Gavner Purl stepped around the body stained war ground. Vampaneze and vampire blood stained the soil red, a color that glowed eerily when lit only by the fingernail moon. It matched the glow on his knife, a dark red stain that he wished he could wipe off, but there wasn't any grass in the vicinity that wasn't already stained with the spoils of war.
Gavner himself had lost some of his own blood hear, a large scar that split his shirt and chest was proof enough of that. He had watched his friends, injured and broken, being carried off the battlefield, but he hadn't had the heart to help them move. The commanding general had given him a knowing look and let him come back to the battleground after seeing Gavner's reaction to the fight.
His first fight to be exact.
He had seen his first fight now. Part of him had died with every purple-skinned demon he had struck down tonight, seeing the life drain form their eyes had been like nothing he had ever seen. Even after Vincent's execution, he had not known that death could be so horrific. So terrifying. So graphic.
He fell to his knees, the tears flowing freely know, and the coppery smell of blood filling his nostrils. "I can't do this." He said, speaking so softly that he wasn't even sure he had spoken aloud. He stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the ground simply because he didn't have the strength to do anything more.
When he finally glanced up, his eyes met something that brought him to his feet. A young boy, no more than fifteen years old was laying on the field, a knife embedded in his stomach, but his eyes still wide open and his teeth pulled back in the cruel defiance of death. Gavner could tell that he wasn't even a full vampire, just half of one, something Gavner had been not too long ago.
He closed the boy's eyes, wondering who would kill someone who obviously had no chance of winning that fight. He wanted to pull the knife from his stomach, but knew that would make it worse, and instead he found himself just sitting next to the boy, thinking of what he might have before he died.
Did he have a family? A girlfriend? Was he going to take the trials soon? What kind of future did he have, had fate been kind and let him live. A thousand questions, but with no answers. Gavner stood, strength flowing back into his body as he turned away from the bloodbath, the moon glowing on his back. He would fight for the nameless boy, and all the others, who never had a chance to live, no matter the personal consequences. Maybe all vampires fought purely for the others who could not, or who had perished trying. He could do this. He would do this.
"Even in death may you be triumphant." He spoke to the bodies that littered the ground, the warriors that would disappear from memory, but hadn't deserved their fate.
(A/N) Yeah, so I haven't written one of theses in forever, so here you go this is about the inspiration that fuels that fire behind violence in the vampire clan. Hope you enjoyed, please read and review, thanks