Darko Cernovsek
Soul Of Vengeance
// DISCLAIMER: Extreme violence in a historical context. //
Near the village of Zalozhtsi, Eastern Galicia, 1948... close to midnight
She watched.
Perched high in the canopy of an ancient oak, at the edge of the clearing right outside the village, Ixis had a birds' eye view of the torch-lit proceedings below. The scent of blood permeated the entire clearing, as the vampiress had to work very hard, to keep the onset of spontaneous blood-frenzy at bay. There would be ample opportunity to feed, later, in the aftermath. For now however, she couldn't tear her eyes away from it. She had learned long ago, that in the final tally of things, humans were their own worst monsters. What she was seeing here, eclipsed most of what she herself had done, or had seen done, during her centuries as one of the Kind. At times like these, the woman wondered if her Kind was truly cursed, compared to humankind... or was it the other way around.
A Purge was in progress.
Ever since the end of the Second World War, and the mass-depopulation of the region following the withdrawal of Nazi Germany and the subsequent Soviet occupation, the resurgent indigenous nationalist movement, a legacy of Stepan Bandera and his hardline elements, was hard at work, 'cleansing' the newly arrived Eastern Slavic peoples, who attempted to settle and rebuild the ravaged region, and it's bountiful natural resources. The Red Army was trying very hard to keep the nationalist irregulars in check and protect the settlers, but they simply couldn't be everywhere at once. And with ample funding from the western powers, hoping to use the movement to weaken the Soviet presence as a whole, the movement was increasingly difficult to root out.
She watched, as a group of children were being dragged into the clearing, next to a row of freshly dug graves. As each child was forced to kneel above the pit, crying and pleading, an irregular would cave-in their skull with a mallet, then kick the twitching corpse into the pit. Laughter and banter from the executioners, already half-drunk on cheap booze, mixed with screams and begging from the victims, both the children, and the hysterical parents being forced to watch.
Ixis never considered herself especially political or ideologically-minded. Not while she was alive, and certainly not since her rebirth as a Vampire. Yet the lengths the human cattle would go to, to exercise and enforce their territorial, religious, or ideological claims, were at times, truly staggering. She saw events similar to this, at different points in history. During and just after the French Revolution, at slave-plantations in the New World, centuries ago. In the Far East near Burma and East Indies during the British colonial occupation, semi-frequently during the Ottoman occupation of Greece, to name just a few. Whatever remained of her human soul, was horrified at the scenes unfolding below. Her vampire self, was nearly glassy-eyed with glee, at the prospect of an impending bloodbath she would enjoy, once these drunken idiots were done with their pathetic little exercise in dominance over other cattle just like them, and left. It was a contrast of radically different sides of her.
Off to one side of the clearing, a growing pile of badly-mauled victims was increasing, where they would separate young men of fighting age, and bludgeon them to near-death with their rifles' stocks. Once their victims were almost dead, they would urinate upon them, and leave them to die slowly, their bodies broken. Ixis assumed this was their way of humiliating those they hated, and the bundle of dry kindling nearby, with several barrels of petrol next to them, suggested that they were planning to set the entire pile on fire, and burn them while still alive.
One middle-aged man was stripped bare, and tied up to a tree, before one of the irregulars began cutting open his chest with a combat knife, flaying him alive, clearly taking his time doing it. The butcher's uniform was fully covered in his victim's gushing blood, before he finally managed to dig out, and cut out the hapless victim's heart.
What is the point?!
She wondered, genuinely curious. Killing for it's own sake was one of the sometimes-guilty pleasures she reveled in. Moreso during her younger centuries, when the bloodlust and curse was exponentially more difficult to control. Less so as she grew older. But she understood the appeal. What she didn't understand, was this... unnecessary level of cruelty inflicted. It denoted a level of pathological hatred that eclipsed common sense. In her Vampire mind, she couldn't fathom what could make one human hate another, to that extent. She saw it so many times, but she couldn't understand it. She had that level of hatred, for humanity as a whole, during her first century of Undeath. For all she lost, and all that they still had. She would butcher entire families, in fits of unbridled fury, not able to stand their happiness and love for each other, that she would never have again. In time, those impulses gave way to acceptance. But in her case... it was a manifestation of her own inability to cope with what was done to her. Until she learned to do so. What was the root cause here? Difference of worldview? Different nationality? Or just... having fun?
The vampiress didn't understand.
A shrill shriek drew her gaze next, where a young woman, roughly her own age before she was turned, was gang-raped by several of the irregulars, before they gouged out her eyes, and slit her throat. Another woman, this one pregnant, was restrained by two of them, while a third one used his rifle's bayonet to eviscerate the unborn child, cutting her belly open, and stabbing it to death. The woman was still alive as they let her collapse in agony to the bloodsoaked ground, before they stabbed her through the back of the neck.
It went on, and on... for close to three hours. The pile of bodies grew, until the entire village's population was decimated. In the blaze of a massive pyre, where the still-living victims burned to death in a cacophony of subdued howls of pure agony, she observed the irregulars slowly dispersing, outwards into the surrounding forest, their bloody deed done.
Soundlessly, like a shadow flowing across the tree's surface, the black-clad vampiress slipped from her perch down onto the ground. Her expression carved from stone. The tableau of blood and gore was... hers to revel in. Only she didn't. She could not feel pity or sorrow, but she felt... a touch of resignation, looking around.
Still, for the time being, this was her own personal buffet table, until the inevitable arrival of the government forces, too little... and far too late.
One of the butchered victims was still alive, twitching in voiceless agony. The man's pain-racked eyes glazed upwards at the pale visage and glowing red eyes, that leaned down to take a closer look. No trace of fear in them... just an unspoken plea, to put him out of his misery. Moved by sudden impulse, Ixis granted his wish, cleanly snapping his neck, before she cradled him, sinking her fangs in, to feed.
A distant wolfish howl drew her attention. To a human - it would pass for a howl of a regular wolf. To her... she could hear the slightly different tonality in it. Clearly, she would not be the only guest at the table, before too long. The wolf-bloods would no doubt want their share, and she planned to be away from here, before they came.
THE END
Near the village of Zalozhtsi, Eastern Galicia, 1948... close to midnight
She watched.
Perched high in the canopy of an ancient oak, at the edge of the clearing right outside the village, Ixis had a birds' eye view of the torch-lit proceedings below. The scent of blood permeated the entire clearing, as the vampiress had to work very hard, to keep the onset of spontaneous blood-frenzy at bay. There would be ample opportunity to feed, later, in the aftermath. For now however, she couldn't tear her eyes away from it. She had learned long ago, that in the final tally of things, humans were their own worst monsters. What she was seeing here, eclipsed most of what she herself had done, or had seen done, during her centuries as one of the Kind. At times like these, the woman wondered if her Kind was truly cursed, compared to humankind... or was it the other way around.
A Purge was in progress.
Ever since the end of the Second World War, and the mass-depopulation of the region following the withdrawal of Nazi Germany and the subsequent Soviet occupation, the resurgent indigenous nationalist movement, a legacy of Stepan Bandera and his hardline elements, was hard at work, 'cleansing' the newly arrived Eastern Slavic peoples, who attempted to settle and rebuild the ravaged region, and it's bountiful natural resources. The Red Army was trying very hard to keep the nationalist irregulars in check and protect the settlers, but they simply couldn't be everywhere at once. And with ample funding from the western powers, hoping to use the movement to weaken the Soviet presence as a whole, the movement was increasingly difficult to root out.
She watched, as a group of children were being dragged into the clearing, next to a row of freshly dug graves. As each child was forced to kneel above the pit, crying and pleading, an irregular would cave-in their skull with a mallet, then kick the twitching corpse into the pit. Laughter and banter from the executioners, already half-drunk on cheap booze, mixed with screams and begging from the victims, both the children, and the hysterical parents being forced to watch.
Ixis never considered herself especially political or ideologically-minded. Not while she was alive, and certainly not since her rebirth as a Vampire. Yet the lengths the human cattle would go to, to exercise and enforce their territorial, religious, or ideological claims, were at times, truly staggering. She saw events similar to this, at different points in history. During and just after the French Revolution, at slave-plantations in the New World, centuries ago. In the Far East near Burma and East Indies during the British colonial occupation, semi-frequently during the Ottoman occupation of Greece, to name just a few. Whatever remained of her human soul, was horrified at the scenes unfolding below. Her vampire self, was nearly glassy-eyed with glee, at the prospect of an impending bloodbath she would enjoy, once these drunken idiots were done with their pathetic little exercise in dominance over other cattle just like them, and left. It was a contrast of radically different sides of her.
Off to one side of the clearing, a growing pile of badly-mauled victims was increasing, where they would separate young men of fighting age, and bludgeon them to near-death with their rifles' stocks. Once their victims were almost dead, they would urinate upon them, and leave them to die slowly, their bodies broken. Ixis assumed this was their way of humiliating those they hated, and the bundle of dry kindling nearby, with several barrels of petrol next to them, suggested that they were planning to set the entire pile on fire, and burn them while still alive.
One middle-aged man was stripped bare, and tied up to a tree, before one of the irregulars began cutting open his chest with a combat knife, flaying him alive, clearly taking his time doing it. The butcher's uniform was fully covered in his victim's gushing blood, before he finally managed to dig out, and cut out the hapless victim's heart.
What is the point?!
She wondered, genuinely curious. Killing for it's own sake was one of the sometimes-guilty pleasures she reveled in. Moreso during her younger centuries, when the bloodlust and curse was exponentially more difficult to control. Less so as she grew older. But she understood the appeal. What she didn't understand, was this... unnecessary level of cruelty inflicted. It denoted a level of pathological hatred that eclipsed common sense. In her Vampire mind, she couldn't fathom what could make one human hate another, to that extent. She saw it so many times, but she couldn't understand it. She had that level of hatred, for humanity as a whole, during her first century of Undeath. For all she lost, and all that they still had. She would butcher entire families, in fits of unbridled fury, not able to stand their happiness and love for each other, that she would never have again. In time, those impulses gave way to acceptance. But in her case... it was a manifestation of her own inability to cope with what was done to her. Until she learned to do so. What was the root cause here? Difference of worldview? Different nationality? Or just... having fun?
The vampiress didn't understand.
A shrill shriek drew her gaze next, where a young woman, roughly her own age before she was turned, was gang-raped by several of the irregulars, before they gouged out her eyes, and slit her throat. Another woman, this one pregnant, was restrained by two of them, while a third one used his rifle's bayonet to eviscerate the unborn child, cutting her belly open, and stabbing it to death. The woman was still alive as they let her collapse in agony to the bloodsoaked ground, before they stabbed her through the back of the neck.
It went on, and on... for close to three hours. The pile of bodies grew, until the entire village's population was decimated. In the blaze of a massive pyre, where the still-living victims burned to death in a cacophony of subdued howls of pure agony, she observed the irregulars slowly dispersing, outwards into the surrounding forest, their bloody deed done.
Soundlessly, like a shadow flowing across the tree's surface, the black-clad vampiress slipped from her perch down onto the ground. Her expression carved from stone. The tableau of blood and gore was... hers to revel in. Only she didn't. She could not feel pity or sorrow, but she felt... a touch of resignation, looking around.
Still, for the time being, this was her own personal buffet table, until the inevitable arrival of the government forces, too little... and far too late.
One of the butchered victims was still alive, twitching in voiceless agony. The man's pain-racked eyes glazed upwards at the pale visage and glowing red eyes, that leaned down to take a closer look. No trace of fear in them... just an unspoken plea, to put him out of his misery. Moved by sudden impulse, Ixis granted his wish, cleanly snapping his neck, before she cradled him, sinking her fangs in, to feed.
A distant wolfish howl drew her attention. To a human - it would pass for a howl of a regular wolf. To her... she could hear the slightly different tonality in it. Clearly, she would not be the only guest at the table, before too long. The wolf-bloods would no doubt want their share, and she planned to be away from here, before they came.
THE END