Vampire King Its My Life

Another night on the prowl, solitary as always. He shot a disgusted look at a young woman he saw stepping into a bus, a Twilight book tucked under her arm. If only the humans knew what the existence of Vampires was truly like, they'd stop fantasizing about it. He caught his reflection on the mirror of a nearby bus stop, and almost smiled. An almost seven-foot-tall, broad-shouldered and dark-skinned man in his late twenties glared back at him. So many things the humans got wrong about his kind. For starters, they thought all of the so-called Undead were of European extraction. How presumptuous of them indeed. Born of a Turkish mother and Ethiopian father in sixteenth century east Africa, Prince Berhanu the Vampire had lived a very interesting life, to say the least.

Once he was a Prince among the Ethiopian people. Forever sworn to uphold the dignity of Mother Africa and the principles of Christendom. His father, Prince Hakim II of Ethiopia's ruling Melkamu dynasty, waged war against the Arabs and other African nations to preserve the Kingdom of Ethiopia's Christian identity. Berhanu smiled wistfully as he remembered those days, back when he actually didn't know he was more than human. How could he know that those days simply weren't meant to last? He was twenty five years old when The Sickness came, wiping out thousands of people in the Ethiopian capital region and forever changing him. It was a disease of the blood, that much the shamans and medicine men agreed on. All their wisdom and knowledge was hapless against this viral onslaught that seemed destined to end the Ethiopian people.

Finally, Berhanu left home in search of answers. He went with a party of warriors selected among his father's best fighting men. He wandered all over the place, into the Arab lands, particularly that of Lebanon and finally he went back to Africa. His search for help proved fruitless. One by one he lost his companions to the myriad dangers known to befall travelers in those days. Brigands, disease, famine and of course, illness. The Prince of Ethiopia found himself alone. Thus he wandered into a strange forest in what would later be called Nigeria, long before the Europeans showed any interest in what would become Mother Africa's most populous nation. In this strange wilderness he encountered strange beasts, and dangers he cared not to name. When finally he emerged, he was....changed.

Prince Berhanu was no longer human. He was born different and had always known it, sure, but what he encountered in the wilderness was beyond his understanding. He ran into what he thought was a man. A strange man who had about him a look that Prince Berhanu had never seen before. As he journeyed the Earth, Prince Berhanu had seen white men from Europe, the eternal foes of the Turkmen who thought they could control the planet and impose Islam on everyone. He encountered the yellow-skinned wise men from the land of China in the east, the bronze-skinned people of India and the myriad tribesmen of Mother Africa itself. The Prince knew that men the world over came in all hues. Yet what he beheld in the forest didn't look a thing like any of them. For starters, men didn't have yellow eyes, almost translucent white skin covered in the type of scales a serpent might have, and sharp teeth that would make a jackal jealous. No, what he saw in the wilderness of Nigeria wasn't human.

Yet the creature, who introduced itself as Azak the Old One, claimed to have been human once. Prince Berhanu hated the creature's loathsome sight and would have dealt it a swift death with his sword, if he hadn't been weakened by hunger and thirst. Azak laughed at that, claiming that he had been alive for thousands upon thousands of years and wasn't sure if he could die. Berhanu would have been happy to help Azak die if he hadn't been on the brink of death when he wandered into the creature's lair. Azak proved to be far kinder than Berhanu thought such a monster was capable of being. Azak sheltered him and fed him. Indeed, Azak proved to be far more hospitable and a better Samaritan, if you will, than would most people, especially when dealing with a stranger from a strange land.

Berhanu's life changed the day he encountered Azak, the ancient monster who had seen the rise and fall of empires across the globe and the bloody sands of time. For Azak claimed to be the last of a race of Immortals. Even after all he had seen the creature do, Berhanu could be a skeptic. If Azak and his race were Immortals, how could he be the last? Azak laughed at that. A hoarse laugh not unlike the sound of steel rubbing against stone. He promised Berhanu the answers to all the questions he might have, and then some. He promised the lost prince what he craved the most. A way of saving his people from The Sickness, which was ravaging much of Africa and the Arab world at the time. For an entire summer Berhanu lived in the wilderness with Azak, and the creature taught him much about the world.

One night, Azak taught Berhanu his final lesson. To anoint him as fulfillment of his training, Azak and Berhanu shared their blood. Each cut the other's palm and mixed their blood together, universal symbol of a bond of friendship among men across Africa and beyond. What Berhanu wasn't expecting was that Azak's blood would forever change him. He ceased to be human. Overnight, he found himself changed. That night, he passed out. When he came to his senses the next morning, Azak was gone. Berhanu found out exactly how much he had changed over the next few days. He was stronger than ever, faster than ever. Also, he craved fresh flesh and blood, raw as always. For he was no longer human. He would no longer age, or have to feel things like disease ever again. He was effectively immortal. Instinctively he sensed that he must hide this from the rest of humanity. His immortality trapped him, for it forever set him apart. And it had been his blessing and his curse for more than five centuries.