Disclaimer: I don't own Legacy of Kain.

For Crazydragon. I told her a long time ago that I'd write her a fic, only I forgot the prompt she gave me and she said to just write anything. Hence:


He really should stop this, Kain knew, standing over the broken body of another human.

He dismissed the idea of switching back to fledglings. They were less fragile, but all of them were growing too inhuman, too dull. He hated such stupidity in blood of his blood. A good thing, that they would die out.

And he'd make them, this disgrace, never exist, never happen.

Still, this wasn't healthy. He should be spending his time studying the past and future, gazing into the chronoplast, not tracking the elusive vampire hunters, looking for just the right one.

Dark hair, pale skin – those were all too common these days, thanks to the furnaces. Brave enough to fight him instead of cowering in terror at the realization they faced the Emperor himself, the ruler of the fiends. Hate in their eyes like he knew there would be in Raziel's.

And did he not deserve hate? Destroyer of their world, destroyer of his most beloved son?

He knew what he wanted, what he looked for in them, but even this one, who had borne the closest resemblance he had seen in far too long had simply shattered too quickly. He should have taken better care, but he was far too…

He wanted yellow eyes instead of blue, he wanted undead resilience, he wanted the body in his claws to struggle closer to him, not away.

He missed him.

Rahab was too far devolved now to leave the water: that loss was when Kain had finally given in and turned to humans.

He knew this was only making him miss him more.

The others could, would, die, and what of it? As long as Kain survived, as long as the coin still turned, he could alter time to restore them. Raziel, however, was the fulcrum on which everything turned.

Without Raziel's suffering, he would not become free of the wheel, of the tyranny of fate. Without that freedom, there would be no chance.

He wouldn't have been able to stand it, watching Raziel devolve, become mindless millennia from now and knowing he could have prevented at least some of it.

Throwing him into the abyss had been the only road to salvation.

And yet…

He was only marking time. He had done all the preparing he could. Why not go forward, go to the instant Raziel would return? Another century of this and he truly would go mad, not merely poisoned.

He could not wait to see him. Even the vision of the ruin Kain had made him, even that he was desperate to see. Even if Raziel, now, would not permit Kain's touch, even if he would not moan invitingly in his arms and tilt his neck to receive his sire's blessing.

Not merely to know that things had gone according to plan, that it had not been in vain.

He owed Rahab, at least, knowledge of his fate: Rahab, who had given but never questioned, who had tried to sate his sire after the loss and not dared to voice his wonderment that Kain would condemn one he so missed.

Ah, Raziel… the sword on his back was cold comfort, though even in its madness he knew it loved him, as he loved it. His right hand, his sword. Soon, soon he would say farewell to it, as he had to his first lieutenant centuries ago.

Only to toss the coin that would pay for his world's redemption, his son's salvation from the hell Kain (oh, and his intentions were the best!) had set him on the road to.

The human was not quite dead.

Its blood would not have the savor he so missed.

He fed it to the Reaver, stroking the hilt as he stood amidst the gore, the sword a pleased presence in the back of his mind, full, sated, for they were bound as truly as he was to the Pillar, pieces of his soul bound within the blade.

He murmured to it, soothing promises he would condemn the world to keep, if he must.