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An agonized shriek pealed through the packed, busy, streets of the stone city. The place was alive with activity; merchants trying to sell their wares, peasants herding their flocks of goats, and a whole throng of other people going about their business, but no one looked up at the scream. They all knew what it was from, and by that time the sound had become a daily occurrence.

The poor creature who had yielded the shriek was writhing at the feet of a huge, burly man, who in turn scowled down at him with pure unmasked fury.

“On your feet, leech!” the man barked at the animal, lifting the whip he was holding threateningly.

The anemic being at the feet of the beast of a man gave a noise that was halfway between a growl and a whimper, but at the prospect of that whip hitting his already torn up back, he scrambled shakily to his feet.

He was a tall man, even by the standards of those around him, and had almost ivory-white skin that clung to the bones that were starting to stick out of his skin. Like many of the other pale men around him, the stricken man was covered in signs of abuse and his only clothing was a thin loin cloth.

His pitch black hair was chalky and matted from stone-dust, but as it fell in front of his red eyes it gave the perfect shield for him to glare at the man with the whip, but a sharp crack to his back made him cry out and hasten forward. He glanced back at the man, only to receive a black look that made him snap his head around again, and he reluctantly knelt in front of the huge block of marble. He tried to take his time, but the soft, almost pleading mutterings of the other men halted behind him made him grit his teeth and hoist the weighty chunk of stone back onto his shoulder.

He snorted under the burden, setting his teeth and adjusting the block before pushing forward again.

Just another day in the life of a vampire, He thought



******
PLEASE comment people! I'm begging you! ... Kind of... not really... But please, seriously, comment. And try not to just go "Oh, nice fic Adi!"

<333 Thank you Vampire... and yes... here is more. Is this soon enough for you?


A few hours later found the vampire collapsed on the edge of a dirty, foul-smelling fountain of water, jostling about with other men to lean on the side of the leaky stone well if only to drink greedily from the water, poor substitute as it was for blood.


The well was in the center of the dark, ruins of a courtyard and it was jam-packed with the white-skinned, ill covered men that had hardly any meat on their bones yet where strong enough to carry hunks of heavy stone. There wasn’t any secret to their strength, really; they were vampires, and able to retain their strength even after they were starved for months, sometimes even years.


Our seemingly young vampire only managed to get a few mouthfuls of the sadly refreshing murky water before he was shoved away by another man that was just as thin as he. Even as was the ground they were on, the gesture sent claws of cold fury rippling up the black haired man’s spine, and with a roar he staggered over to the offending vampire who’d stolen his spot.

A great satisfaction sparked in his chest as he felt his nails sink into the other’s flesh, and with a shrill cry, he yanked the other man up, hurling him across the room with all the strength in his slim arms.

By then, his victim was shrieking, and every other vampire in the courtyard was staring at them with intent, wide-eyed silence.

Every noise had suddenly become dead and distant to the black-haired vampire’s ears, everything except the returned, challenging roar from the man he had thrown. A sick sardonic smirk twisted its way across the face of the black-haired vampire, who then roared again and bore his fangs, before hurling himself forward.

He and the other man crashed into each other in mid air and collapsed to the ground, battling like starved dogs. Soon both of them were bleeding, from torn skin and from deep bite marks given to them by the other, and the dark rosy liquid flowed over split skin in crimson streams.

The black-haired man gave another shriek, this time one of victory, as he felt the other’s strength failing and he lunged down, latching his fangs onto the neck of the man struggling beneath him. Another flash of vindication flooded through him at the strangled shriek the weaker vampire gave when it felt his fangs sink effortlessly into its neck, and he ravenously began sucking the other’s blood.

He would have had the other vampire sucked dry in moments, if it hadn’t been for the barbed silver whip that slapped across his back. The first slash only made him crunch down harder, but the second slap, this one to the back of his throat made him reel back with a pained screech, only to be pinned down three huge men. Three werewolves. Three of the foul, wretched demons that were keeping this vampire and his brothers here only to have them tote around any heavy objects that needed moving.

Another roar, this one maniacal, pure fury that had been pent up for a long time, ripped itself from the black-haired vampire and, fueled by the blood he’d drunk, he thrust his body upward, struggling with every ounce of might in his lacking muscles. This proved to be a lot, for he managed to thrash his way out from under two of the three werewolves, but the third had an iron grip on his arm and on his neck and it wouldn’t let go for any of the vampire’s struggles.

He hissed through his teeth at the werewolf and both of his hands found a grip on the beast’s arms, and he dug his nails in as deep as he could. His new grip only made the werewolf clench down on his neck tighter, cutting off his oxygen supply and making him snarl weakly.

“G-Get off!” he hissed, even though he knew that only giving in or fighting harder would get the other off. He chose fighting harder and let yet more strength surge into his body, struggling around under the bigger werewolf. He set himself where his feet had something of a grip on the uneven tiles of the courtyard floor, and he launched himself upward.

The werewolf gave a surprised squeak as the vampire hurled it upward, and its grip loosened slightly. It was more then enough for the black-haired man, who gave a gasp and wormed his fingers under the dog’s meaty hands, digging his fingers into the flesh. The werewolf yelped and instantly let go, then cursed loudly.

“Stupid little tick!” it bellowed, curling one of its hands into a fist and aiming to pound it into the vampire’s face. The vampire proved far quicker then the werewolf; he ducked quickly and avoided it, but he failed to include the knee the werewolf brought up in his calculations. Despite that, he leapt back to evade the knee, only to trip over one of the other werewolves who were just watching now.

Two pairs of hands grabbed at him, and he fought with them vehemently. He wrenched one of his long-nailed hands free, blindly slashing for the werewolf, aiming for where he figured its neck would be, but something made him freeze before he could make the death blow… a voice screaming his name.

“Fionviar, stop!”

He growled and almost listened to it, his senseless rage already starting to ebb, until the werewolf made the mistake of tearing its own claws into his skin. The fury instantly sprung up again and he clasped claws on its neck, screeching his anger as he dug his talons through skin, muscle, and finally those vital veins no one should prick.

“FIONVIAR!”

Wow. I love the fighting part, that was amazzinngg < 33 Incredible job, AD. :]] I really like it.

the second sentence is a run on O: I like it so far, the beginning drew me into it, i could picture all the hustling of the people fairly well, but then i began to lose it when the fighting was going on. It was very good at first, but i feel it dragged on a bit. If this is supposed to be a short story, then it suits it, but i think it could be shortened some. I'm assuming you put this scene in to reveal the behavior of the character, and i like how you describe it. I might use this sometime.
Overall it's good, i'd love to see more. I've never been much of a fan of vampires or werewolves, but i do like how you made them almost like slaves, a good way to start, i think. Keep writing, i want to see more ;]

<33 Thank you Lax, thank you Craft. And yes... I fixed that sentance Sam-Sam, or tried to anyway...

Here's more:


"FIONVIAR!"

The voice literally went in one of the vampire’s ears and out the other; he ignored it completely as hot scarlet blood pumped from the wounds on the werewolf’s neck.

Fionviar was on a rampage now, and nothing would stop him. Nothing except for a blow to his head that sent him sprawling backwards, anyway. He yelped as he hit the ground and before he could even think of trying to get up, the weight of six werewolves landed on him, pinning him down and knocking the wind clean out of him.

He lay still beneath them for a few seconds, dazed and blinking stars out of his eyes, before he recovered his vigor and began to squirm under the weight of them, even as they struggled to keep him down.

His hearing suddenly came rushing back to him and he was paralyzed by a confusing torrent of sounds before he could battle even one of the werewolves off, first the sounds of the dog’s yelling at him and then the shrieks of on looking vampires that were jeering at the outnumbered werewolves and cheering on the single vampire that fought them.

Another laugh tore from him as his bearings returned to him, as he listened to his brothers cheer him for his opposal to the werewolves. He began to tear at them blindly, yet methodically, targeting the spots where he elicited yelps and roars from the werewolves who were by now beating him far worse then he was beating them. Just as his hand met the throat of another werewolf, he heard that voice yelling at him again.

“Fionviar, you must stop!” the voice cried, “If you continue to fight they shall kill you for sure!”

The voice stilled the dark-haired vampire and this time, he cast his eyes about for it, looking at the crowd of observing vampires as he fought to keep the werewolves from crushing the life out of him. He didn’t listen to the words of the voice, and continued to slash at the werewolves with his claws.
He froze again as his red eyes swept over a vampire struggling valiantly against two werewolves. Even as he looked at the other vampire that struggled to get to him, he felt the tension start to ease from his body although the heavy ragged pant remained.

The other vampire had blood red hair, dulled and ruined as it was by the dust of the stones and marble they were all forced to carry, and his eyes were gray with a . He was a blessing to the vampires, not that the werewolves knew it; if they knew that this young vampire was giving hope to the others just with his presence, they’d kill him without a doubt.

Seeing the red-haired vampire hurting itself just to help drained Fionviar of all resistance he had left and he let himself go limp under the werewolves he skirmished with. He wasn’t about to admit he gave up, but he pried his claws out of their death grip on the werewolves and he averted his gaze.

It seemed that the werewolves didn’t trust that he was done, but slowly they got off of him, but one of them stayed on top of him, pinning him down.

The caterwauling of the other vampires died down as they watched Fionviar give up and they lowered their stare, muttering and jostling amoung themselves in their hurry to get away from the scene, although the red-haired vampire lingered a few moments more before turning and letting the werewolves shove him away.

“On your feet you little leech!”

The werewolf that had just been pinning Fionviar down was on its feet know, and when he chanced a glance he almost laughed again. It was the werewolf who’d whipped him when he dropped the marble earlier. He snorted as he thought about it. Same phrase, same werewolf, different situation. Nonetheless, he obeyed, hauling himself to his feet with a grunt, only to stagger and fall again.

He wondered what was with his sudden weakness, and he looked down to see himself covered in blood. Most of it was from the werewolves he’d been fighting, but he could tell that a lot of it was his own too, seeping out of the numerous slash marks he had acquired during the struggle. He hissed but as he heard the sounds of the werewolves shifting for their weapons he cut the noise off, lowering his head and glaring at through his dirty hair at the werewolf, who scowled back.

A shove forward made Fionviar break the glare and cast his eyes downward. He struggled to swallow the angry growl that rose in his throat, keeping his eyes downcast, his chest still heaving as he waited to see what the werewolves would do with him.

The dogs exchanged a few barking words in their harsh animalistic language, then he yelped as another hand shoved him forward and this time it grabbed his arm. That was a mistake on their part.

With a small growl, he yanked his arm free before shackles could be placed around it, and he glared openly at the werewolf who kept calling him a leech. “I’m done fighting, but I’ll not be shackled like zhe dogs you are,” he spat, his voice dripping venom, “I’ll valk vith you, but you vill not chain me.”