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Realms Converge	By : Candice Category: +G through L > Legacy of Kain Views: 3563 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Legacy of Kain, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.Don't get to Nosgoth itself til chap 5

Chapter List
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Chapter two: Out of the Frying Pan...
I wasn't sure how much time had passed before I finally woke up from my drug-induced slumber. There were no windows, nor was there a clock anywhere inside the room. Perhaps it had been hours, or maybe even a whole day had gone by. Possibly longer. The only thing I had to judge the time was that I felt hungry and thirsty as all hell. I blinked wearily as I looked around the room before glancing down to check my present physical state. Worried as I was, I took a brief moment to count myself lucky that I was at least still alive after having been jumped so suddenly. That meant that I had a chance to get free. To escape. It looked like I was in good physical condition as well. Nothing felt broken, sprained, or bruised. I wasn't bleeding from any visible injury, either. Another plus was that my clothes seemed to be in one piece.
So far, things were... as okay as they could be. All things considered.
I wasn't entirely sure if I could fully trust my drug-addled senses, though. There might be potential injuries that were not visible, but at the same time, I wasn't sure if I should start poking at things. There was no reason to make a bad situation worse by focusing on any wounds that I hadn't noticed. I also didn't need to end up having a panic attack. I needed, absolutely needed to keep as level a head as I could right now.
If I could...
Shit...
I forced myself to take a few calming breaths. A few seconds later, minutes later, maybe, I shifted and tried to move my hands to brace myself and stand up only to freeze in shock. I had been securely chained and manacled to the wall that I had been leaning back against. I took another slow breath to try to calm myself and almost threw up as the scent of blood and of death hit me like a brick. The stench hung thick in the air around me. How had I not noticed it sooner? Right, right. How could I forget that I'd been drugged...? I let out a strangled huff, trying to clear the scent from my nose. The smell was one of those unique scents that usually lingered in a desert for a long time near road-kill, so it was something I was, sadly, very familiar with. Especially when one considered the sheer number of animal accidents that happened on or near the main roads. So, yeah. No reason to throw up yet.
Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on what I could hear. Footsteps, voices, anything really that might help clue me in on where I was. In the distance, maybe a room or two over, I thought I could hear what sounded like... like pain and fear-filled screams and sobbing cries. Well. Shit. That wasn't good. I opened my eyes and looked at my surroundings while trying to fight off the growing fear and panic. Maybe I could find something that could help me get out of these restraints. I stood up slowly and found that I didn't have that much room to move about. Still, there might be something within reach that I could use to try to pick or break the restraints around my wrists.
Yet, as I looked around the dimly lit room, all I could do was frown in confusion.
The room could only be described as a dungeon. There was no other word for it. It looked like one of those old-time castle dungeons you see in movies or read about in history books. There was even an old fashioned rack of all things to my right, about oh...maybe fifteen feet away? Definitely out of reach. And it's not like I could use the ladder-like, wooden rungs to break the manacles. As I numbly looked it over, I realized there was dried blood on the wood. Real dried blood, all gray-brown and dark and shit. Not the fake stuff that retained a bright reddish-brown sheen to it. That more than anything else made it frighteningly clear to me that it was not a prop of some sort but something that was put to use quite regularly. A... disturbing and terrifying thought that. I swallowed roughly to stifle the tiny, high sound of fear that threatened to escape my throat.
I heard a creaking noise and looked up, away from the rack. The ceiling of the room was about, oh, twenty feet or so high. Big room, really. The noise was caused by a... steel cage? It was a super narrow, bird-like cage hanging from another chain. The bottom of the cage was about ten feet above my head and positioned close to the center of the room. I had to bite my lip in disgust when I noticed old, decaying remains of someone dangling from the cage. One rotting arm swung against the side of the cage, held together by only a few bits of rotting flesh and sinew.
Oh no... I thought dumbly as a horrible sense of fear cut through me. That poor guy... gal?
For the life of me, I couldn't take my eyes off the corpse. The arm swung back and forth, slowly like a decayed pendulum. It looked... it looked like some of the muscle or sinew had snapped only recently, freeing the limb to swing so. I forced my eyes closed for several moments, counting slowly until my stomach stopped churning out of disgust and horror. The reality of where I was began to sink into my skull, and my hands started to tremble.
It took some time to regain my nerve, but I took a careful breath and tried to look around the room again. When I reopened my eyes and looked around, I bit back a scream. There was a body, a man's body hanging upside-down on the wall opposite the rack. He was dressed in a black business suit and looked as if he had either just recently left for work or had been heading home from work. Such a well-dressed... corpse seemed to be entirely out of place, save for one, small detail.
The man's throat and both wrists had been slit open
His blood was slowly dripping from the gaping wounds. The fluid ran down his arms in thick rivulets, dripping from his fingers into a large, fancy lemonade pitcher of all things.
I'd been taken hunting in my youth. I knew how to field-dress a deer. I could tell by looking over the sluggish flow of blood that the man had been dead for an hour or two, at least. Only gravity was making the remaining blood in his body to flow out of him, not the pumping of a living heart. A closer look at the pitcher showed that it was full. Overflowing actually. There was a large puddle of cold, congealing blood around the thing. It was a battle now to keep whatever contents that were still in my stomach in my stomach.
My thoughts were a roiling mess. Where was I? What the hell is going on? Could I escape? Get help? Call the police? All those thoughts and more threatened to keep me frozen in place, but I snarled to myself and tugged at the heavy chains keeping me bound to the wall. Even as I tested those bindings, tried to force myself to focus, my thoughts still raced out of control. Where was I? Why had I been kidnapped off the street? Why had the man across from me been killed, and in such a strange manner? Why was his blood being collected so? Was the same thing going to happen to me?
That last thought made me freeze up again. Fuck, shit and damnation, but I certainly hoped that wasn't going to be my fate. I didn't want to die or end up on that rack either. Logically, I knew that there were fates worse than death, but... alive meant I could fight back. Alive meant I had a chance.
A door that I had not noticed thanks to the poor lighting burst open with a loud, shrill screech of noise. I twisted around, hands yanking hard at the chains, and my fingers slowly going bone white as my grip tightened on the metal links. A lone figure stepped through the door, and for a brief moment, my mind latched onto the vain hope that this was someone who would answer my questions and help me escape.
Foolish of me, I know...
The form in question stepped into the dim ring of light. It was a male, not too much taller than I was. Six-foot-three-ish at the most to my own five-foot-six. The man was pale, a complexion like that of polished ivory. He had the kind of skin tone of one who was both naturally pale and didn't see much sunlight by choice. His form was artfully framed by the thin robe he wore. Rather than look ridiculous, it only added to the natural beauty that he possessed. The robe was a deep purple, so dark that I'd almost thought it was black until the light hit it just right. The color made the stark paleness of his skin stand out all the more.
My eyes raked over his form, not out of lust, but rather to see if he might have anything on him I could use. Keys, a knife, something. Other than the robe, though, his only other clothing was a pair of leather pants that hugged his form like a second skin. Pants that had no visible pockets. The robe itself was a beautiful, thin thing that was likely made of silk. Again, there were no visible pockets. Damn.
The purple folds of his robe, not bound by a tie or sash of any kind, flowed over him as he glided into the room with a dancer's grace. His attention was on the body for a moment, and I noticed that he had long, silvery dark hair. Said hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, held in place by a dark-green ribbon. Something to grab onto if pressed. His gaze turned toward me next, and I started. The man's eyes were a dark, deep forest green color that made the ribbon in his hair seem dull and lifeless. Despite the room's shitty lighting, I could tell that his eyes were flecked with silver. Just like his hair. The vibrancy of them was... unnatural, given the darkness of the room. All told, the man was more beautiful than he was handsome and yet he gave off an aura of... well. There was no nice way to say it, now was there? He had an air of death about him that made me nervous. No, not just nervous, but frightened beyond any fear I had ever felt before. And that was taking into account the sheer terror that I'd felt upon waking up in a fucking dungeon.
Some deep, primal instinct within me screamed 'predator,' 'danger,' 'run.' I wanted the man to leave. I wanted him to be anywhere else but here, in front of me. Something about him made me think that ending up with a slit throat and wrists like the poor businessman across the room would be a blessing. I ducked my head instinctively, keeping my own green eyes half-lidded and chin tucked. I was in a position that might, might make it seem like I was just waking up, half-kneeling with the chains pulled taut by my weight. I might be able to fool him, but I wasn't going to count on it.
Oh, how my body screamed for me to run, to escape, to so something. Something besides just dangling there in seeming helplessness in the vain hope that he would somehow slip up. I swallowed slowly, throat dry, and I couldn't help but give another small, testing tug at the chains. He smiled abruptly, likely noting that I was indeed fully awake, and I forced myself to control the natural urge to recoil against the wall.
He has fangs, I thought to myself. Why the hell does he have fangs? Is he some kind of Vampire wannabe...? Seriously...?
"Awake at last, my newest pet?" he said, "Bon . . . Bon."
His voice was yet another shock to my system. As he spoke, my body shuddered violently of its' own volition. A sudden flash of desire hit me, and I almost gagged. What... the... hell? Sure, the guy's voice was smooth and sweet in a way. And yeah, there was a hint of tantalizingly dark energy to it that was intriguing. It was like the audible version of a once in a life-time, expensive as hell chocolate treat that you knew was poisoned. Yeah, you'd die eating it, but oh lord, what a way to go, right? Despite my growing fear, the strange, unreasonable desire pulsing through me, and my desire to struggle, I.. I couldn't move. Somehow, his voice had pinned me in place.
He said something else in French before laughing and shifting in an unmistakable sensual manner. A soft, sultry sound of noise escaped him as if he was flirting with me using his body. It took every ounce of self-control that I had to focus on his words instead of the sound of his soft voice. The lithe movements of his body. Even then, I couldn't figure out what he'd said. It was like he was trying to somehow control me merely by speaking.
A soft, tutting sound drew my attention upwards, and he flashed another fanged grin my way. He moved to the side, toward the hanging form, and bent down to pick up the container in his right hand. He ran his finger along the rim, turning and walking back towards me, licking his finger clean as he moved and drawing my eyes toward his lush set of lips. He then took a slow, deliberate sip from the pitcher.
Somehow he turned the act of drinking blood, something that should have been completely and utterly disgusting into something that bordered on sensual. If not, outright sexual. I shuddered as revulsion and desire warred within me. The man paused in front of me and used my distracted state against me to touch my cheek in a gentle caress. A shudder of apprehension ran through me. His skin... felt like ice and yet almost too hot at the same time. It was disconcerting, to say the least. I opened my mouth to ask who he was. To ask why I was there. To demand an answer to a dozen more fearful questions running through my mind.
I didn't have a chance to say anything. He leaned forward and abruptly pressed his mouth against mine in a surprisingly gentle kiss. Shock allowed him the opportunity to shove his tongue in my mouth, forcing it open further. A muffled, startled sound escaped me. My eyes flew wide. For a moment, I was frozen in pure, unadulterated shock. That moment was all the time he needed. The blood that had yet been in his mouth flowed into my own.
Now blood doesn't usually taste like much to me. Salty with a coppery-like taste to it. Almost like having a penny on your tongue. This blood was... almost sweet, with a bitter, smokey aftertaste to it. Like the blood from a steak that had just barely touched the grill. Which was... weird. I'd never tasted human blood other than my own before. It shouldn't taste like that, right?
He pulled back a moment later, a satisfied sneer on his lips at my lack of response. There was a dark, almost lustful look in his eyes. That faded as he reached out to touch my throat. I'd yet to swallow the blood. Ignoring the sudden, compelling urge that I had to swallow the ruby fluid, I instead tilted my head back and spat in his face. It was an act of near-to-instinctual defiance. The only thing I could do really.
The blood hit my intended mark, splattering against his face and forcing him to flinch back. His eyes narrowed angrily on my form as blood flowed down his cheeks to drip from his chin. A flash of bright, silver-white light flared in his eyes. It was as if he suddenly had no iris. No pupils. Just a pure, silver-white gaze. It was gone less than a second later, fast enough for me to think, to hope, that I'd imagined it. A huff escaped him. Not a noise of anger, but more as if he was amused by my actions.
I didn't have long to contemplate the change. Pain flared through me, my head snapping to the side. My vision blurred, limbs going slack so that the only thing that kept me up was the chains. He'd backhanded me hard enough with his free hand that I'd almost passed out. I tried to shake my head to clear it and made a 'hrk' sound, bile rising in my throat. Even though my brain was quite thoroughly scrambled at that point, I knew that I was still in danger. Passing out was not an option. Struggling against the urge to throw up, I tried to glare up at him.
He ignored the look, again taking a sip from the pitcher and forced his own body along the length of mine. I could feel his . . . blatant excitement as he tried once more to force blood into my mouth. I shifted my body as quickly as I could manage so I could get one leg between his own. I drove my knee into his groin as hard as I could, just like I had learned during my self-defense classes. He let out a snarling, sputtering noise of pain and anger. Blood spilled from his mouth and splattered over both his face and my own. I flinched back, feeling the trails left behind by the thicker drops as they flowed down my cheeks.
There were a few, horribly long moments of silence with him just standing there, looking at me. He was pissed, there was no doubting that, but he was also amused. When he moved this time, it was in a dizzying blur. My neck was grabbed and pinched in a way that made my body go limp in agony. A choked squawk of pain escaped me as he forced my head back and pushed the pitcher to my lips. Blood poured into my mouth at a rate where it was either choke it down or drown in it.
I swallowed it.
I hated that I did, but damnit, alive meant that I could still fight back.
Once the pitcher was empty, my stomach roiling in disgust and some weird sense of satiation, his lips crashed against my own. It was a bruising, violent, biting thing that left my lips and tongue bleeding within seconds. An angry, pained noise escaped me, and I struggled against him. I tried to bite, to kick, to bash my head against his own, and he carefully maneuvered me in a way to avoid the worst of my attempted flailing. He drew back and smirked at me.
"Vous avez un combat en vous, n'est-ce pas chouette?" he murmured, caressing my check once more.
I tried to spit at him again, but he moved too fast. This time, his blow was hard enough to immediately knock me out.

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Thanks again, everyone!
Please read and review if you have time.
I will be working on edits for a few of my works since I am stuck at home right now. Love ya! Stay healthy and safe!
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