Member
AlteredTundra
| {Full Name} |
| {Nickname} |
| {Date of Birth} |
| {Age} |
| {Gender} |
| {Sexuality} |
| {Relationship Status} |
| {Role} |
| {Occupation} |
| {Face Claim} |
| {Dialogue Color} |
Milo Aubert Gaspard
| {Nickname} |
Enoch
| {Date of Birth} |
Octoer 31, 1927
| {Age} |
90 (Was turned at 17)
| {Gender} |
Male
| {Sexuality} |
Homosexual
| {Relationship Status} |
Single
| {Role} |
Vampire
| {Occupation} |
Works at the French themed cafe/book store called "Bonnes Idées".
| {Face Claim} |
Alexander Ferrario
| {Dialogue Color} |
Aquamarine (7FFFD4)
| {Appearance} |
Milo was frozen in time at his 17 year old scrawny school boy phase and has remained the same ever since. He stands at 5’9” and weighs in around 117 pounds. He has brown hair and brown eyes, these feature along with his wide baby face help to portray the image of innocents and youth. He could never get away with having a fake, and would most likely be the one to get pulled over for looking to young while driving. Along with his height, Milo has a small frame and thin build, not really packing much on the muscle side and leaning more towards skin and bones. Milo tends to keep up with the times when it comes down to clothing, he likes to wear the latest clothes by whatever company while dressing comfortably and affordably. Throughout the years he has succeeded at dressing like some late high school early college student, while at the same times sometimes adding in his own flare. Milo always felt that he was to young to get tattoos and piercings (plus his father would have not allowed him to get them anyways). He is always changing, trying to keep up with the latest styles while staying true to himself.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
💥Milo has a habit to flick his zippo lighter back and forth, on and off, not really lighting anything just fidgeting with it. He carries the lighter with him wherever he goes and mostly plays with it when he is bored or is trying to think about something. The same can be said for his cross, he will rub it and fidget with it.
💥Milo has a way to show others he is uncomfortable, when he has been caught red handed, and when he is just playing awkward, he attempts to flash those puppy dog eyes and scratches his head. He also does this during those times when at a loss for words, those times when he does not know how to deal with a situation or a certain person, and even whens someone who has more authority then him comes into his space.
💥Milo will run his hands though his hair after a work out, doing sports, a long run, over all her does this to calm himself. When he leaves a movie he thought was scary, or after he gets caught up in a bad situation but got away, he can be seen running his hands through his hair. He does this as a way to relive stress and calm his beating heart.
💥Milo has a way to show others he is uncomfortable, when he has been caught red handed, and when he is just playing awkward, he attempts to flash those puppy dog eyes and scratches his head. He also does this during those times when at a loss for words, those times when he does not know how to deal with a situation or a certain person, and even whens someone who has more authority then him comes into his space.
💥Milo will run his hands though his hair after a work out, doing sports, a long run, over all her does this to calm himself. When he leaves a movie he thought was scary, or after he gets caught up in a bad situation but got away, he can be seen running his hands through his hair. He does this as a way to relive stress and calm his beating heart.
| {Hobbies} |
🃏Gambling People out their money
🃏Reading
🃏Writing
🃏Cooking
🃏Feeding
🃏Setting Things on fire
🃏Reading
🃏Writing
🃏Cooking
🃏Feeding
🃏Setting Things on fire
| {Likes} |
🎲Trying New things
🎲Traveling
🎲History
🎲The Outdoors
🎲Innocence
🎲Animals (especially cats)
🎲Long Walks at night
🎲Gambling Games (cards, dice, roulette, pool, mahjong etc.)
🎲The evolution of things (especially music and cars)
🎲Traveling
🎲History
🎲The Outdoors
🎲Innocence
🎲Animals (especially cats)
🎲Long Walks at night
🎲Gambling Games (cards, dice, roulette, pool, mahjong etc.)
🎲The evolution of things (especially music and cars)
| {Dislikes} |
🀄Older Vampires
🀄Aggressive People
🀄Magic (He was raised Catholic)
🀄Fighting
🀄Wars, guns, violence
🀄Snails
🀄Solider, and military in general
🀄Hunters
🀄Older Men
🀄Religion (Catholicism and Christianity)
🀄Aggressive People
🀄Magic (He was raised Catholic)
🀄Fighting
🀄Wars, guns, violence
🀄Snails
🀄Solider, and military in general
🀄Hunters
🀄Older Men
🀄Religion (Catholicism and Christianity)
| {Fears} |
🎱Milo fears death. His fear of death originates from his own "death". The moments leading up to him dying were the worst of his life, and it scared the life out him. That fear forever stuck to Milo and never left him, it drives his fight or flight, it helps him make important decisions, all the while keeping him up at night.
🎱The World War Era is a harsh memory on Milo's mental. He has dealt with much of WWII and the remnants of WWI, so any museums, items and people (vampire or witches, surviving humans?), cause him to clam up with fear as he relives those memories.
🎱Milo is afraid of magic, but only because he does not understand it. He was raised as a catholic, so aside from dealing with his own sexuality, magic came as a shock and then turned fear. There was no explanation, he was only ever told that "its the way things work" and this caused him to be turned off to the subject. Even his creation is a frightful thing to talk about, his lack of understanding produced fear for things that were not explained by the bible.
🎱The World War Era is a harsh memory on Milo's mental. He has dealt with much of WWII and the remnants of WWI, so any museums, items and people (vampire or witches, surviving humans?), cause him to clam up with fear as he relives those memories.
🎱Milo is afraid of magic, but only because he does not understand it. He was raised as a catholic, so aside from dealing with his own sexuality, magic came as a shock and then turned fear. There was no explanation, he was only ever told that "its the way things work" and this caused him to be turned off to the subject. Even his creation is a frightful thing to talk about, his lack of understanding produced fear for things that were not explained by the bible.
| {Secrets} |
🎰Milo's brother lived on after the war and his family grew to be strong and prosperous, not only in America but in France as well. To pay respects to his family and make up for letting his father die, every time some one dies in his "family" he makes sure to bury them and pay for all the expenses. He also tries to be there for all the births, graduations, birthdays, and major events in a person's life. Of course he is not resourceful enough to be able to go all the time, but for years within the Gaspard (human) line there has been tales that if the ghost of Milo appears at any point in your life then you are blessed. He has become some sort of saint/angle to his brothers family and wants to continue this tradition of his until the day he dies.
🎰No one knows about the man buried under the Yule Tree. The Yule Tree on the outskirts of town that is surrounded by a sea of yellow and red wildflowers, has a small patch of purple tulips. 20 feet under this small patch of tulips is the Elder Vampire Mathias, he was the "father" of Milo, and asked Milo to bury him under a Yule Tree so he could rest peacefully for the next century. Taking deep slumbers is a dangerous thing for vampires to do and without proper preparation, few survive the sleep and end up dying. Milo did not know what steps his second father took to prepare so he panicked, asked around, found out about a Yule Tree and buried him under one, hoping that he could fulfill the man's final wishes.
🎰No one knows about the man buried under the Yule Tree. The Yule Tree on the outskirts of town that is surrounded by a sea of yellow and red wildflowers, has a small patch of purple tulips. 20 feet under this small patch of tulips is the Elder Vampire Mathias, he was the "father" of Milo, and asked Milo to bury him under a Yule Tree so he could rest peacefully for the next century. Taking deep slumbers is a dangerous thing for vampires to do and without proper preparation, few survive the sleep and end up dying. Milo did not know what steps his second father took to prepare so he panicked, asked around, found out about a Yule Tree and buried him under one, hoping that he could fulfill the man's final wishes.
| {Abilities} |
🎯Vampiric Physiology: Milo has the "normal" vampire enhanced strength, speed, sight, smell, hearing, etc.
🎯Compulsion: Milo has the vampiric ability to compel others, and can alter emotions of others.
🎯Edge weapon expert: Milo learned earlier on in his life how to handle a sword quiet well (his father was a man of the old ways) and also is good with knives and throwing edged weapons.
🎯Runner: Milo is a good runner, and has been his whole life. He was good at track in school and could out run most in his class. When he became a vampire his speed was top notch, werewolves and vampires will have a hard time catching him once his feet hit the ground and his legs start going.
🎯Compulsion: Milo has the vampiric ability to compel others, and can alter emotions of others.
🎯Edge weapon expert: Milo learned earlier on in his life how to handle a sword quiet well (his father was a man of the old ways) and also is good with knives and throwing edged weapons.
🎯Runner: Milo is a good runner, and has been his whole life. He was good at track in school and could out run most in his class. When he became a vampire his speed was top notch, werewolves and vampires will have a hard time catching him once his feet hit the ground and his legs start going.
| {Limitations} |
🎮Sunlight, stakes, vervain: All of the normal vampire weaknesses.
🎮Head Trauma: For some reason Milo cannot take major head trauma. When he is dealt a strong enough blow to the head by either enhanced strength or blunt object he is dazed, might get a nose bleed and has a slow recovery.
🎮Head Trauma: For some reason Milo cannot take major head trauma. When he is dealt a strong enough blow to the head by either enhanced strength or blunt object he is dazed, might get a nose bleed and has a slow recovery.
| {Personality} |
♠ Youthful ♠ Unnerved ♠ Insouciant ♠ Intuitive ♠
Milo is a young lad at heart. He will be forever 17 and acts like it, despite being 90 years old and only getting older. His youthful attitude and young disposition will anger most older vampires because they know he is not some new born. Even though he is not fresh out and is still considered young, Milo still acts although he is a 17 bear old boy running the track and playing catch with his friends. He does this as a way to not have to face the fact that he has a long time to live, this fact alone scares him. He never had a chance to find out who he is and what he likes, where he stands in a crowd and how to get the girl (guy), due to the war and his maker Milo missed out on many things. In his mind, he is gonna be stuck looking that young for a while so might as well act the part, plus no one would believe a 17 speaking like someone who has seen the horrors he has. Instead its easier for everyone involved (himself included) if he just acts his role and plays the part he was stuck with. Behind closed doors, he can be seen betraying his role and those eyes full of life and youth are replaced with a dull stress, one so heavy if it would up to world to carry, the world would break. When he is alone or even sometimes when he is reminded of the past his whole demeanor changes and a trained eye will pick up on his true self, while one not so keen to these things will only see him staring off into space. The reasons he chooses youth instead of his true self is because of all the pain that he really carries and the constant reminders that float within him attacking on a daily. Its one reason games are his favorite pastime, games are innocent, they are childish, and they take him back to times of fun and joy.
All his life there has always been a stable man who acted as a father figure, some male role model who lead him down the right path, someone Milo could admire. When he was a child it was his grandfather and uncle, when he was a pre-teen it was his older brother, and when he was growing into adulthood it was his father. After he was turned Milo me the first man who had ruined his image of the older male, his maker had utterly ruined his entire firs 17 years by acting the way he had, the man did not fit into cookie cuter outline Milo had created about older males. This changed everything he ever knew, it showed him the darker side of the world and what really lurks behind the face of men with more power. This planted a seed of doubt in him, everything Milo had ever seen or known, everything he had ever done or any action he had ever made was now in question. He did not want to face the fact that he could have been led astray by evil men wear sheep's clothing, this caused him to second guess everything he did (even to the present day). The clothes he wears, how he responds, who he talks to, the friends he makes, Milo called his entire character into question and drowned it in a pool of insecurity. His rebirth brought doubts with it, and being immortal has only given him more time to think about what he might be doing wrong.
For all his mental troubles and his physical pain through out his life, Milo has walked away with a particular attitude on most situations. He learned early on what his favorite author meant by "Vampires do not hold grudges, we harbor them." In other words he honestly believes when life gives you lemons you have to make lemonade, and not really worry about anything else. There is no point in trying to control things that you can't, or trying to deal with people who don't want to be bothered. Milo thinks that life should be taken a day at a time and worrying about such things like the future and trying to make sure everything is done a certain way, at a certain time, waste the time you are given each day. He believes that think like that and living in such a constant state of preparation is why people have regrets when they die. Instead he chooses to live life like he has nothing to lose, and not be sorry for it. Granted he may be held back by his past at times but that is his struggle in life, getting over his problems and instead using them to make himself better as a whole instead of letting them crush his resolve and make him weak. He tries to let things roll of his back like water off a duck, making sure to only care for truly life threatening instances. All in all he can be quiet indifferent about most people (except his family and maker) and tries not to care about other people's situations or events.
Milo can act all he wants, but his age shows in how he responds to certain things. He is seen as highly intuitive and wise. Milo can easily see through people facades and tear down the walls they put up. It is easy for him because of two things: those are teenage tactics people use in everyday life and Milo will forever be a teenager so things like that don't get past him that easily, the second is that he is the master of putting up walls and wear mask. His "father" taught him that the life of a vampire should be lived as if it were a play, "We have one script but many costume changes and mask we must wear, it is up to us how we act in these costumes. But you must never forget you only get one script." The man taught him that no matter how many changes people make they still only have one script, even vampires, and showed him how to see past these walls and at the true character of a person. If one were to have watched Milo's life they would tell you not to lie to him for he would know, don't hold your feelings back because he can see them, and don't be afraid to cry because h knows you need it. Reading in between the lines is easy to Milo and seeing in between people is even easier, he is rarely surprised by people's actions, and it takes a true wildcard to throw him off his horse. Most things coming from his elders surprise him, and add further to his knowledge of the living person and their acts.
All his life there has always been a stable man who acted as a father figure, some male role model who lead him down the right path, someone Milo could admire. When he was a child it was his grandfather and uncle, when he was a pre-teen it was his older brother, and when he was growing into adulthood it was his father. After he was turned Milo me the first man who had ruined his image of the older male, his maker had utterly ruined his entire firs 17 years by acting the way he had, the man did not fit into cookie cuter outline Milo had created about older males. This changed everything he ever knew, it showed him the darker side of the world and what really lurks behind the face of men with more power. This planted a seed of doubt in him, everything Milo had ever seen or known, everything he had ever done or any action he had ever made was now in question. He did not want to face the fact that he could have been led astray by evil men wear sheep's clothing, this caused him to second guess everything he did (even to the present day). The clothes he wears, how he responds, who he talks to, the friends he makes, Milo called his entire character into question and drowned it in a pool of insecurity. His rebirth brought doubts with it, and being immortal has only given him more time to think about what he might be doing wrong.
For all his mental troubles and his physical pain through out his life, Milo has walked away with a particular attitude on most situations. He learned early on what his favorite author meant by "Vampires do not hold grudges, we harbor them." In other words he honestly believes when life gives you lemons you have to make lemonade, and not really worry about anything else. There is no point in trying to control things that you can't, or trying to deal with people who don't want to be bothered. Milo thinks that life should be taken a day at a time and worrying about such things like the future and trying to make sure everything is done a certain way, at a certain time, waste the time you are given each day. He believes that think like that and living in such a constant state of preparation is why people have regrets when they die. Instead he chooses to live life like he has nothing to lose, and not be sorry for it. Granted he may be held back by his past at times but that is his struggle in life, getting over his problems and instead using them to make himself better as a whole instead of letting them crush his resolve and make him weak. He tries to let things roll of his back like water off a duck, making sure to only care for truly life threatening instances. All in all he can be quiet indifferent about most people (except his family and maker) and tries not to care about other people's situations or events.
Milo can act all he wants, but his age shows in how he responds to certain things. He is seen as highly intuitive and wise. Milo can easily see through people facades and tear down the walls they put up. It is easy for him because of two things: those are teenage tactics people use in everyday life and Milo will forever be a teenager so things like that don't get past him that easily, the second is that he is the master of putting up walls and wear mask. His "father" taught him that the life of a vampire should be lived as if it were a play, "We have one script but many costume changes and mask we must wear, it is up to us how we act in these costumes. But you must never forget you only get one script." The man taught him that no matter how many changes people make they still only have one script, even vampires, and showed him how to see past these walls and at the true character of a person. If one were to have watched Milo's life they would tell you not to lie to him for he would know, don't hold your feelings back because he can see them, and don't be afraid to cry because h knows you need it. Reading in between the lines is easy to Milo and seeing in between people is even easier, he is rarely surprised by people's actions, and it takes a true wildcard to throw him off his horse. Most things coming from his elders surprise him, and add further to his knowledge of the living person and their acts.
| {Place of Origin} |
Angiens, France
| {Background} |
"Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see."
-Neil Postman
-Neil Postman
The life of a child is one filled with happiness, joy, fun times that outweigh the bad, and its supposed to be led down the right path by strong figures. Milo Gaspard was born in 1927 on October 31st, he is the youngest of two boys and has always been a sweet, fun loving child. His parents where Hilda and Jean Gaspard, Hilda was a German woman with strong values but a soft heart, she baked the best sweets in the neighborhood and loved both her sons from the bottom of her heart. She married Jean because of an agreement made by their parents a long time ago, but did not regret it. In Jean's youth he was a jock; sports, ladies man, not to well in school, he embodied all the qualities of the word but was a romantic and quick to fall in and out of love. When they became of age (18) their parents reviled their arranged marriage, and set them up for life. The Gaspard family is know for making shoes by hand in France, and Jean inherited this business after he got married. For years they lived happily, working on the shoe business, hosting parties, living out their youth as a married couple until WWI happened. It was a bad time to get drafted to the French military, Hilda was pregnant, Jean was worrying who would run the place while he was gone, and what about their son coming into this world. The time of the first world war was brutal and Milo's older brother was born into it, of course he would not remember them going from home to home trying to hide from the Germans, he would not remember the smell of burning bodies and gunpowder in the morning, he would not remember the things his mother had to do to keep them safe, Mark (the older brother) was nothing but a baby. After the war was over Jean returned not a young boy, but a hardened man with one less arm. He was suffering form a mental sickness and had remarried Cointreau, years after he would fall deeper into his own word of inhibitions and soon they gave birth to Milo 1927.
While his father was off trying to find his next drink and his mother was to busy running the shoes company (attempting to piece back together what they had left after the war), Milo was left to be raised by his grandparents. Milo grew up under the warm hand of his grandfather as they traveled around France. He learned about the good things of the world and made many friends on his trip. He grew into a fine young teen, ran track, had good grades, great friends and overall was living life to the fullest. Milo was the embodiment of youth at the age of 12, that is until his grandfather died. Milo cried for three days until his mother came to pick him up and take him back home, he did not want to leave the old man but had no choice. When arrived at his original home, Milo was met with the sight of his drunken father lounging on the couch and his brother trying to do work in the kitchen. The boy was not a fool he could tell the situation was shit but instead decided to work with what he had, from the next day on Milo acted as a shining beacon for his small little family. No matter the struggle they faced or the adversity they had to climb over, Milo was a bright child who inspired those around him. His light even reached Jean and pulled the man out of drunken world.
It was after his father went on a sober streak that Milo and him grew close, they were glued at the hip and did almost everything together. When Milo was 14 their house was divided; his brother and mother on one side, and Milo and his father on the other side. The children each had one parent each and did not receive much from the other. Milo's father taught him many things he learned himself in the war, all Jean wanted was to make sure his son could survive out there on is own and defend himself if the time called for it. He is also the man who instill the catholic teachings in Milo, hooking him on the promise of heave, and the threat of hell, showing him the "truth" of our lord and savior and of the fallen prince. Milo fell in love with these teachings and made it a bigger part of his life, all the while the threat of war looms in the background. This reignited the spark of anger and malice in his home, the two sides of the house hold argued day after day trying to decided if they should leave to America now or wait until the war blew over.
Hilda wanted to leave an never look back, while Jean was proud of the French military he once fought for, the military he gave his arm to, and trusted that they would be protected. After the war began a bomb was lit to blow in the house hold, everyone was walking on egg shells making sure to not step on any land mines, their little home had been turned into a battle field and Milo could feel all the tension. May 10, 1940 marked the explosion of said bomb, allies where losing battles left and right and the Germans where invading France. Hilda had enough, packed up half the house and took Mark with her as she left, swearing never to return to the two fools if they did survive the wars. Milo trusted his father, and they prayed together every day, they prayed as the Germans bombarded their town and raided the nearby homes, they prayed as the Nazis marched down he streets shouting their propaganda for any who might be left, they prayed that their house would be unnoticed, and left alone. To them it seemed that their prayers had been answered, and during the middle of the war both men had to work together to live. Milo would handle making runs and getting food while Jean would take care of the home and ensure that they were as safe as they could be. For a time it worked, until the food ran out, until the Germans stated to kill the reaming French, until the prayers no longer worked. Milo started to grow resentful towards his father, the man would take bigger portions of what little food he could find, he would never leave the house to find food, and even if Milo go caught and had to fight his way out, Jean only cared that he brought back a meal. When Milo couldn't he would beat the boy senseless and then throw him back out into the wild land of stray bullets and falling missiles until he found something. But Milo still loved his dad and trusted his words, so he persevered through it and made sure to "do his part."
Flick….Flick….
The darkness was illuminated by the sudden spark of orange and red hues that coalesced around the tip of the zippo lighter in Desmond’s hands. A single bent cigarette hung from his mouth stained with the crimson color of blood. The flame died away as quickly as it was born, cloaking the vampire once again in his hidden environment. It was the resolution of World War II, the climax was over and now the falling action was taking place. The Battle of Normandy or soon to be known as D Day was the day that would live in infamy. The beaches were torn asunder and ravished in the piles of bodies and intestines, blurred vision, and broken sound was shrouded by the veil of enemy gunfire and explosions. It was a gruesome scene and men died by the hundreds with each docking boat. It was a miracle that the allied forces were able to storm the beach despite their loss of life. The carnage and entrails painted a road outlining where the flow of battle was directed, except there was something oddly off about the road pathed with good intentions. Germany’s armies were being pummeled into submission, platoon by platoon there forces were diminishing and the surrender would soon come to fruition.
Elsewhere allied forces were marching down whilst suckling on the taste of victory despite their enormous loss in casualties. The war would officially end, but the war was just beginning somewhere else. Back to the road that had forked off from the main squadron and bandolier of soldiers. The reminiscent hues of fire were now dancing on the withered ash of the pale white stick in Desmond’s mouth, his fingers glazed in an ichor of blood. Desmond walked out of the darkness that engulfed him before, the nonexistent door adjacent to broken hinges. The sunlight kissed his skin and illuminated his pale translucent flesh while red painted his uniform in a cascading splatter. A body dragged beside him, limp, with the color of axis powers draped on his tattered body. Desmond took one last drag from the ailing stick and flicked it away. Suddenly a cacophony of sound erupted a few yards away from him with a dazzling theatre of explosions. A smirk was caught in the mouth of the wolf excited for his next dish, Desmond was a glutton there was no mistaking it. He had paid for his sins handsomely before, there was no salvation for a soul like his.
Desmond made his way casually to the house flicking up his lighter then clapping it back shut. The lighter was scuffed and worn as if it had seen countless battles. Well it had, this was his lighter from the very start of this long arduous war and was kept by his side since. The hungry wolf made his way over to the building but waited in the wings as a German soldier made his way up and into the broken building.
Months later Milo would not feel the same as he lay helpless in his tattered bed fully exposed, left bare and raw by whatever “patron” had just left his room. Things had gone too far, the pain was too much, and love no longer covered up everything Milo felt; the hate, fear, anger, and sorrow. Milo was not much more the flesh and blood, he could be mistaken as a corpse and was treated as one. The young boy wondered why his father allowed this, why the man let his son lose what little innocence he had left to the war, and all Milo could come up with was that he was no longer his dad. It was in these thoughts that he could numb himself to the situation on the outside, he could put up his walls, block out the hands, touches, and words. Milo laid and pondered all day about what he could do to change his situation, or why this happened to him. The man who used to be his father roamed the halls speaking to himself and inviting in soldier after soldier, and with ever “sell” the boy lost another part of his soul.
Around the time The Invasion of Normandy happened Milo and his father where ghost to the world. Jean bore a heavy resemblance to a drug addict living on the street, always dirty with a spiteful look in his eyes. He felt that France owed him something, that the Germans owed him something, that the war owed him something, and took it all out on Milo. Jean would beat, and starve Milo for days at a time, on top of already selling his son to the German soldiers for liquor. Now his father was a broken man, but Milo was a shadow in the night, he was barely talking, covered in dirt, used, malnourished, and abused. Milo no longer prayed and now just hoped that it would all end soon, either with his death or the death of his father.
When the invasion started, the Germans had begun to retreat but not without “cleaning house.” They went from house to house “cleansing” the streets of the “French filth” (as they called it); shooting, grenades, tear gas, using any all things they had available aside from the cannon fire to rain death. By the time allies reached Angiens, it was 3 days of cannon fire, missile rainfall and mist of smoke made by fire and guns. Their house had been untouched, “a miracle of god" Jean would say, but that miracle soon came to an end. Milo would often hide from his father in his closet upstairs (when he had the strength) and would wait out the onslaught, as his old man thrashed and raved with each shake of the ground and sound of fire.
It was at noon on the last day of the siege on their city (of course ending in the Allies victory) and as they retreated the Germans began to kill any civilians left in the town. They rained hell on the little city in those a last few hours and for the first time in a year Milo prayed, he prayed that he would live, that he wanted to live and move on with his life, but his prayer fell upon the ears of the wrong god. There was a moment of silence before the last mortar shot from the Germans could be heard being shot across the city. It whizzed through the air and as it got closer and closer, Milo began to sweat with fear, he knew that it would hit his house, it was as if the missile had his name on it and could seek out what was left of his light. It landed directly on his house and split the brick and wood home in half utterly destroying it. The entire back half of the house was gone, the kitchen destroyed, only a weak staircase left attached to the wall, and a nice view of the destroyed city behind them. Upstairs all the rooms except for Milo’s (which is closest to the stairs) were either destroyed or inaccessible. Milo would get bruised and cut up in his hiding spot from being thrashed around, the scraps of clothing he wore, now stained lightly in fresh blood.
It was silent enough to hear a pin drop, and Milo waited and waited, until the sound of boots crunching against the debris was heard in the distance getting closer and closer. Milo could hear the sound of combat boots, the clanking of dog tags and other metal items touching against each other. He was happy that it was someone here to save him, so he waited for his salvation in the tiny closet.
The lighter snapped shut as Desmond made his way silently into the house. The floorboards were old and the varnish had been eaten away from years of wear. With every step there was an audible creak from any pressure applied. Luckily for Desmond, he was the perfect assassin even in the daytime, his steps were light and nimble. His vision was met with the chalk of blasted concrete on the walls, but also layered with something else. Red mist. Someone had been the unfortunate recipient of the last mortar strike by the last of the fleeting German soldiers. The smell was putrid, burnt flesh and hair were among the worst smells that could capacitate the heightened senses of a vampire. Specks of what he could only presume to be flesh and bone, were scattered around the room like Christmas ornaments. The holiday cheer was devoid of the current scene, regardless Desmond decided to ignore whatever had occurred in this part of the house and focus on the sound resonating from the top of the intact stairs. He moved forward before he stepped in a large pile of mush that felt like a vat of mud under his shoes.
With a horrid look of discuss and the squishing of whatever matter was underneath his feet, he moved his foot back. Under his shoe was brain matter lined with a parchment of flesh and the beginning of a furrowed eyebrow. Much like dog shit, Desmond scraped the remains of whatever ‘it’ was on the neighboring cabinet. Looking both up and down to make sure he didn’t step in any more ghastly mystery stew, Desmond danced around the floor like an agile cat never missing a beat. The stairs were perfectly clear of any remains and human poultry. With each step the sound became more distinct, more alive, the howling of an SS officer cackling while the hysteria bled deeply out of whomever was suffering at their hands became clear to Desmond. The fresh hint of iron tinged his nose, the smell that never seemed to get old made his skin crawl in anticipation. Goosebumps lined his skin as his eyes clouded into a jet black while his fangs unsheathed themselves.
The spiral staircase ran out of steps as Desmond made his grand entrance into the room, except there was no warm reception for the vampire who made no noise. The death squadron officer had his bayonet deep within the intestinal tract of what seemed to be a scared little boy, pathetic. With no hint of hesitation Desmond moved in behind the unsuspecting German and grabbed his face and shoulder as he ripped open his throat in a rush of barbarism. The soldier in disarray tried to react but it was no use, the venom of Desmond's will poured into him rendering him useless. His eyes rolled back before his body went limp, thus dropping his Gewehr 43 with the bayonet still attached. With one violent gurgled roar, Desmond ripped that section of the soldier’s throat out while he pushed the body away. The body hit the floor with a thunderous thud while Desmond spit the chunk of flesh out in the opposite direction, “I hope you taste better boy.”
Milo listened as his savior got closer, he waited as weight was put on his home’s steps and they screamed in protest. When Milo could hear the soldier looking around his room, the boy smiled and used what little strength he had to push the door open. Before him stood the devil in a wehrmacht uniform, and like the devil a cruel smile dawned on his face. The German soldier wasted no time and charged at Milo with his Gewehr 43. They tangled together, if you call Milo’s weak attempt at stopping the bayonet from being plunged into his gut any form of resistance. Milo was in such a weak state that when he grabbed the weapon and tried to stop it, he ended up just guiding it to his stomach and helping the German “purge” him. As the man impaled him, Milo looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a crazy bloodlust and man lost in madness. In those moments Milo felt no despair just sweet release, he was glad things were ending and dying slowly would suit him just fine, as long as the pain ended.
In a blink of an eye the German’s neck was ripped out by another man, Milo gasped as he saw the fangs, felt the blood, and saw the look in his black eyes. The second soldier had an air around him that screamed power and a look in his eyes that demanded fear. “I hope you taste better boy.” The man said, and Milo could only nod in his death filled haze. His life was quickly slipping away, as if the mere presence of this man scared it away, and he gripped at the weapon in his gut and slowly pulled it out with a pain filled grunt. Milo then registered that his slow and peaceful death would not happen and this man was going to cause him for pain, this thought caused his fear to return. Milo did not want a painful death, he wanted to die differently from how he was living, but the “man” in front of him threatened his last request.
”Plea-” Milo tried to say before breaking down in a coughing fit. His vision got blurry and when he looked up at the man, Milo saw something flicker in through the man’s eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, and was in no state to try to decipher what that man was feeling, he just wanted to die. The man moved faster than Milo could track and grabbed the boy by the neck, then dragged him out the room and down the stairs, making sure to cause as much pain on the way down.
When they reached the bottom the man, the monster, threw Milo in the remains of his father. “Say hello to what’s left of your family.” The man said with a sinister chuckle as Milo struggled to pick himself up and get away. As he struggled, the man grew impatient and used his foot to keep Milo’s head face down in his father’s brains. Milo knew it was his dad because of a lone eye he saw resting in what looked like a piece of the man’s head, this caused what tear’s he had left to come crawling down his face. “Do you want to live? Or do you want to end up like this pile of shit here?” The man sneered, and with each question his foot applies more pressure to the boy’s head, causing him to sink further into the brain matter until his head began throb. As the pain grew, Milo weakly thrashed around and gripped at the bloody floor. He wanted to die, but this man was making him fear a death, this man made him fear dying in such pain.
“Answer me boy, or I’ll crush you like the insignificant bug you are.” The man said, and applied a little more force, he couldn’t stand weakness. In his desperation for the pain to stop, Milo started to shake his head slowly under the man’s boot. He would do anything to make the pain stop, and once his answer was accepted it did. The boot gone, pressed disappeared, instantly Milo was thrown against the messy wall, his whole front side was covered in blood and bodily matter. The pain in his gut grew and his eyesight was fading to black. The man quickly slit his wrist “Ah...no you don’t. Your life belongs to me now Enoch. Drink!” The man said, and forced Milo to drink his blood. The moment the crimson liquid touched his tongue, Milo gained a new found strength and began to drink. Taking large gulps until the wrist was ripped away from him, this made Milo whimper in hunger and he stood up against the wall and stared at the man in front of him with clear eyes. The only thing on his mind, in his heart, and driving his body was hunger. He was hungry for this man’s blood, and in that moment Milo would do anything to get it. He began to walk/stumble towards the man whispering “M-more”, over and over. His newfound hunger was driving him crazy and caused him to lunge at the man.
The thirst the boy had was quite endearing, it was unlike Desmond’s first time. The fear, the rage, the naivety to the situation at hand. Desmond wasn’t in his natural mind, but so existed the dark passenger to take over when Desmond was too weak to succumb to the flaws of flesh. While he hadn’t noted it, Desmond was acting exactly as his maker did to him. If he could only look himself in the mirror now, how disgusted would he be? Would the image of Abel come rushing into his mind and manifest itself behind him in the mirror? The cold touch of his proud maker resting on his shoulders as Abel’s smile of contempt and arrogance congealed into this final moment. The student became the teacher, Abel had won. Desmond without skipping a beat, pirouetted around the lustful fletching and cusped his hand behind the boys head, using his energy against him. His face would be thrusted head first into the concrete wall in front of him. Smearing the boy’s face in the dried blood of his father before pulling him back by his hair. With a quick thrust the boy’s body collapsed to the floor, Desmond’s hands dove into his open stomach, grinding his hands along his intestinal cavities.
Enoch would jolt up by involuntary action, one of the reactions Desmond had come to learn by investigating human anatomy through the years. The look of his new son instantly burned the memory of his own brother back into his mind. They both shared the same fate and destined look of torture in their eyes when Vampires had come onto the scene looking for their next meal. Breaking his drunken rage, Desmond felt his humanity trickle down his spine. The boy was slipping off the edge of mortality and about to meet the cold unforgiving afterlife that was once robbed from Desmond. With the boy on the scales of fate, Desmond acted quickly to keep the boy alive. Now that he was unconscious it would be easier to work on him. Desmond had run off in search of the bodies of the medical German Soldiers he had feasted on just before entering the house. Doing his best work with a shorthand of supplies and utensils, the crazed doctor slowly put the boy back together piece by piece. The second feeding of vampire blood also helped to start the full conversion into the life of the night. The regenerative properties would grow from a budding seed into a blossoming fruit in due time, unfortunately for Enoch, his scars would remain forever.
Desmond stumbled to his feet admiring his shoddy work while hoping to atone for his sins regarding his brother. A crumpled cigarette met his lips as he attempted to flick his lighter one last time, except there was no flame. Was it a sign of what his life would come to? Desmond kept the cigarette in his mouth, but tossed the lighter to the floor. Enoch would never have the burden of having Desmond ruin his life, as if he hadn’t already.
Milo woke the next day covered by a thick tarp that blocked out the light. His initial thought that the he was dead, and this was its truth: a silent darkness. But when Milo tuned into the sounds of insects buzzing, and the rancid smell of death infiltrating his nostrils, he knew that death was not lucky enough to find him, and all that happened yesterday was real. That means he should be a creature now, no longer human and a living offence to god. But Milo did not care, god did nothing to save him from this war, god sat and watched as "he" ruined his life. It was yet another time in his life that the man killed everything he loved in life. So he sat there for hours until the heat of the sun faded away, Milo listened to steps of soldiers and survivors alike, he listened to the wails of pain and the cries of joy. The joy of surviving the war and getting out of the Nazi created hell was not shared by everyone, Milo was hurt, he was reduced to nothing and left raw the only comfort were the rags that hung off his now lean muscles.
When night finally fell, Milo was startled by the tarp being ripped away and Mathias being the culprit for disturbing his moment of ignorant bliss. The older vampire smiled at Milo, as a father would his long lost son. Mathias had been watching his lost child turn this poor boy into a creature of the night. Even after his failed rebirth, Jack still came through from time to time and Mathias would miss none of it, he just watched from a higher perch this time around. But the turning of this boy was not Jack, it had nothing to do with his great child, this was all that abomination Desmond's fault. Mathias had been faced with a choice all day: put the boy out of his misery, or make him into something more. Mathias made his decision before he even noticed and pulled off the tarp separating him from his new child.
"It is alright child, I am here to help. Now come on lets go get you some food." Mathias said with a warm smile, but a stern look in his eyes that would not be questioned. He would not let his new "specimen" get away like Jack had, no, Mathias would plant the seeds of his legacy and watch them bloom.
Milo shuddered as a cold hand, wrapped it self around his neck. He was petrified as that dominating look pierced his soul and forced him into submission. Milo nodded and stood up on shaky legs like a new born calf. He followed the smiling on old man throughout the ruined city. Bodies littered the french town, some burnt, some stained with dried blood, some looked fresh, maybe even slightly breathing those last breaths. All the buildings where littered with bullet holes, if they were not ripped in half and left to pieces. The city of Angiens was decimated and one of the first it by the invasion, the few hundreds of citizens left were put into a "resuscitation camp" which was really a cesspool of French natives that the Americans did not know where to put. When Milo and Mathias arrived at the camp, the young boys senses were on a whole new level. He could feel everything, and it was overloading his very being, he could only stand there at the entrance as the smells filled his nose, and vibrations crawled on his, and sounds bounced in and out of his ears. Mathias put a soothing hand on his shoulder and for the second time today scared the boy.
"Calm down boy, it is only me, now you can have your fill. Just make sure to clean up your mess after." Mathias said with a smile, then urged him forward towards young girl nearby. Mathias wold then give him his first feeding experience, he would show the boy (to the best of his abilities) how to deliver true death, and began molding the child. "Me d-drink." Milo said with his thick french accent. This caused Mathias to smile and as Milo got his first taste, and it was a sight to behold. The child feeding was something only second to Jack's killings, the single drop of blood falling from his lips and another cascading down the side of his mouth onto his white skin. Mathias was entranced for the second time in his life and simply watched as his new "son" took the first steps to becoming a vampire.
Milo on the other hand was lost on cloud nine, the warm blood cascading down his throat filling him with warmth took away the pain he felt and momentary changed his perception on life. Milo would drain the young helpless girl dry and then proceed to ask for "More" Milo half moaned in pleasure and he got more, the whole camp to be exact. He proceeded to kill all 250 in a blood daze, snapping necks, drain men women and children alike until there were only corpses left. Milo would enter into his blood drunk haze for the next years with Mathias, the aging elder would watch with fascination as hi new pet would give him the show of a life time and kill to his hearts content.
From then on, Milo was now the adopted son of Elder Mathias Burradock, the man was not cruel just firm, he was not nice just warm, he did not snip, bite, or cut off Milo, he just explained why the boy was doing it wrong. They developed a twisted master servant relationship that had a mixture of father and son components. Milo would learn everything his new master had to teach him, while fetching blood for the fangless elder. The years that followed reminded him of the time with his grandfather, a happy time, they visited most war scenes form present and past, went to places no man could and that only one as old as Mathias would know about. Mathias and Milo would become kindred beings and liked how they lived.
In the year 2000, Milo and his master (whose name he never learned after all these years, Mathias simply told him to call him "master" or "M") went to the US for the first time and found his brother. His brother was a old man now with kids of his own, and his children had children, they all lived in California happily. It was on Thanksgiving of that year, as he watch his brothers "village" laugh and share good times over a table full of food that he swore to make sure none of them became vampires, and if they did he could kill them himself. This scene snapped out of the blood furry he was stuck in, and caused him to cry in horror at what he had done for all those years at the behest of yet another "father"in his life. Milo's light could be seen in his eyes again, and it shinned with sadness at the lives he had taken and the pain he caused.
After seeing his family, Milo struck out on his own and left Mathias in Los Angeles, leaving the elder for a different life. He travel all throughout the US looking for something but he could pinpoint what exactly. It was during these years of wander that he would compel his way into people's families and complete high school over and over again, getting hooked on the life of youth and the present, instead of living in the past. Milo was living in New York City 2 year ago from the present time, when he received a letter form his master telling him to come to Salem, Massachusetts for an important matter and left him an address. Milo had not heard form him for 15 years so he quickly left in the night and arrived a day later in the town, the first thing that hit his senses was the presence of "others." Milo had met his fair share of wolves, witches, and hunters, he learned to deal with each of them in his own way. This city as filled with them, and it felt as if their presence lived in the land. When he went to house that was on the letter, Milo found nothing inside but coffin a st of keys and a letter baring the seal of his second father. Mathias had left specific directions for Milo to follow and given him his freedom upon completing his last order. At the end of the directions he signed with his name and told Milo he was honored to be his father. Milo buried a father for the third time in his life that day and decided to not leave Salem, instead he stayed and joined the local coven, living in his old masters house.
While his father was off trying to find his next drink and his mother was to busy running the shoes company (attempting to piece back together what they had left after the war), Milo was left to be raised by his grandparents. Milo grew up under the warm hand of his grandfather as they traveled around France. He learned about the good things of the world and made many friends on his trip. He grew into a fine young teen, ran track, had good grades, great friends and overall was living life to the fullest. Milo was the embodiment of youth at the age of 12, that is until his grandfather died. Milo cried for three days until his mother came to pick him up and take him back home, he did not want to leave the old man but had no choice. When arrived at his original home, Milo was met with the sight of his drunken father lounging on the couch and his brother trying to do work in the kitchen. The boy was not a fool he could tell the situation was shit but instead decided to work with what he had, from the next day on Milo acted as a shining beacon for his small little family. No matter the struggle they faced or the adversity they had to climb over, Milo was a bright child who inspired those around him. His light even reached Jean and pulled the man out of drunken world.
It was after his father went on a sober streak that Milo and him grew close, they were glued at the hip and did almost everything together. When Milo was 14 their house was divided; his brother and mother on one side, and Milo and his father on the other side. The children each had one parent each and did not receive much from the other. Milo's father taught him many things he learned himself in the war, all Jean wanted was to make sure his son could survive out there on is own and defend himself if the time called for it. He is also the man who instill the catholic teachings in Milo, hooking him on the promise of heave, and the threat of hell, showing him the "truth" of our lord and savior and of the fallen prince. Milo fell in love with these teachings and made it a bigger part of his life, all the while the threat of war looms in the background. This reignited the spark of anger and malice in his home, the two sides of the house hold argued day after day trying to decided if they should leave to America now or wait until the war blew over.
Hilda wanted to leave an never look back, while Jean was proud of the French military he once fought for, the military he gave his arm to, and trusted that they would be protected. After the war began a bomb was lit to blow in the house hold, everyone was walking on egg shells making sure to not step on any land mines, their little home had been turned into a battle field and Milo could feel all the tension. May 10, 1940 marked the explosion of said bomb, allies where losing battles left and right and the Germans where invading France. Hilda had enough, packed up half the house and took Mark with her as she left, swearing never to return to the two fools if they did survive the wars. Milo trusted his father, and they prayed together every day, they prayed as the Germans bombarded their town and raided the nearby homes, they prayed as the Nazis marched down he streets shouting their propaganda for any who might be left, they prayed that their house would be unnoticed, and left alone. To them it seemed that their prayers had been answered, and during the middle of the war both men had to work together to live. Milo would handle making runs and getting food while Jean would take care of the home and ensure that they were as safe as they could be. For a time it worked, until the food ran out, until the Germans stated to kill the reaming French, until the prayers no longer worked. Milo started to grow resentful towards his father, the man would take bigger portions of what little food he could find, he would never leave the house to find food, and even if Milo go caught and had to fight his way out, Jean only cared that he brought back a meal. When Milo couldn't he would beat the boy senseless and then throw him back out into the wild land of stray bullets and falling missiles until he found something. But Milo still loved his dad and trusted his words, so he persevered through it and made sure to "do his part."
“Greater is he who is in me, than he who is in the world.”
-1 John 4:4
-1 John 4:4
Flick….Flick….
The darkness was illuminated by the sudden spark of orange and red hues that coalesced around the tip of the zippo lighter in Desmond’s hands. A single bent cigarette hung from his mouth stained with the crimson color of blood. The flame died away as quickly as it was born, cloaking the vampire once again in his hidden environment. It was the resolution of World War II, the climax was over and now the falling action was taking place. The Battle of Normandy or soon to be known as D Day was the day that would live in infamy. The beaches were torn asunder and ravished in the piles of bodies and intestines, blurred vision, and broken sound was shrouded by the veil of enemy gunfire and explosions. It was a gruesome scene and men died by the hundreds with each docking boat. It was a miracle that the allied forces were able to storm the beach despite their loss of life. The carnage and entrails painted a road outlining where the flow of battle was directed, except there was something oddly off about the road pathed with good intentions. Germany’s armies were being pummeled into submission, platoon by platoon there forces were diminishing and the surrender would soon come to fruition.
Elsewhere allied forces were marching down whilst suckling on the taste of victory despite their enormous loss in casualties. The war would officially end, but the war was just beginning somewhere else. Back to the road that had forked off from the main squadron and bandolier of soldiers. The reminiscent hues of fire were now dancing on the withered ash of the pale white stick in Desmond’s mouth, his fingers glazed in an ichor of blood. Desmond walked out of the darkness that engulfed him before, the nonexistent door adjacent to broken hinges. The sunlight kissed his skin and illuminated his pale translucent flesh while red painted his uniform in a cascading splatter. A body dragged beside him, limp, with the color of axis powers draped on his tattered body. Desmond took one last drag from the ailing stick and flicked it away. Suddenly a cacophony of sound erupted a few yards away from him with a dazzling theatre of explosions. A smirk was caught in the mouth of the wolf excited for his next dish, Desmond was a glutton there was no mistaking it. He had paid for his sins handsomely before, there was no salvation for a soul like his.
Desmond made his way casually to the house flicking up his lighter then clapping it back shut. The lighter was scuffed and worn as if it had seen countless battles. Well it had, this was his lighter from the very start of this long arduous war and was kept by his side since. The hungry wolf made his way over to the building but waited in the wings as a German soldier made his way up and into the broken building.
Months later Milo would not feel the same as he lay helpless in his tattered bed fully exposed, left bare and raw by whatever “patron” had just left his room. Things had gone too far, the pain was too much, and love no longer covered up everything Milo felt; the hate, fear, anger, and sorrow. Milo was not much more the flesh and blood, he could be mistaken as a corpse and was treated as one. The young boy wondered why his father allowed this, why the man let his son lose what little innocence he had left to the war, and all Milo could come up with was that he was no longer his dad. It was in these thoughts that he could numb himself to the situation on the outside, he could put up his walls, block out the hands, touches, and words. Milo laid and pondered all day about what he could do to change his situation, or why this happened to him. The man who used to be his father roamed the halls speaking to himself and inviting in soldier after soldier, and with ever “sell” the boy lost another part of his soul.
Around the time The Invasion of Normandy happened Milo and his father where ghost to the world. Jean bore a heavy resemblance to a drug addict living on the street, always dirty with a spiteful look in his eyes. He felt that France owed him something, that the Germans owed him something, that the war owed him something, and took it all out on Milo. Jean would beat, and starve Milo for days at a time, on top of already selling his son to the German soldiers for liquor. Now his father was a broken man, but Milo was a shadow in the night, he was barely talking, covered in dirt, used, malnourished, and abused. Milo no longer prayed and now just hoped that it would all end soon, either with his death or the death of his father.
When the invasion started, the Germans had begun to retreat but not without “cleaning house.” They went from house to house “cleansing” the streets of the “French filth” (as they called it); shooting, grenades, tear gas, using any all things they had available aside from the cannon fire to rain death. By the time allies reached Angiens, it was 3 days of cannon fire, missile rainfall and mist of smoke made by fire and guns. Their house had been untouched, “a miracle of god" Jean would say, but that miracle soon came to an end. Milo would often hide from his father in his closet upstairs (when he had the strength) and would wait out the onslaught, as his old man thrashed and raved with each shake of the ground and sound of fire.
It was at noon on the last day of the siege on their city (of course ending in the Allies victory) and as they retreated the Germans began to kill any civilians left in the town. They rained hell on the little city in those a last few hours and for the first time in a year Milo prayed, he prayed that he would live, that he wanted to live and move on with his life, but his prayer fell upon the ears of the wrong god. There was a moment of silence before the last mortar shot from the Germans could be heard being shot across the city. It whizzed through the air and as it got closer and closer, Milo began to sweat with fear, he knew that it would hit his house, it was as if the missile had his name on it and could seek out what was left of his light. It landed directly on his house and split the brick and wood home in half utterly destroying it. The entire back half of the house was gone, the kitchen destroyed, only a weak staircase left attached to the wall, and a nice view of the destroyed city behind them. Upstairs all the rooms except for Milo’s (which is closest to the stairs) were either destroyed or inaccessible. Milo would get bruised and cut up in his hiding spot from being thrashed around, the scraps of clothing he wore, now stained lightly in fresh blood.
It was silent enough to hear a pin drop, and Milo waited and waited, until the sound of boots crunching against the debris was heard in the distance getting closer and closer. Milo could hear the sound of combat boots, the clanking of dog tags and other metal items touching against each other. He was happy that it was someone here to save him, so he waited for his salvation in the tiny closet.
The lighter snapped shut as Desmond made his way silently into the house. The floorboards were old and the varnish had been eaten away from years of wear. With every step there was an audible creak from any pressure applied. Luckily for Desmond, he was the perfect assassin even in the daytime, his steps were light and nimble. His vision was met with the chalk of blasted concrete on the walls, but also layered with something else. Red mist. Someone had been the unfortunate recipient of the last mortar strike by the last of the fleeting German soldiers. The smell was putrid, burnt flesh and hair were among the worst smells that could capacitate the heightened senses of a vampire. Specks of what he could only presume to be flesh and bone, were scattered around the room like Christmas ornaments. The holiday cheer was devoid of the current scene, regardless Desmond decided to ignore whatever had occurred in this part of the house and focus on the sound resonating from the top of the intact stairs. He moved forward before he stepped in a large pile of mush that felt like a vat of mud under his shoes.
With a horrid look of discuss and the squishing of whatever matter was underneath his feet, he moved his foot back. Under his shoe was brain matter lined with a parchment of flesh and the beginning of a furrowed eyebrow. Much like dog shit, Desmond scraped the remains of whatever ‘it’ was on the neighboring cabinet. Looking both up and down to make sure he didn’t step in any more ghastly mystery stew, Desmond danced around the floor like an agile cat never missing a beat. The stairs were perfectly clear of any remains and human poultry. With each step the sound became more distinct, more alive, the howling of an SS officer cackling while the hysteria bled deeply out of whomever was suffering at their hands became clear to Desmond. The fresh hint of iron tinged his nose, the smell that never seemed to get old made his skin crawl in anticipation. Goosebumps lined his skin as his eyes clouded into a jet black while his fangs unsheathed themselves.
The spiral staircase ran out of steps as Desmond made his grand entrance into the room, except there was no warm reception for the vampire who made no noise. The death squadron officer had his bayonet deep within the intestinal tract of what seemed to be a scared little boy, pathetic. With no hint of hesitation Desmond moved in behind the unsuspecting German and grabbed his face and shoulder as he ripped open his throat in a rush of barbarism. The soldier in disarray tried to react but it was no use, the venom of Desmond's will poured into him rendering him useless. His eyes rolled back before his body went limp, thus dropping his Gewehr 43 with the bayonet still attached. With one violent gurgled roar, Desmond ripped that section of the soldier’s throat out while he pushed the body away. The body hit the floor with a thunderous thud while Desmond spit the chunk of flesh out in the opposite direction, “I hope you taste better boy.”
Milo listened as his savior got closer, he waited as weight was put on his home’s steps and they screamed in protest. When Milo could hear the soldier looking around his room, the boy smiled and used what little strength he had to push the door open. Before him stood the devil in a wehrmacht uniform, and like the devil a cruel smile dawned on his face. The German soldier wasted no time and charged at Milo with his Gewehr 43. They tangled together, if you call Milo’s weak attempt at stopping the bayonet from being plunged into his gut any form of resistance. Milo was in such a weak state that when he grabbed the weapon and tried to stop it, he ended up just guiding it to his stomach and helping the German “purge” him. As the man impaled him, Milo looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a crazy bloodlust and man lost in madness. In those moments Milo felt no despair just sweet release, he was glad things were ending and dying slowly would suit him just fine, as long as the pain ended.
In a blink of an eye the German’s neck was ripped out by another man, Milo gasped as he saw the fangs, felt the blood, and saw the look in his black eyes. The second soldier had an air around him that screamed power and a look in his eyes that demanded fear. “I hope you taste better boy.” The man said, and Milo could only nod in his death filled haze. His life was quickly slipping away, as if the mere presence of this man scared it away, and he gripped at the weapon in his gut and slowly pulled it out with a pain filled grunt. Milo then registered that his slow and peaceful death would not happen and this man was going to cause him for pain, this thought caused his fear to return. Milo did not want a painful death, he wanted to die differently from how he was living, but the “man” in front of him threatened his last request.
”Plea-” Milo tried to say before breaking down in a coughing fit. His vision got blurry and when he looked up at the man, Milo saw something flicker in through the man’s eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, and was in no state to try to decipher what that man was feeling, he just wanted to die. The man moved faster than Milo could track and grabbed the boy by the neck, then dragged him out the room and down the stairs, making sure to cause as much pain on the way down.
When they reached the bottom the man, the monster, threw Milo in the remains of his father. “Say hello to what’s left of your family.” The man said with a sinister chuckle as Milo struggled to pick himself up and get away. As he struggled, the man grew impatient and used his foot to keep Milo’s head face down in his father’s brains. Milo knew it was his dad because of a lone eye he saw resting in what looked like a piece of the man’s head, this caused what tear’s he had left to come crawling down his face. “Do you want to live? Or do you want to end up like this pile of shit here?” The man sneered, and with each question his foot applies more pressure to the boy’s head, causing him to sink further into the brain matter until his head began throb. As the pain grew, Milo weakly thrashed around and gripped at the bloody floor. He wanted to die, but this man was making him fear a death, this man made him fear dying in such pain.
“Answer me boy, or I’ll crush you like the insignificant bug you are.” The man said, and applied a little more force, he couldn’t stand weakness. In his desperation for the pain to stop, Milo started to shake his head slowly under the man’s boot. He would do anything to make the pain stop, and once his answer was accepted it did. The boot gone, pressed disappeared, instantly Milo was thrown against the messy wall, his whole front side was covered in blood and bodily matter. The pain in his gut grew and his eyesight was fading to black. The man quickly slit his wrist “Ah...no you don’t. Your life belongs to me now Enoch. Drink!” The man said, and forced Milo to drink his blood. The moment the crimson liquid touched his tongue, Milo gained a new found strength and began to drink. Taking large gulps until the wrist was ripped away from him, this made Milo whimper in hunger and he stood up against the wall and stared at the man in front of him with clear eyes. The only thing on his mind, in his heart, and driving his body was hunger. He was hungry for this man’s blood, and in that moment Milo would do anything to get it. He began to walk/stumble towards the man whispering “M-more”, over and over. His newfound hunger was driving him crazy and caused him to lunge at the man.
The thirst the boy had was quite endearing, it was unlike Desmond’s first time. The fear, the rage, the naivety to the situation at hand. Desmond wasn’t in his natural mind, but so existed the dark passenger to take over when Desmond was too weak to succumb to the flaws of flesh. While he hadn’t noted it, Desmond was acting exactly as his maker did to him. If he could only look himself in the mirror now, how disgusted would he be? Would the image of Abel come rushing into his mind and manifest itself behind him in the mirror? The cold touch of his proud maker resting on his shoulders as Abel’s smile of contempt and arrogance congealed into this final moment. The student became the teacher, Abel had won. Desmond without skipping a beat, pirouetted around the lustful fletching and cusped his hand behind the boys head, using his energy against him. His face would be thrusted head first into the concrete wall in front of him. Smearing the boy’s face in the dried blood of his father before pulling him back by his hair. With a quick thrust the boy’s body collapsed to the floor, Desmond’s hands dove into his open stomach, grinding his hands along his intestinal cavities.
Enoch would jolt up by involuntary action, one of the reactions Desmond had come to learn by investigating human anatomy through the years. The look of his new son instantly burned the memory of his own brother back into his mind. They both shared the same fate and destined look of torture in their eyes when Vampires had come onto the scene looking for their next meal. Breaking his drunken rage, Desmond felt his humanity trickle down his spine. The boy was slipping off the edge of mortality and about to meet the cold unforgiving afterlife that was once robbed from Desmond. With the boy on the scales of fate, Desmond acted quickly to keep the boy alive. Now that he was unconscious it would be easier to work on him. Desmond had run off in search of the bodies of the medical German Soldiers he had feasted on just before entering the house. Doing his best work with a shorthand of supplies and utensils, the crazed doctor slowly put the boy back together piece by piece. The second feeding of vampire blood also helped to start the full conversion into the life of the night. The regenerative properties would grow from a budding seed into a blossoming fruit in due time, unfortunately for Enoch, his scars would remain forever.
Desmond stumbled to his feet admiring his shoddy work while hoping to atone for his sins regarding his brother. A crumpled cigarette met his lips as he attempted to flick his lighter one last time, except there was no flame. Was it a sign of what his life would come to? Desmond kept the cigarette in his mouth, but tossed the lighter to the floor. Enoch would never have the burden of having Desmond ruin his life, as if he hadn’t already.
“I am a Vampire, and that is the Truth”
-Christopher Pike
-Christopher Pike
Milo woke the next day covered by a thick tarp that blocked out the light. His initial thought that the he was dead, and this was its truth: a silent darkness. But when Milo tuned into the sounds of insects buzzing, and the rancid smell of death infiltrating his nostrils, he knew that death was not lucky enough to find him, and all that happened yesterday was real. That means he should be a creature now, no longer human and a living offence to god. But Milo did not care, god did nothing to save him from this war, god sat and watched as "he" ruined his life. It was yet another time in his life that the man killed everything he loved in life. So he sat there for hours until the heat of the sun faded away, Milo listened to steps of soldiers and survivors alike, he listened to the wails of pain and the cries of joy. The joy of surviving the war and getting out of the Nazi created hell was not shared by everyone, Milo was hurt, he was reduced to nothing and left raw the only comfort were the rags that hung off his now lean muscles.
When night finally fell, Milo was startled by the tarp being ripped away and Mathias being the culprit for disturbing his moment of ignorant bliss. The older vampire smiled at Milo, as a father would his long lost son. Mathias had been watching his lost child turn this poor boy into a creature of the night. Even after his failed rebirth, Jack still came through from time to time and Mathias would miss none of it, he just watched from a higher perch this time around. But the turning of this boy was not Jack, it had nothing to do with his great child, this was all that abomination Desmond's fault. Mathias had been faced with a choice all day: put the boy out of his misery, or make him into something more. Mathias made his decision before he even noticed and pulled off the tarp separating him from his new child.
"It is alright child, I am here to help. Now come on lets go get you some food." Mathias said with a warm smile, but a stern look in his eyes that would not be questioned. He would not let his new "specimen" get away like Jack had, no, Mathias would plant the seeds of his legacy and watch them bloom.
Milo shuddered as a cold hand, wrapped it self around his neck. He was petrified as that dominating look pierced his soul and forced him into submission. Milo nodded and stood up on shaky legs like a new born calf. He followed the smiling on old man throughout the ruined city. Bodies littered the french town, some burnt, some stained with dried blood, some looked fresh, maybe even slightly breathing those last breaths. All the buildings where littered with bullet holes, if they were not ripped in half and left to pieces. The city of Angiens was decimated and one of the first it by the invasion, the few hundreds of citizens left were put into a "resuscitation camp" which was really a cesspool of French natives that the Americans did not know where to put. When Milo and Mathias arrived at the camp, the young boys senses were on a whole new level. He could feel everything, and it was overloading his very being, he could only stand there at the entrance as the smells filled his nose, and vibrations crawled on his, and sounds bounced in and out of his ears. Mathias put a soothing hand on his shoulder and for the second time today scared the boy.
"Calm down boy, it is only me, now you can have your fill. Just make sure to clean up your mess after." Mathias said with a smile, then urged him forward towards young girl nearby. Mathias wold then give him his first feeding experience, he would show the boy (to the best of his abilities) how to deliver true death, and began molding the child. "Me d-drink." Milo said with his thick french accent. This caused Mathias to smile and as Milo got his first taste, and it was a sight to behold. The child feeding was something only second to Jack's killings, the single drop of blood falling from his lips and another cascading down the side of his mouth onto his white skin. Mathias was entranced for the second time in his life and simply watched as his new "son" took the first steps to becoming a vampire.
Milo on the other hand was lost on cloud nine, the warm blood cascading down his throat filling him with warmth took away the pain he felt and momentary changed his perception on life. Milo would drain the young helpless girl dry and then proceed to ask for "More" Milo half moaned in pleasure and he got more, the whole camp to be exact. He proceeded to kill all 250 in a blood daze, snapping necks, drain men women and children alike until there were only corpses left. Milo would enter into his blood drunk haze for the next years with Mathias, the aging elder would watch with fascination as hi new pet would give him the show of a life time and kill to his hearts content.
From then on, Milo was now the adopted son of Elder Mathias Burradock, the man was not cruel just firm, he was not nice just warm, he did not snip, bite, or cut off Milo, he just explained why the boy was doing it wrong. They developed a twisted master servant relationship that had a mixture of father and son components. Milo would learn everything his new master had to teach him, while fetching blood for the fangless elder. The years that followed reminded him of the time with his grandfather, a happy time, they visited most war scenes form present and past, went to places no man could and that only one as old as Mathias would know about. Mathias and Milo would become kindred beings and liked how they lived.
In the year 2000, Milo and his master (whose name he never learned after all these years, Mathias simply told him to call him "master" or "M") went to the US for the first time and found his brother. His brother was a old man now with kids of his own, and his children had children, they all lived in California happily. It was on Thanksgiving of that year, as he watch his brothers "village" laugh and share good times over a table full of food that he swore to make sure none of them became vampires, and if they did he could kill them himself. This scene snapped out of the blood furry he was stuck in, and caused him to cry in horror at what he had done for all those years at the behest of yet another "father"in his life. Milo's light could be seen in his eyes again, and it shinned with sadness at the lives he had taken and the pain he caused.
After seeing his family, Milo struck out on his own and left Mathias in Los Angeles, leaving the elder for a different life. He travel all throughout the US looking for something but he could pinpoint what exactly. It was during these years of wander that he would compel his way into people's families and complete high school over and over again, getting hooked on the life of youth and the present, instead of living in the past. Milo was living in New York City 2 year ago from the present time, when he received a letter form his master telling him to come to Salem, Massachusetts for an important matter and left him an address. Milo had not heard form him for 15 years so he quickly left in the night and arrived a day later in the town, the first thing that hit his senses was the presence of "others." Milo had met his fair share of wolves, witches, and hunters, he learned to deal with each of them in his own way. This city as filled with them, and it felt as if their presence lived in the land. When he went to house that was on the letter, Milo found nothing inside but coffin a st of keys and a letter baring the seal of his second father. Mathias had left specific directions for Milo to follow and given him his freedom upon completing his last order. At the end of the directions he signed with his name and told Milo he was honored to be his father. Milo buried a father for the third time in his life that day and decided to not leave Salem, instead he stayed and joined the local coven, living in his old masters house.
| {Extra} |
TBA
Raiton
Suiton
Ranton 
