This is a fic about Melchiah. As you read it, you will notice that it contains absolutely no reference whatsoever to Melchiah. I'll have to post that fic another day, because this one simply took over. In fact, it completely kicked the rounded backside of the Melchiah fic. Sorry, Melchiah.

This idea has been in my head for too long. It is dark and angsty. I love Janos and want to cuddle him forever.

Bear in mind when you read this, that Janos has never met Kain. His idea of the Champion is somewhat different to what we know him to be. This story kind of ties in a little with some of my others, but it's not at all necessary to have read any of them. The name of the Hylden Lord is a reference to the work of one of my friends Emerald Embers, whose work can also be found on . It's her idea he's called Ezekiel. I'm just following her lead. :D

Baa.

(SPOILERS for BO2 and DEFIANCE)

-

Spectres

Time in this place, was immeasurable. He felt perhaps the passing of days, of months, of years, but could be no more certain of it than he could be of his exact location. He had ideas of course, vague recollections of jumbled and misplaced events that might or might not have happened. The gloom of this steel prison permeated his skin and mingled with his soul so that at times he could not even be sure where his body ended and the outside world began.

He shifted against the straps that bound him, one over each shoulder, and tested his weight against the bonds on his wrists. The movement pulled at the tubes they had inserted into his skin, twisting his flesh and making him gag at the sensation, and he subsided uneasily. He could feel his wings dragging behind him, a dead weight where they hung broken and useless against his back. Had they not been drawing his blood through their parasitic lines, the bones would have healed long ago. But as it was they lay at odd angles to the floor, the tips of the edge feathers digging into the skin of his back uncomfortably.

The heat of this place made him sweat, rivulets of salt liquid running down his forehead and the groove between his shoulders. The soft feathers of his inner wing were damp and sticky and itched almost unbearably with the heat. He craved moisture; the refreshment and bitter fulfilment of blood. Sometimes the need was so strong that he considered calling out to someone, anyone who would listen and perhaps take pity. But he did not. He would not, could not, fall so low.

Where was his Saviour now? Now, when he understood, when all had been explained to him though he had tried so hard not to listen. This Fate was a cruel one that played him for such a fool. He bent his head, his hair, grown long now in the space of his captivity, falling down around his shoulders in strings. He wanted to lean down and place his head to the cool steel of the floor, but his restraints would not allow it. Instead he hung against the bonds until the pull on the piping became too much and he was forced to straighten or endure the sickening sensation of the tubing moving in his flesh. The wounds where the steel punctured his skin and slipped into his veins had long since healed and no longer caused him any pain save for the constant dragging at his body that he felt as the system drained him of his vital blood. Sometimes the pull became too much and it was all he could do to stay kneeling upright as the room swirled around him. Often he simply abandoned himself to the darkness and allowed unconsciousness to lead him away to respite.

Mostly, he dreamed. Half-waking dreams that walked a fine line between reality and fantasy, overlaying themselves one on the other until he could no longer tell when he was awake and simply delusional or when he was actually dreaming. There were many times that he was sure there was someone else in the room with him, moving quietly in the corners but choosing not to reveal themselves. Perhaps there was, the Hylden had to maintain their power source somehow. They did bring him blood at almost regular intervals, their scaled and warped faces cold and sneering as they gripped his head and forced his mouth open to receive the weak blood broth that he depended upon for his sustenance. He hated them for it, and yet he needed them and their paltry excuse for nourishment.

Swish, swish

In the gloom, a shadow moved. Janos raised his head wearily, his eyes dull and slightly unfocussed, and watched with a disinterest induced by frailty as the figure approached. It stepped quietly into the soft glow thrown out by the walls of his cage, the long black flight feathers of its wings just trailing over the floor with a rhythmic swishing sound. He watched the wing tips move over the ground, his eyes following the swaying of the white hem of the other's robes as the movement of its hooves rippled the fabric.

Swish, swish

The other came to a halt not three feet away from him and stood silent, waiting. Janos allowed his eyes to travel upwards, moving over the white robes to calf height, then to the knees and up to the thighs where the first splashes of crimson could be seen. He followed the bloody trail upwards to the other's chest, the white and gold of its robes stained deep burgundy with old blood. He stared for a long while at the bloodied hands of the other hanging freely at its sides and then looked up to the ghastly figure's visage. Streaks of viscous fluid ran from the empty eye sockets of the vampire's face, running crimson paths over his blue cheeks and dripping slowly down to mar his white guardian's robes.

Janos laughed quietly, a dry rasping sound that was terrible in its despair.

"Go away, Champion. You're too late. Or do you come...purposefully...to mock me?"

The ghoul did not reply, instead it raised its hands in what might have been supplication, its palms dark with blood.

"I cannot help you. I was...too late...too...Leave me. You are not Raziel..."

Janos let his head drop, the effort of looking up confounding him finally. His gaze fell to the apparition's feet and he watched in silent misery as droplets of crimson spattered softly against the cold steel. Ghost blood.

"Why do you...persist...?" he whispered. "I was so wrong...you do not need to remind me. Let me rest...in my despair..."

Click, click

"Talking to yourself again, Janos? Pitiful. Mind you, if I had such a burden of guilt to bear, I have no doubt I would have abandoned myself to insanity long ago as well."

Janos squeezed his eyes fiercely closed for the space of a heartbeat, and then opened them again to the gloom. The room in front of him was empty, the shining steel of the floor clean of any blood. The shadows at the edge of the room were impenetrable to his failing eyes, but he needed no sight to recognise the voice of the other.

"Ezekiel..."

"Ah! It still reasons! It still has memory for the small things! Well done, Janos, welcome back to the land of the living, glad you could join us. In as much as the undead can of course..."

Janos' fingers curled into fists, the tightening of his skin causing the tubing in his wrists to stretch and tug at the muscle.

Click, click

The ancient vampire listened to the other circling his cage, hidden in shadows made deeper by the illumination cast by his prison. His bony feet tapped sharply on the steel and Janos supposed that he had removed his customary armour to appear in his natural form.

"Come out...you bastard..."

"All in good time, old friend...all in good time."

Each tap of the other's footsteps made Janos twitch almost imperceptibly, the sound sharp against the monotone thrum of a vast sprawl of machine far below their feet.

"So tell me, Janos. Who was it this time? Your man, or mine? I know you get so terribly confused about the whole matter...but it must be difficult, mustn't it? All those ages of waiting. Alone. Despairing. Slowly growing older without ever changing without. Whilst inside, the spirit is slowly breaking under the weight of the aeons..."

The straps of Janos' restraints creaked as his shoulders tensed in fury. This hylden had a way with his words that ignited the flames of his hatred instantly. And of course, there was so much shared history between the two of them.

Click, click

"Has anyone told you yet, Janos?

Click, click

The old vampire forced his fists to uncurl and tried to quell the rage that shook his shoulders with its force. He deliberately did not give the hylden the satisfaction of trying to follow his movements in the gloom. Instead he listened, tracking the other only by his footfalls. Circling steadily, never stopping. A predator closing in on a lame and cornered prey.

"The good news, vampire. Have you heard it? Come on, come now. Do make the effort, you want to play don't you?"

This time he could not stop his fists from clenching. He allowed his head to drop, hiding his impotent rage behind the folds of his hair.

Click, click

"You're no fun anymore, old friend."

A faint humming passed in a wave throughout the chamber as somewhere in the city another Hylden engineer rerouted a power supply. The tiny lights on the cage pillars dimmed briefly and Janos felt an answering pull on his body as the creature that fed off his blood drew harder in compensation. The vampire gave a pained hiss through clenched teeth , the tips of his talons digging into the palms of his hands as he braced against the sickness the feeling induced.

Click

"Poor thing. Does it hurt?"

Click, click

"I hope so." A sigh, "after all, you do deserve every humiliation we can inflict upon you for the centuries of suffering you inflicted on us."

The pain slowly subsided allowing Janos to breathe again. He placed his palms flat on the cold floor and leant on them wearily.

"You...d-deserved...everything...that befell you, you...fiend..."

"Ah! It does still retain the ability to speak. I was beginning to wonder!"

Janos shook the sweat out of his eyes and refused to rise to the other's bait, choosing silence for his answer.

"But back to the good news I think. Obviously since no-one has taken the time to enlighten you, out of the goodness of my own heart, I shall."

Click, click

"I have it."

Click, click

"I have the Soul Reaver!"

Janos' eyes snapped open.

Click, click

"No...that cannot be..."

"Ah, dear old Janos. Forever living in denial..."

The reinforced straps that held his shoulders creaked ominously as the vampire rose up against them in fury. Had he not been so weak, they would have broken in an instant. Had the creature called the Mass not been draining him all these years of his most vital power, he could have been free. But it was not so, and overcome by the lengths of mere leather and steel, he could only sink back to his knees in defeat, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And what's more, my old friend, your pitiful Scion of Balance, your Chosen one, has fallen to my blade."

Janos could do nothing, the blood thrummed angrily in his veins, thinned even as it was, and his thoughts would not settle into focus. The news was shattering. The last hope of the Vampires had fallen, the sword was in the hands of the Enemy.

Click, click

"And do you wish to know how I did it?"

Click, click

"Do you?"

Click

The footsteps halted directly in front of him at the wall of his prison. Janos raised his eyes to the figure revealed by the dim light and locked gazes with the Hylden Lord. The creature smiled at him with cruel joy and drew from the folds of its robes, a gold-encrusted jewel. It glimmered ethereally in the muted light, and the ancient vampire closed his eyes in appalled recognition.

"I...had thought that thing...lost...centuries ago," he whispered.

"As did we," smiled Ezekiel.

"I'll leave it here shall I? So that you can get a good, long look at it, Janos? Would you like that, my old friend...?" he said softly and gently laid the Nexus Stone on the ground before the glimmering walls of the vampire's prison.

Click, click

"Good night, old friend."

Click, click, click...

Janos stared for a long time at the delicately glowing artefact before closing his eyes to the sight and lowering his head. His fingers curled tightly, his talons digging into his flesh breaking the skin and causing his blood to well from the gouges before dripping quietly to the floor.

Swish, swish

The Ancient squeezed his eyes closed tightly, willing himself to be strong, to hold faith even in the face of this most dreadful of revelations. If the Soul Reaver was lost and the Scion had fallen, then there could be no hope for this ruined land.

Swish, swish

His breath shuddered in his chest as he sought to control his despair. As if in answer to his efforts, the Mass stirred and drew mindlessly on his body for more strength. The room seemed to spin around him as it drained him of his blood, stealing his strength and his hope alike.

Swish, swish

He was hardly aware of the presence of the other as the Champion knelt at his back. The apparition reached around him, pulling Janos' head back to lean against its bloody chest, its great black wings lifting round to encircle them both. The blood from its ruined eyes trickled slowly down over its sapphire cheeks and dripped softly onto the floor to mingle with the blood of the tenth guardian.

And in the darkness of the Hylden's stronghold, the last ancient knelt alone in his prison and gave himself up to oblivion.