Escape (attn: Dawn, Rogziel)

The hot rays of the summer sun shone upon a clearing in Midwestern Europe. Roman Soldiers led by Commander Darius Sarimir took the field of battle and were actually overwhelming their barbaric foes for a change. His once grand force had been reduced to a meager group of hardened veterans over the past seven months. Although casualties in his troop were the lowest in his legion, he hadn't received any reinforcements - the toll of the past few battles had been high. His troops could care less though; all they wanted were more enemies to add to their funeral pyre. Looting the dead and ransacking forsaken enemy camps had become their source of income. Rome had also become increasingly stringent with their payment of troops. Darius saw his empire was falling all around him, but he would be damned if he was going to lie down and let these creatures burn down all he stood for.

Darius smiled as he looked down onto the battlefield. All was going as he had foreseen. The commander of this horde of barbarians was less than competent. Through the use of some elementary tactics he divided the much larger force and had just broken through the last line of infantry they had. He noted the support troop retreating from the field; it was time to deliver the Coup de Gras. He gently tapped his horse with his foot, his beast thrust itself forward, like a mighty gust.

"We Got 'Em On the run now, Leave none of these wretches alive!"Â? Darius screamed as his horse carried him to the middle of the battlefield. He Unsheathed a massive sword from the scabbard on his back, revealing the nearly 5' long blade that was almost as wide as a man's forearm. He pointed toward the enemy commander as he continued to pursue him

"Come face your doom you coward"Â? Darius called out. An Arrow whizzed by his head. His Composure was slightly marred, but then came the second. It entered his shoulder and struck with the force of what felt like a blast of c4, knocking him off of his horse.

He opened his eyes. He saw nothing but darkness.

"Damn, another dream"Â? he remarked to himself.

He rose to his feet. The August vampire heard the echo of his movements in the hollow chamber. He had been in this prison of sorts for god only knows how long. He knew only 2 things; he was somewhere in the industrial sector of Nachton, and he was at the disposal of Rogziel. Since the night he fought with his captor outside the bar, his body has served as a pincushion for his sadistic host. He heard the chattering of the steel chains shackled to his arms and legs. The only time he saw light was when he was the recipient of more punishment, or as Rogziel called it, "God's Vengeance"Â?. It seemed that the beatings only ceased when his thirst for Apollyon's pain was sated. He was fed only enough to survive, mostly the same young children Rogziel fed on. The Sadistic bastard only fed on children; he felt only their blood was pure enough to enter the Vessel that carried out God's Revenge. Apollyon had done many things in his life he was less than proud of, however this was a new low. He had always felt that younglings had a right to be ignorant to the ugliness of reality, as long as possible.


The cold air stung his bare flesh. The winter gust bashed itself against the stone walls of his prison, the harsh wind continued its assault on the structure, and the walls began to shake. Then, a Sliver of moonlight crept through. Peering through the hole he saw a courtyard outside of his prison. Backing up, he studied the wall he was chained to,a small brick fortification about five feet wide and seven feet high. It filled him with a slight hope. He clinched his fist, marshalling all of his greatly diminished strength. He brought his arm around and thrust his fist into the brick wall, striking with the force of a powerful man wielding a sledgehammer. The pain centers of his brain screamed at the impact, He ignored it and mustered a second strike. His fist throbbed furiously as he struck the wall again. By the time he landed his eighth blow, he estimated his fist looked little better than a bloody lump of roast beef. He heard the mortar cracking; now it was time. He crouched onto the ground and ejected himself into the air. Rotating in midair, he Pushed his feet upon the wall and thrust himself into the center of the room, hoping to dislodge the rings of steel that held the chains in place. The impact from his exertion took what solidity the wall had left. It crumbled, well enough for him to fit through. The rings ejected from themselves from their nesting place and freed their prisoner.

Stepping out he ran free from his cell aimlessly. The chilling wind froze every synapse in his brain. Falling snow made long range vision impossible. He had no idea where he was. After some wandering he found what appeared to be a road, looking around he saw only abandoned buildings. A considerable amount of time had passed and he had finally found his way out of the industrial sector of the city and into Metropolitan Nachton. Most of his mind was gone, but he still knew better than to wander the city naked .From his tattered memory, he thought he had reached the manor. but who knew. His brain was sapped from malnourishment, blood loss, and hypothermia. He saw lights in the distance, he walked in their direction. His iron resolve was on its last leg, he just felt so tired. his eyelids felt like curtains of thick steel, he couldn't stave it off anymore. He fell down to one knee, and onto his face shortly after. The storm continued, showing no concern to the nearly dead vampire that lay unconscious.