Finally. The end. Was terribly sick and depressed for the last week, so I put it to good use by staying up till 2.30am last night to finish scribbling [in secret. my mom would skin me. Very ironically, Interview with a Vampire was screening on cable that night. O.o [Though I didn't get to watch it. >.<]] Deus Misereatur on little dislocated sheets of foolscap and finally typed it in today. So ends an era.


Chapter 5 - Consummatum Est

To his surprise, he awoke alone. His clothes were neatly laid out beside him. He stared at them, an unreadable, unfamiliar fear flooding his undead soul. He didn't understand.

He was afraid he did.

Thoughtfully, he dressed, piece by piece, methodically, finally fitting the clasp of the cloak - just one night and already it seemed heavier than he could remember - into place. Hiding hurt away in his swift steps, he entered the chapel.

The first thing that assaulted him was the thunder, the roar of the rising storm.

Then he saw the priest.

A still, straight-backed figure, just beyond the large wooden doors, staring out into the dark.

He moved towards him, coming to a rest just slightly behind, that he could see the night as well.

"Perhaps you should leave."

"Perhaps not."

"You have to leave."

"I see no reason."

"They might return. Again."

"Let them come. I fear no one."

"You are foolish. Your end will bring no good."

"I wish not to leave you."

"I wish you to leave me." Harsh. The priest turned now, looked down at him from his full, stern height.

The words cut deeper than any stake he had ever felt, burnt worse than holy water.

"You cannot."

"Just leave, Fujima-san!", righteous anger flashing darkly from dark eyes, "don't be so presumptuous, that you would say what I can and what I cannot!"

"Hanagata -"

"Think you that your coming did me good? It did not! All you have done is bring me sin!"

For a moment he was hurt. Stunned. Vulnerable. Then a darker, stinging betrayal coursed, beating through his veins in place of life.

"Last night," he snarled, a wild beast's throaty growl, "that would not have been what you said. Last night, you spread your legs for me like a whore. You pulled me to you, you moaned and cried for more."

The priest had his back turned once more. He was trembling, and when he spoke, so was his voice.

"Well, then. More fool I, last night."

There was silence. He stood there, burning blood eyes into the ramrod frame.

It wavered.

"You must leave." Weary now. Heavy. "They have been here. They suspect - I think they know. They will be here again, for you."

A stirring swell of recognition, realisation punctuated his words.

"Then...the wounds. Last night. It was they?"

"That - is none of your business!"

"If they come for me and hurt you -"

"Go, Fujima-san! I have shielded you twice - nay, thrice, with that night you entered my life - I cannot shield you more!"

"...Do you hold it against me?"

"What?"

"These new marks on your skin. You hold them against me, that you must have me leave?"

Disbelief and anger warred, but resolved into pure emotion.

"What if it be so? It is precisely so! Before you came...I had little - but least wise I had my goodness, my Lord! Now I have nothing but these marks of flesh, and the black marks of my sin! You have taken all I possess...now leave me, ever more!"

Thunder rolled, swelled his words. Lightning hardened his face, made it alabaster in severity.

There was an unfamiliar pressure behind his eyes. He narrowed them, willed it away. His heart hardened, shrouded itself in impenetrable hate. He considered, deliberated, tearing out the priest's white throat, but turned the thought away. Despite his anger, the priest was beautiful, a marble statue, cold and unmoved. Fixed this vision, forever.

He turned, proud and impassive, and strode into the storm.

* * * * * * *

In sixty-seven years he had never felt this pain. Never felt such choler, vile and bitter, warming him with hate. At the same time, a grieving, equally bitter, dulling the hate.

He did not know what to think. He barely knew what to feel.

Hurt, certainly. Hateful.

Ah, ah, so very sad.

He'd always thought that heartbreak was a mere fictitious piece of foolish sentimentality, but he could feel it now, sharp and aching, fancied he felt the hurtful, steady pumping of blood gushing sorrowfully out from ragged chambers. Cut deep enough to make him wonder, even sympathise, briefly with all the lovers he had danced with and left.

That it was a priest, of all things, to have brought him to this. A wry thought, that he had not the spirit to laugh at.

A priest with deep, darkling eyes and a bittersweet smile in place of holy water and a crucifix. Ah, a fine, proud figure of a vampire you are, to be felled by such a toothless priest!

He would have felt ashamed, but he had not the heart. He would have left this place, sought comfort. But the thought of lustful harlots rose in him disdain, and he had no direction. He rather suspected, rather feared, than he had not the will to leave.

But leave he must. He would.

Then it came, out of nowhere, a high, gusty wail.

On another night before, he would have fed, or gone away. But he was neither hungry - only mildly surprising himself - nor did he have anywhere to go. He travelled silently to the source of the cry, noted dully the small child caught in one of the many rubble pits in the village.

She tugged mournfully at her trapped foot, glaring balefully up at him, as if it were somehow his fault.

"Can't get lose. Help me, mister."

He regarded her dispassionately.

"C'mon, mister! You're a vamp're, y'r strong enough."

Despite himself, he was impressed.

Silently, he stepped into the pit, freed the captive foot from the rubble, and pulled the girl up behind him. Suitably appeased, she smiled at him.

"Th'k you, mister."

Now he recognised her, now, even through the bangs streaking her face, plastered to her skull by the driving rain.

"D'you know where the church is, mister? I kinda got lost in the storm But I really need to see Broth'r Touru, I really hafta!"

It was one and the same, it had to be. The rising desperation in her voice sent a chill down his spine.

"Why do you have to talk to Hanagata?"

"You know Broth'r Touru? Then you can take me to him, I hafta tell him!"

"Tell him of what?" Unconsciously, he had knelt down, grasping her shoulders with urgency, staring into her solemn child face.

"Mama said that he's hiding a vampire in the church, so da and the rest are gonna hunt it down - and she says they'll kill him too! I gotta tell him!"

His sullen eyes betrayed none of the gripping fear that clutched his heart.

"How came you here? What says your mother to this?"

"I was runnin'. Mama can't run as fast as me. It's imp'rtant."

Stared at her eyes.

"Go home, child."

"I hafta tell Broth'r Touru! I don't want him to die!"

"I'll tell him. Go home, it's not safe."

"I wanna go too!"

"Hush, child. It's not safe. Go home, or I'll bite."

Revealing his fangs.

"You won't. I wanna go."

He stared at her, perplexed now.

"How know you I will not?"

"Only bad vampires do that."

"I'm a bad vampire."

"Hn. You can't be a bad vampire if you know Broth'r Touru."

He liked it. The sound of it, the feel.

Abruptly, he caught the girl up around the waist, made back for the church, swift of foot.

* * * * * * *

He hadn't expected them.

Or more accurately, he had known of the possibility, but hadn't considered the scenario, nor had been willing to factor them into the equation.

Perhaps he simply hadn't wanted them.

Well, he certainly hadn't wanted this, he thought, as he backed away, clutching the hand of the girl tightly with an absent concern. The girl, on her part, retreated behind his voluminous cloak, wide eyes peering frightenedly at these people she had known all her life, faces grim and cruel, a tableau of twisted humanity in the glowering light of their torches, gripping instead to the monster as if he were her only lifeline.

So many to one. A decade ago, he might have bared his fangs and welcomed the sport. But now there were too many, he was weak, and he had not the heart for. The thirst, perhaps, but not the heart.

"Leave me be," his smooth voice rang clear across the night as, for the first time, he spoke to pursuers rather than fought, "I have but one last task, and I will leave your village forever. I swear it."

Their faces barely flickered, they stared at him, impassive, as if they hadn't understood a word he spoke, or hadn't spoken at all. There was a harsh rattling, and one spat at his feet.

"Trust the word of a vampire, I think not!"

"Such words from a warrior that outnumbers one to so many? I like your honour, sire!"

He wheeled round, casting a bold gaze from side to side of the mob.

"Come now, you have me, cornered like a lamb. Would any of you take me on alone, goodmen boys? I promise you, sirs, if you come as one, I'll wound a good many of your parts, but I'll sheathe my claws one on one."

There was a panicked stir through the crowd, no one stepped forth, nor dared move together.

"I like your honour." He mocked again. "I have spilled no blood in your village, and I shall not. You have no claim to me. And now I shall leave, I think."

He turned, a phantom echo of a hammering heartbeat in his ears, a sweet relief fussing about his core.

It fled, not a second later, as a scream pierced the night, first muffled by locked doors, then shrill and clear and urgent as shutters were unbolted and flung open.

"The child!"

He spun back, horror etched in his face, a betrayed glance thrown down at the white little face staring up at his own, struck dumb. Dim lights sprung up in windows all over now, and the previously silent houses were now rent with the anxious cries of women and mothers.

"That's Miller's girl! The youngest one!" A loud voice supplied. A frantic oath was issued, and a quick hand darted out from the crowd, a rough man with coarse limbs, that snatched the girl from his numb, unprotesting fingers.

"You would touch my daughter, would you?!" the man bellowed, retreating aside, the girl clamped roughly in his bearish arms.

"No, da - NO!' the girl screamed now, childish voice startled into urgency, "No, da, he nev'r meant to hurt me, da! He's good -"

"Shut your trap, git!" the man cursed, and to his vague revulsion, cuffed her round the head a couple of heavy blows.

The girl's new wails mingled with the women's shrieks to weave a frenetic panpipe howl that was all the same to his ears. It was over, the game was over, was lost, and the men were murmuring now, and advancing as he backed away. And he knew, like a poker player with too much at stake, that he had given it away with the horror on his face, the horror, and he was only too human despite himself, only too human, and anything remotely human, even as remotely so as he, could be killed.

And as he turned to flee, even as he spun himself into nothing but darkness and air, leaving his pursuers behind, there was the freezing hot piercing of wood in his back, sliding home crudely, yet precisely like a surgeon's knife, and he knew, of all the stakes he had ever tasted, this would be the last.

* * * * * * *

The doors of the church were open, the building darker within than without. He stepped slowly, deliberately over the threshold, soundlessly, gathering the edges of the doors, sliding them shut behind him, sliding in the bolt. The wood, where he touched it, blistered his cold flesh. He took no notice.

The priest was at the altar, on his knees in pious prayer. He picked his way over, silently.

"Hana-chan."

No sooner had the priest risen, than he turned and saw him, face stricken, fell to his knees again. His hands flew to his back, and he pulled him as near as he could, in a desperate clasp.

"Forgive me!" he cried, and he could see that his face was streaked with tears, fresh ones flowing, "I have not loved so long, I had forgotten how it was to love. I had thought only to send you away to protect you, but, Lord forgive me, I cannot live without you, I knew that only just."

He swallowed, parted his lips in need, eyes pleading, glimmering darkly by moonlight. His voice was low now, broken, needful.

"I have not known such pain. I though my heart would break from wanting. I could not speak but hear your name, I could not see but glimpse your face. I tried casting all off for my worship, but I found myself poor and wanting, and perhaps very selfish, but I need you with me. All else is of little consequence. I would have you fly, but I would fly with you. I cannot send you away again, I would die! I would leave everything I have, everything I ever owned, I would, if I could, but I cannot, tell you I would forsake even my Lord, if that you would bring me with you, but all else I would surrender - I would follow you to the ends of the earth! I would you have me, body and soul, if only, by my Lord, you would promise never to leave me more!"

The priest's desperate cry echoed in the hallowed reaches of the church. He could only look down at him with sad, darkful eyes.

"I love you." He whispered. A trail of red escaped his eye, trailed a dark path down his cheek, splashed onto the priest's pale one, where his finger traced the mingled course it took with the priest's own clear tears.

"You...will not promise me this?" the priest asked, a forlorn, broken, confused whisper.

"I love you." He said again. It was all he had left to give.

The priest's eyes widened now, set, and darkened. His hands crept upwards, to find the stake, to realise that the wet that stained his fingers was much much darker than rainwater.

Much much darker than, though not much darker than a vampire's, tears.

"Oh, no." Defeated.

He buried his face in the vampire's cloak.

"There is no way to remove it?"

"It is too deep for that, sweetling."

"Can there be no other way?"

"There cannot."

"We have not yet seen Kanagawa."

"We have not."

"We never will, will we?"

"I fear so, beloved."

"Will it not heal?"

"I am too weak for that. I have not fed too long."

The priest raised his head now, gripped his cloak with urgency.

"Then take my blood."

He had resigned himself to his fate. For the first time since then, alarm fluttered at his heart.

"It will help you, will it not?"

"Yes, it will." He admitted.

"It will kill you, sweet, what I need."

"Take it!" a fever burned in the priest's dark eyes, "I cannot live without you! What is my life worth if you were to die?!"

"Silly thing." He smiled fondly, stroking the pale cheek. "What makes you think I would want to live without you either?"

It was the priest's turn to smile, a wan, wavering construct.

"You...even if your wings were made of glass, you could fly away. You are such a strong person...I am only nothing. I would have you live, and I live within you. If you died, I would too die. I would be your sacrifice, though I am no longer a virgin. But seeing as you were the one who broke my chastity, I don't think you would mind."

"Precious -"

"I forbid you die. Would you refuse me this?"

"I must."

"You must not. You are my saviour, Mister Vampire, sir, you gave me love once more. Would you let my saviour die?"

"Silly boy, you are my saviour..."

"Then let me be so again."

They stared at each other, will to will. But the priest's eyes softened, and he spoke low and soft.

"I love you."

"Ah, la." He smiled sadly, "That's the first time you have said so. It feels the better to have heard it."

"I would have you smile forever," the priest unbuttoned his collar, bared his neck, "I will not let you die, my love." He murmured, and there was steel in the silk.

He warred, averred, was at loss.

He leaned down, broke soft skin with fangs.

His arms crept around the priest, steadying themselves to hold firm the suddenly pliant frame. He felt rather than heard the soft gasp as the first pulse of blood flooded his mouth - and, ah! His senses, so beautifully, so rich and pure and sweet.

It was heady, it was divine. It was of heaven. He drank the blood of a priest, he tasted the blood of an angel.

He loved.

He broke the flow, kissed the punctures, and loosened his hold. The priest steadied himself, blinked heavy-lidded eyes in confusion.

"What's wrong, love?"

"I cannot, darling."

The eyes widened, focused sharply.

"I must die as I must. I cannot, sweet. I have learnt to love."

"No!"

"Yes." And even such strength was ebbing. Grasping the stake, he pulled, casting it onto the floor. Dark blood spilled, painted the altar. He floundered, and the priest eased his way to the floor.

"No..." But it was only a low moan, and he smiled painfully to dispel the priest's distress.

"I have to thank you, my darling. For teaching me to love."

"Love..."

"Indeed, you were right. It is the best thing I have ever known in my entire life."

"No..."

"Perhaps...perhaps now I have a soul. Perhaps...now I'll go...to heaven...and we'll meet..."

"Love..."

"I love you." A fading whisper.

The priest closed his eyes in anguish. Bent to kiss his lips once.

"And I, you, love. Always."

He smiled, a gentle smile, that he had only shown this once in all his sixty-seven years.

And with such a smile on his lips, he ceased to feel.

The priest sat back. He had never felt such pain. He had never felt such love. The vampire was gone now, he had never felt such loss. He sat there, next to his lover's corpse - there, the disintegration was beginning, he would not even have this shell much longer - and knew not what to do.

It was so then, eternal sadness. This was how it felt to be eternally sad. He wondered if he would die from the pain alone.

But there was a knocking at the door. A furious shouting.

"Burn it down!" he heard, and the crackle of flame. Felt the sudden heat, and the flickering tongues of flame.

He knew how the ending went. There was only one. Even if it were damning, as it surely must be, or perhaps, surely might be. Even if it were wrong of him to think so. Even if it were wrong.

But it had been wrong for him, in the first place, to shield a creature of darkness.

Wrong to love.

And yet...it could never be wrong, he thought, to love.

Love...

And he smiled the same smile, tears coursing down as he smiled up painfully, at the sky, at the consecrated holiness above him, at his Lord. And his fingers found the stake surely, and he drove it home, through his heart, just as sure. Red blossomed on his chest, blossomed on his lips, and he smiled once more, this time a last time, down at his lover, his love, and very quietly, lily arms across is lover's chest, dark head laid gently on the same, died.

The fire raged, would consume it, would consume all to ashes. And above, not very much different from the promise she had made five nights ago, cold and impassive, the moon.

END


Truth be told, it was way too awkward, and very contrived in places. But what's done is done. After having this scene haunt me for the better part of the year, it's a bit anticlimaxical to actually write it, and badly too. I hope it'll serve, though. It's just upwards of 10000 words, making it the longest fic I've ever done. I know some of you have actually been following this series, and I thank you for it, and I hope you get to see this, and I hope the end was adequate.

Translations/Explanations :

Consummatum Est - It is completed

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. The show's over.