The City of Vangelion. By day, a city in a flurry of colours. The
people are able to bask in each other's emotions and take what life
brings. The impressive Skyscrapers and the Gothic Architecture of the
Grand Churches and inner-city mansions are awed at, displaying the
perfect balance between celebrating the past and planning the future.
But when the Sun sets, the milling, cheery crowds hurry home, taking
the children off the streets. In Vangelion, the poorer people board up
their houses, hoping that the Gangs of Demons wouldn't attack them at
night. People are too scared to walk in the streets, not wishing to be
hunted by Vampires.
But to the 'Dark Citizens', as they are known in the
Kingdom of many colours, these creatures are merely ones to be
respected...if they are seen. The Dark Citizens, like the Light
Citizens of the Light Kingdom, make up the largest fraction of the
population of the Dark Kingdom. It is rare for a Dark Citizen to
explore the Light Kingdom, or vice versa, but when it does happen,
rumours fly faster than bats. The rumours told either have truth, or
are complete fiction.
This night is rather typical: people from all
classes wear their gothic garb and solemn faces, allowing no escape of
emotion. But the Dark Citizens at the bottom of the social hierarchy
explore their barbarism by cheering and jeering at the Demon fights.
They go to the usual places: the clubs, séances, gang
headquarters, but avoid the churches. The unusual thing is a young man,
with a darkly beautiful yet deadly sharp dagger. As in a trance, he
stands on top of a 6-storey building, staring out at the sinister city
of Vangelion at night. He grips the handle of the dagger, slices along
his left palm and draws blood. He seems oblivious to it; he repeats the
action on his right palm.
Below him, outside a bar, walks a young woman,
accompanied by three, perfectly formed guards. She is quite obviously a
member of the upper class, as can be judged by her perfect form,
perfect garb and make-up, as well as the telltale sign: her silver
necklace, which has a star hanging down. Her darkly mauve lipstick
allows anyone to work out her name. Rowan.
She walks inside the bar, goes to the middle of the
counter and signals to her bodyguards to wait there. She walks further
alongside the serving counter and stops next to a young man. This man
was rather mysterious. He was lonesome, as if from a lower class, but
has perfect leather clothing and the shiniest white-blonde hair. His
eyes are overcast by his charcoal eye shadow and has two scars on his
left cheek. He was drinking from his glass of light alcohol when Rowan
sat down next to him.
"Kiyor," she greeted. (Kai-your)
"Rowan," Kiyor returned. He put his glass down onto
the table.
"How's your night?"
"Same as the rest. Equally boring, equally
territorial, equally pointless."
"Always scavenging" asked Rowan with a small smile.
"What do you know of the Vilkons?"
It was Kiyor's turn to smile sardonically. "The
Vilkons? They're the most powerful family of the Dark Kingdom. They,
the largest family, have the largest territory and lead the other
runners-up."
Rowan leaned over to him and whispered: "And I hear
you're one of them."
For the first time in their conversation, he looked
at her, as the slow realisation came over him. "How d'you know that?"
She allowed herself a wicked smile. "In the right
danger, your lesser bodyguard was ready to talk." Their eyes maintained
lock.
Although not panicking, he knew when he was
cornered. "What d'you want?"
Rowan turned serious. She spoke aloud. "I'm holding
a...'get together' at the Warehouse in Wilcon's Row. Two days from now."
"The area that your family control," Kiyor worked
out.
"Yes," Rowan agreed, pleased at Kiyor's intellect,
"the Kirilian Territory. I need a security detail. Can you do it?"
Kiyor thought about it for a moment. "I'll do it.
Give you the best." He leaned towards Rowan and gave her the deadliest
of stares. "But keep my secret...in the shadows."
Rowan nodded once. "I honour that agreement." With
that, she walked away. She signalled to her guards to follow her once
again.
Rowan, followed by her three guards, exited the bar
and walked back the way she had come. She walked along the pavement to
a black Limousine, parked. A young, voluptuous woman stepped out of it,
with luxurious thick, red hair that accompanied her red lips, black
eyes and milk white skin. She nodded to someone inside. Rowan and her
guards stopped as a middle-aged woman, who was once beautiful as a
young woman, stepped out of the Limousine to greet them.
"Have the arrangements been made?" she asked Rowan.
"Yes Mother, everything is in place."
Her mother crisply nodded. "Good. A job well done
Rowan."
"Thank you Mother," answered Rowan with genuine
gratitude.
Suddenly, Rowan's mother and her companion looked
down in shock. A body had fallen behind the three guards. Two of them
looked up as one immediately bent down and felt for the man's pulse. He
looked back up at his employers.
"Dead," he announced.