Where We Fall 11/14 (Legacy of Kain, Janos Audron/Vorador, NC17)

[emerald_embers]

It was Vorador who woke first the second time, grabbing his head before swearing loudly, vilely, leaping out of bed and dragging on trousers before seizing his preferred sword and an axe, dropping a pike across Janos' stomach. "Something is wrong," Vorador announced before opening the door, looking around. "Someone Whispered. You raise the alarm, I'm going to make sure anyone else who can hear a Whisper gets the Hell out of here."

An attack; an attack, and it wasn't the Hylden, and Janos knew through and through, knew his damned gut instinct had been right, that it had to be something to do with the humans, and after pulling on a tunic he grabbed the pike, prayed there would be no need for armour as he made his way towards the bell-tower. His feet seemed to be leading him more than his mind, and at the juncture of the corridors he near vomited, collapsing, his heart feeling fit to burst and breathing rendered useless as he caught sight of Moebius and - and his staff, his staff with that orb from outside the temple clutched in its maw. Whatever magic drove the time streamer's staff Janos did not know, but if it could overpower him at a glance - dear God, what had Moebius planned? Who was helping him?

Thank God for even the smallest of mercies given that Moebius seemed to either overlook or ignore him, heading down the opposing corridor with a group of armed mortals who could only have come from outside and freeing him to head for the tower once more.



Annabelle, human guardian of conflict, stood guard at the bell flanked by two demons she had - apparently - summoned to her side. "You'll have to get past me to raise the alarm, heathen," spat the girl before sending forth her grey-skinned pets; neither would be easy to dispatch but there were quicker methods of avoiding death at the hands of such creatures than battle. Thankful for his particular alignment, Janos blasted the girl and her pets back against the wall before calling forth a tornado to carry all three of his opponents into the air, letting them crash against the bell he was not close enough to ring through the traditional method.

Too young, too ignorant and too fragile; the initial blast had stunned the girl and slamming into the bell was enough to finish her off, the demon pets fading swiftly after to escape their slavery. The bell certainly rang loud enough to startle all but the heaviest of sleepers into waking and Janos prayed he had been fast enough to save the majority; he did not know what Moebius had backing him, did not know if other demons had been summoned, other humans or vampires recruited for whatever purpose that staff was meant to serve.



As the mixed smell of human and vampire blood filled the air it surprised Janos little to find Vorador near the centre of it all, wielding his sword with ease and feasting heavily as he cut through those who dared approach; still, for all Janos wanted to stay with his fledgling to assure his safety and cut down the upsurge's numbers, there were priorities. Uschtenheim would be their meeting point, given human access to the aerie was impossible, but in the meantime it was necessary to see what damage had already been caused. Sianne could take care of herself but he could not conscientiously leave the rest of the pillar guardians and their mentors to their own defences.

Vorador's Whispers of warning about the status of the Citadel had only attracted replies from made vampires in the regions outside, and no one seemed to have attacked or even seen Moebius since Janos' initial sighting of the time streamer. The reason for that seemed clear enough as Janos moved down corridors empty save for human aggressors; his hands curled into fists as he passed each room, finding the vampires inside slain neatly, tidily, as if held in place while killed.

That staff. That damned staff. He'd woken these people through the bell but the staff had rendered them as helpless as it had him earlier, lambs to the slaughter. The nature guardian had fallen; the mind and states guardians too, and these had been Moebius' friends for all their differences in nature; Janos dare not imagine how many more were lost, opened the door to Samael's room with unease.

Mortanius was absent. Likely enough, he had joined Moebius on this crusade.

Samael was not.



Too many had fallen for the Citadel to be reclaimed without regrouping elsewhere, but he'd be damned if he left the corpse of the one vampire who'd stood by him for so many years languishing for the humans to use as a warning. Vorador had already used his kind's Whispering technique to warn others against returning to the Citadel, and any who were still there knew what they were up against.

Cradling the dead weight of Samael in his arms, wondering what had happened to his friend's sword - likely stolen as a trophy - Janos headed to the window and thanked God that the humans had not been graced with flight, trusting his fledgling to take care while he made for the canyons. Vorador's magical abilities ought to keep him safe for now, and Moebius' staff - how in God's name he'd crafted that abomination in secret, Janos had no idea - was no longer in the Citadel's main corridors by all accounts, disappeared with its possessor. It seemed the humans had killed the vampire guardians they came for and 'freed' their human guardian brethren.

Janos was never one for survivor's guilt but he did wonder on occasion what unholy luck insisted on keeping him alive while his friends died around him.



Flying towards the canyons was easier than expected, the sky's dark clouds perhaps explaining why he was rarely sighted by Moebius' men and women or the usual hunters lining the roads to Meridian despite his having to fly lower courtesy of Samael's weight.

For all he had expected grief or anger, Shianna's expression seemed to display only unsurprised discontent when Janos landed and she led him quietly out behind her shack.

"I'm sorry."

"Do not trouble yourself with apologies for his death. You know as well as I do that his faith made him long for it." The words were cold but Janos knew Shianna well enough to understand her particular method of dealing with grief. In all likelihood she had known from her childhood what her parents were to die of; it was the curse of a seer. No one could resist the urge to find out their ending, or that of those closest to them. "I'll take it from here."

"I could give the blessings," Janos suggested, resenting his inability to feel anything more than helplessness. He had to remain while all his friends passed on; his duty demanded it. Reaver guardians were not summoned from birth and he'd yet to meet anyone else he could trust with its guardianship. Besides, it seemed soon he would be the only one of his kind left, and something as transient as a human or soulless as a made could not be trusted with the sword's keeping.

"I would rather you left that to me," Shianna replied, calm, her features seeming to have lost a little of her mother's softness in favour of the cool elegance favoured by most Hylden with time's passing. Strange how that meant, despite her wing structure and crest, that she was starting to take after her father in looks. "Did you see his death?"

"Only the aftermath," Janos replied, wondering again how Mortanius could ever have overpowered Samael unless the necromantic powers granted him by the Pillars truly were unholy in strength.

"I should like to think he died fighting. If you ever find out otherwise, I'd prefer you not to tell me despite your honest inclinations."

"If that is your wish."

Janos bowed his head as he left, felt a little startled when after he expected nothing more than silence, the beginning of his flight was greeted with a quiet "Thank you."

He looked to see if she stood outside so that he could acknowledge hearing her words, but found her door and windows closed, had to shrug off his impoliteness in not answering and begin his journey back towards the aerie.



Arriving in the aerie meant facing Vorador's anger at his late return but as much as he could have been amused by the almost paternal concern, he was more interested in taking time to appreciate his fledgling's company; having seen the last of his truly close friends from his race pass on, he could not help but be additionally grateful for still having Vorador to turn to.

The Citadel had fallen, and Janos felt himself being driven slowly mad by the itch to return regardless of how suicidal such a gesture would be; Moebius' staff left all his kind defenceless and there had been no chance to gather together survivors to regroup. Some part of him kept pushing forth the cruel knowledge that there might not be many survivors to regroup; his kind were not replenishing and he had been grimly aware of their numbers before the attack courtesy of Sianne's surveyance.

Yet again he seemed on the losing side.



The offer of a duel - not one with any particular purpose in mind, just practise and distraction from thinking about the Citadel - was swiftly taken up. Janos had loved teaching Vorador the mastery of weapons other than the sword, found it less taxing than teaching magic because there was less strain in learning physical techniques that could be clearly demonstrated. Moreover, Vorador had been a fast learner in this area, even if overly long or overly short weapons tended to frustrate him; the balance required for pikes and spears seemed to annoy him, as did 'fiddly' weapons like knives. The blunt force of swords and axes seemed his main strength, and Janos was thankful that hammers were not particularly favoured by his race - useless weapons for flight battles, all told - as if he'd had any of those in the aerie he suspected Vorador would have been a lethal force with or without practise.

It had been some time since Vorador last carried a pike in one of their duels but either he had been practising without Janos' assistance or he had impressive memory for technique, his skill evidenced in the scratches and cuts and blossoming bruises over Janos' body. Normally it was Vorador who fared worse in pike battles, but with nearly mastered technique, strength, and his usual ferocity backing him in the fight, the outcome seemed obvious.

Despite himself Janos found he could think of nothing but his pride in his fledgling's strength once pinned to the floor with Vorador's pike pressed up against his chin. Vorador seemed to have a stranger reaction to the victory; unsurprising in part given how they had practised together several times before but all-out duels had always ended with Janos as the victor; this time Vorador had won despite not even wielding his preferred weapon. Had Janos been an enemy, Vorador could slice his throat open now with ease.

Still, Janos found his heart racing as something in Vorador's eyes darkened, and he held his breath as best as he could as the pike drew a path down his chest, nudging against his belt before slicing it off and pushing the edges of his clothes apart. "How did you ever become a General when you bruise like an apple?" Vorador asked, looking over the purple patches of skin on Janos' chest and abdomen from their fight.

"Bruising is no measure of strength or -" the pike slipped back up, pressing against his chin to request his silence, and now his cheeks were flushed from more than exertion, his body overly aware of how much skin was exposed to his fledgling.

Vorador dropped to his knees and lifted Janos' legs apart, sliding the tattered trousers down but not fully off, licked at skin that had been cut, the flesh oversensitised from its recent wounds.

"What are you doing?" Janos asked, knowing he was unlikely to get a sensible answer but not caring, wondering what exactly his fledgling had planned to warrant such a strange glint in his eyes. "Vorador?"

Vorador frowned and Janos barely had a moment to breathe before the blunt end of the pike pressed hard up against him, slipping in at the firm pressure, and Vorador was sat too far back to be grabbed without leaning up and injuring himself, forcing him to settle for scratching at the floor for something to hold.

He might have attempted to ask reasons from his fledgling but words were stolen by the hand Vorador didn't have wrapped around the pike's handle taking hold of his erection and stroking firmly, driving him further down a path that would send him mad.

"I will not share you with any other man," Vorador growled, licking a slow path down Janos' thigh with his tongue, setting a rhythm with the pike given Janos could barely move, "But I wanted to know how you look from here when I'm inside you."

Janos closed his eyes and shivered, tried not to tighten around the pike's handle because it had no give, lacked the slight but all-important flexibility of an erection, his breathing unsteady as he said, "You're depraved,". Which was true, even if it was the sort of depraved that made one sympathise with sinners rather than chastise them, and he found himself trying to splay his legs further though the fact his trousers were barely down his thighs made movement difficult.

"I would say decadent, but you have a point," Vorador replied, sounding dangerously amused, and Janos would have opened his eyes to look had he not found himself frowning and closing them tighter as he came, body aching from wounds and crushed wings and the steady, constant pressure of the object inside him, but unable to deny that despite all that it was one of the better orgasms of his life.

Looking at last, Janos found himself all too aware of how utterly exposed he was, clothes tattered and his chest slick, the handle's removal leaving him at once relieved and feeling empty. Common sense made him expect Vorador to take over from the handle but his fledgling seemed uninterested in that despite moving to lean over him. There ought to be words for a moment like this but he could not find them, knocked senseless in more ways than one.

Vorador seemed equally speechless though not through being stunned, as far as Janos could tell, kept trailing the hand he wasn't using to keep his balance across Janos' skin, tracing ribs and stomach, shoulders and arms, the feathers he could reach with ease. His demeanour seemed odd in a way Janos thought he would not be able to place until Vorador finally spoke, eyes intense with an emotion not as sharp and shallow as lust. "I will not lose you to humans."

"I cannot promise to die a certain way," Janos replied, and Vorador glared before kissing him hard as if to hide the words that had been said.



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