Prologue

There’s an argument that tears the modern world as we know it. Many scientists and researchers have squabbled over the supernatural that undoubtedly stains this world. Vampires, werewolves, elementals, druids, witches and the like.

Well, I know.

I know the story. Not just any story, but the story of a certain group of vampires... Only, they weren’t just vampires. No, they were cursed long, long ago. Alas... I should tell you that story as well... The story of the beginning... or rather, the end to a new beginning. But I am getting ahead of myself here, aren’t I?

They are also elementals, or rather, elementals cursed into vampires. Ask any scientist, archeologist, curator, or a person with a depth of historical knowledge. The explanation and intricate details they could provide of these creatures would be endless. The power to one day become a druid, the ability to control the weather, fire, water, ice, wind, and plants. The powers even go into specifics depending on the blood that runs through your veins.

Ah, but the creatures I speak of are special. Not only are they elementals, but they are also vampires. Creatures of shadow, bloodlust and death. Immortal in their ageless beauty of deception and betrayal. Such venomous creatures, horrible powers... all harnessed into five, cursed individuals.

Pyro, the leader and oldest, at about 600 years of age; controller and manipulator of fire. Kye, the second in command, 400 years of age; controller and summoner of water. Sequoia, or Seq, the bull headed, hot tempered female, 300 years of age; controller of earth, specifically plants. Sye, blood mate to Kye, very protective and comical, 390 years of age; manipulator of ice. Finally, Gust, blood mate to Seq, the comical and inexperienced one, 200 years of age; controller and summoner of wind.

These five are direct decedents of an elemental who has cursed their kind through traitorous acts to a priest of Egypt. They have been hand selected by their leaders to band together and find the cure to their blood drinking curse, but, I think, before I tell the story of ‘now’, I should tell you how it happened. Come, descend in time with me, and please mind your feet... it’s a long ride.

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The large, golden doors banged together as he staggered through them. His wounds gaped from his ribs and left arm.

Gasping, he trudged down countless stairs, each one more painful than the last. Reaching the bottom plateau, he groaned loudly as his outstretched hand produced a large amount of plain power. The exertion of which was about to kill him, but that was of no hindrance, seeing as he was prepared to die anyway.

Torches lit the large enclosure, illuminating the red, mud-brick room. Huge inscriptions that he had carved himself littered the crumbling walls. An altar was placed in the middle of the room, directly beneath a long sprawling script, which, when translated from Egyptian to English, meant, ‘Woe to those who cross the gods.’ Upon the altar lie a book of rich, brown leather, scattered across it were designs of gold and rubies. The spine itself was pure leather, one small symbol etched into the bottom.

Muttering harshly under his breath, he stumbled to the altar in a quick rush of unbidden strength, running bloodstained hands over the bridge of fine, well-worked leather. Rising it to his lips in a very warm welcome.

“They will pay.” He whispered into it, and then yelled at his guards for a servant. He waited nigh on two minutes for the young boy to arrive. “Finally,” He cursed under his breath, and then continued with, “When I die, you will mummify me. Anubis and Osiris shall have their way with my soul. For tonight, I have made a bargain with children of a pagan god, and I am cursing them with a death spell.” He confided for no apparent reason.

The servant bowed, troubled and unsure of what to make of this. As his body lowered, his eyes traveled over the High Priest’s wounds.

“They betrayed me, now I will make them pay. I will make all of them pay.” He explained, still staring at the book, as if his servant would be any the wiser. He glanced in the servant’s general direction, but the boy was already gone.

Shrugging, he slid his necklace off, placing the sign of his stature and a cup of his easily gotten blood as a sacrifice to the God’s he was making a plea to.

“Gods!” He cried, collapsing to his knees, arms outstretched, “I beg of you to take my life as a seal upon this curse!” Thunder shook the ground beneath his feet, and he stood, knowing that they accepted.

He opened the book that was smeared with his blood, “My spells.” He whispered, his eyes glassy and small, “but which one do I use to my enjoyment? Which one do I use to their tourture?”

The servant boy from earlier stumbled in, walking in the shadows, half afraid and half hiding, “Master.” He whispered, “We have a few lowly priests and some servants, your gold, and a few of your house servants ready for you, the embalming table has been laid, it is now awaiting your corpse.”

A chill caused the boy to shudder as the High Priests eyes found his body. They had the look of a man dieing, and the look of a man possessed by anything but godliness, “Good. It won’t be long now. You tell them that, and make sure I am not interrupted.”

The boy turned to leave, when the priests voice snaked through his ears, thin as spiders silk, “Tell them to be prepared to not have a body to bury.” The boy nodded, and fled fast as possible, leaving his previous master to his own undoing.

“Alone.” He whispered as soon as he heard his doors shut and lock, “Alone.” He repeated, grasping for the ceremonial dagger of ivory and sapphires.

Grunting in pain, he carved the caricatures that would be necessary all along his chest and abdomen. Laughing maniacally, he washed the blood from his still bleeding wounds, and strode back to the book, flipping it open randomly, to an empty page somewhere in the back.

He stood over the blank page, watching his blood splatter it in random areas, admiring the freshness of the red, and then he began to chant.

A sickly green light emerged from the book, soon to surround the altar, only growing stronger with every word he uttered. It seemed to surround and tug at his body as he was silhouetted against the light.

The power caused him to break off in mid sentence and cackle with the absurd power he seemed to behold, and how no one would ever believe him, would he be living past this experience. Shortly after, he picked up his chanting, though his breathing was becoming labored.

As he chanted, the symbols he had carved into his flesh were sucked onto the page that was previously blank, leaving only pink scars and smeared blood behind. Red against the white back round. Stepping back a little, out of the whirlwind of power he had created, he reread his death curse, proud and smug.

‘All alone, There is no hope.

It left, They will not cope.

Pain is adamant, Where is love?

It left, like a wounded dove.

Hate and Anger, Pain and Sorrow.

Life been spent; Love been borrowed.’

He stood over his page, grinning like a fool as the last green tendrils of power weaved around him and the altar. Then he gasped, appalled, as a second book joined his first; this one black with silver and sapphires.

The knowledge of what the Gods had done to him hit in full, and he screamed in primal anger. The antidote… and the prophecy. They had cheated him of his revenge.

As if sensing the Priests loathing, and his disloyal intentions to the Gods, they allowed the curse, which is a thing made of human blood and Godly powers, to suddenly take on a will of its own. The Priest shrieked as the curse’s power started up again,. This time a bright red, surrounding him, lashing at him. It pulled the flesh off his bones, slowly absorbing whatever blood he had to shed.

When the light had subsided, and the wind and crying had died down, there were only left the two books, the ceremonial dagger, still dripping blood, and the cup, tipped onto its side, not a drop of its contents left.

1,201 Years Later

“Come on men!” Claire encouraged, eager to get inside of the pyramidal tomb, “But please be careful, it’s fragile!”

“Mommy.” A small blond haired boy squeaked, tugging at her sleeve till her attention was wholly on him. “Mommy, why are we in Egypt? It’s hot, and I’m tired.”

“Oh, I know sweetie.” She smiled, dropping down to his level and squeezing him close, “We’re here because the place I work for wants to have a few books here. I am here to make sure those books exist, and, if they do, I am to bring them to Mommies boss.” She tapped his nose, kissed his fore head, and set him down, standing, “Now tell Daddy that we’re almost through.” She commanded, swatting his bottom gently.

She giggled as he dashed off as fast as his small legs could carry him. She watched till he was out of sight, and then turned back to the work and her workers, in front of her. One of them shouted suddenly, and a gust of stale, bitter air hit them full in the face.

Coughing, she pushed her way past the workers, paying no heed to their warnings of old Egyptian curses and tricks they used to keep the tombs of ancients safe. After walking through a series of long, uncomplicated halls, she came across a door inscribed with pictures of the Egyptian Gods, and a man beside the Pharaoh, who is the mortal equivalent to a God in the old Egyptian eyes.

‘High Priest.’ She mused, pushing it open with little difficulty. It swung back on its hinges, and two headless skeletons dropped down towards her. Startled and a bit perturbed, she continued, edging her way past an old table that still had the utensils needed for an embalming laid out, the headless skeletons of two priests stood forever vigilant at its side. Behind them were four other tombs, plainly inlaid and carved. The plainness made her guess on servants inside of those tombs.

Dimly she made out another door, and pushed one of the priest corpses out of the way, frantically shaking off a scarab beetle that managed to find its way to her hand and burning it. In a hurry of one who’s frightened, Claire rushed the heavy gold doors, inlaid with the same designs as the one she recently passed through, only pausing when the feeling of being watched drew chills across her spine and cause the hairs at the nape of her neck to rise.

Shaking off her foolishness, she yanked the doors open, and fell immediately, unaware of how heavy they really were. Shaken, she stood, stumbling over to a small basin filled with oil. She lit it and paused; trying to catch her breath as the light revealed an old worshipping ground made for only the High Priest of the time to see. Carvings upon a great wall were inlaid with golden paint; a small altar of gold stood amidst the chaos of caricatures, and upon it was something that she couldn’t quite make out.

Timid, and feeling quite small compared to the many statues of Anubis and Osiris, and a few of the other Gods such as Amun-Ra, she stumbled over to the golden altar. As soon as she got there, she managed to make out the all Seeing Eye, only a few inches away from a large pyramid, from which the God Anubis sent his hellhounds, and Osiris sent his Chimeras.

Awed by the sight, and slightly light-headed by the lack of circulating oxygen, she dimly made out the books, and gasped at the splendor of them. Black leather with silver and sapphires was one; the other was rich brown leather with gold and rubies. A beautiful ceremonial dagger hilt lie beside them both, though the blade had long ago rusted away, and a gorgeous golden cup had toppled to the floor beside it.

Eager to leave the suffocating room, she pulled around her duffle bag, stuffed the knife hilt and the cup inside. She began reaching for one of the two books, when the feeling of being watched over took her again. This time it was so strong that she had to wrap her arms around herself to still her violently spasming body.

Finally over her sudden phobia, she looked up; about to reach for the books again, when a creature rimmed in darkness grasped her wrist.

“Thank you.” The voice was cold as ice with frostbite, “But I believe these were meant for me and my people.” She only nodded, the red eyes glowing… those red eyes… He flew at her, and she accepted him willingly as her world went black, and she remembered no more.

He walked away with a burden slightly less than ten pounds, “All in a good days work.” He sighed, watching from atop the pyramid as the unharmed Claire walked slowly to her awaiting family, remembering only finding the hilt and the cup… but nothing more. “All in a long days work.” He repeated, covering his already tan skin and walking away.