Blood Lament

Legacy of the Dark Kind

Legacy of the Dark Kind

A burning cigarette bounced across the tarmac, flaring briefly in a mini meteor shower of tiny sparks. Jazriel paused at the edge of an unknown world. Modern Europe, an alien land. He had been incarcerated in Isolann for more then sixty years.
He sat back on the Ducati, his face and clothing filthy from travelling across the back roads of the Upper Balkans, a world little changed since the Second World War and therefore familiar. The unknown lay before him in the darkness, as dangerous as the edge of a bottomless abyss.
The vampire gazed on in fearful wonder as vast ground-shaking machines and cars as swift as arrows roared past him on a massive route of many lanes, a confusion of engine-thunder, stinking exhaust fumes and flashing bright lights. The huge lorries battered him with the earthquake power of their passing, he felt insignificant, lost, abandoned. A piece of roadside rubbish, an unwanted dog, left to the mercy of the traffic.
A whole new world. So much to learn. Perhaps too much! He growled, fangs bared. There was no choice, he could hardly turn back. Jazriel started up the bike again, took in a deep breath and throttled back hard to roar away, quickly matching the speed of the furious headlong rush. Soon a manic exhilaration took control of him, dicing with death at high speed on the autobahn pushed his reflexes, his concentration to the extreme edge of his skill. One mistake, one misjudgement and he would be beneath the wheels of the vast but fast-moving behemoths. Not the worst fate, it would be a quick death. Unlike his first.