During the latter half of the war, the sky is always dark.

Turel has done his job well and the furnaces work day and night to burn the carcasses that the battles provide. Thick, oily smoke belches skywards, thickening the clouds with the ashes of the dead and covering Nosgoth with a funereal pall of death.

Raziel, at the head of his forces, stands with the wind rustling the ties of his armour and looks skyward. Carried on the breeze he can hear the chime of his warriors' armour and scent the cold, rich tang of vampire. Far in the distance he can see Dumah and Turel shoving one another in mock battle whilst their followers keep a respectful distance and laugh politely.

Frowning a little, Raziel rests the tip of his greatsword on the ground and leans upon it thoughtfully. There is a fearsome battle ahead of them. A great walled city of bone-white walls and deep, treacherous moats. This is not the time for casual joviality and his brother's antics make light of the severity of their situation. Sometimes it seems as though he is the only one taking this war seriously.

Raziel does not hear the approach of the other, and the sudden presence at his side makes his talons tighten hard around the pommel of his sword.

"Four days and we will have the city."

He turns his head sharply to look over one shoulder and finds Rahab scanning the horizon with a cool gaze. His brother's hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail and there are silver streaks in it that Raziel has somehow overlooked before. Rahab's cloak is a rich, deep blue, as long as their father's, and it falls over his shoulders in thick folds. The heavy hood is pushed back around his neck in a style atypical of the usually cautious younger vampire. Even more so than Melchiah do Rahab and his get fear the sunlight. This brazen defiance of the day marks a whole new step in his evolution and idly Raziel wonders when his brother became so powerful.

"Four days?" Raziel queries. His younger brother turns startling blue eyes upon him and nods.

"Four days," he confirms calmly and with a half bow to his older brother pulls his hood back over his head and sets off down the hill. Raziel watches him go and does not doubt his sibling's prediction, even if he can see no possible way for it to be true. Gesturing to the troops gathering restlessly behind him, he follows his younger brother. They will certainly never make it if they spend their days idling upon the hillsides.

The clouds overhead are darkening towards true night and there is the scent of rain on the air.

oOo

The walls of the city are not bone white as he had heard. They are dirty and grey, streaked with soot from the furnaces and spattered with blood. But they are high and the moats that surround them are deep and aflame with oil.

Vampires crowd at Raziel's shoulders and magics scream and hiss overhead casting shadows that dance wildly with those created by the flames on the water. Arrows fall from the sky and the screams of the wounded are a harsh descant to the background roar of the flames. The city is impenetrable and its citizens, safe on the walls, rain down fire and burning agony upon the vampire hordes.

For two days they fight a fruitless, losing battle until on the eve of the third day the gates open from the inside and Rahab, his cloak torn and the hood thrown back to reveal his soot-darkened face stands in the gateway and summons his brothers to join him inside.

As he rushes past, greatsword in hand, Raziel's gaze meets that of his sibling. The eyes of his younger brother are wilder than he has ever seen them before and full of a fierce, unbound exultation. And then he is past and in amongst the humans, the edge of his blade cutting a terrible path right through their midst.

On the fourth day the city falls.

oOo

He finds Rahab late in the evening of the fifth day, long after the last of the human resistance has been crushed. Without their high walls and deep moats to defend them, the humans became easy prey for the vampiric invaders and the few stubborn forces that remained were ruthlessly overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

Raziel has been searching long and hard for his brother, ever since the impenetrable city gates opened and he stood framed between them, his hand on the bolts. Overcome with furious curiosity, Raziel is desperate to discover the methods by which Rahab achieved his cunning victory.

He meets the sentries first, their eyes wary and defiant in equal parts as they catch sight of him. They are tall and whipcord lean, as is the way with Rahab's children, and one vanishes like a shadow behind the smoking remains of a wagon as soon as they catch sight of him. Raziel cranes his head a little to watch him go and amusedly ignores the remaining sentry who is squirming and attempting to direct his attention away by standing straighter and almost, but not quite, stepping out in front of the vampire lord.

"Where is your master?" Raziel drawls nonchalantly and looks the sentry up and down. He can smell the younger vampire's nervousness, no matter how much the other may affect a nonchalant pose.

"If you would be so patient as to wait a moment, my lord, my brother has gone to inform him of your arrival."

Raziel allows his smile to reveal his fang teeth as he nods and continues to stare directly at the younger vampire. To his credit, the sentry manages not to shift too often under such intense scrutiny and Raziel is almost disappointed.

The other sentry returns after a short time and with a polite bow leads Raziel back towards the city. At first it seems as though he is being led to the wagon, but the sentry bows and halts just behind it, gesturing the vampire lord towards the moat. With a curious last glance over his shoulder, Raziel heads down the gentle incline.

He hears the sound of moving water before his eyes pick out the shadowy figure. At first he thinks it a human, standing waist-deep as it is in the shallows at the edge of the moat, but as he draws closer the figure turns and looks over its shoulder at him. Deep, strikingly blue eyes meet his and Raziel halts breathlessly.

With a cool nod to his older brother, Rahab gathers his wet hair from where it lies in clinging strands around his neck and pulls it into a slick ponytail. Then, absently flicking droplets of water from his fingers, he continues to wash the blood from his skin. Raziel watches the movements, wide-eyed and amazed, following the fall of the droplets and the rivulets of water that thread their way over his brother's lean and muscular body.

Suddenly, low and appreciative in the gathering darkness, Raziel begins to laugh. His younger brother ignores him, dipping his head fully below the surface and whipping his hair back up in an arcing spray of water. Raziel's laughter turns to an indignant hiss and he raises gauntleted hands to ward off the acidic touch of the moat water.

"You bastard," he snarls darkly, shaking the liquid away from his skin with quick, pained gestures. Glaring at his younger brother, the scalding pain from even the tiniest of droplets beginning to fade, he is once more taken by the incredible sight before him.

No son of Kain can endure the touch of water upon his bare flesh, not even the Dark Father himself can achieve such a feat. To see his younger, weaker, brother – quiet, cool Rahab, with his strategies and his tactics and his cold blue eyes – bathing waist deep and seemingly completely unharmed in the liquid is astounding. Astounding and deeply unnerving. Raziel knows the terrible agony that is the touch of water upon a vampire's unprotected flesh and it sets his teeth on edge to see the nonchalance with which Rahab flouts all rules of his vampiric nature.

"This is how you did it, was it not?" he says eventually, allowing wonder into his voice without even realising it. He cannot see the curve of his brother's lips for Rahab has turned his back to him, but the pride in the other's velvet voice is unmistakable.

"But of course, my brother. The moats may be deep, but they are not secure. Not to one capable of overcoming their cruel touch and finding the hidden, unguarded tunnels beneath the surface. One such as I. After all," and here Rahab turns around and regards his elder brother, "Why guard against that which is impossible to achieve? A waste of resources surely? For everyone knows, vampires cannot stand the touch of water."

Slowly, his movements causing but the barest of ripples in the surface of the moat, Rahab begins to wade back towards the bank and his brother. He watches Raziel's face, noting the intensity in his gaze and the horrified fascination that has him tracing the droplets of water that slick down his brother's arms. The smile that graces Rahab's face is predatory and the surge of triumph in his chest is a fulfilment he has long awaited. As he walks, he speaks, his voice low and hypnotic, carefully gauged to entrance. Raziel watches him with a morbid fascination and Rahab does not miss the quick unsettled flick of his brother's tongue over his lips.

"This is the gift of my clan, brother. This is the edge we offer to our father's kingdom."

Reaching down, Rahab picks up his cloak from the bank of the moat and tosses it around his shoulders. Two steps and he is but inches away from his brother. Raziel, proud and defiant even in the face of this new discovery, refuses to lean back and droplets of water from the ends of Rahab's hair drip down on to his brother's clan drape.

"One day," Rahab says, his voice dropping to a whisper, "None of my children will fear the touch of the water and all shall do as I do and be as I am. I shall be king of my own realm then, and there shall be none who can touch me."

With a soft sigh of breath that ruffles the stray strands of Raziel's hair about his face, Rahab smiles and continues. "But you, dear brother. You shall always be welcome in my kingdom."

And with that, he pulls the cloak tight closed around his body and walks away into the gathering night. Raziel watches him go, the scent of the moat water strong in his nose, and wonders when his brother became so powerful.

oOo

Even covered in a slimy layer of oil from the moat, Rahab cannot stop the fierce grin that pulls at his lips. His two guards await him at the burnt-out wagon and as he approaches one hands him the rest of his clothes. The vampire lord casts a quick glance down at himself and wrinkles his nose in disgust at the oil. The moat had been covered in a layer of scum from the previous battle, just as he had known it would be, but the discomfort had been rewarded by the look upon his brother's face as he beheld his younger sibling waist-deep and unharmed in the moat.

"Find me cloth, a towel, and bring it to my tent," he says to his guards and they nod quickly. "And wine," he calls after them. "The best you can find. We have much to celebrate tonight."

Turning a cold, calculating glance to the Heavens, Rahab chuckles darkly to himself and fades into mist.