Blood of the Innocent

His force was stern and serious even through his whispered tone. "What happens next, listen to me, no matter what you see, or hear." His orbs flashed briefly, a sign as if life was suddenly being taken from him; was he sacrificing for love? He knew what he was doing, his actions thereafter proved such. His thoughts, primarily on one name (Elaina); he prayed she would save his life again, when he truly wanted it. He gasped, "help me." He meditated his thoughts almost. He knew she could hear him. Amy arched a brow in Tristan's hold. She bent her head back, her eyes staring at him, her brows furrowing sharply. "What are you talking about?" She said, confused. "What's happening?"

 Lamont growled and threw Carla's body from the back door; she rolled out towards the grassy lawn past the patio steps. Once he was back inside, he quickly urged within his mastery of potence and began punching and scratching at everyone, taking chunks of their flesh from them, and breaking holes through their backs, chests and faces. His speed was immense, he headed back towards the living room where the young occupants were dancing prior. Kyle screamed and flung one of his beers behind Lamont's head; he ducked his head over a bit in a ferocious growl. Blood splattered upon his face. Screams were heard, feet scattering. The music blared. Amy's eyes went wide open once she heard the sounds of terror.

 It was a brief acknowledgment of meditation and prayer; a certain way in how Tristan concentrated deeply in such a short time. He had branched from Amy for a mere moment. He hadn't even allowed his lingering arm to drop when he felt strongly not to leave her side. In fact, to shield her from harm, for it was now! He looked tense when he gripped her wrist tight and yanked her to meet his crouched frame within that of the kitchen. He would feel better if he could gather any sort of sharp objects from the counter they landed nearby. Any sort of defenses that he could prolong needed delays. His firm grasp then padded her shoulders, he blurted out quickly. "Someone's after me... don't show your care for me once they enter." He dropped another confirming pat and then raised to his feet. Eyes studied each exit from that room, that would be his safest when whoever entered. Amy looked worried just then as she heard Tristan's words. Shaking her head. "No ... Tristan ... no," she tugged him; she pulled him behind the counter with her. "What are you talking about? I can't fake anything. Please, tell me what is going on!!" She screamed, she begged, her eyes swelling with tears of concern and panic that began to set in. Tristan sighed and dropped down deep within her grip, begging him to do so. He sat perched upon his heels, squatting and comforting her. His stare penetrated deeply into her chestnut, water-panicked eyes, hearing her testimony linger, ringing through his scrambled thoughts, ‘I can't fake anything.’ He whispered, "it's ok. I'll get you out, don't worry."

Tristan peeked out from the edge of the chopping block, only able to witness bloodshed and innocents running in their direction. Three girls ran towards the kitchen, screaming, "...Omigod, omigod! He's crazy!?" They ran behind the counter, trembling. The kitchen door was ajar, with an abnormal figure tearing whoever came close to him, to shreds. Blood stained on their shirts and dotted their faces. They pushed through and in between Amy and Tristan, her fingers wriggled free from his. Tristan gritted his jaw and sneered, pivoting quickly with open arms to get back to Amy, stuttering. "Oh shit!" Stunned, he tumbled over two strangers huddling like he and Amy were but he managed to fall to her other side and gripped her waist. He pulled her securely towards him and whispered quickly. "Stay quiet." He glanced up briefly over the countertop to get an explicit view of the contents within that of the kitchen. And down to what was close and useful, before ducking back to Amy's side. "This is what I want you to do," he paused with moistened lips gaping, already seeing their escape within his mind. "When I say move, I mean move, and fast. You understand? We are going to try to get to the front door, Amy." He nodded, ocean blues never faltered from her chestnut browns; not until she would show him, that she accepted it. It had come down to this very moment. Time seemed to be standing still, yet as it stood, it watched from the very apex of all things, of every scenario that had begun. The music would play gently to the raucous of screams. Like the violin's rhapsodic of Ava Maria. Inside the house covered by the wonderful foliage of the black woods, everyone ran, screaming, tears streaming down their faces. They were horrified. 

 There were noises outside, of tires pulling up the drive which distracted Anya. The vampires upon the roof halted, as they all watched the oncoming vehicle. It was a Priory Security car, tearing through the landscape without haste. "They're here," said Leon, slamming his foot on the gas pedal, the vehicle sped up. Anya spun and hissed. They ran right over her; she was twisted and mangled beneath the car as it continued to roll over her, crashing into the front porch. Two vampires leapt from the roof, heading towards Leon and Elaina. In the darkness of the backseat, Gwyneth popped out from behind them. Her eyes wide, her mouth gaping. "They took Ethan!" She screamed. She'd been the reason they got there in the first place.  

 Amy felt like she wasn't even in the room anymore; like she was watching everyone from beyond a looking glass. Like they were submerged in water; their movements timed and ticked. She could feel her heart beating. Amy could hear it, its drumming sound pounding like the base of the violin. Leon could have heard her heartbeat even if he tried to listen to it. Its symphonic cries: its vanquishing laments as time began to slowly reclaim its velocity. The vampires on the roof were hissing like serpents; there were three. Suddenly, a crash was heard from the front of the house, shaking its structure. All within felt it. Leon dizzily pushed from the wheel of the car, he tapped his forehead against it when the vehicle tumbled over Anya, who lay behind them on the ground, quieted by the abrupt torpor. He pushed for the door to open and then looked back at Elaina. Kyle ran throughout the back door, while Carla laid a trembling cadaver until she rested still, forever more. He fell to shock, on his knees watching her while his chin wrinkled into sobs. The words mumbled through his tongue; his face buried upon her stomach. 

 Tristan shot up quickly and grabbed a handful of knives from the chopping block upon the counter block, some falling within his quickened duck; he'd gather what he could hold. Some shoved into his belt as he shifted onto his knees, eyes still locked on Amy. He could tell already she was starting to lose it, but he was reminded of a world he had long forgotten; flashbacks it would seem. Invasions: fur-like creatures clashing... spears, arrows and bloodshed; how could he not forget what combat and survival was truly like. Amy heard his voice in echoes, like the concept of muted sounds speaking to you while you are underwater. So far, he resonated so very distant and yet kneeling right next to her the entire time. Amy saw the knives fall, heard their metallic cling against the floor and she faintly tensed to each clank that came from them. It was as if he were a boy and playing a game, except there was a life to save: the one he truly loved. He shifted back onto his heels and grabbed her upper arm once he was ready to enter into the next room and barricade them both. He forced her to rise alongside him. He blurted in a deep tone, his fingertips gripping tightly upon her arm. "Move!" 

 Her eyes were empty, she couldn't feel her feet; she looked at Tristan yet couldn't hear him. His lips moving, she knew she loved him, those eyes of his. How concerned he looked. She knew she was crying; she felt it, her lips trembling and her eyes squinted with tears. She was sobbing almost, and yet her mind was untouched by it. It was as sullen and sweet as a flower dancing in the wind in May. Amy saw the color of blood; she smelled the iron-like aroma within the air. The tearing of flesh was like old worn leather. Sharp laughter, immortal, quick and rapid like the clinging of the knives. "Move," she repeated soundlessly within her mouth, whispering, until she finally obliged. She let him pull her up by her arm, her body yanked, like she didn’t have a bone in her entire body, she followed Tristan. A rag doll amid the chaos. "Tristan ... please," she said, she couldn't even hear her own voice, it felt like someone else was speaking it. Like she was listening through a thick door. "Please, I can't."

 "You can, and you will. I’m going to get you out," was all he stated to her now. Ocean blues darted all around the edges of the room where they were dancing prior; the strobe lights were still active making it a little difficult. Hands prepared two knives, ready to throw or use tactfully with brute force. He sat perched on his heels looking over Amy once more and smiled faintly. He did not want to appear alarmed but quite calm for the both of them, for she was already breaking down. His maneuverings would have to be cautious as well, considering the knives shoved into his belt were not sheathed. He made one quick glance, pinpointing their destination, he asked while taking hold of her upper arm, after moving both knives into one hand. "Which way is the front door, Amy?"  

Amy returned in that instant, she lifted her head to Tristan. The two girls were still in the kitchen, hovering behind the counter holding onto one another and shivering. The loud music played in the background, still Evanescence. "That way, it's beyond the living room," she fingered towards the edge of the furthest chair. Beyond it was the rage, and the house for which many blood of the innocent had spilled: rectangular windows and maroon curtains, off-white colored walls. The living room was longer than it was wide. The chandelier swung from left to right, sparks shattered across the room. Bodies laid in tangles upon the floor, blood pooled beneath them, staining their clothes. They were young, dead, but beautiful all the same. Lamont stood amid them; his angst filled the crimson glow of his eyes. "We've come for the boy," he said, lifting a fist into the radio, the music stopped abruptly. "We've come for the boy!" He said again, turning; small groups of teenagers moved from the middle of the living room where Lamont stood alone. Four small huddled up in groups of teenagers to each corner. Lamont's hands were bloodied, thickets of flesh dropped from in between his fingers. His mouth smeared in mortal life; his eyes were black now, intense, walled by hatred and loyalty. "Tristan Lores .... Son of the Thin Blooded ... come forth, for many of these foul men and women will die. It is your decision," and that's when Lamont's hands began to glow; the feral rounds of his fingers burning, smoke instilled, curling from his palms, his eyes as well, smoked with plumes of it spiraling into a pale blue lace.

The minute he rose and expected her to do the same, he caught a glimpse of the broken, bloodied bodies of innocents and the smell alarmed him even more. The strobe light hit just right on the other side of the room, illuminating the dark figure that stood smeared in blood. His fingers extended like claws and a face exposing the beast within. Then the beast spoke his full name... lips parted stunned, and he was voiceless. Tristan slunk back down behind the chair quickly, shoving Amy with him as well. He muttered, "oh fuck." He sat back against the chair, knees bent and rested with the weapons in his hands. His eyes shifted amongst all the huddled teens, quivering and scared out of their minds while he contemplated on what to do next. Orbs panicked in their darted glances while his mind whirled on what to do now. He peered around the edge of the chair, witnessing something completely unnatural, starting to unravel in more destruction. Tristan knew he had to do something and quickly. He kept mumbling cuss words until he finally realized he would have to stall the vampire, and make his appearance known to get Amy out. He looked at her in a very serious glare, gripping her arm. "He wants me," he said and paused. "When I rise, you run for the front door. Run as fast as you can..." He nodded indefinitely that she would do just that; there was no time for arguing. He gripped her cheek and kissed her once. "On my call."

  "Oh God, I think I'm bleeding?"

"What is it, why doesn't it just leave?" The voices of others surrounding the vampire. His eyes inflamed the pitch of an indigo. "I'll not ask again," and Lamont raised his hand towards the small group nearest the solid wall of the living room, the north wall, away from the kitchen, and the chair Tristan and Amy hid behind, closest to the door leading onto where they were dancing prior. Lamont's fingers began to swell with fire, it caused damage to his flesh from the mere conjuring. That's how he was taught to do it; it was the best way to assure the utmost accuracy. Tristan could feel Amy trembling behind the chair next to him, her eyes boggled with fear and confusion. Her skin was gray with fright. How did it know his full name? She thought to herself. Why did this crazed man want him? She hadn't enough time to even consider the Thin Blooded comment; she had barely enough minutes to think to herself. She heard the double sobs from the girls within the kitchen. They were no more than fourteen themselves, they shouldn't have even been here. They were high, she could tell, their eyes were dull and yet they cried with a certain monotony on their faces. From the back patio, Kyle stood from Carla's body, he looked through the glass. He saw Tristan's movements slow and countered as if he'd been about to do something, and Amy's; he had never seen his sister so scared like that before. He grabbed for the handle. 

Tristan pulled out two of the knives and had them prepped when needed, now that he had one free hand. He didn't know exactly what he was going to do but he had to, at least, to give Amy free reign to escape. He shoved into a squatting position, glancing at Amy beside him, he whispered. "Ready?" Her face would not be able to tell him much. He knew he'd have to make the decision alone and did so the minute he rose to his feet. His next stare down towards Amy was his inclination to run, his lips mouthed, -I love you- and yelled deeply. "Run!" He, as well, darted into the living room attempting to make it to the other door frame; stopping midway, he screamed to the vampire. "You want me?! Come after me!!" And if this vampire attempted a strike upon his sudden movement, he would try his hardest to counteract. Lamont laughed evilly as he turned to face Tristan entering the living room with knives in hand. “Those won't hurt me boy,” he chuckled. Tristan smirked and replied, “we shall see.” His aim was pristine and at most, accurate, especially when he wanted to inflict harm. Just then he flipped a knife within his hand and threw it towards Lamont’s face, as he grabbed another. It grazed his cheekbone, drawing blood.  

 “Impressive,” Lamont laughed, dabbing his finger against his own vitae that dripped from his face. “Wait for it boy, you will get yours,” he grinned maliciously, drawing upon his own blood to boil within his palms, again. Tristan could see the embers forming just then, and slid a step back, ready to release the second blow. He thought to himself, shit. Tristan threw two more knives in his direction, slicing through his flesh from his upper arms. He missed his aim: Lamont’s neck and heart, merely from his swift blocks. More blood flowed from the vampire, however, but not as severe as intended. Tristan stood upright, pulling more, twirling blades within his hands, observing closely all movements made by Lamont who cackled, throwing fireballs at him, searing parts of his upper garments, and moving so fast before Tristan could even respond, but somehow he did. He was swift and accurate in his defenses, with the blades that he had learned from Aidian. Tristan sliced his pale skin again.