shifting loyalties and squabbles.
Hector had become a Vampire the night one was sent to kill his father. Nothing personal, Hector would learn soon after. Just another night on the job. The price of protection. Living Hector had stepped into the fray, meaning to save his only family. The Vampire had been tasked with killing the Seniore Astigius, but felt bad about the collateral damage in the form of such a young man.
Once turned (and fully adjusted) he felt free for the first time in his life, no longer ruled by duty or fear. The agents of fear were everywhere, peddling toxic ideas and poisonous suspicion among otherwise peaceful people. The reach of their influence seemed endless. They pointed holy fingers, waved books, and shouted Latin to cast out imagined devils. When suspicion fell upon them, most could do nothing except bow, hide or die.
He felt free of it all as a Vampire. Until he realized he was the devil of the day. One of many; imagined or otherwise. Living People fell under Papal scrutiny on a regular basis, but they could at least stand in front of their accusers in daylight without howling in pain. They had friends and allies. Hector rarely encountered another Vampire; and none whom might help if he was ever caught in the far flung net of righteous hysteria.
In the end, he decided to find his maker and beg for protection. The Vampire had never even revealed his name, but he'd stayed with Hector those first days, explaining the basics. Then, one day, he just snuck away, seemingly swallowed by the city. What little Hector learned about his father's excommunication, and resulting assassination, gave him a good idea where he might find more of his peers. There were precious few Vampires to be found wandering in Spain. So, he left the city of his birth, and traveled to Rome. The guts of the beast; heart of the monolithic monster. He hated to set foot anywhere near it. A stone's throw from the men who defined holiness, and made it their business to uphold the balance of a righteous universe with heartless precision.
Upon reaching his destination, he hid in an old drainage tunnel during the day, often pacing to pass the time while water, sometimes hip-deep, flowed by him carrying all types of filth; rotted or half eaten food, dead animals, even a bloated human torso once. Rancid garbage. He left the tunnels as night fell and wandered, hoping to spot a Vampire. He paid attention to talk on the street, and kept an eye on windows and doors of known dissidents, confident any assassin he spotted was likely a Vampire. His wait lasted only four days. A man snuck out of his house in the dead of night, followed shortly by a Vampire woman. She moved with effortless stealth, and kept a safe distance.
Hector fell into step a safe distance from the both of them. The stench of fear and sweat wafted off the sneaking man in thick waves, so Hector assumed he was smart enough to understand the possible consequences of his disobedience. He watched as the man slipped into a dead-end alleyway, followed shortly by the shadowy streak of his soon-to-be assassin as she darted in after him. Hector calmly strolled over and waited for the woman to emerge alone and bloody.
Hunger got the better of him when he smelled the blood, so he called out, "if you're in a sharing mood, I wouldn't say no!"
She laughed. He took it as an invitation and joined her in the alley. After enjoying a nice meal, they bit the body's throat aggressively to imitate a wild animal attack. Standard method. "Were you following me?" She asked.
He said yes.
"Why?"
The Pope sent a Vampire to kill my father, that's how I was turned. I have no other family, and it seemed reasonable to think that if the Vatican has no qualms with hiring Vampires, then they'd likely provide shelter as well."
"And that is what you seek?" Asked the woman. "Shelter?"
Hector nodded.
"How far have you come to find it?"
"I was born and raised on Spain, ma'am."
"Call me Idris--and that's a long hike for shelter, boy. Was there no community where you lived?"
Hector shook his head mournfully. "Few. And no one had a place to hide, ma--Idris. They keep away from each other where I come from. The possibility of being found out is . . . well, we're afraid of just being Vampires. That's the world, I guess." He sighed, trying to chase away his sadness. "I made a guess maybe community could be found here. So I came."
Idris smiled. "Well you're no fool, I'll give you that much. We do have shelter. About 60 miles beyond the holy seat is Orvieto. Beneath it is a whole underground city. It's been my roost for some time."
"How many others?" Hector queried.
Idris sighed. "Numbers vary. In the hundreds now, but we have sometimes been as few as thirty. Any Vampire willing to get a little dirty is welcome to stay; wait out this madness."
Hector scoffed. "As if it will ever end."
"This is a phase of extremes. More widespread than most, and may spread further still, but extremes die down eventually. If we stay cautious, and keep the right company, we will emerge unscathed."
Dietary needs aside, Hector disliked violence; but circumstances compelled him to accept the shelter of Papal goodwill in the name of self interest. Endless hiding and fleeing from so many towns had exhausted his will, his sense of hope. So he accepted the outstretched hand of the Underground.
A year later he regretted this single decision more than any other. He didn't mind the crowd. He didn't mind the smell. He didn't even mind the Cardinals making frequent use of the tunnels, or that any substantial amount of fresh blood only came when a truly aggressive purge was launched. Dissidents tossed to them by the dozen. Down the chutes they were thrown, rites of excommunication performed above them as they fell. The brutality of the latter did bother him, but even with shelter one wanted to avoid discovery. Caution ruled the world, so they rarely got more than a few warm meals in a decade. Ugly as it was, a city-wide cleansing (slaughter) usually meant they'd eat well for a few days.
No, what bothered him was the never ending river of blood spilled by the Vatican and detractors alike. Even those committed to weakening the unyielding supremacy of the Church; though motivated by a desire to end the ruthless prosecution of even minor sins, acted with a brutality equal to even the most paranoid, power-mongering Cardinals. His kind seemed completely hobbled by the state of things; helpless babies unable to use their own teeth.
This undeclared, many-headed war was like a giant boulder careening down an infinite hill. Mindless, but fatal to those in its path. The Living (and Vampires, for that matter) seemed determined, or at least willing, to bear this circumstance all the way to The Rapture.
Hector couldn't stomach the wait.
He wracked his brain for a way change things. The world at large was still dangerously inhospitable. What he needed was a way to destroy both the Vatican, and the most ruthless of the dissenters. They all had to go, or the world would never find peace. He wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't do it alone. Solitary crusaders singlehandedly defeating every sort of injustice only existed in myth and legend. They were bedtime stories, not guiding lights.
He needed to raise an army, but he had learned not to look to the Underground sheep for anything but slavish obedience. A city of such powerful predators, yet every one of them stood neutered, nearly paralyzed; their strength atrophied by centuries of relying on the Holy Teat. The great irony (as only Hector seemed to realize) being the Holy Teat was responsible for the parade of persecution which had driven them underground in the first place.
Knowing his immediate peers would be useless, Hector began to sneak out. He trained himself to tolerate sunlight for hours. As far as he knew this was unheard of. Learning to bear the scorch of sunlight for any length of time was a decade’s long task for most Vampires; but he was driven. Sunlight was only a minor obstacle in the way of a larger goal.
He watched for men and women who showed strength, who defended themselves or others when needed. He turned them, and kept them hidden in a long-forgotten nook of the Underground he'd discovered while searching for a convenient place to sneak out. He kept them fed well enough to be coherent, but too weak to leave. He explained eve
rything he could, answered questions, assuaged worries. His goal was to establish a trust. He needed their trust to make them understand; to make them ready for war. A war to end all wars. Once the Underground Vampires realized rebellion was possible, saw it with their own eyes, he believed most of them would find their teeth again, and join the cause.
He overestimated his peers. Hector and his creations staged the first strike against their so-called 'protectors' right there in the Underground where the rest could witness it. Five dissenters and five Cardinals. All were dragged in through different tunnels, all killed in the central gathering room while the Underground Vampires looked on, too shocked and confused to involve themselves.
Then she fought her way through the crowd.
Idris.
She approached, predator features in full display, and launched herself snarling and screaming toward Hector's young army. He had over 40 soldiers stashed all about Orvieto, but had only called on twelve for what should have been a bloody, awesome re-awakening of independent spirit.
He knew Idris was a ferocious fighter, but her talent for lighting quick carnage surprised even him. All but two of his creations lay dead at his feet within minutes. Most of the other Vampires either fled the room, or huddled together, stunned by the act of naked defiance.
"What