Wild Ones [Solene]

[Myk]

It came to him like a dizzy dream. The first wave was a sound of dripping water, which hummed in his ears like a pesky mosquito. Then the sound echoed around a wide, open space, ricocheting off brick and tiled walls blooming with moss and lime scale. He felt the hard, icy surface of a floor connected with his back, and experienced the encompassing embrace of stagnant water press and pull at his edges just below the ears. All light, shadow, sound, and silence throbbed in his senses as one waxing and waning blob, slowing time like a stroboscopic lamp. Until finally and very suddenly, everything became still and dark before bursting into technicolour motion and noise. A lance of pain buried itself behind the eyeballs and the Telepath blinked repeatedly to clear the haze. At first it was caliginous, twilight upon misty moors, but over time, pewter eyes adjusted to the murk and squinted at the natural moonlight that made the area blister in a cold, white light.

What he saw in full clarity made him frown. Above him was a ceiling of limestone wrinkled with dripping stalactites. Around him, an ankle-deep pool of water pulsed and splashed that icy light around the walls. From his limited line of sight, he knew he was lying on the ground of the Sunken Cathedral, his body was deathly cold and it creaked and groaned as he moved. Even sitting up was a struggle that caused his paper-white skin to ripple, for lean muscles to yawn and growl under the effort. He fought the temptation to close his eyes again, to drift away and find a dream that would take him far from this reality. Instead, he lifted himself to sit up tall and leer at his surroundings as he contemplated where he was, how he’d gotten there, and what he was going to do next.

Fortunately for his vanity, Myk felt far worse than he looked. Tresses the colour of bone gushed around his ears, behind his delicate shoulders, and down the length of his back. Flush with water, his black jacquard shirt and trousers clung uncomfortably to his skin. The thick, textured fabric chaffed as he moved and so the Telepath decided that he would limit this function. Pewter eyes, meanwhile, were alerted to a nearby presence; a flash of shadows crossed the limits of his peripherals and drew him to his right. He saw nothing, yet still felt something; perhaps the aura of some supernatural creature and a pair of invisible eyes on him. It was difficult to know how to react in that moment, but at least his thoughts aligned with his instincts agreeing that to come to blows with the being wasn’t wise. Keeping his sights on the wall to his right, Myk smiled darkly.

“I can feel you standing there,” he purred, allowing his low, velvety voice to mingle with the inhospitable air. “It’s not polite to stare, you know.”

In his mind, it was always better to present an appearance of omniscience. As a Vampire born to the path of energy, signals, and cognitive manipulation, it was fairly effortless to create this facade. There were so many misconceptions about his path and they were so few in number that playing upon the level of ignorance was staggering. It was like child’s play, really, and Myk had to admit that he enjoyed pulling the wool over people’s eyes. He was still able to trick Claude with a number of his illusions and lies, which made for a great game of cat and mouse as the Blood Thief insisted on matching power for power. Still, at least he could relax in the knowledge that Claude’s intentions weren’t hostile. He couldn’t say the same for whatever was watching him...