This didn't feel like his body any longer.

It was weak and broken, fragile and lacking in every aspect. It was pitiful to think that he had been reduced to this. It had all occurred in an instance. His death, being brought back by his mistress, but it had felt like an eternity, the time in between. He burnt in hell for his cowardice, for his malice and his resentment, and now he would burn in immortal never ending life. The slave of will, an instrument of destruction.

There was nothing but a bitter hatred, a strong burning flame, and it danced it's wild dance across his chest and across his mind. He couldn't understand, it made no sense, the idea of nature and her cruel ways were nothing but a darkness in his mind. For he had faced so much in such a little time, all that heart break and all that passion, all shoved back into his chest. They had cut him open and ripped out his heart, cutting it into little pieces and then sewing him shut again.

He had pulled his lips apart, into a wretched bloody smile. Innocent on a boy so young, with wide red eyes. But in them shine contempt. In them shines a thirst.

A thirst for blood.

A thirst for destruction.

A thirst for revenge.

He would find his father, his mother, and the rest of his wretched family, and tear their worlds apart, brick by brick, piece by piece.

But there had been something with him, that told him he could not find his family, not now. He must have patience, bide his time. Wait. Wait for the beginning of the end. Then he would have his true satisfaction. The death of the one that had found him first was still fresh on his lips as he had stalked, unseen and unheard through the undergrowth of his vile village.

Cobain had been nameless, an omen, Damien's child, brought back by Risque and for Risque and nothing else. He had stood there before her when he found her, with wide eyes, but behind that face had dripped his poison fangs.

HIs creation was blurry at best. He remembers the pain of hell, what he had endured, and what he knew was waiting for him at such a time as Risque saw fit to end him. He remembers the hunger and the thirst unlike he had ever felt in his immortal life. Feeding Cobain hardly recalls the feeding except the satisfaction he felt in those moments. But everything-everything- was overshadowed by the call he felt he needed to, no, was compelled to listen to. The call from Risque. He had traded his miserable mortal life for a life of immortal slavery. And Cobain, the eternal youthful vampire, was still deciding if the trade was fair or not.

He looks into her bright blue eyes, crimson gaze standing stark against pale skin, dark hair falling over his forehead. It is then he realizes-she's pregnant. Those same red eyes widen slightly as they slip to her stomach that protrudes with a sure sign of life. A snarl rises on his lips. A vampire, pregnant, with a child. The pale teenager moves closer. "You are, you are Isolt," is all he says. "She made you as she made me," he says through tensed teeth as if they were set on edge. Quickly, he moves to block her way if she intended on leaving, red eyes again falling to her stomach. "That isn't supposed to be possible," and he knows she knows what he is referring to. "Is it like us?" He asks, only because the pale boy must know, does God really hate his creations that much that he would fasten one of these monsters (one of him, thinks Cobain) himself?