"I find it despicable how those royals can celebrate when the world we live in is so flawed, so broken," Raphael continued, sauntering towards a table placed on the far corner of the room to grab himself a drink. "The weak are forced to cover, while the strong freely exert their will and authority. That has been the nature of this kingdom, if you can ever call it that in the first place.
"If you ask me, this civilization is more so a jungle that a society, one where power is everything. No one cares about what you know, as long as you have thr power to back it up," his gaze went back to the helpless state of his brother.
He walked back to the chained vampire, a delighted expression forming on his face as he spoke:
"Therefore, since I'm stronger than you, it's only right I enforce my own wishes upon you, no matter how insidiously twisted they may be."
An exoberant howl permeated the lightless skies, the cry of a shadow-bound monstrosity.
Life had returned to the somber streets of Fluxton as the citizens emerged from their places of rest, resuming their daily life toilage.
Raphael sucked his teeth, chuckling to himself as he sipped from his glass cup, the bioluminescent liquid coursing through his throat, revitalizing him.
He then placed the cup back on the table and returned to the chained state of his brother.
Moving his hands with swift precision, he undid the chains binding his limbs, allowing him to fall to the floor.
The subtle movements of his chest betrayed the fact that he was still breathing, despite all the torment his body had endured.
"Tsk. If that was all it took to kill you, I would have been ashamed to call you my brother," Raphael lingered above Darion's body for a while, then walked towards the door, swinging it open as he excited the room.
The guards stationed outside felt their blood run cold, the oppressive force exuding from their leader's body straining their lungs.
As his figure disappeared from their presence, they heaved out deep sighs as they exchanged wary glances once more.
******
Raphael's steps echoed through the hall, his figure shrouded in perpetuating darkness. Time crept along, its uncaring sloth streaking through the threads of reality, those of which harbored bottomless agony and despair.
His movements drew to a sudden halt, his legs shifting as he stood before another door within the hall.
His glowing eyes narrowed as he pressed his hand against the handle, pushing the door open.
He walked into the living space, closing the door behind him. His gaze lingered upon the images drawn on the walls, a couple of them showing a man and his wife, others showing both of them, along with one, two, and then three children. Everything appeared neatly kept, preserved through the flow of time.
Then, he looked down on the man laying on the bed, whose expression hinted at his awakening from slumber following the intrusion into his bedroom.
The older man hissed as he stared back at Raphael, his words filled with almost palpable disdain.
"What do you want, Raphael?"
Raphael moved closer to the bed, each step drowning the deep silence. Then, his figure stood a few inches away from the bed, a low smile appearing on his face.
"Oh, is it wrong for me to come and see my father?"
The old man ground his teeth, hands forming tight fists as he replied:
"You tyrant! You dare address me that way after all the horror you caused?!"
The room returned to silence, a contemptuous wave of laughter sliding gracefully through the air.
"A tyrant? Well, that doesn't sound too bad. I've been called worse, so I guess I'll take it," Raphael retorted, shaking his head in amusement.
The older man struggled to contain his furry, heaving out excessively as he gathered his thoughts.
Then, he looked back at Raphael, the hatred in his eyes remaining as he uttered:
"Why have you come here? What was so important that you chose to interrupt my sleep?"
Raphael's fit of laughter ended, a condescending gaze taking its place.
"Oh, nothing much. I just came to inform you that your other son would be out cold for some time. I thought I'd just let you know."
The old man shifted from his bed, rushing to his feet as he glared madly at Raphael.
"You devil! How dare you do such a thing to your brother?! Have you no shame?!"
Raphael's fit of laughter returned, its soft tone serving as a scraping force abrasing against the older man's heart.
"Stop it! Stop laughing right now!"
Raphael's body shook in the darkness, his hands pressing against his stomach .
"Oh? But why should I? It's just so funny, don't you think so to, father?" He replied, his voice a mixture of soothing essence and bone-chilling sadism. "Have you forgotten who I am? I am Raphael Night, Leader Of The Abyssal Gang."
A wide grin appeared on his face as he continued:
"The fate of my subordinates is mine to decide," he walked closer to his father, placing his hand on the older man's shoulder. "Gorden Night, you are merely a figure head for this town, having no real power whatsoever. Don't forget who put you in your current position."
Gordon's body shook involuntarily as Raphael's hand touched him, his eyes shifting between the hand and the alluring face of his firstborn.
"If we didn't do what we did back then, our lives wouldn't have been the way it is now."
Twenty years earlier...
The town of Fluxton radiated relentless misery and hopelessness, the locals striving everyday to remain alive. All across, business centres operated, vampires hustling to make a living despite their degenerate conditions.
It was a town devoid of law and order, might and power ruling in their stead. Everyone was wary of those stronger than then, yielding to superior forces.
From the typical commoners, to those at the top, there was one particular group they all feared above all.
The Dark Kings.
They were the criminal organization that ruled Fluxton, executing their will with callous nonchalance. Everyone strived to remain under their radar; paying months tribute, avoiding their ire, obeying all their unreasonable orders—they did everything necessary just to remain clinging to the strands of life.
Today was the day of tribute payment. The usual sense of listlessness that plagued the townsfolk was augmented by an immersive sense of dread.
A man clad in thick leather clothing traversed the ghastly plains, collecting tribute from the populace. His name was Levi—the man regarded as one of the pillars of the Dark Kings.
He went from one enclosure to the next, collecting the monthly tribute. Those who were unable to pay were met with a dreadful punishment—loss of lives which could never be returned.
The locals had grown used to death, the wretched fiend always hanging just a short distance away. Whether it be the corpse of an unfortunate vampire, or a shadow-bound creature, death was a concept that perverted the minds of the people, shattering their rural tranquility and drowning them in an eternal sense of creeping madness.
That madness increased each day in miniscule fractions, gradually chipping away at the remains of their awashed sanity.
It was Levi's turn to collect the monthly tribute. The activity was straightforward, authoritative, and at times desecrated by the blood of disobedient scum.
His lips would curl into a euphoric grin whenever he ceased a life, as though injecting his life with a fleeting sense of purpose and achievement.
Power, truly, was an irresistible addiction.
His eyes fell upon the poor enclosure before him, his fingers wriggling in anticipation as he moved towards the entrance.
A sudden banging noise disrupted the inhabitants of the enclosure, a fairly old-looking man sharing worrisome glances with his family.
"The monthly tribute... the Dark Kings are here to collect it..." His voice waned as he spoke, his heart threatening to break through his chest as his body trembled.
His wife stared back at him, her raven black hair rolling down her shoulders. Her appearance was far from alluring, cheeks sunken in and dark circles hanging under her eyes.
Her scrawny physique articulated the severity of their living condition, still, a reassuring smile appeared on her face.
She threw a glance at her children, who hugged her tightly, and then at her husband.
"... Life is truly an unforgiving thing," she eventually said, letting go of them all as she walked towards the door.
Gordon's eyes grew wide in shock as he abandoned his children, rushing to grab hold of his wife.
"Cynthia, what are you doing?!" He asked. "If you go out there, you'll die!"
He gritted his teeth, eyes watering as his grip around her wrist intensified.
"I can't just stand by and let you throw your life away!"
She looked up at her husband, caressing his scrubby beard with her other hand.
Then, she spoke, staring deep into his pleading eyes:
"And do you expect me to stand by and watch the man I love sacrifice himself? Let me carry this cross for you, for our children," she replied, retreating her hand from his face.
Right after, the door of their abode was shattered, a fist protruding through scattering fragments of wood.