It takes ages to write these because I like to make them as detailed as possible and I want to do my imagination justice. It's not as long as the previous chapter but it's prettylong considering my written prompt was about five lines long. I apologize for the length of the poems in it, once I start writing a poem it's very hard to stop.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I am the self-proclaimed leader of myself, and every leader, needs rules. One of mine is to stay away from the tall, dark and handsome types. But every rule is made, to be broken, that one in particular.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A week had passed since the 'Physco Protest' as the students had now dubbed it. The teachers and the school board were still trying to find out what had happened. Miss Finks was still off school as were many distraught pupils. Some pupils' parents did however sue the school, Mr and Mrs Chamberlain being two of them. Overall the school was forced to pay three thousand pound sterling in compensation, something the governor of the board, Mr Ryan Rocyrful, was exceedingly irritated at. Contrariwise, the gossip queens were on overtime as they endeavoured to construct as many different anecdotes as they feasibly could. Some of these included: unrest at the nearby sanatorium which led to a mass breakout of patients, remonstration against the English potentates and perhaps the strangest of all, extra-terrestrial incursion. What's even stranger is that people believed them.

It was national poetry day and, for the first time in fifteen years, the school decided to allocate a different category to each year group. The Year 7's had it easy with 'Seasons', the Year 8's had 'Animals', the Year 9's had 'Family', the Year 10's had 'Incantations', the Year 11's had 'Hunting' and the Sixth Former's had 'Conflict'. The winning Year 7, 8 and 9 poems were read out throughout periods one and two. The winning Year 10, 11, and Sixth Form poems were going to be read out after first break during period three. This was because there were three winners for each year group bar 10, 11 and 6th Form where there was only one individual victor.

It was a very grim day; the sun veiled itself coyly behind the clouds. Droplets of liquid began to fall and Victoria knew it was about to cascade rain. Katie noticed this too and signalled for the five of them to go back inside, break was practically over anyway. Diane and Celeste spent most of the remainder of break talking about what they were going to do at Diane's house that night whilst Victoria just stared into space. Ariana noticed this and became concerned about her friend.

"Victoria, are you ok?" She asked a look of pure worry of her face.

"Yeah I'm fine, just thinking." She faked as she was drawn out of her thoughts. She still couldn't quite get her head around the events of the past week. She stayed primarily in her room at 'home' only going downstairs when it was absolutely necessary and she refrained from communicating with any constituent of the Westwood family. Generally, home life was uneasy.

The rain began to pour heavier and heavier, thankfully, everyone was inside as the bell to signal the start of third period had just sounded. The curtains in the hall had been replaced since the 'incident'. The room was whining at the noise as the students shifted tensely in their seats. The racket died down as a tall blonde woman strode toward the microphone in the center-front of the stage. This woman was Evelyn Falcate-Hooper, headmistress at Crescent High. She wore a plain green halter neck along with a white knee-length skirt and white high heels that made a rhythmic 'click' as she walked. When she reached the microphone she coughed slightly preparing for her 'speech'. Instantaneously all eyes in the room were drawn to her as she began to speak. Her voice was kind and convivial if somewhat shrill.

"All of your poems were great, of course we did have to choose one favourite from each year group so… for Year 10 'Incantations' we have chosen…"

All of the Year 10's raised slightly in their chairs waiting for the answer. 'People take poetry way too seriously' Luke though. Luke was sat in the corner of the room with the rest of the Year 11's.

Mrs Falcate-Hooper removed a piece of paper from a brown envelope and raised it until it was perfectly in line with her eyes. She brought it down unhurriedly and announced the winner. "Devil's Desire by Mia Goddard."

A wave of congratulations swept across the room as Mia walked forward to read out her poem. Mia was a simple girl with brown short hair and a face an angel would envy. Evelyn stepped aside to allow Mia to take her place in front of the microphone. Mia's lips scarcely met the height of the microphone as she spoke:

"Round the cauldron, cold as ice,

Requirements that are far from nice.

Wing of bat, toxin of frog,

Though first of all go tusks of hog.

Ink from the colossal squid,

Vital if you wish to rid,

The human race of all that's good,

Dishonesty, now understood.

The crimson velvet lies you hide,

Will make a most beloved prize.

Tortured screams of souls so anguished,

Humanity shall soon be languished.

Hurt and woe and pain not mild,

Trepidation of a child.

Death so near and life so far,

The dying lifeblood of a star.

Superstitions filled with fear,

The virtue of a mermaid's tear.

Locket torn from dead man's chest,

No soul will ever be at rest.

Calligraphy of broken hand,

Lock of hair pulled strand by strand.

Lion's roar and scorpion's sting,

The pain and terror they both bring.

Love is lost whilst hate is found,

Upon this most unholy ground.

Blue so grey and mists so thick,

Raging war on realm of brick.

Confrontations left unplanned,

Close under the upper hand.

Philosophies, why do we hate?

Life's no fun beneath stone plate.

Loss that fills sepulchre deep,

Sounds of wails and widows weep.

Decaying carcass of a King,

And his blood-stained Queen's gilt ring.

Fair is taint and taint is fair,

Poison from the Earth's own air.

The headless horseman's pate once lost,

Telstar's fading enclosed in frost.

Now the hex is done, be gone,

Wrong is righteous, righteous wronged?

Spirits, Demons, the corporeal slayed,

Souls that be in crimson shade.

Their retribution, drawing near,

They don't know, so they don't fear.

Slay all you find, do not submit,

Exire et malum serpit."

The sound of applause and cheering filled the air as Mia made her departure from the stage and returned to her seat. Victoria understood the poem undoubtedly. A malevolent creature was scheming to annihilate every mortal soul on the Earth by raising the dead. A creature she dreaded she would come to be. Mrs Falcate-Hooper resumed her position in front of the microphone to declare the subsequent victor.

"Well done Mia that was a fantastic poem. Next we have Year 11 'Hunting'. I can reveal that the winning poem is" This time she pulled out a silver envelope and read from the paper enclosed inside. "The Forlorn Delphinidae by Lorna Chamberlain."

A fair-haired girl the same age as Luke strode towards the stage shadowed by applause. Lorna Chamberlain was Jenna's little sister. The family resemblance was clear to see as they looked very analogous bar the hair for Lorna's was blonde and shoulder-length. She took up the same position Mia had and began to read her poem, her voice swimming through the auricles of the spectators as if were a serene ocean on brisk summer dawn:

"The silhouette of vessel form sailed softly and gently overhead

the exalted tursiop beneath whitecap placid and pacified.

Consign Sol to the heavens furthermore Luna the sable inverse.

Eclipsed and reposed be the dearth of ineffable, profligate err

till anodyne epoch be benighted

Hitherto this stage all stood tranquil, still in immobile amity.

Alas this sanctuary of contented peace was soon to adjourn.

The reveille thundered and disarray arose as webs were cast down.

Noises so nefarious and voices so vociferous are sure.

The elegant creature forsakes the din.

Shadowed by cord cages; stalked till the evanescence of timeless twilight.

The nets neared the vulnerable epitome of humanity.

Imprisoned in a foreign realm, bemused and timorous and feeble;

praying to obviate the abysmal fortune set to befall them.

Naive and inchoate be the young calf.

Victoria could tell why Lorna had won; she felt as if she was the Dolphin imprisoned in an outlandish abode within her own memorable realm. Hounded by behemoths that don't appreciate that just for the reason that their physiology is dissimilar to theirs, doesn't entail that they don't have sympathies, or don't become frightened and feel forlorn just the same as humans, because everything feels – even the dead.

Like the vacant dusk her tribulation is unobstructed and staunch.

An immorality accompanied with cries of lamentation;

an infeasible sin that screams for contentment and calls for disdain.

Triumph of malicious men stands within perditions choleric grasp.

Perpetual loss has come to collect.

Distant from her family; no pod to unshackle her existence,

A briny pale nymph she perceives, a seraph who has risen to help her

to evade her pursuers and plunge back into perfect optimism.

Pure conviction floods her veins and the urge to be fortifies her soul,

To freedom she does swim."

An even louder wave of applause followed as soon as she finished reading her poem. Jenna shot her sister a proud look before resuming her typical superior expression. Lorna sat down again, shifting slightly at the penetrating glares from a few Year 11s.

"Now for the climax we have the Sixth Form winner. The category was 'Conflict' and we believe that every poem submitted was literary brilliance in its own right. So without further ado the winner poem is…" This time she held a gold envelope.

"If War Is a Game by Victoria Westwood"

All heads spun to face Victoria as she sheepishly stood up and made her way toward the microphone. Jenna's once calm countenance took on an air of overt cynicism. Victoria stood directly behind the metal microphone shifting timidly as icy stares shot through her.

Her gaze suddenly fell on a man, about her age, stood at the back of the hall. She'd never seen him before so assumed he was new to the school. His hair was black and tidily arranged as if he were an entrepreneur on the way to a conference. She knew he was in Sixth Form as he wasn't wearing the traditional grey/white school uniform but a leather jacket on top of an unadorned white shirt with dark jeans and black trainers. There was something in his eyes however that Victoria couldn't quite put her finger on. It was as if, deep down, he was a fable clouded by facts, archaism cloaked in advancement, sanctity concealed by sin. Victoria tore her eyes away from him and began to read her poem:

"Accursed be he that first designed war,

For war is just dread shrouded in mists of valour.

A sickness that plagues the world tenfold,

And takes with blast, the heroic and valiant.

If war is a game, select a corrupt station.

War is a battle, battled by men,

Men who murder to tell us that murder is wrong.

Only the late see the end of war,

Yet war would discontinue if they could arise.

If war is game, the rubrics have been broken.

When a man goes as far as he can,

Only then does he see how far he could have gone.

Truth, the first fatality of war,

Benighted by lies, told from their leaders mouths.

If war is a game, who rolls demise's dark dice.

War's to bring peace but peace it loses.

It is not an improver but a worsening.

You are primal if you can recall,

When 'igniting the world' was just an idiom.

If war is a game, it is a game grief will win.

War waits for no one, war feels nothing.

War cackles at fallen blood and screeches at peace.

War makes the devil chortle also.

War is a foolish fight that not a soul can win.

If war is a game, it's not ever archaic.

If war is game, you must perish to prevail.

But war is not a game, nevertheless we play."

The cluster erupted into a vented ovation, some constituents rising from their seats. Diane, Katie, Celeste and Katie were the most vehement. Others who rose from their seats were Elena Cosmine, Amalia Ionele and Adele Lavinia - the indigenous hearsay architects. No doubt they'll start some ordure manner of detrimental, prestige eradicating blather – similarly branded as gossip.

Victoria nodded marginally as if mutely airing her appreciations and gratitude. Victoria habitually wasn't the variety of individual to grow anxious but then again after the occurrences of the past week she supposed she earned the sanction to be permitted some sensation of timidity.

She still hadn't entirely come to grips with what had transpired. She accepted it, but she didn't wholly comprehend it. Her head constantly seemed to feel like it was on the threshold of paroxysm each and every time she contemplated about it excessively, so she decided it was almost certainly a good idea to go with the flow lest she become a mobile tragedy.

As she leisurely made her descent the set of steps at the left side of the stage she spotted something, or to be more precise she didn't. The gentleman that had so rapidly obtained her awareness had disappeared.

The bell for lunch resonated and the students piled out of the hall in a style close to that of a herd of stampeding bulls. Victoria's friends, being friends, waited for her afore departing – that or they just didn't want to get embroiled in the multitude of people also on their way to the refectory.

The canteen was divided into two sectors. The only entity partitioning the two was a firm wall with a solitary bowed arch positioned practically perfectly in the centre. The walls were all painted in a fairly dreary shade of champagne cream wheareas the floor was tiled with lustrous, khaki, inch-long tiles with silvery hemispherical emblems inlaid into arbitrary doors and the archway were both khaki coloured as were the holes through which the waitron distributed the victuals - additionally renowned as mawkish, nauseating gruel. The bill of fare at school was as consistent as cascades in April.

Monday: Jacket Potato or Sandwich

Tuesday: Spaghetti Bolognese or Sandwich

Wednesday: Pizza or Sandwich

Thursday: Chicken/Turkey or Sandwich

Friday: Shrimp Scampi or Sandwich

The students stifled a gag at the sight of the food. It was enough to repel the ferocious conflagrations of the abyss. Today was a Wednesday so pizza was the designated collation - that or a sandwich, and when it comes right down to it, the sandwich might as well be ordure on a plate. No wonder there were always ample measure of them left at the end of the stint. The tables in the canteen were all circular in shape with circular benches attached to them. Roughly eight people would fit around each table. The tables were slightly darker than the walls and ultimatley all the more dreary. The windows in the canteen were quite high up so there were a lot of electrically powered lights to illuminate the otherwise dim room.

The queue was relatively diminutive by the time Victoria and her friends got there so Victoria didn't have to wait long to collect her pizza. Roasted garlic and pepper flavour. It still amazed her that she could eat garlic after all vampires were extremely hypersensitive when it came to garlic. They were also averse to daylight, wooden stakes, both holy and running water and many other common vampire repellents. She also believed that vampires turned at sixteen, at least that's what all the common vampire legends alluded. Victoria had been told she was deemed unready to transform so her mirror wouldn't have accepted her. Shewas pleased she wasn't a full-fledged vampire, although the indeterminate feeling that accompanied the joy unsettled her. She didn't like not being the hegemony of herself.

Victoria, Ariana, Katie, Celeste and Diane were all seated at a table directly opposite the archway giving them a clear view of the adjacent room; Victoria however had her back to the arch. As her friends talked and lunched, talked and luched and talked and lunched, Victoria couldn't help but notice a feeling uneasiness wash over her, a feeling she found out she could not surmount. Her curiosity got the best of her and she began to search for the source of the sensation, completely unaware of the conversation occurring in front of her.

Her eyes fell on an interesting sight as she perceived someone watching her. Even when they knew Victoria was watching them their gaze didn't once shift. It was him. The man Victoria had seen in the assembly hall earlier that day. She noticed his glare was hard yet soft as he watched her. Victoria shifted nervously under his scrutiny before the loud, strident voice of Ariana broke the tension.

"Double D at two o'clock." She said attracting Victoria's attention once more. As if on que Jenna, Regina and Lara strolled up to their table keeping at least a foot away from it incase they 'caught something'.

"Look who it is," she began, as usual, "the deserter. Where were you when we were all being tortured?" She continued, the question directly aimed at Victoria.

Victoria, being a teenage girl, was very good at thinking up excuses. She knew that neither Jenna nor her entourage took Latin, also she also knew her friends didn't either. She thought up a pretty undoubtable yet common alibi.

"I had a doctor's appointment, my parents took me home just before 'it' happened." Victoria's face remained blank as she lied, but to outsmart a fox you had to be a fox.

Jenna seemed to contemplate her excuse for a few seconds before her gaze fell on the exact same man Victoria's had just moments earlier. Without saying anything she gestured to her friends and they sauntered towards the lone man sat at the table situated at a diagonal angle from Victoria's.

The quintet watched with amazement at how the man managed to shrug off any of Jenna advancements, politely asking her to 'get lost'. All the while though, Victoria realised, he was still watching her.

The rest of the day seemed to drag on and on and on. Victoria waved goodbye to her friends as the bus departed the street. She entered the kitchen placing her bag on the table, as per usual, before silently walking past Elizabeth and Ian who stood, apparently just being interuptted during a conversation with each other. The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs was subsequently heard.

"Do you think we should tell her?" Ian asked his wife as she took a sip of the tea she was holding. A shrill scream answered his question.

"I think she already knows." She said before smiling slightly.

"AHHHHHHH!" Victoria screamed as opened the door to her room to find a man standing there. Him. "It's you, you, you watched me at lunch." She splurted out.

"Very observant. Follow me." He said walking out of the door and down the two flights of stairs until he reached the ground floor. Victoria followed, her sometimes irritating curiosity getting the best of her once again. When she got there the man gently pushed her behind him as he face the staircase. Victoria eyed him carefully as he closed his eyes briefly before they snapped open as he whispered: Ascensionem, descensio, factus introitum.

Almost immediately the stair snapped in the middle, it was broken after all, and the two halves folded down into the now non-existent stair. Out of nowhere a door rose up from the hole until it came to its full door was a simple, brown, wooden door with a golden doorknob. The man looked back at the incredulous face of Victoria before reaching out, turning the knob and stepping through door and disappearing before he could exit through the other side. Victoria stared at the door for a while before a hand reached out forcibly pulling her in.

She screwed her eyes shut as she was pulled through the doorway. When she felt the hand's grip slacken she opened her eyes to she was in a completely different location. The walls of the room she now stood in were allmade of some kind of stone with a dark grey shade. The floor was also made of stone in the same colour. There were no windows just alight wooden torches attached to the walls inside warped metal rings. She surveyed the room and saw two cupboards the same size as wardrobes in addition to a punch bag that hung from the ceiling a single mahogany coffin that rested in the corner of the room.

"What is this place, and who are you?" She asked still taking in her surrounding, not daring to move from her spot.

"This, is your training room, and I am your trainer. The door was Nyx's idea; she thought you might like somewhere... private." He answered

"Okay, training for what?"

"Your future. You can't expect to be Queen of your race without knowing how to use your powers. I saw what you did with the slayers and I have to say I'm impressed."

Victoria could feel herself blushing although she didn't know why as nothing she should have embarrassed her. "I..." She found she couldn't find the words to explain what had happened; she didn;t really know what happened herself. However if this man did know something, perhaps she could trust him.

"Acted on instinct." The man finished for her seeing her giving up. "Mortan Chainswick, My Lady." He introduced whilst bowing.

The phrase 'My Lady' still irked Victoria after her altercation with Richard bon Duverac. "Victoria."

"Victoria it is."

Victoria grew uneasy at the lack of conversation in the air so decided to raise a question to break it. "What exactly do I have to train to be able to do?"

"Before we get on to that why don't we see what you can already do."

"I can't 'do' anything." She fibbed knowing she could do a lot. It scared her, what she was capable of doing, even with so little power.

"Only way to attest that." He said slightly shrewdly. He gestured for Victoria take up a position in the centre of the room.

Victoria acquiesced and stood in the designated area. Mortan stood behind gently grasping her arm and lifting it upwards until if formed a vertical line.

He then gently whispered in her ear, "When I say so, say the Latin word for fireball."

Victoria nodded showing she understood and followed Mortan with her eyes as he assumed a position directly opposite her around five feet away. Mortan nodded for her to begin.

Victoria closed her mentally preparing herself for... whatever it was she was about to do. When her eyes snapped open they were a fiery shade of red as the power surged through every vein in her body.

"Globus ignis." She said not shouting, but definitely louder than her normal, casual speaking voice.

Almost immediatly a large ball of fire formed in her hand before heading on a direct course to Mortan. He didn't expect her power to be so great; he'd expected a small flame or a spark, not a full-blown fireball. Victoria eyes widened in shock as the fireball neared him. What had she done? She immediatly retracted her arm and allowed it to fall to her side. Mortan's quick reflexes came in handy as he managed to dive out of the fireball's path before it hit him. The two vampires watched as the fireball came into contact with the stone wall. The wall rippled as the fireball hit it - probably one of Nyx's saftey measures.

Mortan looked at his 'student' who look just as shocked at the power she held. Before Mortan could say anything she darted out of the room slamming the door shut as she made her exit. She kept running until she reached the back door leading to the rather large garden. The garden consisted of a set of swings that had been since as long as Victoria could remember and a small swimming pool alongside a paved patio area for barbecues and whatnot.

She ran her fingers through her hair before bracing herself on the framework of the swing set as the world began to spin around her. Her breathing became heavier and heavier as the thought of what she had just done overwhelmed her. It was the middle of the day so she knew Mortan couldn't follow her as he, unlike her, had transformed at sixteen and from the looks of him he was around her age - then again he was immortal. Luke and Loucie were both at friend's houses and Victoria knew that Elizabeth and Ian had gone out as she could not see their cars in the driveway when she ran past the living room window on her way to the garden.

Her head began pounding violently. A 'swooshing' sound attracted her attention and she looked towards the door to see Mortan standing there just out of the sun's harsh rays. He began shouting but all Victoria cold hear was distorted static. She released her grip n the swing set as the world became still once more.

Then, without warning, her eyes rolled up into the back of her head as Victoria collapsed to the ground.

TBC

Please Review - I have made a pact to reply to any reviews as of today. Please be as honest as you like.

I have this fic planned out for a total of four stories, each of which will be thirteen chapters longs; that is of course you want to see a sequel.