In which in the stillness, rose...

Xion ran through the tunnels clutching his heavy sword - sparks flashed where the blade met rock. He did not turn his head to see if he was being followed. He was confident that he was not. And even if he was followed, he would be too fast for them to catch up on. The one who should be the fastest of his pursuers would have been that joke of a vampire; Sure, the girl seemed to command some power of sorts, but she was no threat to him. Her sudden arrival had, admittedly, surprised him, but when he came back - he would be back - he would be ready to kill the vampire and nothing would stand in his way.

He stopped at a crossroads of sort and chose the one that climbed upwards. This led him out to a small brook in a cluster of trees.

Xion struck his sword into the ground and knelt by the water, drinking the clear liquid in gulps. When he was done, he stared at his palms, lined with puckered scars. They were the remainder - no, reminder of his past. He stood up, and clutched the hilt of his sword.

Beneath its bandaged surface were his blood, dried rusty brown, mingling with the ash black of the vampires.

It had been painful then, and very bloody. Very messy.

In the stillness, he felt his heart brimming with hate that threatened to spill over.