Authors notes/disclaimers: I don' t own Vampire Hunter D or anything related to that series. I do own anything not related with it tho. Ok, this was written after a week end of reading Servant of the Shard, too much Vampire Chronicles, Queen of the Damned sound track and a lot of other stuff. This has some relation and terminology from Vampire: The Masquerade, but don' t fret too much; the rests mine. Also this will be updated irregularly because I have exams and such. If you want to read more of my writing or anything else, go to macpooky. , also email me at to order me to write more.

WARNING: Violence, religious bashing, character insertion and homosexual themes, if any of this offend you don' t read it. If you do and you don't like it, don' t bitch at me cause I warned you (look at the pretty warning, look at it). All flames will be used to roast a copy of Memnoch The Devil over (I hate that book!! I hate it! She butchered Lestat and Armand!!). Comments begged for. This won' t be Mary-sue or the male equive cause I'm better than that.

BTW: D doesn' t appear in the first chapter. And some things about some vamps are different.. Companions Of The Night

- You see I can not be forsaken

Because I' m not the only one

We walk amongst you, feeding, raping

Must we hide from everyone?- Forsaken (David Draiman) Queen of the Damned ST

The evening had fallen, stealing the light from the world. The young scribe followed the elderly priest down the spiral staircase of stone steps that lead to chambers and crypts beneath the church that had survived the Final War. Holding the lantern in one pale hand, he hurried after Father Julian, trying to keep pace with the older man as he walked in long, confident strides towards the crypt of a long forgotten priest. As the priest pushed the door open (a thick oaken one, it had survived the centuries with little damage), he motioned for the young man to step inside. As youth did so, he felt a chill steal over him, as if it had been winter in the crypt here for many, many months.

His eyes revolved around the room; pale grey bordering on white stone walls, floor and steps leading down to the tomb and stone coffin at the end of the room. For all it' s glory, it wasn' t that big. Certainly larger than a normal burial chamber, but nothing extravagantly grand. He had really expected better and felt rather disappointed for it.

" W-what are we doing down here, Father?" The scribe asked. The priest didn' t answer and continued forward, walking down the stairs towards the coffin. With a mounting sense of dread, the youth crept forward. Trying to avoid making any noise.

" Lift the lantern a bit higher, son." The priest' s strong voice, so surprising in a man of sixty-two, echoed eerily in the empty chamber. The young man lifted the lantern up and then noticed a small alcove in the wall. He lifted the light towards it then, seeing it to be a ledge in the wall, he placed it there. Father Julian nodded in satisfaction and waved a hand to hurry him forward. The scribe hurried to him, glancing around the room. He felt as if eyes where watching him.

" Help me lift the cover." The priest ordered. Hesitating only briefly, the young man rolled the sleeves of his robes up to the elbows of his slim arms and gripped the end of the stone slab. Father Julian gripped the other end, both braced themselves and heaved the cover from it' s resting place. Lowing it slowly to the ground, trying not to choke on the cloud of dust that rose from the coffin, they let it drop the last few centimetres and straightened up. The scribe hissed in pain when he did so and ran his hand along his spine, trying to massage the ache from his back. He was not used to such heavy work.

Not so with the priest. He leaned over into the coffin, a grim smile on his face.

" Boy, come here and look." Creeping forward, feeling uneasy and rather ill, the youth looked inside. A body lay there, but it was not the body of a long dead saint. It' s skin was pale, bordering on grey. The cheeks sunken, lips stretched tight over it' s teeth. Arms (stick thin) folded over the wasted chest, veins ran like ropes over the bones and under the leather-like skin of the corpse. Golden-brown hair, covered in a layer of dust, fell about the skeletal shoulders of the figure.

"Why is it so well preserved? I thought it was hundreds of years old. " The youth whispered. Father Julian reached down and slowly lifted the lips of the corpse, pulling them back from the teeth. The scribe gasped in shock. The teeth gleamed dully in the light of the lantern, slightly brighter than the skin of the body, but the canines; the eye teeth...

They where fangs!

Long, pointed fangs. This body was not that of a human, the teeth showed that much, it was the prone form of a-

" Vampire!" the young man choked out as he stumbled back quickly, tripping over his own plain brown robes. Father Julian nodded and took several steps away from the crypt. He reached into one of the pockets of his black robes, pulling a rosary with a crucifix upon it. With a nod he turned to the young man.

"This fiend has lain asleep here for centuries. Now, with it' s kind fading fast, the time has come to destroy it!" The elderly priest turned back to the form of the ' sleeping' vampire and began to softly chant passages from the bible. The scribe took a few nervous steps forwards, glancing at the priest as he did so. He fumbled for his own rosary and dropped it on the edge of the coffin. Bending down slowly, cautiously, he reached out a hand to grasp the item...

The 'corpse' suddenly opened it' s eyes.

Green fire. It was as if someone had set bonfires alight behind those green, green orbs. With a soft cry, the scribe scrambled back away from the stone coffin. Crawling to the base of the stairs and watching in horror as the gaunt creature rose from the tomb that had contained it all these years. It stood, it' s blazing, glowing eyes focused on the chanting priest in the centre of the room.

Grinning almost manically, Father Julian lifted the cross above his head, holding it up for the vampire to look upon. The youth tried to cry out, but his throat seemed to have closed up.

"Get back to hell, demon!" The priest cried out. The vampire hissed in anger, it' s withered features seemed to twist in pain and it backed to the end of the coffin. Father Julian began to walk forward, holding the cross out before him as he advanced on the beast until he standing at the foot of the coffin.

"Back creature! Back I say! In the name of the Lord. The Father, the Son and the Holy gho-" He never finished. Almost quicker than the eye could follow the vampire rushed forward, gabbed the priest by his throat and lifted him up off his feet. It then spoke, it' s voice cracked, dry and full of scorn.

"Did you really think that this pathetic trinket could harm me?" It held the cross mockingly in front of the Father's face. Then, before the priest could answer, it pulled him down in to the coffin with it. There was a choked gasping sound, then nothing but the sound of the vampire feeding. The scribe put a hand to his mouth and fought hard to keep from throwing up.

When he lifted his head, he saw that the vampire had finished it meal and had stepped out of the coffin. It' s features where now fuller, more human. The face was now that of a young man in his earlier twenties, his golden-brown hair was wavy and now gleamed with a lustre like silk. His eyes no longer glowed like hot green coals, but they still retained a shade of unearthly emerald. His skin was now white instead of grey, his lips where seductively full and his slim form now healthy and alive. He wore a white shirt that showed plainly it' s seventeenth century make. Yellowing lace framed his wrists and neck line, his waist coat was a lighter shade than his hair with gold embroidery decorating it. His black pants ended at the tops of his thigh-high black boots. The scribe couldn' t help but stare at the unearthly being that now walked slowly towards him. He wanted to run, to scramble for the door, to escape. Anything but stare at this beautiful creature.

The vampire lowered himself to one knee in front of the youth, not quite touching him. He lifted a pale slim hand and gently brushed the young man's cheek.

"Do not fear, I shan' t harm you." The voice was like rich cream, sensuous and alluring, carrying a crisp English accent. He rose to his feet and held out a hand. Despite the death of the priest just a few moments before, the youth nodded and grasped the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet. He glanced over to the coffin once again and couldn' t repress a shudder.

"He deserved what he got. He abused his power and abused others with that power." The vampire said with what appeared to be a sneer. Uncertain of what this meant or where it might go, the scribe brushed a few strands of his feather soft blonde hair from his eyes and looked up at the ' man' that now stood in front of him. The vampire was stared at him for a few more moments before voicing the question that he must have been considering.

"What is your name, child?" The words were gentle and soft.

"Angelo." The young man replied quietly. " What is yours, sir?"

" Marcus." End of chapter one.