Tales of Angelus: Meus Patre
by Spicule
Venice, 1880 – Nighttime. Torches roam the cityscape vehemently, swarming in the streets as if bees around their hive. Distant, fiery voices (most of which belong to drunken bards) echo across the nearby hills, where a man and his son desperately sprint for their lives.
“Father, my legs grow weary,” Chimed the boy in an innocent voice. He held onto his father’s hand by a mere finger; it was a wonder he hadn’t fallen over.
“Hush now, William! It is now that you act like a man, or the beasts of the night shall inject you with their unholy sacrilege.”
“But Father –“
“Be quiet!” His father’s voice struck him across the face threateningly.
As they barrelled down the trail, a vicious beast made advances from the brushes behind them. It snarled with a tenacity matched only by a vampire.
The man and his son continued down the faint remnants of a trail, which sprawled over rolling hills surrounding Venice. Situated flatly and inconspicuously was a shadowy barn, strangled by overgrown weeds.
The man kicked open the door to the barn, which mushroomed up a cloud of dust in the moonlight.
“Wait there in the middle, my son,” the man said as he put his own torch to a wallmount. One by one, the man lit the torches in each corner, creating a dimmed, quiet setting. The light also made the barn a beacon to the creatures of the night.
Cobwebs were strewn across wooden planks that weren’t already rotted (Spiders hate decaying wood). Before seeing to his son, the man closed the doors through which he came and barricaded it with a two-by-four.
Trembling, the young boy opened his mouth. “Father, I’m scared. What if the beasts-”
“The lord doesn’t deal in ‘what ifs,’ William!” he grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shook him. “Conviction alone will fend off the vampires from ever soiling your soul. If yours is a strong one, then your God shall spare thee your life.” His words were stalwart and unwavering; the boy took a little comfort in that.
That comfort fleeted almost instantly when his father seized his wrists and bound them with rope. “Father? What are you doing?” he chimed so sweetly, so innocently. The man ignored him, and continued to fasten knots until the boy was securely tied to a post in the middle of the barn.
At that moment, vicious pounding from outside tested the door’s resolve. The man looked up, then hastened his actions.
“Father, please, my faith runs deep! I’ve been to confession!”
“You listen to me, boy. Listen to me well. Let your faith in the lord never falter in the face of evil. You hear me?”
”Yes, but father I don’t wish to die!”
“Aye, but He does.” He bends down and huge his son one last time. “I love you, William. You’re my son, my blood, my own. That’s why you’ll be the one revered as a Saint.”
The man stands up, takes one last look at the door being attacked. “Come and get me, Angelus.” He then hastily slips out of the back door into a small brushy grove in which a dozen men crouch. Each man wears the look of a vampire hunter, carrying crosses, stakes, and buckling holy water to their belts.
One of the men speaks up. “Is it done Cervantes? Is it set?”
“Aye. It is set. Angelus will eat, as he knows no better.”
“Let this be the day, then…Dare I ask what was the ‘bait’ you were boasting so?”
Cervantes remains silent.
At the moment, the front door to the barn is kicked down. Angelus, looking vicious, proud, and content, stares at the young boy. From behind him, Darla sensually caresses Angelus’ neck. “Just look at this treat our dear vampire hunter left us.”
“Did you say a treat? A live treat?” Spike’s voice pierced the air as he and Dru, very much coddling each other, stroll up to the barn’s entrance. Two other vampires, a man and a woman, danced maniacally through the barn. They sang, “A live one, a live one! Angelus caught us a live one!”
Angelus assumes his vampire face. “Well, now. I remember that face. This boy belongs to Cervantes."
"The vampire hunter? What business does he have leaving his poor boy to die?"
"It's a gift, my love."
Drusilla patted Spike’s hair. “I like gifts. All wrapped up with no were to go…”
“The man always did put himself before others. I take it he felt his end was near, so he throws his pure, innocent boy at our feet,” Angelus laughs at his own astute reasoning. “And he expects us to fall for it.”
“And will we?” Despite her concern, her tone suggested no apprehension whatsoever.
“The young ones always have a certain pep to them…” Angelus approaches the boy.
“Well go on, then,” Spike urged, still promiscuously holding Dru. “Cerv’s your man. You have the honor of doing in his so very dear son.”
As the vampires gloated in their apparent success, Cervantes prepared his men. He and the others armed themselves with bows as they doused their quills in oil.
Angelus touched the boys perfectly smooth face with the back of his hand. “You smell just like the Old Man. Well, except the Whiskey. You have your dear whore of a mother to thank for that.”
Cervantes put his torch to a set of quills, the tips of which ignited earnestly.
“Oh, come on then! Do him in already!” chimed the male nameless vampires. His female counterpart was beyond words, however. She stormed passed Darla, Spike, and Drusilla, preparing to bite the boy.
Angelus grabbed the female vamp and threw her down. “Easy now, Verona. Wouldn’t want to be that girl at the party, now would you?”
Darla, obviously less stoked about their findings, forewarned him. “Angelus, this place…this boy strapped here…none of it seems right.”
“I told you, Old Cervantes chose to save his own ass over his child. God, I love humans.”
“Torches, torches. Everwhere their little eyes get in my hair,” Dru vaguely sang.
“I happen to love your hair, baby,” Spike assured her.
With that, Angelus twisted the boys neck for a full scope of his biting range. “Hey now, boy. Could you tell yer father something? Could you tell him, you’re disappointed in his lack of family priorities?’ The boy trembled, still coerced to look at the ground.
“On second thought…” Angelus drank the boy’s neck until his last life lifted from his eyes. As Angelus turned around, blood dabbled at this lips, Cervantes appeared in the front doorway, flaming arrow cocked. He nailed Verona in the heart, and she dusted in a heroic pose.
“Let the fiends be burned!” he shrieked as he slammed the doors shut, locking the vampires inside. The legion of men, now surrounding the barn, fired their flaming arrows at will. In no time, the barn became a bonfire of abandoned woodwork.
From inside, Drusilla shrieked. “Spike! Save me from my eternal hell!”
“Looks live old Cerv really did have the balls for it!”
“Shut up! Just – find a way out.”
“I told you, Angelus! I told you! That man’s hatred extends far beyond his love for anything in this world!”
“He’s right pissed-off, isn’t he? Burning a barn like this…”
Angelus spotted a window, high above the rafters. He began climbing, careful to avoid the blazing framework.
“You’ll never reach it!”
“And you just expect us to die in here? A safe bet. I, however, have so much to kill for!”
Angelus outstretched his hand to Darla. “Care to make that for two?” Darla smiled, and pulled herself up. Spike and Dru were left huddled in the center, Dru shrilly singing a song of remorse. The male vampire, however, roamed the ground looking for an exit.
“I won’t take this, I won’t! I’m only 14 years dead!” He then charged for the front door.
“Don’t be a bloody fool, Rich!”
Richard ignored him, and managed to barrel through the door with minimal burns. At first step outside, however, nearly thirty arrows hit him in the chest. He dusted.
“Right then,” said Spike, “rules that out.”
”Oh….We’ve been bad! Very bad….the fire laughs at us!”
“Dru, just shut up. We’ll get out of this. I promise.” Spike looked up at Angel and Darla, who’ve managed to reach the skylight mind. “You’ll just get shot at you know!”
Ignoring him, Angelus took Darla’s hand and plowed through the window.
Outside, apparently oblivious to Angelus and Darla’s escape, Cervantes gloated in his success. His men, however, showed little moral support.
“…his own son? That’s too much. I swear, he’s mad…”
Cervantes grabbed the man’s bow and aim its at his face. “If ever you should have a reason to doubt my connection to the lord, Zealot, you’d bring it to me. Wouldn’t you?’
Zealot feebly nodded. “Good, because I’d hate to have to sacrifice yet another one of my family to purge this land of that which walks unholy.”
Transfixed on Cervantes' crazed mannerisms, the hunters failed to notice Angelus and Darla escape into the woods.
The two of them ran for their undead lives, scaling the rolling hills in a fear that few vampires experience.
“This is only the beginning. Angelus, we’ll never make it out of this! Even if –“
“It was a trap Darla. Nothing else. Don’t you go letting Cervantes fill your head with doubt, that’s exactly what he wants.”
Despite his bold words, Angelus didn’t slow down until the irate torches that followed them gave way.
The barn, full engulfed by ravage flames, collapsed. The men, having chased Angelus and Darla for half a mile, congregated back at its ruins to celebrate their general victory.
**********
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