Vincent The Vampire Essay Research Paper Vincent

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Vincent The Vampire Essay, Research Paper Vincent The Vampire The darkness breathed in the cavernous tomb. The walls of granite that formed their underground catacombs had served as a shelter and a symbol. They were carved with the ancient rites and laws that governed their species and glowed now as if alive through the inconstant flickering of a single torch blazing in the center of the central cavern. To those in the room, the darkness was not their cloak. It revealed all to their pale eyes. The circle of light was empty, devoid even as the outer rim of darkness writhed with beings. The light was also a symbol and even more feared than thoughts of rites or rituals. A battle had begun among the most powerful of their kind and they stood divided as the accusers and the

accused. The accusers stood many but weak. They had forsaken their natures and now never ventured to the world above. They “sanctified” their blood of mice and deer, too frightened of the unknown mortals to test their luck. They now only practiced the dark rites in their misery. However, the others had not fallen into a weak cowardly life. They were few but strong. They ventured into the cities, danced in the moonlight, and drank from the font of life. They chose their prey carefully. None of the innocents were taken. None that would be missed. But the evildoers. The wrongers of men. He deserved his lot in life. So the strong stood proud and glorious and cursed by the jealous many who gazed upon their restored and powerful forms with hate and fear. “Do you think you are

better? That you deserve more? You that has betrayed us with your decadence! Rogue, trator, bloodmongrel!” Albere called across the space that divided their once united sect. Albere had a fine bone structure and a deliberate, controlled way of moving and now every tendon within him seemed to vibrate with emotion as he stepped slightly forward. His hand was raised in gesture and he gazed at it a moment before swinging the black hatred of his eyes to his opposer. He receded back from the light without seeming to move then, with a surreal power, his voice roared from him, “YOU ARE NOT ONE UF US!” The hoard behind him moved restlessly, shifting their weight, as they snarled and screeched in unison, their eyes beady and intent with their fervor. “I care no more for your secret

meetings and politics, Albere. Call me ROGUE, but WE are Vampires! Powerful creatures born of ancient rites. Rites carved upon these very walls so that we may grow strong and many!” The fiery intent of Vincent’s speech captivated the vampires. He enchanted them all. His hair was long and fell straight almost to his elbow and his eyes bespoke power as much as how he carried himself, with complete self-assured confidence. “You are lost,” his voice was low and vehement as he stepped forward, grasped the torchstake thrusting it high aloft so it illuminated the horrified shrinking vampires, “you are nothing!” That this enchanting figure should not bend to them and be as them made their rage boil up so that it could no longer be contained or controlled. The room that had

held their most sacred blood rituals deep within the heart of their world was once again steeped in blood. They fought against their own kind. The supernatural shrieks and crys of battle rent the air. The strong threw aside the weak, scrambling figures but the endless mass kept coming at them, fangs bared, hands clawing, and terrible snarls of hate. Their own kind against them in the combined power of their mass forced the strong back. The rogues ripped at frailer limbs and tossed aside vampires and as the blood spilled and they heard the cracking of bone, they wept. As their kind, their species, their family fought and injured them they wept but still they fought with all the ferocity and rage that was in their body, nature, and souls. Finally, the open darkness of the world