Fangs and Wings and other Things

by Kinetic Heat

Inside

Clank Clank Clank

The Rage raised a storm of strikes against the translucent walls of its prison. The spots where its fists met the surface flickered quickly, and a blurry hue of rainbow colors formed around the impact zone. It clawed and thrashed, punched and screamed and shouted for its turnkey.

After Alea had been gone, The Rage had switched into its natural form. Its long hair fell beneath its bottom, its brawny chest and abdomen were bare, just like the rest of its body. The long fangs almost surpassed his chiseled chin, and spittle flew from them as it cursed and growled.

Eventually, it settled down and sunk to the ground. Hitting the bottom wall with a fist, another clank sounded through the prison cell and The Rage grit its teeth. This had all gone so wrong for it. That fool of a man didn't understand what he had done. It was beyond its comprehension how Alea could be so blind and stupid to cage up his only drive and chance of survival.

Back then, when the war had raged, The Rage had been woken from its slumber. All the violence around it, the blood, the pain, the screams... And finally Alea's loss of Victoria. Long had it waited for a chance to break free, to show him what he truly was. A creature of power, of fury. It was in his blood to be at the top of the food chain, and for goodness sake, The Rage tried everything to secure him- them- that spot.

It was like Alea tried to defy it by all means. Had it just been for another man, The Rage wouldn't have bothered, but they were one, two souls in a body. Their fates were tied together, and any attempt at severing them was futile.

The Rage rubbed its tired eyes, and stroked the black mass of its hair back. The vampires had always been meant to be the unopposed leaders, any contradiction would have been stomped as soon as it would have come up. Rebellion meant death, it was the law of nature.

There was the other side, though. Alea was a creature of two races, and The Rage had always found it difficult to deal with the other side of him. The drive for copulation was a disgrace for him and his kind. It wasn't like the elemental strife for fresh blood that was the sign of dominance for the vampires, it was a filthy shabby desire for the pure sake of lust. Had it been to serve reproduction, then it wouldn't be morally objectionable to The Rage. A specimen as strong as Alea bringing his seed into the world and increasing the strength of the vampire race would have been a much appreciated thing to be done. But the intercourse rarely brought forth any offsprings.

All vampires were born with a deeper side that awoke when the time was ripe. A side that showed them, and everyone else, what they were, a side that represented their most private emotion. When it awoke, a vampire was complete. Apparently, the amount of vampiric blood in Alea was strong enough to bear with it the potential of awakening, and made vampires were able to access that most holy stance of superiority, too.

”Why? Why can't you see that you and me were supposed be together?” it asked into the still emptiness outside it's cage. “You cannot be whole without me, don't you understand? I am what keeps you fighting, the voice that keeps you courageous, the strength that crushes your fears. You abandoned me for the sake of an inferior life in the time you needed me most!”

The Rage bolted up and threw itself against its prison. The area around it glowed faintly, and it drew back and rammed the wall another time. Slamming its fist at the milky white shields, The Rage shouted Alea's name, knowing he wouldn't hear it, and even if he did, he would pretend not to.

It was hopeless. He would never listen to it. Alea was too convinced of himself in his deeds being the right choice. He had no idea that by his foolish acts of imprisoning it, he had damned Applejack's and his life to fall before his brother like flies to a storm. Even together with Princess Luna, they wouldn't be able to stand against him. The Rage was certain. In their fight, it had seen the glimmer in Amaimon's eye that signaled that he, too, had come close to his awakening.

If only it could find a way to persuade Alea. It had been so close to taking over control of their body and annihilating the threat, keeping both of them secure. Then, it would have retreated and harmonized with Alea, forming the bond that they were expected to hold together as one being.

But of course his stupidity had had to interfere. It was worse than weed. So close had The Rage come to guaranteeing the survival of Alea, itself and even the pitiful excuse of a life form Alea chose to call beloved. Only one single time, it wanted him to listen to his instincts, and not to his genitals. Incubi truly were a despicable race of vita demonico.

The Rage shot up again and focused all its anger and frustration on a spot in the wall in front of it. It's claws raked the hand-sized area, slashed, hit and struck. “Idiot! Shithead! Stupid, stupid, stupid dumbass!” It's namings for Alea grew more bloomy with every new title it came up with.

When its fist were leaving bloody stains on its prison cell, The Rage slumped into a corner, drew its knees to its chest, and covered its head with its hands. It sat there, still and quiet, only its hands softly shaking. There was nothing The Rage could do now except waiting for Alea to come to his senses. It only hoped that, by the time that happened, it wasn't already too late.

---

Amaimon folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. The quiet around him eased his traveling thoughts, and the night put his mind at peace. He sat in the crown hall on the throne that foremost belonged to Celestia, though he found it only fitting for him as the rightful ruler to sit there. The huge pillars, that lined up along the hall, created long shadows that fell onto the floor and gave the long red and gold carpet on the floor a rippled look like the coat of a zebra.

Concentrating on nothing but the feeling of his body, the fabric of the shirt on his skin, the soft pillows he was sitting on, the streams of air around him, he let his mind wander into the depths of itself, a head-long dive into his own consciousness. A long time later, or rather what seemed like a long time to him, he found himself in black space so vast, unlike any night or darkness he had ever seen. Meditation was nothing new to him, he had reached his inner self a hundred times and more, but the way there was always unsettling to Amaimon. He felt so powerless without his physical body. And he didn't like being powerless.

The spheres of his mind were as dark as his hair, only a sourceless light illuminated the area around him; how far, he couldn't tell. Distance was only relative in this realm.

After the draw with his brother, Amaimon had realized just how much had changed. A vampire's power stood in relation with his age. Himself being dormant for over four thousand years had increased his strength by several hundred times, and it was till a great challenge for him to lift up something as delicate as glass without instantly shattering it. He still had a great deal of getting used to his new strength before him, although his play on the violin was as fine as it had been before his slumber. A great way of practice.

Another thing had started since their fight. From time to time, Amaimon had been hearing voices, and it was not the voice of his thoughts, but something entirely different. He couldn't make out any words, just an all so faint cackle, a cacophony of short staccato sounds, like the laughter of a madman. The last three days it had grown on to him, and oftentimes he had caught himself sending his mind out to scan his environment, only to reveal that there was nothing out of order.

Amaimon was lightly disturbed, and feared that his annoyance could turn into a massive paranoia if he didn't find the source and eliminated it quickly.

Settling down for an uncertain time he would have to spend waiting, Amaimon stared into the open. There was little to stare at, though. He focused on one point, maybe three meters before him and tried to lock his gaze there. The space behind this point might have been blurred in his vision, had this been the physical world, but now he wasn't sure if he had kept looking at this imaginary point, or if his gaze had wandered off into the distance or closer to him.

Suddenly, Amaimon could hear the cackling again, just as weak of sound like in the real world, but it was definitely there. The fit of snickering was noticeable three times, then it fell silent again. A moment or two passed, then the sound repeated, nearer and louder this time. The third cascade of laughter seemed only a stone-toss away, somewhere right in front of Amaimon. After the fourth time, the chuckling didn't reappear after the usual time.

Amaimon sat there, cross-legged, and let the phenomenon play out around him. Without batting an eye, he waited until it was as close to as he would allow it, then, like a snake, his arm darted forward, grabbed something solid, and he jumped up.

Dangling in his outstretched arm, was a man with skin as pale as chalk, Amaimon's hand clutching around his neck, hair long past his bottom an black as sin, and a gaping mouth through which a set of two sharp fangs was visible. His eyes were wide open in surprise, and he held on to Amaimon's wrist.

In the calmest of voices, Amaimon asked, ”And who might you be?”

The man patted Amaimon's wrist, signing him that air was running thin, and he needed his throat unharmed if he was to answer. Inch by inch, he was let down, the pressure around his neck lessened, and his toes just so touched the ground. He coughed.

Suddenly, the frightened expression vanished from his face and a mixture of psychopathy and amusement took over. His arms fell and dangled to his sides, then, he threw his head back as far as the hand at his throat allowed, and a roaring laughter erupted from his mouth that raised Amaimon's hackles. He cackled on until Amaimon squeezed his hand again and cut off the man's voice and air supply, which turned his fit of laughter into a fit of coughing.

Amaimon let go off him and backed away a few steps. Sinking to his knees, the man rubbed his neck and spit out. “I- I am-” he snickered madly again. Amaimon put back a leg and let it slam into the mans shoulder, flipping him over onto his back, letting him grunt and grab his shoulder.

”I am you!” he shouted, rolling on his back and falling into his mad laughter again. He rolled around, all the while giggling, like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. Eventually, the man ceased to laugh and sat up, using his arms as support and looked up at Amaimon, smiling.

”You know, our brother is one hell of an angry bastard, so I figured you'd need some help,” he said, flashing his fangs.

Amaimon still looked coolly at him, trying to make something from the show act in front of him. He squinted and talked slowly. “So I have awoken. Interesting, I always wondered what my self was constructed from. Honestly, I had expected something else, but you'll do.” He scratched his chin.

”Wonderful!” The man clapped his hands, jolted to his feet and then did a cart-wheel to the side, bowing afterward. “Then I shall introduce yourself to you: Hello, you are mad, I am you.'' The man threw himself to the ground, holding his stomach and crying from laughter.

Walking over to the man on the ground, Amaimon breathed deeply and then grabbed the man by his neck again. The second time, he cut off his cackling and looked him deep into the eye. ''Listen to me. I don't have much for this nonsense. I want you to tell me exactly what you are, who you are and what you can do to help me to bring Alea to justice.''

Amaimon dropped him and he fell to one knee. “Ruin all the fun, why won't you?” he sighed and pouted. “What I am? Well basically, I am you, a part of your soul if you liked to call it that way. Who am I? Pretty much the same question, ain't it?”

”No, it isn't. The first question had the purpose of finding out what kind of thing I have to deal with here, what you think what you are. For the second question, I want to know your name.”

”What's it with you guys and names? Call me whatever you want, I am practically you, so whatever?”

Amaimon's expression didn't waver in the least. “When there is a name for something, we are able to understand. People fear what they can't comprehend, so we find descriptions. Once we can name something, know it. So, what is your name?''

The man ran his hand along his chin and drew a deliberative pout. Then he shrugged, “Since we're all mad here, call me 'Madness' “, and looked at Amaimon with a beaming smile.

Amaimon in his turn furrowed his brows. “ 'Madness'? An odd way to be naming oneself. Third question, answer it.''

That seemed to widen his smile even further. The Madness rubbed his palms against each other and performed a little dance. “Oh boy, the things I can help you do!'' He laughed and giggled not so quietly to himself.

”Ok, Ok, here's what we can do together: Once you accept you are insane, and by the way, dude, you seriously are, I can take over and make you do awesome things, such as exponentiating your power, shut down everything that let's you feel pain, and heal you faster than you can take damage. Doesn't that sound great to you?” The Madness reached out a hand at Amaimon.

”Call me what you want, I am not insane. As long as it's me, you are not going to take over my body. You do what I tell you to do and don't get in my way, clear?” he said and wiped the hand away with a hearty smack.

The Madness pulled a lip and looked hurt, but quick enough shrugged I off and turned his back at Amaion. “Whatever you say, boss. Just keep in mind that you cannot lie to yourself forever,” he grinned jovially. “Oh, and one more thing maybe. You really think you have a chance with that mare? You used to ride them into battle, not have them ride y-''

”Shut your dirty mouth!” Amaimon exploded. “You speak when I ask you! Now scuttle back to where you belong.''

With that, The Madness chuckled a last time before he dissipated into the black that surrounded them. In a moments notice he was gone, and Amaimon stood alone, and although The Madness was gone, he could still feel his presence, like a faint headache.

Finally, Alea wouldn't be able escape him anymore.

Comments

[SageBrony07]

Wow. Intense chapter. I can't wait to see what happens next. It looks like both vampires have a little problem with multiple personality disorders if you ask me.

[Warrior Kitten]

5520204
I don't think its that simple. I actually think that these 'creatures', if you will, are a suppressed part of their personality. Or, perhaps, this 'awakened' thing. The Rage is probably the embodiment of Alea's suppressed anger, as he doesn't appear to show much rage.

Whereas Madness is the embodiment of Amaimon's insanity.

Madness and Rage both weaken their respective 'hosts' as they are being suppressed despite being a significant part of their being. If Rage and Madness were to be accepted and not suppressed, well...

This is purely speculation though.

[Kinetic Heat]

5523254 This guy gets it