InsaneJournal

Who: Armand and Schuldig
When: Day Three, early evening
What: The Vagabond Angel Child of Satan wanders into the Underground
Where: Near the entrance to the Labyrinth
Rating: NC-17, clearly.
Status: Complete


It was all too much. The small televangelist who had somehow gotten a hold of the icon held it up, and Armand saw the very face of Jesus blasted into the fibers. Dora, her name was, but he didn't really care about that. She could have been anyone. The veil was the important thing. Just a simple piece of white fabric, but the face of the savior... Nothing he had made in his mortal life was anything compared to what the woman held in her tiny hands.

Of course it would have had to be him, the Brat Prince Lestat himself, who had gone down into hell itself. He'd brought the Veil from the very grasp of Satan. Armand couldn't stop staring at it. His mind slipped back more than five hundred years to when he'd been the one creating religious imagary. He could smell the paint. And then, to see that his best work was thrown in the mud when he was kidnapped, and he had failed. He hadn't protected the icon. He had allowed holiness to become tainted. In a real way, he would never forgive himself.

This one, though, was a million times more precious. A real relic. Not made by human hands. So many had said that about his work, but it had been him all along. This one was the real thing. The sun was going to rise soon. Any sane Vampire would be safely inside by now. But though Armand felt the drowsiness of the coming day, he didn't seek a resting place. Instead, he stood where he was, on the steps of a church, and waited. Amadeo, he'd been called. Beloved of God. He would become that again.

It had been so long since he'd felt like this, that there was anything in the world worth sacrificing himself for. So long since he was last filled with this religious feeling, this faith, this hope. It was overwhelming. But it left no doubt to him what must happen. He was evil, the Veil was good. Therefore, to sacrifice himself to the power of the icon, that would be a good thing. It was the only tribute he had left to give, his immortal life. He would give it gladly, with no regrets.

His eyes hurt. The sun was starting to lighten the sky, though it hadn't made its appearance yet. It wouldn't be long. He looked to the East, waiting. Others pulled at him, told him to stop, but he pushed them away. Soon enough, they had to go into their resting places themselves, and left him alone. Only mortals would see him die. But, since it was to them that the world belonged, maybe that was fitting.

As the sun crested the hills and sent it's first rays shooting to the steps of the church where the vampire stood, he saw his first sunrise in over 500 years. How nice, that he would die in beauty. His skin started to smoke, and the pain shooting through him was unendurable. But he did endure it, and even somehow remained on his feet. The only unbearable thing was that nothing was unbearable. He was going to die, nothing could prevent it now. His pain would be a tribute to the holy relic.

Something was wrong, though. Flames should have been shooting out of his skin by now. He'd been so sure his death would be quick. But the minutes passed, and he just smoked, blackened, but didn't burst into flames. His wild mind, crazed by the warm, early-morning sun, remembered the story of Those Who Must Be Kept. Put into the sun for a whole day, and they survived. He wasn't going to die. He was too old. The Blood was too strong in him. He had made his sacrifice, but God, it seemed, did not want him yet.

He fell onto his knees, screaming in denial. He'd come here to die! His sacrifice had been rejected. But not by everyone, it seemed. Maybe the sun didn't want him, but someone did. A burst of golden light shot out of the sky, illuminating the vampire, and when it lifted, he was gone. To a mortal watching, it would have just seemed another miracle. They had been quite common since the Veil had been brought to earth.

Armand, however, nearly passed out. An unusual thing for a vampire to do, but he wasn't fully himself from the sun. The light, he was sure, was God's wrath shining down to kill him after all. So when he found himself deposited onto soft grass, his skin still smoldering and blackened, he was shocked. Was this hell? It really didn't look like hell. And it couldn't be heaven, not when he was in so much pain. There were walls nearby, but the air here didn't taste the same as on earth.

He'd landed on his knees, but fell over onto his side. The sky was darkening here, it had barely set and it's rays still stung him. It was nothing compared to the mass of pain he was in. He had walked through fire, and survived. Why? So many questions, and all he could do was lie on his side. Tears came to his eyes, but he blinked them back. He didn't have the energy to cry, as much as he might want to. So instead, he tried to focus his mind, tried to make himself think. Surely he could figure this all out, despite the pain, despite his body being burned a pure charcoal black, if only he could make his brain operate.

Where was he? Where had his sacrifice taken him? Who had rescued him? Why? He needed the healing blood, and yet, all he could do was lie where he was, on his side, still smoking, and in pain. So much pain. When he was approached, he didn't even notice at first.