And to the members of the Gallery Noir Discord server for their support!
Below are the low-res previews for easy uploading. The full high-res version can be found here. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1RiGt4AKJR8eN_SP57D6zDOzbnysSdzLm/view?usp=drive_link
A commission for @porcelainseashore that I drew as illustration for her story, The Other Son, involving her character Kai (the one carrying the light at the middle of the tunnel). I got so lost in drawing this, and enjoyed it very much!
The story, and consequently the picture, is intended to appear in WoD HalloZine, as coordinated by @vampemoqueen; but you can also read it directly on @porcelainseashore's blog.
Author's Note: It’s been such a joy to take part in @vampemoqueen’s WoD HalloZine—my very first zine! Thank you so much for this experience and putting it all together. Here’s a short story of Kai, my beloved Ventrue, and the shadows of the past that haunt them.
Content Warnings: Brief references to drugs, self harm, maybe suicide (if you squint?), nihilism, and murder of a child.
“Jesus!” they cursed as their feet plunged into the silty drainage and mud squelched underfoot.
It had only been a little over half an hour since Kai entered this godforsaken place, burrowing their way underground like vermin. Beyond the manhole covers overhead, cars zoomed by and train tracks rumbled. They were still close to the surface, close enough to hear the city breathe.
However, down here, filth and grime carved out names for themselves on the grooved walls. At first, they gagged at the stench, finding it unbearable, but as their senses adjusted, one smell blended into another, like a sickness they could no longer distinguish.
Under normal circumstances, they would never be caught dead wandering around the sewers downtown. But since when were things normal? Like all fledglings turned neonates, they had been obeying tall and elusive orders every night since their Embrace. Except, they weren’t like the others—they were groomed to succeed and never to fail.
There was another splash as the ground sucked them in, causing them to sink knee-deep.
“For Christ’s sake!” they yelled again in frustration.
All at once, they heard the scolding voice of Liezel, their mother, resounding in their head just like it was yesterday, “Kai! How many times must I tell you? Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”
They mouthed the words as it came. Liezel’s arms were akimbo, her brows furrowed as spittle flew across the room. She had rapped their knuckles harshly with the wooden handle of a feather duster for good measure.
Kai could feel the sting of pain upon their hand, as clear as day, but sharper still was the humiliation, the hurt pride. Their younger stepbrother, Alfie, had giggled to himself in the corner. They clenched their fists. People said they took after their mother’s temper, and more often than not, they found themself agreeing.
At this point, their tailored pants and leather shoes were soaked through and ruined. Even dry cleaning wouldn’t be able to salvage them in their miserable state. Grimacing, they brushed beads of waste water off their waistcoat—it was Sisyphean, almost—as new drops replaced old, blooming in piss-drunk patches across silk weaves.
Why had their sire, Elena, sent them here again? Oh yes, “The sewer rats,” she said. “They’re hiding something from us. Find out what it is.”
They flipped their damp bangs away from their face in annoyance. Nearly two decades as a Kindred and they were still an errand runner—to Elena, to Lady Josephine, and in turn, to Baron Judge, the overarching Camarilla… Stringing them along with faint promises of power, like seductive wisps of smoke unfurling from their tongues, slithering into their ear and making a home in the hollow cavity of their skull.
Well, there were no sewer rats here. Through the dimmed shadows of light, all they could hear was the sound of sewage flushing through the system, pipes hissing and shaking, and molded moisture leaking from the arched ceilings. As they took a right, a group of vagrants huddling over a naked fire in an oil drum eyed them suspiciously. One crawled out from his tattered cardboard bed and shambled over to them.
“You got any er—”
Fentanyl. Meth. Heroin. He probably thought he could score some. The mole people—the homeless, the addicts, the outcast. They lived underground, in the flood tunnels, because there was nowhere else to go. Sometimes the water would reach so high that a bunch of them would drown. Not being quick enough made them easy pickings for the Nosferatu, but still bad blood all around.
Kai scrunched their face in disgust before relaxing their expression. Maybe they would have some use for this pitiful thing in front of them. With a practiced smile, they simpered, “I do… but first, tell me, how well do you know this place?”
The man coughed and shivered, grinning with swollen gums and putrid teeth. “Like the back of my hand.”
A guide. The gatekeeper of the sewer entrance had talked at length about its subterranean depths. Perhaps this man would know more. Raising an eyebrow, Kai focused their gaze, making sure their eyes met. A thin ring around their irises glowed—subtle, enticing, yet demanding. “Take me to its belly.”
He blinked slowly, once, twice, and then nodded. “This way,” he beckoned, turning around and trudging off through the labyrinth like a good soldier.
And so, Kai carried on, past winding corridors and forgotten lairs, crushing soiled glass and used needles beneath their heels. At the sides, strange altars decorated with melted wax candles and rotting pomegranates honored secret gods. The tunnels got darker and colder, so much so that they had to rely on their phone light to brighten up the path, but the guide didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he became livelier the deeper they went, as if he were drawing energy from some unknown source.
“Albert and Persephone would have a field day with this,” Kai grumbled under their breath, mocking the two absent members of their coterie behind their backs. Sarcasm dripped from their lips, cloying and condescending.
They recognized that same unease they felt whenever Albert conducted one of his ceremonies, or the time they witnessed Persephone casting eerily-shaped shadows from her bare hands. The taint of Oblivion clutched at their unbeating heart and made their skin crawl.
Distant screams and moans from an alley interrupted their thoughts and a gnarly hand tugged at their arm. “Not there,” the guide warned before taking off again along another passageway.
The metallic stairs they descended afterward screeched on its hinges, clanking against the wall. Kai wondered how far down they went. It felt like they had been walking for miles. At some point, their phone light flickered and went out, and they stood in total darkness on the suspended staircase swaying in the chilled air.
It was so silent you could hear a pin drop, which was weird, precisely because they heard nothing. No creaking, no footsteps, not even the sound of one’s breathing.
Where had their guide disappeared to? Was this some kind of twisted prank they had fallen for? But it couldn’t be, that mortal should’ve succumbed easily; they saw him submit, enslaved by their will, he couldn’t—
“Kai! Help me, please!” a shrill cry pierced their left ear, shocking them to the core as they stumbled blindly forward, tumbling down the flight of stairs.
When they finally hit the rock-hard ground, something wet and sticky trickled down the side of their face as a dull, throbbing ache blossomed from the crown of their head. “Shit,” they muttered, tasting tangy iron on their lips, like licking a battery.
Dazed, they tried to pick themself up, only to slip on the waxy surface, falling into the muck on all fours. Shame and embarrassment rushed in twofold, rising like waves of heat towards their chest. That prickly feeling at the back of their throat returned, threatening to come apart. This couldn’t be happening—not to them, they didn’t deserve this.
“What do you think you deserve?” the same voice whispered in their ear. Cold, unnatural, and unfeeling, but uncomfortably familiar.
“I deserve a lot more than you!” Kai had screamed, back when they were kids playing on the cliffs along the coast. Resentment reared its ugly head as they glared down at their stepbrother. His chubby hands grasped the cliff’s ledge while he dangled in mid-air, squirming beneath Kai’s feet.
“I deserve all of this!”
They could crush him right now, that stupid weakling who’d never worked a day in his life, who’d everything handed to him on a silver platter, just because he was the favorite.
No one would know.
Crush him.
Do it.
The whispers grew louder as they buried their head in their hands and growled.
“Kai! Help me, please!”
They took one more look at their stepbrother’s soft brown eyes and the ocean of tears that had welled up in them, before setting their foot down on his tiny fingers, treading on them like ants. Alfie lost his grip and Kai had watched quietly as his body was reduced to a simple ragdoll in the tempestuous wind. His limbs tossed about wildly as the howling gust drowned out the boy’s cries. Jagged bedrock by the cliffside framed its subject like a moving watercolor painting. If they squinted, they could pretend it was a bird diving to catch its prey.
They waited, patiently and then some more, until the red sea foam turned pale, and all that was left was a memory of what once was. One less mouth to feed, one less child to fawn over, one less rival to tussle with. Time didn’t bring any remorse. Perhaps they had been a monster even before they were reborn.
From afar, an unearthly roar and mechanical whir shredded through the stillness, jolting them back into the present. Was this what the Nosferatu were hiding? Kai had heard stories of otherworldly entities that existed on this plane, undecipherable, unseen to the naked eye. There were more than just Kindred around, and they were beginning to realize that they weren’t on the top of the food chain.
Bolting forward, they couldn’t care less if they looked more animal than human as the sludge clung to their feet. It felt like a mass of hands creeping up their legs, dragging them down into the dirt where they belonged. They should’ve been put down for what they did. But they felt nothing. Years and months of nothing. At the funeral, they pressed a shard of glass into their palm, squeezing it within the pocket of their trousers, so that they would cry. Liezel couldn’t look at them for weeks.
Maybe this was the day of reckoning, their last chance to repent, but was there really something to feel guilty for? They had merely taken what was rightfully theirs from the beginning—before their mother remarried another man they were forced to call father, before they were told to sacrifice whatever they had for the sake of the other son.
They had reached the end, knowing this to be so as loose stone and rubble gave way, crumbling into the void pit below. It was pitch black, a long drop into a vortex of emptiness. For every second they stopped to pause, the darkness enshrouded them further, heavy and suffocating as it seeped in through their orifices.
And they were back on the cliff, at the scene of the accident. Although, instead of Alfie, it was Kai who was standing at its edge, waiting to be pushed.
“How does it feel to be in my shoes? How does it feel not to exist?” The tone was derisive, contemptuous.
Did Alfie expect them to accept their fate? To beg for forgiveness and mercy? They convulsed with laughter, the sound ricocheting off the walls. Their body was hollowed out, empty, a vacuum where nothing could be replaced.
There was only one thing left to do. Fear and weakness had no place in the Clan of Kings.
“Don’t you know?” they remarked, eyes black as coal. “I always win.”
All these characters are from an RPG campaign called; Gehenna's Gates, set in the world of "Vampire The Masquerade".
My entry for the WoD HalloZine! hosted by @vampemoqueen
Anselm and Danya started as lovers first, before his madness drove them apart. She and her coterie had to kill him for the horrible things he had done... until he came back as a wraith to haunt Danya, revealing that Anselm was framed, and he was never the mastermind behind all that she had to endure, like the death of her sire and the circus burning down. She had killed an innocent man, and now he is back to torture Danya for her mistake... or maybe their love can even bend time and right the wrongs?
Finished just in time to switch my focus to Novella November is my submission to the WoD Hallozine! The theme being Haunting I knew exactly what I wanted to do. This is something that's been bouncing in my head and now I'm putting it out to the world! Story below break, I hope you enjoy!
Thank you to @vampemoqueen for putting this together! Link to Hallozine post
Special thanks to @syntheticmortal for all your helpful advice!
You’re a Monster
A single heavy thump of the heart tore him from torpor. Lungs expanded painfully, muscles tensed, vision blurred. False life was dragging him away from daylight imposed mortis. All that could be done was grit the teeth and allow it to pass. A distant ring played on the eardrums, and a dull ache in the head added to the torture of awakening. Gaining control over the body, he sat up from the overstuffed mattress. The arms felt extended and heavy. The bulk of the body felt like a weighted suit. However he refused to allow himself to complain about the body. He would simply be grateful to be able to move under his own will once again. On unsteady legs he rose from the bed. Left foot, Right foot, left-
You’re a Monster
His knees buckled and slammed into the hardwood floor. The ache in his skull grew into a painful pressure, pushing against the back of his left eye. The ringing in his ears could no longer be ignored. He refused to allow the body to lie there. He refused to be a bystander in existence. Forcing his will into the muscle and bone he pushed to his hands and knees. Feeling around he found the nightstand. Leaning heavily on it he pulled himself up and came to an unbelievable realization.
Blinking to correct his sight changed nothing. Faded spots, chipped edges, a slight lean from a rot eaten leg. It wasn’t what he remembered. It should be sturdy. The work of an expert craftsman and taken care of like a treasure. Studying the table his sight fell on the simple fluted vase with a single rose. One he knows he placed there himself. The petals were blackened, the bloom bowed down, the leaves shriveled. The sheets on the nearby bed were threadbare. Holes were torn into the blankets. The solid wooden frame is now falling to one side. He refused to believe the beautiful room and furnishings were in such a state over only a single day. Eyes darting back to the rose he looked for answers. It was dry and dead. Yet there was water in the vase, though putrid and vile. Trying to make sense of it exacerbated his condition. Unsteady but unwilling to fall, he pushed away from the nightstand. Lurching toward the bathroom, driven by the need to know his own condition. He needed to see that his precious vessel was safe.
Looking upon the bedroom in its entirety was a grim sight. The wallpaper was peeling away. The floorboards were warped, and flexing under him. The paint on the door was flaking, the door knob patinated, and the hinges rusted. It looked like it would crumble at a touch. The whole room appeared as if it was decaying around him. A white blur shifted in the corner of his eye. He stumbled as he spun quickly to chase the apparition, finding only the reminders of decay that surrounded him.
Fear built in his chest and sank down to his stomach. He hastily turned back, careening into the door. The frame gave way with a loud crack that felt like splinters in his tortured ears. An icy chill crawled up his spine. The ringing crescendoed and the pain in his head expanded. Clambering to the mirror he supported himself on the sink. The beautiful face was untouched by the plague settling upon the room. However, relief was snatched away before it even settled on him.
You're a Monster
The ringing grew cacophonous. The pain became a burning spike driven inside his mind. He tried to scream, but was drowned out by the ringing. Cold metal pressed into his head. Spinning frantically he fell back into the sink. It ripped free of the wall and shattered. Pieces of the ceramic fixture littered the floor.
Looming over him was a phantom of hatred. Glaring down at the soul in the body. It held righteous judgment in its hand and was ready to unleash it. Defying the wraith of his past he bared his fangs. No regret, no remorse, no innocence.
This is my piece for the WoD Hallozine project I organized! It just hit me that I’ve never shared any lore about my beloved character Emily, so now I get to. 😄
For context, Emily is my OC version of the Ventrue female from Bloodlines. In this AU, she was a frustrated campaign assistant in Los Angeles, weary of the backdoor politics and ready to walk away. She tells her boyfriend, a powerful Ventrue Ancilla named Benjamin Whittaker, that she wants to leave L.A.—and him as well.
Unwilling to accept her decision, Benjamin Embraces her during a night of passion, only to be caught by the Sheriff and his crew. Prince Lacroix, his bitter rival, had been surveilling him and Emily for weeks waiting for the right moment to take him down. Benjamin is executed for violating the Masquerade, but in a twist of fate, his unwitting childe Emily is spared to serve Lacroix’s political schemes and as a jab at his fallen rival.
Throughout the events of Bloodlines, Emily is transformed from a Plain Jane into a proper Ventrue under Lacroix's oppressive guidance. He takes her under his wing as a pupil and accomplice, though their relationship soon turns romantic, toxic, and fraught with unstable power dynamics.
Benjamin, now a wraith tethered to Emily, is horrified by what he has to see. Unable to let go, he remains bound by guilt for Embracing her and leaving her in this dire situation. Emily, still resentful and angry over what he’s done, is the very reason he remains anchored to her.
In a desperate attempt to make things right and earn her forgiveness, he spends a great deal of pathos into writing her a letter. But his effort ends up in vain.
