, has the likes of a panther, and is as cold as death. Vampires he and his children shall be. Willyem is a wolf child, carnivorous as he eats the flesh of animals, and is a guardian in aware of his family. Lycanthrpii is the name of his family. And with their nocturnal eyes, their heightened senses, and need to hunt, they will be creatures of the night.” With the blessings of Michael, a plain mortal man, they grew into what they were shaped to be.
Until the gravest of days, they lived in peace and companionship. The boys had a love so strong for their mother, it seemed unreal. It seemed they would live like this until the end of their days. Yet it was not so. The union of Michael and Lethe broke the universal law. Theirs was an unnatural match, a repulsion to both their kind. To their relief, Lethe’s family overlooked the bond in mercy, for they gave birth to children that could change the pace of their kind forever. To their despair, the humans of Michael knew that the making of more vampires, lycanthropii, or a mixof the two could lead to their destruction.
This could not be. The universal law had been shattered, a feat punishable only by death. The humans, in an uproar, mobbed together and left to assault the traitor Michael and his demon wife and children. Lethe, frightened and angry, dutifully hid her children safely so they would not be taken or killed. Then, to defend themselves and their children, Michael and Lethe faced the throng together. The sight of the human man and demon holding hands and confronting them shocked the crowd. Convinced that Michael was under the spell of an evil enchantress, they attacked Lethe. They tried the best they could to protect each other from the mass, but to no avail. After the horde of people left, Lethe was gravely injured to the point of death, years of civilized motherhood softening her demon rage.
Michael was left to her body all alone and in grief. He was angry, angry at the mob, angry that Lethe’s family had not come to their aid, angry at himself for allowing it to happen. As Lethe died in his arms, she placed a hand on her human husband’s cheek. “I have,” she breathed. “One final gift for you, love of my soul.” With a flare of her golden eyes, she gave to Michael all of her powers and the last of her strength. “For you,” she whispered. “For our children.” Tears flowed down her cheeks. “For our people.” She died, and left her consort to be the Creator alone. In her last attempt to help him, she unknowingly changed him. He gained eternal life. He was given the gift of the moon and the curse of blood. Michael, with his wife’s love, had become both of his children. A winged wolf creature with double- pupil eyes, pale white fur, and a black mane: The first and only werepire.
Centuries passed. Under Michael’s watchful eye, the twins became beautiful and powerful immortals. Marcus was a perfectly sculpted man, a marble statue of a god with lengthy ebony hair, slanted eyes the color of liquid gold, and a feline grace to his movements. Willyem grew to be an Adonis of a man in size and beauty, muscled, fair like cream, scruffy hair like fine copper that almost covered the yellowy eyes of the hunter he was. Both were excellent scholars, spectacular hunters, and powerful immortals. Nevertheless, it was not the same as having the mother they did not remember.
Nothing was known about their powers for the longest time. Their senses were extraordinary, balance and agility inhuman, and the ability to commute mentally. That was all there was at first. Until a hunting accident that involved a human being bitten by Willyem who got away. Later, there was evidence that another lycanthrope roamed the country. Thus they realized they had the ability to change another through bite. It was probably then that the twins lost compatibility as they competed to increase their own kind’s population before the other.
As the populations grew, so did their hate for one another. They always came into horrible fights, most drawing blood, few to the point that they almost killed one another. Every time they did Michael had to intervene. It was a futile effort. The twins continued in their feud, growing into a hate so strong and ancient it seemed branded into their very souls. It distraught Michael deeply, for his children were all he had left, and love they used to have was gone. Seeing as they were destined to murder one another, he left them, unable to put an end to battle.
We skip ahead centuries later. Michael has long since been in hiding because of his nature. Vampires and lycanthropii are now in masses, covens, packs, and empires stretching across the world under Marcus and Willyem. Their only mutual agreement was the universal law, by which all abided.In fact, in the early days of construction, clans were not even allowed to see a creature from another. Such was the resulting bitterness between Marcus and Willyem.
The Fates, in the twins’ fourth century of their rule, seemed to deem it fit to pull a jest on them. Each ruler now had a grown child of their loins; Marcus a daughter, Cynthia, and Willyem’s son Cyrus. A princess of the vampires and a prince of the lycanthropii, two royals of different clans, forbidden to ever see one another. But a mere immortal cannot destroy Fates’ final decision.
It is unknown how Cynthia and Cyrus met. Some say they crossed paths on a hunt, other tales say Cynthia had mistaken Cyrus for one of her comrades of war and tended to a fatal wound. However the path that brought them together, they walked down another as one. As lovers. Their love was secret and was for years, but secrets are not forever.
Marcus and Willyem did find out. When they did, they were devastated, and meant to bring out their wrath upon them, but it was too late. The damage had been done, and Cynthia was with child, one that would be like its great grandfather. The brothers wept at the irony of it, but could not deny the justice that had to be carried out as they would for any other: Death. It was a grim reunion. The brothers came together and sent out mercenaries meant to capture their children and bring them back alive.
Of course, Cynthia and Cyrus ran. A great game of hide and seek began and continued for over fifty years. When they were captured, they brought in Cynthia, Cyrus, and their grown hybrid son, Lycan. Justice was carried out immediately. Lycan was taken away from his parents and imprisoned in a stone shell, one he could never escape, but he could never die. Just become weaker and weaker. It was an additional punishment to Cynthia and Cyrus to keep them anchored in woe, even in death.
The lovers were then taken to a large room in the Final Tomb, a place where both lycanthropii and vampires could be buried. Cynthia was tied high upon an elder wood pole dressed in flammable vampire’s blood. Cyrus was hung in the air across the room from her, suspended upside down by silver hooks. They faced each other. Then the torture began.
Cuts were made in all the potent places on Cyrus’s body, deep and ragged so the blood flowed like a waterfall onto the cold marble tomb floor. A small flame was led to the elder pole, and then set fire to. A most excruciating death, to watch the one you love most die slowly as you yourself dies. Screams resonated in the room as Cyrus bled and Cynthia burned. Screaming for themselves and for each other. Eventually, the fathers, in an act of mercy, decapitated their own child to end the suffering, though their bodies still bled or burned. The task affected each immortal differently. Marcus, in killing Cynthia, became grave, hard, cold, bitter, and angry. Cyrus’s end brought out the humanity and compassion in Willyem, and he repented by becoming a better man for his people. It was known that day as the day that Willyem’s heart swelled.
Despite the mixed feelings, there was complete relief that it was done. Over. It would never happen again and neither clan would have to feel that pain ever again. Or so they had hoped...