Name: Viktor
Gender: Indetermined
Age: In the early thousands, they have lost count through the various years and slumbers. Though they remember a time when destruction was an easier feat.
Apparent Age: 13
Place of Birth: A manor in mid/late Dark-Ages Romania
Species: Vampire
Coven: Tarepha
Appearance: Viktor is identical to his twin sister. His skin is young and cold, flawless like porcelain. Upon his face rest childlike features, innocent jade eyes and soft expressions. Viktor is effeminate in a way; not having reached puberty at his early age, he can not be distinguished from a girl when clothed. He has platinum blonde hair with equally light roots that is neatly cut in the back, but hangs slightly in his face to resemble his sister's bangs.
Generally donning more masculine clothing, Viktor wears a loose, clean button-up long sleeved tunic with a perfectly pressed collar held around his neck by a black ribbon. Over his legs are black knickers that reach his knees and are cut off revealing tall white socks and brown leather loafer shoes. To finish the ensemble, he wears a black coat with various pockets.
History:
Born to yet another serf family on the manor that was isolated in the Carpathian mountain chain. The place was left alone in its weak life during the Dark Ages. the location allowing it to be spared the frequent migrations of many ethnic groups and barbarians intent on plundering the civilizations that lay beyond them. However they were sheltered from the outside, the Lord of this place considered himself a god, and was very much so close to one.
A vampire had taken swift power over the supernatural fearing peasants when the roman presence had been driven off by barbarians such as the Goths. This was a long time ago however, and the numbers of the manor were dwindling, bolstered only by those who were unfortunate to chance upon this gilded human-farm. The only person who never died or vanish was the Lord. And the first few times, or when upstart barbarians somehow managed to find them, he shrugged off blows that would kill any ordinary humans, thus giving him an air of a daemonic nature. He required few things from them for this protection from the outside world, which he demonized a bit more than it really was. Occasional feedings, and to maintain this society through labor so as to unwittingly leave the rest of their generations bound to his whims through tradition and superstition.
A pair of twins were born (Yeah I didn't structure this very well, but I'm TERRIBLE at writing histories, sorreh ><) to one of the many families designated for field-labor. The most that could be expected from them is to grow up harvesting various grains, fruits, vegetables and animals before dying through natural means or a feeding. However the unique nature of their hair color was a curse and gift in one blood-laced package. This made them unique compared to the normal masses of cattle at the Lord's beck and call. Choosing the twins after they had grown up to be small children, roughly nine years old, the manor had considered them dead. sacrificed to their hungry object of worship for safety.
However the children found an existence much different from what they expected to suffer. Their god was actually fairly human with wants and desires of his own. He told them this, as well as great deal of other things, as he adopted them as pseudo-children he could never have. Eventually he swept them up into his own belief, and they soon thought themselves as his angels whom were loved and cherished as favored creations of his. This love however, transcended that of a paternal fashion, he was soon seeking to slake his physical desires on what he seen as a pair of "perfect" humans he had molded mentally to be instruments of his will.
In an effort to retain their physical purity, he chose to embrace them before they fully became their gender. Both were halted before the secondary sex changes could fully kick in and alter them, so Viktor and Viktoria would never truly know what puberty or adult hood would be like. this in itself did not trouble them, soon after this the Manor's "god" made an appearance with his newly blessed "angels". Dressed in dark colored robes and wielding long handled and bladed scythes, the small children with the "unnatural" hair looked to be the part of a dark angel that would come from the Lord.
And play their part they did.
Frequenting the Manor, it was their playground and the serfs their toys. They "broke" their family in the first week, discovering the joys of making the hard-things in people make cracking and snapping noises. The death didn't stop there though. The voracious parasites reaped as many lives as they possibly could, glutting themselves on their prey's terror and pain as well as their blood. Rapidly the serfs began panicking. Why were so many dying now? Had they angered their Lord to unleash these bringers of despair upon them?
In truth he was less than pleased with their behavior. And judgment fell upon them swiftly and unmercifully.
He struck them down before they could defend themselves against the onslaught of their Lord. Broke their weapons and their bodies. In the time it took to nurture them back to health, he tried instilling in them a measure of the truth. That they needed to restrain themselves or else this "paradise" would be lost to them. that was when the curtain fell and his lifetimes of lies revealed to them.
At first they denied it, living for many decades, ignoring the quiet whispers of madness as they upheld this twisted system. Their self-tormenting feelings at shackling themselves to this false-god and hatred at him for misguiding them to the point where they could no longer age and try to become something he had not shaped them into. The desire to leave this place and wander what the Lord called, "a vile and dark places where one would find only painful death and damnation." since he was no more a god than they were, he was more than likely to be wrong about the outside.
Now was not the time to seek freedom, not until they were confident enough to kill him themselves.
Biding their time they waited, a long and patient century, and rapidly they could foresee the demise of the Manor. The disillusioned Lord disbelieved its collapse, ignoring the toll the hunger three of his kind took on the isolated population. Through this they began to administer just how much blood he could receive. Slowly, cautiously weakening him over time while they remained at the peak of unlife. The final moment came nearly two-hundred years after their last living breath.
A marauding pack of saxons that came in the time period descended upon the town as they journeyed south. being of a not-too friendly fashion, they chose to take this place as their own through force. Naturally, the local god had something to say about this, and the ensuing massacre was fairly one-sided until the entire war band had been scattered to wind or left bleeding and broken on the soft soil.
Viktor and Viktoria were waiting for him at his residence. Eagerly with their blades and hunger for the wounded predator to retreat and lick his wounds. they took advantage of the small amount of parental instincts and actual physical desire to lure him into an unguarded state where they launched themselves in a frenzy at the already wounded vampire.
It was a short and fairly brutal affair, despite having use of only one arm and suffering from a limping in both legs, he managed to deal enough damage to the twins that they only managed to pin him by causing portions of the house to collapse on him due to wildly over-powered blows taking out support beams. The near-dead vampires consumed the deity as a symbolic ending of their enslavement to this place. Once they recovered enough, the cost in blood willingly supplied by the remaining serfs, the twins left the Manor and Romania behind, traveling west.
During the time period later known as the High Middle Ages, Viktor and Viktoria traveled more in southern europe, taking delight in the burgeoning populations to be found in the cities as well as the sweeping phenomena of the Gothic-style. Everything they seen and experienced was new in their unlives, and frequently they played the card of their stunted appearance to sway those who lived extravagant lives to temporarily enjoy such pleasures and learn more about the world around them. Granted this required much subterfuge or outright domination of their gracious "hosts" and they had to move on more than a few times.
However in their time spent in Italy, they ran into others of their kind. Bewildered that more of them existed, they hunted the few they encountered down, interrogating them for every ounce of information they could glean before they expired. And still they hungered for more. Resorting to less...brutal methods, the twins eventually found themselves integrated into the Machiavellian (even though he wasn't technically born yet xD) politics taking place in the shadows of Venice. Which as if they were a herald of woe, the Black Death descended upon Italy, and then Europe.
Withdrawing from the vampiric politics to revel in the terror and debauchery that was taking place, the twins murdered and stole what they desired. devouring culture and lives alike as they continued westward towards Spain, leaving the earth littered with blade-hewed corpses. Naturally people did not like this.
The erratic patterns of their trail of carnage left their pursuers frequently confused and lead to dead ends of charnel houses. Assorted hunters and even some Amman members who took the liberty of hunting down these wandering monsters than ministering the districts they had watched over before, It wasn't looking bright for the two Romanian "angels".
They wound up in Spain, having lured a number of their hunters into traps and liquidated them. Consuming their bodies entirely to make certain other hunters would not learn of the twin's drawn out cat-and-mouse game. Until the Amman coordinated with some of their Catholic members who happened to be in full swing with the Spanish Inquisition. The hunt that spanned decades lasted for only a month there. The long and body strewn path the children had taken ended outside a mission area near modern-day southern Portugal in former Moor territory.
~~
The screaming had stopped quite awhile ago. The lone mission post was nothing more than a tomb for corpses illuminated by the few flickering candles. Two of these mentioned corpses however, we actively moving about this scene of carnage, Being the cause of it, they were taking their time to enjoy it their work before the sun came up and they had to retreat to a dark and sealed place in this building.
The meaty cry of Viktoria's axe pulling heaving out of a religious corpse filled the air, it's metallic perfume sweetening the whole atmosphere. Viktor could sense it's sweet flavor from outside of the cathedralesque building. He had dragged some unlucky peice of human meat to the haven, which was only one of many retreats they had prepared across this country alone. There was a beastly grin upon his face as he looked at his victim, who was long dead by now.
Viktor had his literal fangs bared, the saliva glistened in the feeble moonlight that coated the scene in a musky twilight. The environment helped towards the mood as Viktor leaned over his prey. The icy midnight air stirred the body, it's har and clothes, sending the scent of it's blood into Viktor's nostrils. He inhaled deeply, and raised a knife-bearing hand high above his head, throwing it down towards the stomach of the bloody corpse.
"How unfortunate, I've played too long and the blood has spoiled." Viktor's childlike voice swam out like fluid with a bitter drop of poison. He pulled the knife from the torso with a gurgling snap, and dropped it on theground where it clattered back into inanimacy.
He picked himself up and walked took a single step towards the door before stopping in his tracks and turning his small head slowly. The wind blew his fair hair from his emerald eyes and he saw them. The hunters. There were two of them, obviously they were either arrogant or weren't expecting much of a struggle against those who hadn't aged long in their human lives.
One stepped towards Viktor, it was a man; approxiamtely six feet and three inches tall, probably in his mid thirties. His face was scarred and imperfect, wrinkles plagued his features and aged him terribly. Viktor looked up to face him, looking square in his eyes without faltering. He had always been the one to comfort his sister after nightmares, reassuring her that no one could defeat them, and that they would be together eternally.
"Hehe, old man! You're so ugly, getting old must be such a burden!" Viktor giggled in a way that both revealed both his childishness and true age. He reached into his jacket, grasping two of the handguns that he stored within and holding them to his side calmly.
The man growled back with some grizzly retort that Viktor didn't listen to, it was always a waste of time to listen to the walking dead. However, something about these hunters caught unmistakeably in the wind. They too were inhuman warriors, and they left their foul stench with their footprints. He perked his ears back up when the hunter grasped his rapier hilt and drew his long blade from it's leathery sheath. Thus began the battle, and the wicked hunter lunged at Viktor unsuccessfully.
Viktor blew a round at the hunter's feet, aiming haphazardly for his achilles tendons. His gun lowered for only a moment as he realized that the other hunter was headed for the inside, where his dear sister was playing.
"Sorry, dear sister. You'll have to dispose of that one on your own." He muttered silently to himself, then continued, raising his gun. "Old man, let's play a little."
The hunter danced around Viktor's bullets gracefully, and his sword reached for the soft porcelain flesh in vain. The battle was at a metaphorical standstill as neither of them had an advantage or disadvantage. The gun, though, wasn't the last of Viktor's tricks.
With a rapid flurry of bullets to buy time, Viktor made his way to the front of the building where the other hunter had gone, he grabbed a blunted woodaxe and made to throw it, except he didn't. Upon hearing his sister cry out in pain, he clutched his shoulder, almost feeling the pain himself. This turn of events angered him, making him more wreckless than before. In a short-lived blind fury he allowed the attacker to get close enough to cut open his side. The wound wasn't fatally deep, but it hurt enough that Viktor was thrown off balance, and left open for a few more quick slashes of the hunter's blade before he was pouring blood and had the use of only one hand.
On his knees, Viktor looked up, balancing his body with the one useless hand and reaching inside his vest for a throwing knife, one of the many he kept on person. He removed the leather sheath with his teeth and threw it at the hunter, hitting him in the crook of his mouth and widening the oroface grotesquely.
The hunter fell back clutching his face with leathery-black gloved talons and screeching in pain. Victor bit down on his lips, puncturing the corners and leaving little pools of blood. Rising to his feet, he noticed the blood on his clothes and chuckled inwardly as he fought for his safety, as much as he wanted to run to his sister's aid.
The hunter regained his composure and pushed himself forward violently with the rapier in hand. Jewels adorning the hilt glistened and caught Viktor's eyes, giving him the few crucial moments he needed to avoid a fatal blow. The vorpal sword cut sharp into his leg, but he parried with a few rounds into the hunter's neck and left eye. A nice facial scar was left to match the one opposite on his mouth.
The wicked yelled and screeched into the midnight sky, a callous animalistic cry erupted from his throat and consumed the air with it's severity. Viktor took the oppertunity to throw a knife into the throat of his opposition. Blood gushed from the hunter's throat, and he gasped for air, the crimson life dripped from his mouth and neck and spilled into his clothing. The vampire ripped leather from his jacket and tied it around his neck before proceeding to pin Viktor to the ground, restraing his arms and legs.
Viktor spit at the beastly man, the pink-tinted ball of saliva stuck to the man's face stubble and he bared his teeth. There was a nauseous snap in the air ans the man crushed the upper part of Viktor's good arm, leaving him to roar in pain as the hunter picked his sword up from behind and thrust it into the center of Viktor's chest, just missing his heart, but peircing the sternum and spilling hot blood upon the earth.
"Viktoria!" Blood weaved itself inside the feeble, gasping words as Viktor fell into a near-death slumber.
~~
This wasn't their true end however. The Amman who'd been hunting them felt they should be put to death while they were left in a death-like coma from the stakes that punctured their hearts. The Spanish-branch had authority over this territory and and felt that these children needed to be absolved of their sins, for it was the evils of others who twisted them to be what they were today. In the end an agreement was reached. The twins would not be executed, but instead imprisoned within the catacombs beneath the Mission. In such a holy place they might be forgiven by God in their long sleep, and with the stakes being unremovable except by another, it was more than likely they would die before such an event could occur.
In 1936 however, the clash between the Spanish Republicans and Nationalists gave the twins an unexpected factor for their generation spanning slumber.
During the opening moves, both sides began rounding up and executing their opponents who happened to get caught behind enemy lines when the Nationalists rose up in a coup that rapidly changed from swift to long and bloody. A unit of nationalists had rounded up a large number of hidden communist sympathizers and were marching them out to the abandoned mission. there it would be a fresh grave for the dogs who remained loyal to a defunct system.
Rather than simply line them up and shoot the mass all at once, it was chosen to herd them all into the catacombs and kill them all at once with explosives. Faster, more efficient, and cheaper. Herded into the underground, the group was a bit perplexed as well as terrified at their fates. Inside they found a pair of twins dressed in victorian-style clothing with a stake through the heart. For some reason the bodies hadn't started decomposing, which led them to believe these were fresh corpses.
Either way their focus soon turn to the Nationalists lining the place with timed explosives. One of them, uncaring of what happened, ripped the stake from the girl's chest and charged the officer in command of the squad that was about to execute them. He hadn't made it two steps before the soldiers tore him to shreds with rifle and pistol fire.
Torn back by the multiple rounds, the dying man fell on top of Victoria as the Fates snipped his thread but also brought her own back into the weave of existence.
Underneath the now dead human, her body began to function slowly and as she awakened from the torpor-induced dreams that had haunted her, she was confronted by the same smell that welcomed her into oblivion. The cloying mxiture of sweat, copper, and smoke. Softly she bit into the body on top of her, feeding weakly from the still-fresh blood in the body. Regaining her strength bit by bit, she shoved the body off and noticed that the back was only puled remains, as was everyone else in the room.
The anti-personnel explosives had detonated while she was still shifting from dreams to reality and had eluded her notice, but had killed everyone inside. Hansel was there, still sleeping and cut badly by the shrapnel. He'd need fresh blood when he woke up as well. Sitting up, she ignored the tattered and dirty nature of her clothing and stumbled over to her sibling. Laying one hand firmly on his chest, she pulled on the stake until it wrenched its way free of his ribcage.
She wiped a moistness from her eyes at seeing her brother hurt so badly, but this sadness turned to hate as she heard noises outside.
The nationalists had cleared away the small blockade they'd set up so the condemned couldn't flee before the explosives did their work. Now they had to mop up anybody unlucky enough to survive in a mutilated and slowly dying form. The private pulling off a series of wooden boards was the first to go. He stiffened up all of sudden before falling to the ground in a bloody mess, missing most of his face.
His friend turned to scream for help but his intake of air was cut short by a hollow sounding "thunk". With a wheeze the air he had left his body and he looked down in disbelief at the metallic blade sticking out of the front of his chest. Mewling like the pitiful creatures humans were, he pawed weakly at the fatal wound before a vicious kick from behind dislodged the soldier from the axe.
Why they had been sealed with their weapons was a mystery, she had no recollection of what happened though. Perhaps One of the sides were formerly vikings and believed warriors should be buried with their weapons. Or perhaps an unknown watcher had intervened earlier to make certain they'd be prepared upon awakening. It didn't truly make a difference how, just so long as it worked.
The crimson-stained child looked at the remaining members of the squad with a feral hunger gleaming in her eyes and the glint of moonlight on her unnaturally white teeth and axe-blade. The soldiers flinched slightly at the twisted paradox of a monster and a delicate child, the corpses of their comrades spoke otherwise about how "delicate" she was.
Hesitating for a moment, she looked at the bizarre swords...or were they spears? That they were wielding. They didn't seem to have a blade of some sort, just a small opening...much like those overtly large and loud inventions that were exceedingly rare before they ran afoul of their hunters in Spain. stiffening as they pulled the trigger, she hesitated out of curiosity too long to avoid the hail of gunfire.
The bullets pierced her clothing and flesh, occasionally avoiding or splintering a bone. The metal was rapidly pushed out and the hole it made healed up. However the ache these thing gave her still lingered much like a bee-sting. She didn't want to feel it again. Charging at them with her heightened speed, she reached a pair of them before they realized she wasn't dead from the first volley.
A wide arced swing and she split them in half at the waist-line, causing the heavy top halves to fall to ground in a splash of organs and vital fluids. The others turned slowly, to her at least, to face viktoria and snap off another shot. Grabbing the vastly improved hand-cannon humans now had, she broke the soldier's hand as she tore it from his grip. Her axe swung out behind him and embedded itself into his back, severing his spinal column and leaving him limp like a dead fish.
Hoisting the corpse in front of her, the next instant was filled by the cracks and snaps of gunfire that tore into their comrade's body.
Discarding her shield, while the slow humans reloaded their cannons in an odd fashion that made it much more efficent than in her days, she immersed herself into the squad. Hacking them off in swings at the knees, they fell to the ground screaming and writhing. Burying her axe hilt deep into the soft and meat center mass she tossed the corpses at still-living targets, trapping them under the heavy weight of a body. the last human uninjured and alive was the commander, he'd drawn his pistol and had it drawn towards Victoria when she spoke.
(Spanish dialog)
"Senor...what is that you're holding? What year is this?"
He glared at her as she kept asking questions in a soft and innocent voice before screaming at her, "Send my regards to Satan!" He shot her, almost six times before her axe swung and severed his hand at the wrist. The hand and gun fell to the ground while he pitched backwards with a cry of pain and alarm, clutching his bloodied stump.
She grabbed his throat and began dragging him along, seemingly unphased by his violent thrashing while she hummed to herself some lines of opera she had enjoyed very much when they briefly visited Vienna.
Hoisting the still-living commander's wrist to her brother's mouth, she squeezed on it enough to make the bone crunch audibly. The life-blood flowed out from the wound and onto her brother's face, reviving him as it did her. The human however was unconscious, having slipped into blissful unconsciousness from the pain.
She waited, and let her brother slake his thirst on the remaining human. Once he'd finished they exchanged their affection and composed themselves and understanding of the situation by looting the soldier's bodies. The spanish these people spoke was different than what they knew. Close, but just different enough to make some words unrecognizable.
From here they journeyed, in a much more discreet fashion than before, around this country, piecing together the history they had missed and the language barrier through the useage of hostages and academic humans. eventually they were swept up into the Nationalist half of evacuations and were shipped into the Netherlands for a brief period of time. From their they stowed away a boat after accidentally killing one too many people and causing a large activity of police to wander the night.
It ended up this boat headed to colonies in South East Asia, bringing supplies to return with raw materials and such. The twins didn't kill everyone on board, but instead chose to "stock up" on people when they went ashore, giving them a blood supply that lasted through the ship.
Once in the Netherland's colonies, they began practicing their usual routine after the was finally ended and all the soldiers with their dangerous "firearms", as they had become known, for the most part left besides their bases. Here in the almost wild west like surroundings of this place, they prospered until a fateful meeting with another vampire by the name of Kouryou.
~Will be done later (Ask Viktoria/Marcus)~
After the events that transpired there and the subsequent decades, the twins boarded a boat that headed for the United States in the 1960s and eventually ended up in San Fransisco. Here they maintained a thin veneer of sanity by not butchering people left and right. However this masquerade quickly wore out and the twins had irritated the few Amman around. Run out of the city, they began moving north, feeding off of people heading to Canada to avoid the draft in the Vietnam war.
Soon there after they found themselves entering the country north of America. It wasn't really different, a bit colder and less populated. The blood was just as warm and the human suffering as enjoyable though. Eventually they received directives from Kouryou to go to Demaitre on a hunt for a specific Asian male rumored to be there, or heading there. So now they're waiting, avoiding the mass carnage they enjoy inflicting. Currently their amusements come from the occasional random and bizarre murder as well as being members of the Tarepha coven.
