Disclaimer: I bet none of you even read these things, do you? I could just put "blah blah blahblabbity blah blah" in place of "I don't own shit," and no one would notice. . .
Author's Note: It's been a while, eh, guys? Sorry about that. I've got a million fics for tons of different fandoms swirling around in my head right now, but I never really feel like sitting down and writing any of them out. It sorta sucks. Eh heh.
But that's neither here nor there.
Anyway, this one was inspired—frighteningly enough—by my church. (That would be your cue to hit the back button. ;)) So let's see how this turns out, hmm?
Warnings for All Chapters: ZADR, dark themes, blood (duh).
Warnings for This Chapter: Christ-like/religious comparison/images. Vampirism.
"Your people are foolish."
The words rang eerily off of the stone walls, bouncing back and forth though the darkness like a toy ball—shattering the blissful silence. The candles' incessant glow wavered. It didn't matter.
A small smile tugged on the boy's pale mouth; his fair lashes fluttered half an inch upwards. "You've always said that before. Did you not mean it until now?"
"I mean it still," the other spat, sounding horrified and disgusted by any possible lapse in understanding. He noisily kicked a pew, grinning as it fell. Then he stepped carefully on top of it, delighting in the flicker of annoyed hatred that sparked into life behind his companion's eyes. Watch me defile your everything, human filth. "But now I mean it more than ever. Why waste your time praying to this invisible creature who does you no good? I have never seen him help you. What has he done to deserve your attention?"
"What have you done to deserve it?" the other retorted, though much more calmly. He returned his awareness to the marble altar and golden cross, piously folding his hands.
And though his adversary cackled madly, he seemed furious: he was not one to take being ignored lightly. A fact that he'd proven time and time again. . . "What have I done? Horrible things." And the world—the boy— bared enough scars to prove this true.
The stained glass flickered as the fires raged outside.
But rather than expounded upon these despicable deeds, the praying teen simply nodded in agreement. "And so has He."
"But he's done good as well."
The second male sniggered in disbelief, sauntering lazily foreword—throwing down the crucifix to make room for his ass. "Like?"
"He saves people," the first murmured, paying his companion very little heed. "From the Inferno."
"I do not see this Savior outside," the other chortled, casting a smug glance towards the exit. They were probably trapped, now—smoke would be filling this fortress soon, too. Yes. . . though the boulders could not burn, they could smolder. "And I think the inferno has come."
"You don't see because you don't believe."
"And what is there to believe in?" the second sneered, hopping off of the sanctified table and striding over, hips swaying in cocky delight. "Help you cannot watch? Words you cannot hear? Take my advice, pig smelly—only believe in the tangibles." Reaching the boy, smug air in tact, he allowed his gloved fingers to dart out— tauntingly tilting the other's chin. Their eyes met for the first time in days. "Only believe in yourself and your abilities. Depend on no one else. Or else you won't make it very far."
Said boy cocked an eyebrow. "I've made it this far, haven't I?"
. . . that was true.
"All right, then," the conqueror hissed, thin green lips pulling back in a horrible leer. A serpentine tongue darted out to lash an unsuspecting nape; it caused a delicious shiver to race down one's spine. "Show me. Show me the power of this deity of yours."
Show. . .
A pause; heavy and full of dark promise. Then the boy blinked his liquid black eyes and tilted his chin, baring his pale throat to the other. Voice soft, he whispered a light prayer:
". . . drink this, for this is my blood, the blood of the true and everlasting Christ. It will be shed for you and for all, so that sins may be forgiven."
His adversary greedily obeyed; rich scarlet droplets splattered against the stone floor.
"Do this in memory of me."