Dawn of the Dusk

 

 

 

~Legend of the Inquisition~

 

A long time ago, centuries before Magdalena the Malignant struck terror into the land, a vampire known as Lucia De Notte was the greatest enemy the kingdom had faced. Both she and her army of blood-drinking soldiers had ever faced and threatened to shroud the realm in eternal darkness until the iridescent Saint Bayard rose out from the rank and file; carving his way through the undead hordes and personally striking the fatal blow against the Countess. 
Bayard returned a hero, and with the King's blessing, became the founder of an order that promised to protect the kingdom not from men and countries, but from creatures and beings that hid and lived in the darkness.
This is how the Inquisition came to be.

 
---

 

Inquisitor Lance raced down the country path on his horse as the rain pelted down on like a barrage of arrows from the dark and rumbling clouds above him. He hated having to stay out this far into the night but ever since a group of bandits in the southern region had supposedly been killed by a witch, all Inquisitorial Stations were ordered to constantly be on the lookout for any suspicious travellers or business in the kingdom. However, the only thing Lance had been doing since that order was questioning wandering merchants and arresting so called "heroes" or "adventurers" from the nearby village trying to find the witch themselves.

As he stormed down the road, a flicker of movement caught the corner of Lance's eye - he could've sworn he'd seen someone stretch an arm out at him. Forcing his horse to turn around, Lance trotted back to where he thought he saw... whatever it was... and found a hooded figure sitting underneath a large tree on the side of the road. Climbing off his horse, Lance approached them.

"Excuse me," he called out. "Are you alright?" The hooded figure rose their head slightly at the sound of Lance's voice, but their face was still shrouded in darkness besides from two greasy red locks of hair that dangled out and fluttered in the wind.

"No sir, I am not alright, no..." they muttered in a strange accent.

"What happened?" Lance asked, placing a hand on his sword.

The figure shook their head slowly. "Walking out in this weather bad, yes... I trip over and whack my head, yes..."

Sighing, Lance rolled his eyes. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Yes... and no?" The figure said. "I live here.... but not from here, yes?"

"I understand what you're saying." Lance reached his hand out. "Can you stand?"

The figure grabbed Lance's wrist with a clammy pale hand and hoisted themselves up, groaning as they did so.

"Thank you sir, thank you so very much..." they said as they bowed their head. "I sense you are very strong, yes..."

"I'm glad to have helped," Lance said, seemingly not hearing the second part. "Where do you live?" The figure rubbed his hands tightly and quickly at this question; Lance wasn't sure if he was nervous or just trying to warm himself up during this cold, wet night.

"I... I live there..." they answered, pointing at something behind Lance. The Inquisitor turned around to see nothing but fields and a large mountain looming in the distance and frowned.

"You live near that mountain?"

There was a moment of silence. "Yes.. I do, yes."

"You've travelled quite far then, haven't you?" Lance turned around. "May I ask what you are doing out here in the first place?"

"I... I am out doing errands."

"Errands - So you're some kind of servant?" Lance crossed his arms. "To what household?"

"Y-you wouldn't know them!" The figure laughed, shuffling slightly. "Not very well known, my mistress-"

"Is that so? Is your "mistress" aware that the laws of this land require all noble houses to be recorded and give monthly payment to the king?"

"I-I... Well..."

Lance shook his head and marched over to the figure. "Right, I think you need to come back to the village with me." He then placed a gauntlet on their shoulder; trying to budge them into moving forward. Instead the figure growled, shrugged Lance's hand off and, with one push of his pale palm, sent him flying out into the road.

Landing onto the ground, his armour cluttering and clanking as it took the force of the impact. However, his chest was already beginning to ache from the sheer strength of the blow. Lance groaned as he began to pull himself up, reaching for his sword, but before he could even react the figure pounced onto him and pinned his arms down with a iron-tight grip. Now that they were close enough, Lance could make out some of the figure's face underneath the hood: He (at least, he appeared to be a he) was snarling, the viciousness emphasised by the hook shaped nose, striking blue eyes and absolutely rancid breath coming out of his mouth-

Wait a second, his teeth - they were sharper and longer than any he'd ever seen on any animal, let alone any human.

"What in the gods are you?!"

The weight suddenly disappeared from one of Lance's shoulders, and he had just enough time to notice the figure raising a fist before it slammed into him.

---

The first thing Lance felt when he came to was cold - cold and sore: A tense aching sensation throbbed at the side of his head; he tried to move a hand to feel how swollen his eye was, but a rough coldness pressed against his wrist: He was chained to a wall?! Where the gods was he?

Opening his eyes, Lance took in his surroundings: Directly in front of him was a barred iron gate with two torches resting on the wall of the corridor behind it, their flames sputtering and flickering erratically. Inside the room with him was a table made out of rotten wood; a gem encrusted goblet rested on it contrasting with the room's dirty, dungeony look. His sword was also laying there next to his armour, which had been hastily piled onto the table.

Lance gasped as he realised what the room was - he was in a cell?!

"Hello?" he called out. "Guard? Is anyone there?"

After a moment of silence, the shuffling sound of footsteps echoed into the cell and a pale, gaunt man with long red hair stepped into view. Lance recognised him instantly and shot a glare at him.

"You...!"

A thin smile grew on the man's face.

"It is so good to see you are awake," he said as he opened the gate, which squealed and squeaked harshly as it's hinges moved. "I was worried, very worried, that I had been a bit too... forceful in my attempt to knock you out." He stepped inside the cell and rested an arm on the table.

"Who are you?" Lance asked.

"My name is Gerold," the man answered before bowing deeply. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You're a vampire, aren't you?"

"No," he replied. "I am a... what do you call it? A ghoul, yes."

"A ghoul... That makes perfect sense." Lance muttered, causing Gerold to raise an eyebrow. "Tonight was the perfect night to go out, wasn't it? The stormy weather would mean none of the villagers would be outside, allowing you to get food for your mistress without any disturbance."

Gerold started chuckling in response.

"You are... somewhat right," he said. "The weather was good cover for me, yes, but I was not searching for food..."

"Then what were you searching for?"

"I was searching for a... a subject."

"Subject? What are you talking about?"

"I think it is best for me to explain to you, yes." Gerold said. "My mistress, she is no longer part of this world - slain by your order hundreds of years ago. But before she died, she gave me instructions to take a sample of her blood... and wait."

"Wait for what?"

"To wait until her name was no longer spoken by your order - and then I was to wait even more, yes, to wait for the right person to receive her blood..."

Lance eyed the goblet on the table. "And that person... was me?"

Gerold nodded slowly. "Your body is young and strong, so the process shouldn't be too... difficult."

"Process? What process?"

The ghoul picked up the goblet. "By drinking the blood of my mistress, you will cause her to live in this world once more." He started to calmly approach Lance, who started to wriggle and shift his limbs in a futile attempt to break free.

"I'll never drink your mistress's blood!" he yelled, but it did nothing to stop Gerold's advance. As the goblet was slowly raised to his mouth, he pursed his lips and tried to move them away from its rim.

Gerold simply chuckled and placed a cool hand on Lance's face before squeezing his nose hard.

"Gaaah-!" Lance cried out, but he immediately shut his mouth the second he saw the goblet tilt; spilling a couple droplets of blood onto the floor before being quickly pulled back up. He then locked eyes with Gerold and gave him a smouldering, courageous glare. But as the seconds passed, Lance felt a tension slowly building inside his chest and his view blurred as his eyes watered up.

Gerold let out a long, loud sigh of impatience.

Nails digging deep into his palms, Lance's lungs burned as they begged for air: Perhaps if he just opened his mouth slightly, he'd be able to sneak in a couple gasps before the ghoul noticed - Too long! His body was so desperate for oxygen that it needed more than just a small sip; greedily forcing his jaw open to take massive gulps of air. It was then that a thick, cold liquid was poured down his throat, causing Lance to cough and sputter. His mind raced to conjure disgusting images; his stomach heaving heavily and harshly in an attempt to throw up. By the gods, that blood tasted vile! It was cold, bitter, coppery and... a-and... ^{it tasted good.}

A massive shiver rushed through Lance's body and Gerold stepped back, his eyes glued to the inquisitor with awe. His vision starting to clear up as his swollen eye began to heal, Lance blinked hard a couple times and looked around: The cell seemed brighter and clearer for some reason, even though the same two torches outside were only sources of light - perhaps his eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness?

Gerold placed the goblet back down on the table, the resulting cling causing Lance to cry out with surprise as he heard the sound bounce around the walls and shriek into his ears. The tiny ringing quickly faded away, but Lance's ears still ached as their cartilage began to stretch and elongate into a more triangular shape that was reminiscent of the elves that lived in the far east.

"It has started," Gerold whispered in a tone that just barely contained his excitement; Lance rapidly shook his head in response. A cold sweat breaking out over his body, he found himself tightly clenching his teeth in order to deal with the rising-  

^hunger  

- fear growing in his stomach, to the point where they began to ache, especially around his sharpening canines.

The vampiric blood he'd ingested had finally pooled within his stomach, which unwillingly began its process of absorbing and distributing the fluid around his body: A cramping pain suddenly scorched through Lance's abdomen as his muscles began to rapidly convulse and shift; he groaned as his slightly paunchy belly began to retract and become completely smooth and soft. His arms and legs followed, the firm muscle gained from years of training melting away into soft and lithe limbs in a matter of seconds whilst his shoulders crunched and cracked as they caved inwards; resulting in a more delicate, androgynous appearance. Although he now lacked his muscular physique, Lance didn't feel any weaker - if anything he actually felt stronger somehow, and realised that this was likely due to the monstrous now blood coursing through him.

Licking some of the blood off his lips, Lance closed his eyes and silently admitted to himself that there was nothing he could do to stop the abominable transformation he was going through-

 Abominable? Oh please...

 

- the abominable transformation he was going through. But as long as there was still enough of him left, he would at least try to put a stop to this unholy creature's plans.

Unholy creature? Is that you call all women?

Lance restarted his attempts to break from the iron clasps. Gerold, who was leaning against the iron gate with his arms crossed, simply rolled his eyes.

"Just give up already," he said. "No matter how hard you try, you will not esca-"

Cuh-clang!

Lance tore the clasps around his wrists off of the cobblestone wall with a resounding roar, sending little pieces scattering through the air. He then kicked with his feet and broke the clasps strapped around them as if they were made of paper; a huge grin stretching across his face as he stared at the now cowering ghoul.

The strength is amazing, isn't it? But believe me when I say we're barely touching the tip of the icberg...

He remembered the day he picked up his sword and being completely enraptured by the power he felt from holding it, but what he felt now made that moment so utterly insignificant in comparison - wait, his sword! Turning his head, Lance glanced at his sword that was still resting on the table alongside the goblet and the rest of his armour. Gerold was looking at the sword too, and there was a tense moment of silence when the two men locked eyes with each other.  Before the ghoul could even blink, Lance had lunged forward and grabbed the sword, pointing it at his chest with a vicious grin. The ghoul immediately backed away, but Lance eagerly followed him, his widening hips swaying with every step.

"Please, don't...!" The ghoul whimpered as he was backed into a dark, damp corner. "I-I am just a servant!"

Although he had become accustomed to the weight of his sword years ago, Lance felt like he could easily wield it with just one hand and decided to test himself: Gerold hissed as Lance's sword carved through the air and made a large cut across his chest, dark oily blood oozing out of the wound. Lance couldn't help but smile at his work - he was sure he could easily duel any of his colleagues back at the Inquisitorial! Taking a deep breath, Lance refocused and raised his sword, ready to decapitate the foul monster trembling in front of him... But it was then that he noticed an odd smell starting to clog the air.

Ahhh, you're starting to smell it too aren't you..?

He tried to ignore it, but with every breath he could feel it flood into his head and cloud his mind: It smelt sweet, metallic and most importantly, it smelt good. The more he thought about it, the more a hunger unlike any other he'd felt before began to stir deep within Lance. Tilting his head, Lance sniffed the air as he tried to find where the smell was coming from - it was somewhere in this room, somewhere close, but where?! Looking at the gash on Gerold's chest, Lance licked his soft, plump lips and smiled: He had found the source.

Curious, Lance raised his sword again and struck at Gerold's arm, causing a small cut near his shoulder. Lance inhaled deeply and his heart soared as the wonderful scent filled the air anew. Gods, he'd never smelt anything like this before - he needed more of it now! He made more small cuts and slashes; with every breath he took, the smell sent tingles through Lance's body. He didn't want to admit it, but the sensation he felt as he inhaled the scent wasn't just satisfying now... it was arousing. He was so bewitched by the fragrance of Gerold's blood that he'd failed to notice the two breasts now resting underneath his shirt.

However, the euphoria Lance was feeling was soon began to stagnate - he nicked Gerold's papery skin one last time and groaned in frustration when he hardly felt any pleasure or thrill. It was only now that he felt the desperate hunger writhing around inside him and the raw scratchiness coating his throat. It wasn't fair! He wanted - needed - to feel good again! But what could he do?!

You know you need to do more than just smell that blood now...

Y...Yes, that voice in his head was right: How could he have been so stupid?! He was becoming a vampire, and vampires could only survive by consuming one thing...

"N-no, mistress pleaaack-!" Gerold croaked as Lance wrapped a hand around his throat and pushed his head back, exposing his neck. Seeing such pale, smooth skin and knowing the delicious treat that was coursing just underneath it... he shuddered in anticipation as he lowered his head and slowly opened his mouth. He could smell Gerold's fear now, and wondered if his blood would taste even sweeter because of it... But mere moments before his teeth would pierce the skin, Lance hesitated and pulled away, his brow furrowed.

"Something is wrong!" his body screamed at him.  "Something is really, really wrong!"

Ohhh yes, it's finally starting...

Lance's chest felt tight - not his breasts, the area underneath his ribs. It felt like someone had their hand around his heart - and then they began squeezing it as hard and as tight as they could. Staggering back, Lance cried out as he collapsed to the floor, strength leaving his legs. Clutching at his his chest and breathing fast, hard breaths, he realised what was happening to him: He was having a heart attack! But he couldn't die now! He was too young, there was still so much in his life that he wanted to do...

And he still hadn't tasted that blood...

Oh, but you will... Said the voice in his head, clearer and louder than before. Just let me take over and you will have all the blood you - we - desire...

In a small corner of his now dying mind, a small voice begged Lance to remember the vows he'd taken and the duty he swore to uphold, but he shook his head and silenced it forever: None of that mattered now; all that did was the blood.

Lance let out one final rattling breath before going completely still, the faintest curl of a smile on his face.

---

As the Inquisitor breathed his last, Gerold let out a sigh of relief. Although he never doubted his mistress, he couldn't deny that he thought she was going to kill him just then. With every step he took towards Lance's corpse, the dozens of scratches all over him stung as they grated against the fabric of his clothing. Fortunately such tiny wounds were already fading away thanks to the monstrous nature of his body, but the massive tear on his chest would likely need to be stitched up - but his needs didn't matter right now.

Groaning faintly as he knelt down, Gerold grabbed one of Lance's dainty wrists: There was no sign of a pulse and his body heat had already begun to lower to a deathly chill, his skin already a greyish white as a result. Gerold couldn't help but smile as Lance's short, curly brown hair began to unravel and slowly grow into a bob cut before an almost platinum blonde trickled out from his scalp and bleached it. His face started to shift as it started to frame itself around the hairstyle, losing it's sharp angular form and becoming oval-shaped; his nose and brow softening slightly into a decidedly more feminine look. A couple moments later there was a wet squishing sound coming from somewhere lower in Lance's body, but Gerold refused to look - he feared what punishment his mistress would give him were she to awaken as he did.

The last change to occur was in Lance's glassy eyes, their murky brown irises rusting into a dark crimson. Then they blinked a couple times.

Gerold gasped as Lucia De Notte sat up straight and began to slowly look around the room.

"M-Mistress, are you alright?" he asked meekly as he stood up and offered his hand. Upon seeing his hand, Lucia looked up at him with puppy dog eyes.

"G-Gerold...?" she muttered, causing the ghoul to smile warmly.

"Yes mistress, yes, it is me!"

"Why...Why...?" Lucia then frowned, her sophisticated voice turning stern. "Why am I in a cell, Gerold?"

He gulped. "I n-needed to restrain the Inquisitor-"

"Next time I need to be revived, Gerold, please do it in the comfort of my bedchambers." She said, standing up and dusting her off before pausing and staring down at her body.

"Gerold?"

"Yes, mistress?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"...Mistress?"

Lucia sneered. "I can't stand wearing these peasantly rags - why didn't you bring any of my clothes down here?"

Gerold bowed his head. "I thought you would rather choose what you wished to wear, mistress. I also thought you would dislike it if I were to touch you clothing, yes..."

Lucia smiled. "Good point. Well then, I suppose I shall go get changed - I don't want to hang around in this dirty dungeon for a moment longer."

She then glided out of the cell, Gerold following her excitedly.

---

Gerold was now waiting in the entrance hall of the De Notte mansion, the rain outside still pounding against the massive, faded white doors. As he inspected them, he quickly became aware of the click-clack of high heels on marble floor. Turning around, Gerold's heart skipped a beat at the sight slowly descending down the grand stairs.

Lucia De Notte was wearing a long black dress that hugged her curvaceous frame, the top half acting as a corset of sort by pushing her breasts up. A black cape was wrapped around her, the small piece of string tying it together conveniently positioned on her cleavage. The cape's collars oddly jutted out and upwards, but this effect managed to compliment her hairstyle and face shape well. The bright red lipstick she wore (at least, Gerold thought it was lipstick) along with the dark eyeshadow she had applied around her striking eyes caused them to stand out almost hypnotically from her pale skin.

"What do you think, Gerold?" she asked before gracefully turning around on the spot. "How do I look?"

"You look beautiful mistress, yes, beautiful as always!" he answered immediately.

"Thank you. Now, I am feeling quite parched: It has been centuries since I've had something to drink after all..."

Gerold bowed. "I shall fetch you a drink straight away, my mistress!"

"Excellent. After that, you can begin cleaning this mansion from top to bottom and start preparations to paint it."

"Of course, mistress.. but why?" He then quickly added; "I mean to say, what plans do you have in mind?"

Lucia smiled. "All in good time, Gerold. Now go fetch me that drink already!"

Gerold quickly excused himself before scuttling away. Lucia looked around the foyer and sighed: It felt good to be back home.

She then turned around and started to walk upstairs, back to her bedchambers.

 

 Artwork by DanteWontDie, source is here.