A cigarette hanged from between the thin lips of the boy called Hate. Those glowing embers did nothing to light the room, and the glow only partially illuminated his sharp, hawk-like face.
His dark brown eyes scanned the room slowly, and a small smile raised on the corner of his lips. Though the room was hardly lit at all, he could see it perfectly. Just chalk it up as another aspect of Hate's amazing and awesome supernatural power.
The room reeked of sex and death. The sex was not Hate's work, but oh, the death was. And although Hate enjoyed sex, his true love, his true passion was death. Causing it, of course, but also drawing himself into environments where he might one day experience it.
That was where he believed his life had led. Commanding such power at his fingertips had lead him to believe he was invincible, and it was nearly true. Hate was a king, and the entire world was his domain. His atrocities against humanity gave him moments of pleasure in a lifetime of self-inflicted suffering.
There was more to it then just that, though. He was making waves. Small ripples created in the world by the mayhem Hate caused would eventually bring him to the attention of someone powerful.
And that was what he wanted, really. A climatic battle to end his life or the life of the "hero" he knew must exist to oppose him. Either way it would be something interesting, something new.
He reached up, taking the edge of his cigarette between two fingers and flicking it forward. It landed in a pool of blood and fizzled out. That small source of light faded from the room, and with it went Hate.
Notch up another two kills on the proverbial belt, he thought to himself as he faded from this room and to some other destination, in what his mind vaguely registered as shadowrealm. Something would happen soon, he could feel it. If it didn't, at least he had made some more memories, and the night was still young. More memories would grow for Hate, and more lives would end or be destroyed in some other way.
Evil was on the prowl.
* * * * *
Day had some to Southton, and Hate slept. Other things slept in the daytime also. Jack and his men had slunk back to their graves, and were now all safely laying deep down in their coffins, six feet deep or more.
Southton was an interesting place, to say the least. Something there acted like a beacon to the unnatural and the supernatural, and whether they knew it or not, many were slowly attracted here.
The incoming Hate was a rarity, but vampires had existed here nearly since the towns founding. Jack and his coterie where just the latest in a long line of immortals to take control of the city, at least the supernatural part of it.
Of course, by controlling the supernatural, one also gained a bit of control over the city itself, for by now it had become intertwined, though your average citizen knew nothing about it, accept for an occasional feeling the something just wasn't right.
As the last rays of sunlight disappeared from the cemetery grounds, a low rumbling took place in the Earth beneath. A bird would cock it's head in that direction, and a few others, more near to the graves, would burst into flight for a more stable area. Moments after the noise had, a human hand was seen to punch through the ground, just before a marker engraved with the name "Drake - 1979-1998." Another came after it, and a body was slowly being pulled upwards from the ground.
All around this center tomb the event was being mirrored, and five other sets of hands burst free, pulling themselves from the ground. This was a nightly event, and it never changed, for even though they were possessed with an amazing power, the vampires of Southton had to dig themselves up from their eternal resting places every evening.
The reason for this was unknown to both Jack and his men, as it was to those who had come before them, and presumably all the way back to whoever, or whatever had started their species.
In any case, it had long ceased to interest the undead. Though they had only been dead for four years, they were mostly uninterested in the reasons for their condition, and instead sought to enjoy it and do their duty.
As usual, Jack was the first to drag himself up from the cold ground, already leaning back against his grave stone and dusting the dirt from his clothing, a pair of jeans a t-shirt he had been wearing for a week. They were not dirty though. All things sprung from the grave anew, they had found, whether it was direly wounded flesh or the light cloth that covered it.
Tongue slowly pushed it's way out from his lips, a slow smile raising upon them as they were licked. Elbows placed on his grave stone, head tilted back slightly to look at the evening sky, the last rays of the sun having already disappeared from this part of Earth. "Another day, another dollar," he muttered to himself, although it was not day, and it was doubtful if a dollar would be earned.
Another burst of dirt came from the ground next to him, followed by several more, and soon five more bodies were tearing up from the dirt into the warm Summer air. Dark brown gaze move to the scenes of nightly rebirth, smile growing as his friends, and a lover, joined him.
Angela raised from the ground and came into a standing position next to Jack, her small, angular face tilted slightly towards him, rose-colored lips and pale complexion set in a look of question, as always. Jack knew, as he always did, what the question was, and so he answered, bringing his lips to her's and pressing them gently together.
Her small breasts raised up in a pleased sigh and long fingered hands daintily raised upward to him, resting just barely on bare arms. Jack slowly pulled back with a grin over his face, watching his angelic Angela, ivory face portraited by thin lines of near-white blonde hair.
"My love," he said softly, and there was no more, for he found all he needed to say in those simple words. Her firm chin rose in acknowledgment of his sentiment, and rather then speak the words herself, she stepped into his arms, head resting against lean chest, her arms dropping from his and closing around his waist.
Not every awakening was quite so beautiful. Four graves were opening now at almost the exact same time, though very different people crawled out from them.
From the grave furthest back came Tom, a short vampire who unlike most of his compatriots in the world was a bit fat, though to his credit, at his death his arms were well muscled and his body had began to slender.
On either side and in front of Tom came the twins, Michael and Gabriel, named for angels and in many aspects living up to the legends, finely sculptured features on pale faces, thin blonde hair falling around Gabriel's face, Michael's locks pulled into a pony tail that rested idly on one shoulder. They looked a bit like Angela, and she was their slightly younger sister, born a year behind.
And then from a grave in the center of them all, with a slight pause for a dramatic entrance, came Khala. She did not crawl from the ground so much as she floated from it, expending a small amount of that unnatural power they all claimed all in the name of effect.
She was beautiful, but not in the manner of Angela. No, her's was a more volatile and obvious attraction, a glimpse of her causing an immediate raise of lust in the hearts of any who looked to her. And just as Angela was Jack's, she was the other dead boy's love, and they were her's. The love and lust shared between them a pure and odd thing, no selfishness in sharing between one another, though they would be reviled at the thought of adding another to their group dynamic. Emotionally, at least.
As was said, Khala was a beauty. Unlike the thin, sharp features of Angela, Khala was more soft and cute, with full, dark lips, a tan complexion, and midnight black hair worn to her shoulders. Emerald green eyes peered out with amusement at her three most important companions, the twins and Tom, who were all dressed in the same apparel as Jack, t-shirts and jeans.
She was dressed less conservatively. She wore the sheerest of gowns to sleep, a flimsy garment made of a thin fabric, the outlines of her firm, rounded breasts very evident, the tightened tips of her areolas making clear points. The gown was raised slightly from her flat stomach, but again touched flesh between the desired area between her thighs, the dark patch of trimmed pubic hair visible as well.
Immediately her wrists were grasped by Mike and Gabe who flanked her at either side, brought to their hungry mouths were elongated canines pierced flesh with a pleasurable ease, her blood being brought to their lapping tongues.
Her head tilted back slightly and lips parted in the softest of moans, and now Tom stepped behind her, his hands pressing gently against her belly, but moving up rather quickly to the bottom curves of her breasts, finger-tips creeping up until he cupped them completely, squeezing firmly as he brought his own mouth to Khala's neck,
