by GR Griffin
Some of the demons and undead creatures focused on Brahms. But many had their attention divided, fighting any and all they could reach. It was pure chaos, Brahms trying not to laugh as he fought with the Valkyrie who had once wielded an axe. His amusement over the chaos didn't make him careless, Brahms watching the Valkyrie carefully as he tried to avoid the stray attacks that came his way.
The Valkyrie was just as cautious, moving with him. Both her hands gripped her sword's hilt, her eyes narrowed as she looked for an opening to strike against. But Brahms wasn't so unguarded as to give her one. Nor did he let himself get distracted by the enemies who came in reach, though occasionally he would snap a neck and fling that body towards the dodging Valkyrie.
When the two did finally clash together, his claws scraped over the metal of the Valkyrie's armor. Sparks actually came off the metal, Brahms using his one hand to grip the blade of the Valkyrie's sword. The Valkyrie made an annoyed sound, jerking her sword arm back. Brahms smiled, and held onto the sword, actually shattering the blade from the strength in his hand.
The Valkyrie gasped, and tried to back up. Brahms lunged forward, hand grabbing her by the neck. It was over in an instant, the Valkyrie's throat crushed by his strength. He was so tempted to pull her against him, to sink his fangs into her and feed. But he restrained that impulse, throwing her body into the crowd. Shrieks were heard, the remaining Valkyries indignant to see another one of their sisters being fed upon.
Brahms' gaze sought out Hel's, his eyes narrowing as he realized she had left the throne room. A reckoning between them would have to wait, his own thirst for vengeance needed to be put aside. He needed to get away.
With that thought in mind, he resumed fighting his way towards the exit. Bodies flew, heads torn off, or skin slashed open. Any who got in his way died, Brahms tearing apart any challengers who would dare try to stop him. That included the Valkyries, a new woman engaging him with hand to hand combat. He fought back, dodging her punches, breaking her left wrist at one point. He was effectively disabling her, practically toying with her, even as Brahms retreated to the throne room's exit.
He had come a long way, his fighting steeped now in mastery. His expertise had come from all those years spent in the underworld, first fighting demons, than waging the thousand year war against Odin's army. He had not wasted time, Brahms learning how to fight, how to kill. He was most efficient, and it showed, his fights with these current Valkyries not at all like that encounter he had had with the very first battle maiden that been called onto Midgard's land all those years ago.
He was one step closer to being the Brahms Silmeria knew, the King who had been the terror of the plains of Idavoll. He would only become that much more dangerous, that more ruthless and effective at fighting in the coming years. Right now he had to call upon every skill learned, every bit of knowledge gleaned as he exited from the throne room. Some of the enemies inside tried to follow him, but most were too busy fighting each other. It did not matter, there was thousands of undead and demons that stood between Brahms and the tunnels that would lead him to Midgard.
But there weren't anymore Valkyrie. Odin had not seen fit to send more than the handful that had been inside Hel's throne room. As though he had underestimated the challenge Brahms could give. Brahms didn't waste time on being insulted. Let Odin continue to demean his strength, to underestimate him. It would make Brahms victory all the sweeter when he did finally get to face the God in combat.
But first he had to get out of the underworld! The journey would take months, Brahms battling for most of it. Eljudnir had been built in the very heart of the realm, down in the deepest bowels of the underworld. It was no easy feat to come and go from Hel's castle to the mortal plains, Brahms having to journey on foot for hundreds of miles. It would have been a journey made all the simpler if he could teleport, but at that point and time Brahms simply lacked such a skill.
He had to fight nearly every step of the way, demons and undead dogging his every move. There was little time for rest, little time to do anything but fight. Brahms was on constant move, using every skill, every expertise, every sneaky trick to his advantage. It was tiring to fight without true reprieve, but Brahms kept himself fueled on the anger that ran through him. An anger born of Hel's betrayal, Brahms hurting even as he understood why the Goddess might have grown to hate him so bad.
He raged though. His thoughts often furious, harsh whispers in his mind that spoke of the Queen with disdain. He felt more than betrayed, Brahms felt used. As used as Hel had ever been, Brahms knowing he was responsible for the empire she now commanded. An empire she was using against Brahms, turning all her vast resources and minions loose on him.
There was no time for anything but the rage. He couldn't afford deep introspection. Couldn't afford to feel regret or sadness that his association with Hel had soured to this degree. The time for feelings than ran deeper than anger would come, but not until after he escaped Nifleheim and had a moment to catch his breath. Until then, he fought, anger held just above all other emotions.
There was only one thing that could get past the anger. And that was the hunger Brahms was slowly suffering. It was too long a journey to go without a true feeding, too many months passing where he existed on nothing but demons' blood. That foul blood held no power to it, no strength and vitality for him to steal. The demons' blood could only keep him alive for just a little longer, Brahms forcing himself to keep moving. Day dreams of the blood he would taste once upon Midgard's land teased him, Brahms trying to recall the tantalizing taste of the humans.
He did not try to exist solely on demons blood. The first instance of his hunger spiking within him? It had Brahms sending out a powerful compulsion. He called upon Hel, called upon his traitorous blood slave, his fangs aching to sink into her flesh. He wanted--needed to drink from her. Needed to drain as much energy from her as possible. Brahms might have even been willing to keep Hel alive, if only for as long as it would take him to reach Midgard.
But no matter how often and how insistent his compulsions were, the Goddess never appeared. It confused him, Brahms not understanding how Hel could have the strength to now ignore his commands. Nor would he get a real answer, Brahms left to speculate for years about the severance of the link between them. He wouldn't have time to develop a true theory in the underworld. Not with the near constant fighting. But in the future, when he could take a moment to himself? Brahms became certain that Odin was responsible for Hel's resistance. That Odin was the buffer between them, using his own power to break the slave master bond.
It would be a long time before Brahms could explore the repercussions of his blood slave gaining freedom from him. Hel was wisely holding back her monsters, the undead keeping far from Brahms. The demons were more than enough trouble, the creatures persistent and cruel. They were a great drain on Brahms, tiring him out and offering nothing that could truly restore his depleting energy.
By the time Brahms did make it to Midgard, he was weary. But beyond that tiredness, he was starving. It had been too long since he had fed on Hel. Too long since he had had anything but demon's blood for sustenance. He was eager for the chance to feed on something that would do more than just prolong his life. Brahms was eager for the blood than ran in the humans' veins, knowing they were a satisfying in-between of demon and divine blood.
He was not so far gone to hunger that Brahms couldn't be amazed at the changes he saw that had been wrought upon Midgard. The mortals had come a long way in the thousand years that had passed since Brahms last set foot on their land. They no longer hid in caves, no longer dressed in clothing crudely fashioned from pelts of slain animals. They were clean and intelligent, having built several cities. They had developed their language, were beginning to pursue knowledge beyond that which had to do with their day to day living.
They were smarter now, but they were no less prepared this time around than they had been the first time Brahms walked among them. They had no true protection against the unde
ad save for Odin's Valkyrie. They were doubly unprepared for a monster as intelligent as Brahms was. Even pursued as he was, by both Hel and Odin's forces, Brahms found it easy to sneak into the outskirts of the cities. He'd linger there long enough to feed, and then move on, always conscious of those that hunted him.
Hel and Odin's alliance had not yet fallen apart completely. But it was strained, Brahms continued existence a sore point between the two Gods. Hel would try her best to live up to her bargain with Odin. She'd continue to send her demons after Brahms, the creatures intent on finding the vampire, on capturing him. Even at times, attempting to kill him. It wasn't just the denizens of the underworld Brahms had to contend with. Odin had his Valkyries and their einherjar searching the realms, not limiting them to just Midgard's land.
It seemed no realm was safe for Brahms. There was no place he could settle down for long periods of time, the vampire constantly on the move. He'd travel the realms, though he made special effort to avoid Asgard and Nifleheim. And during his travels, he would sample blood of many of the beings in Creation, discovering which ones empowered him, and which ones merely sustained him.
The elves of Alfheim were of a delicious quality. They appeased his hunger, and helped to increase his strength. The giants of Jotunheim were a difficult meal to catch, and their blood was weak, hardly sustaining him. His most favorite taste was that of the divine, of the lesser deities known as Valkyrie. But the power he gained from drinking the battle maidens' blood was short lasting bursts. They were more treat than any long lasting sustenance.
The best blood proved to be that of the humans. The mortals of Midgard while not overly powerful, did sustain him. And he found that over time, he was gaining strength though it wasn't comparable to the power that had infused him with each feeding he had done of Hel's blood.
It wasn't just the taste of and strength found within the different kinds of blood, that he was experimenting with. He wanted to know if it was possible to make another blood slave, to make a replacement for Hel. Brahms knew there were advantages beyond feeding when it came to blood slaves. Ones that had to do with protection. He needed guards, needed someone to stand watch over his daylight resting places.
But he didn't know how to repeat what he had done with Hel. And there was no one to teach him, Brahms being the first, the only one of his kind. It would take a lot of trial and error for Brahms to learn how to use compulsion to bind someone so thoroughly to him. Many died in the process, Brahms leaving far too many corpse in his wake. He'd never realize the wrong he was doing, the horrors he was unleashing on the realms.
Through his desperate, repeated feedings, he was creating a new race. But it was not the vampires of the present day and age. Bloodthirsty, constantly killing, they were mindless. Revenants. And they were spreading across the realms like a plague, feeding on the inhabitants, sometimes creating more of their own kind. Brahms was as horrified as anyone else when he saw what he had created. He'd even set to right his wrongs, killing many. Odin's Valkyries were also busy, now actively hunting the revenants instead of Brahms.
It did not mean that Brahms was safe. There was still Hel's forces to contend with. She was determined to kill him, but her ways were doing almost as much damage as the revenants. The undead were feeding off the people of the realms, infecting them. Their sizes tripled in numbers. The demons were going wild, enjoying hurting the people of the lands.
Odin would have enough of their destructive ways. He would fight with Hel to gain control of her undead. A new war would erupt between Asgard and Nifleheim, Odin's forces spread all over all the realms in an attempt to do damage control. Brahms wasn't forgotten, but at that time became a lesser threat. He continued to hunt the revenants, killing those he could find. But the very fact of the revenant's existence had him thinking. Wondering if there was a way to make another kind of creature that was similar to Brahms but not so mindless like the revenants obviously were.
He began experimenting anew. Sometimes he'd capture a revenant alive, keep the creature bound up in chains. Brahms tried to see if feeding the revenant's hunger would bring back the creatures mind. But no matter how much blood the revenant took, always they remained mindless. Always hungry, always lusting to feed and kill any and everything that got in it's way.
In the end, Brahms had to kill the ones he had captured. It left him angry, feeling all alone. Was there no way to repeat what had been done to him? No way to make others like him? He wanted power, he wanted armies. But also, he was tired of being alone. Tired of being hunted, of being maligned by all the other races. There was no place he was welcomed, no placed he could find peace to live in. He was hunted not only by the Heavens and the underworld, but by the people he chose to feed on.
But he wasn't ready to end his existence. He still had vengeance to live for. Odin had to pay. And to a lesser extent Hel, though Brahms really didn't have the heart in him to go after the Goddess. Not now that so much time had passed, allowing much of his anger with her to fade. It wasn't the same with Hel. She still hated Brahms. Hated him as much as she hated Odin. But she was locked into a war with Odin, in a battle for supremacy over the undead. Brahms was left to his own devices, and for a time all he did was feed, careful to not do anything that would lead to another revenant being born.
This way of living, of existing only to sate his hungers, bothered Brahms. He was a social creature, a man who had enjoyed the company of others. He was never meant to be solitary, never meant to live in hiding. For the longest time his only contacts were those he fed on, and those he fought with. It wasn't any way to live, his existence hollow. He was all alone, and Brahms was LONELY.
It was that loneliness that drove Brahms to the human cities. It was there he set up a residence for himself, stealing what he needed, using compulsion for the rest. Brahms had grown careful with his feedings, knowing it would only invite disaster to feed on those who lived in the city where he made his home. He'd make a journey every two nights to nearby cities, feeding there but returning to his new home before the sun had a chance to rise.
For a time, existing among the humans filled a void in Brahms' life. He had contact with intelligent beings, was able to pretend at having a normal life. But Brahms never forgot the things that had been denied him, never forgot his vengeance. Even as he studied the humans' culture, trying to learn enough to better fit in among them, he was missing the Heavens. Missing the people of that realm. But more than that, he missed having a purpose.
For the longest time he had existed for Hel. Existed to keep her safe, and to build her empire. Even after the underworld was an established kingdom, Brahms had continued to serve her. He had commanded her armies, trained them for the battles they would someday wage with Odin. Brahms had never expected those armies to be turned against him, to be used to hunt and hurt him.
Brahms knew he would always be hunted. Always be an outcast so long as he was the only one of his own kind. He didn't even have a name for what he was! The name vampire had not yet come into fashion, Brahms being so careful and controlled when it came to his feedings. The humans had no way of knowing a new kind of predator hunted among them, blaming the deaths on the undead that walked the realm.
Ultimately, it was loneliness and a need to have others of his own kind that drove Brahms to make the first vampire. That desperation drove him to resume his experiments, Brahms risking much to try and make himself a companion. He didn't immediately delve into it, Brahms spending much time thinking, pondering the ways in which he could repeat the conditions that had changed him. He didn't know just how Odin had introduced the parasite into his body, but Brahms felt there was a sliver of hope. Those very revenants that had horrified him so, now made him think there was a chance to create a creature that hungered for blood but had it's mind intact. It wasn't just the revenants he looked at, Brahms eyeing Hel's undead. The way they doubled their numbers, somehow sharing the infection within them onto other creatures.
The most often way the undead share
d their infection was through bites, or through cuts and scratches. But sometimes through the sharing of their own blood. Brahms had never tried to outright feed someone his own parasite laden blood. But he was curious enough to try that now.
He didn't immediately set off to do this new experiment with his blood. He'd have to leave his home, Brahms not about to take a risk and perform any such experiments in the city he had come to live in. Instead he would perform his experiments out in the wilds, shutting himself and the man he had kidnapped into a forest cave. The man was a strapping youth, full of health and vitality.
Brahms wasn't sure how exactly to go about this conversion. He didn't want to kill this man, didn't want him to be the first in a string of mistakes. So he took it slow, spreading out the experiment over several days. Many careful feedings would be used to weaken this man before Brahms would force him to drink his blood. He almost held his breath as he waited, fervently hoping this would work.
The change did not happen immediately. After all, Brahms did not know what he was doing, blundering through the creation process. The man seemed to grow weaker after tasting Brahms blood, actually getting sick, then dying a day later. Brahms was disappointed, not yet realizing the complexities of the transformation. He would bury the human outside his cave, but was not yet ready to try again with another human. Three days later, the earth would be disturbed, the very burial spot uncovered. The human had risen, desperately hungry for blood.
He would return to his city, to his very home and feed off his family. Brahms would find the newly made vampire in the midst of feeding off his half alive mother. A fight would break out, Brahms having to subdue his newly created fledgling. But there was no need to kill him, the man's mind intact. Brahms would rejoice, realizing he had at last discovered the key to making more of his own kind.
