This is my new story entitled 'Laws of the Gods', which is about Jasper's life from the Civil War (circa 1861) to his first day at Forks High School (circa 2003-2004). This is also a companion fanfiction to my other story, written in much the same way, about Edward's life from his turning to a vampire (circa 1918) to the first day he met Bella (circa 2005) entitled 'Malay Pikul'. I suggest you read the two of them, because I have some scenes that are the same in both stories, so you can see both points of views. Now, since Jasper's life story thus far is fairly unknown, I made much of this up, but stayed to the definite facts of his life. If you see something off, just leave a review and I'll get right on it. :) Enjoy the story.

Characters from Twilight © Stephanie Meyer. Text © Golden Skans.

war hero


Noise; the air is filled with it and it never ceases. His ears ring as – bang – another bomb goes off and his mind aches as the screams of yet another individual splits through the pitch black night, like a beacon of light. The screaming. It was agonizing, hearing comrades voices hit octaves he had never thought possible in their small; their hopeless plight that they may express their anguish in that blood curdling sound. No one dared to near the one whose screams softly faded as the stream of blood began to thin from his wound, from the place half his leg should have been located.

He, at first, had been sick whenever he saw such an injury, yet now, now it was almost routine. Your day wasn't full until you'd seen some grotesque wound on a fellow soldier. Some deformity that would quickly claim the life of it's victim. It was maddening, knowing most were not a day older than he, still young and unprepared, yet willing to give it all up for honour. They had been told they would be honoured if they fought in this war; yet who would be able to identify the thousands of corpses that littered the battlefield? Many would go unnamed, unrecognized, and honour would never befall them. They would be a nameless corpse that fell in battle.

Aggravation was making his head reel, and he didn't even glance upwards or flinch as the sky was illuminated in the light of another explosion, accompanied by that deafening sound. Dirt is flown into the air, and some has flown far enough it could land on him, dusting his clothing. He couldn't help but notice it smelt of blood.


He would be nineteen, on this day, but it went unnoticed. Birthdays were forgotten in war. You never aged. That happened after.


He clutches the musket to his chest, gasping for the air that never reaches his lungs. Searing pain flares and engulfs, and the sensation of calm is all but lost to him. Never has his mind folded in on him so; no coherent thoughts or words are forming, only screams.

The screams of the dying around him, the screams tearing from his throat and leaving it worse off then it was before, yet it is ceaseless. A never ending cascade of anguished screams descends upon the deaf ears of the dead, and those who do not care. He's losing the battle with life and he can sense the humanity slipping from between his fingers as they involuntarily loosen their hold on his prized rifle. He can no longer remember where the wound was, he can no longer tell if he is bleeding, for he feels as though there is no more blood. Fear clutches at him and he can think only a single thing between the fear and pain:

Where had his heart gone?


As his screams continued to ring out into the bleary, booming night, a single pair of eyes watches and observes his trembling body. She only waits, her smirk set firmly in it's place.


Eyes open wide, he blinks. Alive is unfathomable, he assumed himself as a ghost of the fallen, a comrade lost in battle and he wonders if it happened for all of them this way. His mind wanders as the blazing sun breaks through the clouds and gently cascades over his bloodied body; he only closes his eyes and remains still.

The sudden intensity of the shine makes him squeeze his eyes shut tighter, trying to shield off the brightness that sparked up in such an unexpected fashion he assumed it to be a bomb, yet there is no noise. Opening a single eye, the lid squinting tight in the light, he sees a miraculous sight and sits up like a bolt. Eyes open wide, he blinks.

He never dreamed the dead glittered.



The singing melody of a voice is heard to him, though he sees nothing. He rises from the dirty earth, though does not bother to look down at his soiled self, nor does he question why the earth under his surprisingly gentle feet squishes so slightly as he steps. He has felt that before.

Facing the direction he believed the voice to have come from – he did not doubt his overly keen hearing, never had he been so sure – he took steps; but he moved with such grace and such speed, he stopped. An amazed gaze is sent to his own feet, and he gapes slightly; lips parting, he breathes deeper.

A miraculous laugh ricochets out of the forest ahead of him, but he's too distracted to notice. The feeling that has encompassed his entire throat and has shaken his core is nearly sickening, and he feels his mouth overflow with a liquid which oozes more than flows. Panic, he became aware as he saw the figure emerge, the coy smile of superiority stapled to her features or perfection, was to accompany him hand in hand in death.

battle cry



The elusive feeling of calm that had primarily washed over him when his eyes had first opened to the world – presumably in his death – had long since left him. The findings of what this was left him uneasy, utterly bare and dry, as if the world had stripped him of his morals.

I was to kill these people or die by their hand.

Vampires. They came together in the war, a new force to reckon with that the army had no chance of ever defeating, not with their silly muskets and not with their oversized bombs. Who could hit a ghost? For that was what they were, ghosts of the fallen, haunting and killing for vengeance and revenge, getting their comeuppance. The brutal hearts of the murdered had stilled and gone cold, blood flowed down their throats, it was no longer pumped through their heart. The evil hunger in the eerie crimson eyes that they bore into you with such fervent intensity was enough to make a persons skin crawl.

Yet he stood, looking proud and sure, attempting to make the confidence billow from him. He noticed a change in their composition, even in those who sat, seemingly lifeless on the sidelines. The straightening of the backs, the clenching of their perfect jaws, the excess of passion and confidence in their eyes. He wavers; had he done that?


They stood in a row, chins raised up and eyes twinkling in utter delight and mocking laughter.

"What are we—"


"—attempting." He finishes it not in a question, as he will do as he has answered. Attempt. With such speed, they dance across the battlefield, all but invisible to the humans he once fought with – how strange it was to suddenly kill the ones who fought for him, at a time. A howl, and the teeth – pearly white and razor sharp, yet deceptively ordinary – sink into the flesh of one gun wielding human. His bullets only crumple and fall to the ground.

They are dead before the pain sets in.


"You say some have gifts," he asks, though his lasts words are muffled by the soldier he brings to his lips; his hesitance is gone, normality has set in again. Much like adjusting to deformities and gore, he has accepted the routine of a vampire. Only in the back of his mind does he mourn for the bodies he piles high.

"Some." A response comes after the kill is finished, one does not postpone death. Not for peace of the murdered, for the freshness of the blood. Warmth fades quickly, speed is the key.

"I would learn mine," he lunges at another, grasping warm flesh beneath cold hands, "in what form?"

"I cannot say." The answer is short and curt, conversation is rare on the battlefield, it takes away from the atmosphere. If ones mind strays and distraction sets in, one could mindlessly step upon a landmine and blow themselves to pieces. The humans could not know the vampires can be stopped by being torn apart; weakness is not a favoured trait.

"Do you have—"



They kill in silence until the sun prepared to come back up, and their skin glows in the faintest of sparkles.


The confusion that swept through him was sharp and swift, like a sudden shock wave of feeling blazing like a fire in a gas tank. He frowns, his clouded eyes scanning the room for the source of this heavy emotion, to see a new born, staring with wide eyes at the beauties before him. Confusion and awe are the only things he feels.


Wave after wave of calm spreads from him to the others, to the victims. Their muscles loosen and become lax, and their eyes show a sense of peace they hadn't felt since the soles of their shoes had set foot upon the soil already rich with blood.

The predators take advantage, springing upon the relaxed victims with ease and grace, making murder look like an art; a wondrously beautiful thing. He watched as a female leapt with such agility, sending herself flying through the air towards a captivated individual, and when she lands he is already dead. The victims corpse falls with a gentle thud and the upturned look of his lips falters slightly.


The war ended with such subtly, he barely noticed. His body ached for the ability to lung and attack relentlessly; he didn't know what to do with himself.

a dark design


He remained with them, too unsure to stay on his own, but not close enough to want to be there by the end of the day. Conversations were rare and far apart, their lengths limited to sentences. Never had he felt so alone, not even in the tents during the war where all kept to themselves, and no one dared make eye contact. At least he knew they all, deep down, had the same ambitions and the same fears, at least he knew they all felt fear and they all felt pain, anguish, remorse.

He could feel the emotions coming from the ones he stayed with, and he didn't identify with them at all. Through momentary lapses in his better judgement, he wished to send out feelings of love, and happiness, to see how these creatures would deal with such foreign emotions.

Yet, he never dared.


He divulged in literature, the texts expanding his mind exponentially, himself pursuing the scholarly regime he, as a mortal human, had never been given the privilege of doing. For he felt lonely, in an odd sense, and felt the wisdom seeping from the pages of text comforting in a superficial manner. Alas, what else did he have?



"Oh, you sulk far more often that one should!" A quip, and his head is ripped from the words of the page and his attention is brought to her. Maria. The source of his change and this eternity of solitude and death. Yes, there was wisdom buried deep beneath the hardship, but it wasn't worth recognizing – one could live a life without knowledge.

"What do you propose I do, then?" His original fear of standing out has long since faded, and his confidence has risen dramatically; yet he didn't feel any happier. Why should he?

"Do something," the exasperated voice of her mate rings out in the large study. They had killed the original owner of this house – "it was far too easy" Maria had muttered – and resided in it only until a relative passed by the see strangers inhabiting the mansion.

He observed them, the bond they had – though not readily displayed in touches of affection; they were much too proud – was strong, and the feeling of comfort when one was near was nearly overwhelming.

He stands, his book falling to the floor in a thud that is louder than he had heard in a while; sound fell upon deaf ears for him. He didn't speak, simply gave a nod and exited, and he never did glance back.


The human world spelt disaster for him, and so he remained afar, observing their ways closely, yet never too closely. The smell was intoxicating, and infuriating at the same time. War was about to befall the humans yet again, but this war was different, against strangers in a foreign place. Tension was high and fear all around; but he still remained hidden.

He didn't know if he could fight with them. Not this time.


The killing was loosing it's edge; it was a formality that though it didn't unnerve him, left a persistent nag in the back of his mind as he felt the preliminary panic followed by the altered calm he gave to them. It was the least he could do; calm them. The struggles they put up when frightened were so futilely useless it almost made him abandon his original mission, leave them trembling in an alley or in the woods; but he never did. His thirst was greater than his good.


The only difference the war brought for him was the distinct lack of able youth walking the streets. His favourite meal had left for a different shore; to become some other beasts sustenance. He was sure he felt a small sweep of envy for them.


He had left Texas, his home of so long with so few memories – and even fewer fond ones – and was heading east, to where he wasn't sure. Travelling by night, he found solace in the stars and their gentle glow. He didn't sparkle as they did, his was a vicious glitter, a foreboding affair that left him ashamed, if not angered by the reflection of the sun upon his skin. Stars twinkled, while he seemed to give off a glare that shocked and unnerved. It would be the truth to say he became jealous of the stars, and eventually stopped glancing upwards as often as he once did.

Besides, the stars had their eternal companions, the ones that glittered as them. He only had the trees and victims.


The war was past, and his prime meal had returned home. The shortage for him was finished, and he could once again resume his routine of killing the able and the strong. The weak were distasteful for him; nothing more than a empty victory, if you will.

Yet the feeling of unease had grown; these men had survived a war – something he hadn't – and they were to be slain by him, when they thought it was over. He eventually stopped the calming waves, and let them feel fear and terror. It sent an unusual chill through his body, and made it both better and worse. It made him feel, even if it wasn't pleasant.

He didn't feel that often, anymore.


Time stopped existing. Years blended together, and kills were all but a mass of liquid down his throat. Depression began to set in, something he hadn't fathomed happening, even in his years of disquiet. He hadn't thought it possible. All that neared him felt it, and their pace would slow and their heads would hang; their eyes ceased to shine, and no smile would reach their lips until they were away from him. Yet, he let it be.

And he kept searching for that something.


War again. This time, he was going too.


He would have something to battle, something to do with his everlasting time. This time, he wasn't engaged in combat with the humans; no, he went after the vampires of the opposing army. There hadn't been any, in the Civil War; they had all simply been against the humans but here, they were all against him.

He relished in self satisfaction as he killed the vampires; they could fight back.


He had lost count of the kills, it was easier to forget the numbers and just focus on the attack. The kill was key, a moments hesitation and your window of opportunity was gone; though it did help that he could relax his victim if he did such a thing, but where was the fun in that?

He had found others, doing much the same as him, killing both human and vampire alike; equalizing. His thoughts of solitude were momentarily abandoned.


When he returned home – in a much more unfashionable way than an airplane or boat – feeling oddly empowered, and with the belief something was going to go right. He believed something miraculous would happen, he could feel it deep within himself; a sign it wasn't coming from another.

For once, he was right.

new light of tomorrow


From afar, she was small, almost pixie like, with short black hair that seemed untamed yet unabashed, her figure small, slender and graceful – the grace left him in awe, never had he seen a vampire move with such a flow to their stride. She danced more than walked, and pranced more than ran; stunning. Her face, with it's perfect small features – like a perfect miniature of a goddess.

He was captivated, from the very moment his red eyes found her, bounding through the forest. He had felt jubilant emotions coming from her, as well as general confusion, though towards what the emotions were aimed towards, he did not know. He followed behind her, and as they ran – her seemingly oblivious to his presence – he felt her excitement grow; in the end, even he was anticipating something magnificent.

When she spun on her heel and stopped before him, in all her splendour, he would have to admit he was completely taken aback. Her eyes, they twinkled with such anticipation and brilliantly intoxicating happiness he almost let out a joyful laugh; yet he held it in.

"You followed me." Her voice was a melody, a song better than any he had heard. It was a whisper, and despite the distance between them, he felt as though her words were said right into his ears. A gust of wind blew towards him, and he was hit with her scent; he had to force himself to remain still.

He only nods in answer to her words, for it wasn't a question.

"You seem surprised." He doesn't make a move for the longest time, unsure as to what to do. He feels her happiness, her excitement, but behind it all was the hidden apprehension, the feeling of unease.

He hadn't realized he'd moved until she felt her skin against his, and for the first time, he felt warm.


"How did you know?" His question had been playing in his mind since the start, but he hadn't voiced it until then.

"I was wondering when you would ask," she cooed. His arms wrapped securely around her, he let his head fall into the small hollow between her shoulder and her neck, taking deep breathes if only to absorb her smell. It was perfect. "I saw you."

"How so?"

"I can see the future."

He looked at her for a moment, taking her in for the hundredth time that day, and then nodded.

"I've been searching for you, too."

She smiled, and he couldn't help but smile back, before placing a gentle kiss upon her still upturned lips. As they broke apart, her smile only grew as she lay her head upon his chest.

"I know."


She had seen the family in a vision, a family of vegetarians, she said. He almost mocked the idea, and would have done just if she had not seemed to fascinated by the prospect.

She had said they would seek out this family, and he could do nothing other than go along with her plans; he would never disagree or disappoint her. So they had searched, all over America, for this family, so they could change. The word was foreign for him, change. He had not changed so drastically since his new birth, even his change to be with Alice was a small one, in retrospect. But he would change, if only for her.

And as they knocked upon the door, his hand sought hers and they sent a fleeting glance at each other; it was enough to steady them, calm them. Simple gestures were everything for them.




They stood in the main entrance of a grand mansion owned by vampires, yet not just any vampires, these were them. He felt apprehensive, stepping into their house, with the five pairs of gold coloured eyes watching their every move. One, in particular made him uneasy. His confidence was unnerving, and the sly, rueful smile that never left his lips made him suspicious.

He surveyed the family, taking them in, calculating their strength, their love, everything he could. He was not one to trust easily, and if had not been for his dear Alice, he would not be there at all, that he was certain of. If they were to lay a single cold finger upon her, he would not hold back in tearing them to shreds, for none could stop him if he were to attack, not even the brawny dark haired one who had a coy smile on his face.

A laugh from the bronze haired one – the oddity – and he focuses his attention to him – Edward, he was called. He searched for emotions, yet it was empty, as if there was not a person but a void.

"How right you are," Edward mumbled, and his eyes squinted in a glare. A mind reader? Or a interpreter? He was tense, but the other acted nonchalant, indifferent. "But you should not worry, we do not mean to harm you. She knows this," he added, and he nodded his head in Alice's direction. She didn't seem surprised, but she was unnerved by his keen ability, and he could sense it. She was still calm, she believed him, and if she was to believe him, who was he to say no?

"How can I trust you?" His tone betrayed him, showing more interest than he would have liked, but for a moment, he wasn't interested in how he looked to these vampires. If Alice wanted to stay here, he would stay there for her. If she wanted him to trust these vampires, he would try. For her. Perhaps he is right, after all?

"Time," was the mocking answer, and with that the other moved to exit, only to call out over his shoulder, "besides, she is keen on the idea."

He couldn't help himself as the growl ripped from his throat in a malicious sound. The bastard.


The scorching at the back of his throat was enough to make a man, even one such as himself, fall to his knees and beg for mercy – but to have such a thirst and to only be able to quench it with animal blood, it was almost an insult. Added injury to the wound. Alice, though much calmer than he, was going through the same dilemna, but he could sense it was nowhere near the intensity of his own.

When they went out, with the entourage of the other members of the Cullen family, he could smell the humans a few miles off and the sensation worsened. He tried with all his might to remain on course, yet his body often deceived him, darting off towards the luxurious scent of human blood, of his food. Edward was always the one to gruffly bring him back, snarling and snapping, to the group.

On this day, his mind was particularly off, for he had not been to feed on anything – animal or human alike – in a few days. Endurance, they said. Endurance? He could not begin to fathom why they felt he should be concerned about endurance if he was to mingle in human society. Why push his limits when it was so easy to reach out a hand and grasp a small, weaker being and take it as your meal? Why taunt him with the ideas of—

"Stop thinking about it!" A snarl, echoing in the massive room and the eyes of all vampires are upon him, Edward. He couldn't help but flinch as Edward's angered emotions rushed towards him, yet he managed to keep his own temper at bay. He would be far too wild to keep himself in check, his body was aching and to let himself go would be like unleashing the beast snarling within. He sighed, still a calming gesture despite all these years of having no reason to use such a human gesture, and knew the truth behind Edward's words. He wasn't trying nearly as hard as he could have been; as he should have been.

"Edward, please." The man the others looked at as a father figure, and who Alice saw as one as well, spoke up. "It will be hard for him, you know how hard it was for you. Give him time, its only been two years…"

"He's giving himself over to his animal instincts!" The prodigal son retorted. He felt the frustration that was leading him on, the anger that seethed beneath the surface. And to think, such a person was once a void to him. "He's barely trying! He doesn't even want to feed of animals! He wants to be a monster! If it weren't for her" –he angrily points his finger towards Alice, and he has almost crossed the boundary. Clenched fists ensue the words—"he wouldn't even be trying!"

He glances at Alice, but she is blank, her mind viewing the future in a way he had become used to. Shutting his eyes, he tries to harness her inner peace and sends out the feeling in waves, calming the once tense atmosphere, yet he himself remains stressed.

And his thoughts of blood and death never cease, despite his attempts.


Clutching her to his chest, he still felt distant from his lover. He was not used to being with a family of this size, he had not been near so many of his kind since the Civil War; it was strange and unusual, yet he stayed for her.

Her eyes were shut, something she enjoyed to do despite not even remembering what sleep, was. The others in the family were confused by her, as if not remembering ones identity was a crime, and they interrogated her as if it would help her remember. He barely remembered human life, only a few things like family, and war – that was clear in his mind – but very little else. All others were the same, yet they found her odd.

He wanted to escape from them and their emotions, yet he could not. The turmoil running within each one berated him each day until he felt the need to leave and sit outside, away from that. He could not even accomplish that much, however, as if a subtle gust of wind were to bring along with it a scent, that of a human, he would have no one to restrain him, and he would fall into his old ways without hesitation. He felt like a prisoner, except he was able to escape, only he knew he would commit the same crime he always did if he were to leave: murder. He was jailed for others protection, the protection of those whom he had barely considered prior to this new life. These new rules.

He didn't know what to do with himself, in the rare times he was by himself. Alice had found herself befriending the family, Edward in particular, and so he would more often than not be inside by himself, contemplating things he had best not contemplate. He didn't feel any sort of attachment to the family as she did, he felt out of place and more like a third wheel than a member. It was as if he was the one who was never invited along, who was left out in the cold more often then not. He may have felt excluded by the family on some occasions, but with Alice in his arms, and her skin – warm to him, warmer than anything else – against his, his mind ceased and he could only let those rare, blissful smiles cross his face and the only emotion pouring from his was sheer happiness.

As she stirred in his arms, he glanced down to see her peering at him with glowing eyes – her eyes had already settled nicely into that hypnotizing topaz colour, while his was a muddy brown, not yet fully changed and thus it became yet another reminder of what his instincts told him to do.

"Stop thinking," she murmured, her head finding his chest yet again and her arms wrapping themselves as best they could around his waist. She hugged herself to him as tightly as possible, and he felt the gentle smile play at his lips.

"I try," he whispered. Her head looks back up, and he looks down, and in he moment their eyes connect, his mind stops.

Only she can do that, and he loves her for it.


"Are you always so tense?" The booming voice of Emmett is heard, the resounding noise circling the room before entering his ears. He winces, it's not as though he has loss of hearing or something of the like; must he speak so loudly?

"He feels he has to," Edward called, walking through the room and into another, where his prized piano sits, it's ivory keys gleaming so magnificently.

"What?" The big one, lost in his confusion, follows Edward, who is now radiating mockery and laughing gently under his breath. It only increases the frustration of the larger. "What do I feel I have to do?"

As the inane laughter and ridiculous frustration continues, he groans, letting himself fall onto one of the plush sofas located in the room. He places his head in his hands and tries to block them out, he knows trying to calm them will do no good at a time like this.

As Emmett's voice grows louder, and Edward's laughter gets closer to hysterical, he can only growl.

"Must you feel so much?"

The bigger is before him in an instant, peering down at him with interest.

"You're even worse than Edward," he laughed, before bounding away to no doubt interrupt someone else's day with his incessant need for attention and entertainment.

"That makes me feel much better."

He didn't need the enhanced hearing of a vampire to hear the laughter coming from every member of the family.


He felt as though he was retired, it was such an easy living. Yet, he hadn't thought that in retirement, they would attend school.



As he stepped into the room with only a single human female, and her bloods scent entered his mind and the venom overflowed into his mouth, he struggled, yet with her calming presence by him, he managed.

He could do anything for her.

Reviews would be greatly appreciated! I hope you liked it!

- GS