“Long time, no chat my old friend, Saa'ir…” Armaros said as he took off his fedora, letting loose a few strands of hair to fall and revealing his eyes—the right one holding the symbol for the sin of lust, confirming his status as a Sin Incarnation.
His slicked back hair was as striking as the rest of his appearance. It was dark, almost jet black, and complimented his pale, dark skin. Each strand carried with it a glaring sheen, suggesting meticulous care.
“Armaros… How do you know my name?” Saa'ir uttered, confusion molding his face and voice of its own accord. The faint sense of familiarity to Armaros was overwhelming, yet he just couldn't put his finger on it, that was before realizing what Armaros had just said. “Wait—old friend!?”
Armaros chuckled in response as he threw his fedora into the air, and with one snap, turned it Into a swarm of bats. “Aw, don't remember our past two encounters, Saa'ir?" he said as he adopted a fake crying face before grinning again. "Though, I expected as much, since you didn't remember me the last time we met either.”
Standing up straight, intrigue painting onto his face like a canvas, Saa'ir questioned Armaros more. “Then pray tell, ‘old friend’, when was the last time we met? Might allow some past memories to come back…”
Crossing his arms as he sensed a pseudo-interrogation coming, Armaros happily complied. “If you say so… Our last encounter was around,” he remarked while mischievous chuckles broke through, a product of imagining Saa'ir's reaction to what he had to say, “four centuries ago!”
Saa'ir's entire face dropped alongside his jaw, he simply couldn't fathom the fact he was presumably alive that long ago. It was an answer that only brought about many more questions. “F-Four centuries!? What year is it now?”
“It's the Year 864, my friend,” Armaros replied while holding up nine fingers, “making it the Ninth Century since Eranovum's birth and the end of the Holy Catalyst War, which was when we first met, by the way.”
“Hold on… You're telling me we first met nearly nine-hundred years ago, and again during the Fifth Century?”
“Correct!” Armaros snapped his fingers. “At the same time of the Great Dragon War, to be specific. Not to mention, the same age where Giona Dracna was alive.”
Saa’ir's eyes widened, the name of legend striking yet another faint, but insistent, chord within his memories. “G-Giona!?” He exclaimed before grasping at his chin, thinking to himself. “Also, Great Dragon War…?”
Armaros giddily clasped his hands together. “Ah! Seems your memory is only foggy, not forgotten, that's good to hear. Looks like you remember Giona Dracna, no?”
Saa'ir scratched the side of his turban, trying to remember anything past the name. “I do…kind of, I only remember the name. Although, there's something else I'm missing, it's at the back of my head… I feel like I've heard the name Giona, even before Giona Dracna…”
“Ah, you speak of Giona Evelyn Tamaki.”
“Yes! That's it! Eve!” Saa'ir exclaimed, the name Armaros had given refreshing his memory of a striking woman with purple clothing. Though, right after, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked down. “Wait… Why did I say Eve?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Trust, I’ll answer that in due time, my friend.” Armaros replied.
Pondering on it for a few moments, Saa'ir opened his mouth to ask some more questions, only to be cut short by an elderly voice. “Boys?”
Both men turned to the origin of the weathered, yet caring voice. It was an old, short man, out and about on a nightly stroll with his walking cane. “Oh my, on a closer look, you two aren't from ‘round this area, are ya?”
Armaros was the first to react, walking to and meeting the old man halfway in the street. “Why indeed.” he said as he kneeled to the elderly man’s height and placed a hand upon his shoulder, of which blood-red claws jetted out into position of the nails—an action that caught Saa’ir’s attention. “We're…how do you say…travelers, yes. By the way, just to confirm, you said ‘you two’, correct?”
“Hm? Why yes,” the elderly man replied as he looked over Armaros’ shoulder and at Saa'ir, “I suggest your friend with the gold jewelry get somewhere safe. Too many thieves lurking around these parts I'm afraid.”
“I see…” Armaros uttered, almost under his breath and with a tinge of disappointment, as his claws retracted. “Thank you for the warning, sire. In return, I would like to give you a warning of my own…”
Sensing Armaros’ change in demeanor, the elderly man started sweating as he took a step back. “H-Huh…? A warning? I-I am truly sorry if I off—!”
Armaros simply stood back up as he put his hand over his chest, clarifying what he meant. “No, you didn't offend me. You are just trying to help, and so am I. Tell me, do you have any health problems? Say, for example, your heart?”
“Health problems?” The elderly man tilted his head to Armaros’ question, and confessed while laughing. “Hehe-ha! Well, being at the age I'm at, anyone could guess that! But yes, I have been suffering some heart issues…”
“Is that so… With all due respect, I'd advise you go straight back home and rest. Just like you said there are thieves around these parts. One scare from one trying to rob you, and they'll take more than just your cane.”
“Shoot, well said young man, can't really argue with that, huh?” the elderly man chortled while turning his back to the pair, beginning to walk away. “Have a goodnight boys! It was nice meeting ya! Stay safe, ya hear!”
Now alone with each other again, Armaros and Saa'ir stood in silence, with the latter breaking it a few moments later. “You were about to kill that man…!”
Turning back to Saa'ir, only revealing his right eye which glowed a blood-red, Armaros coldly answered. “I cannot deny, I was… I am not only the first vampire, not only the king of vampires, but I'm also the Calamity Sin Incarnation of Lust—a god. Me killing him was nothing short of a normal human slaughtering a lamb.”
"God?" Saa'ir pressed further. “So, why didn't you?”
Armaros pointed straight up into the air before answering. “By the time the sun reaches its peak tomorrow noon, he will certainly be dead. His heart has been fighting a losing battle for a while now. Even if he's just a lowly human, people who are good should have the privilege to die surrounded by their families. Killing him then and there would have been a waste…”
Saa'ir pondered on Armaros’ words and ideology, giving a disapproving chuckle after a few seconds. “You're a very weird and ironic man, you know that?”
Armaros scoffed. “Spare me.”
“How do you even know that man was going to die?” Saa’ir inquired further.
Turning around fully, Armaros held up two fingers. “Two reasons. The first is the fact I can feel the irregularities within the blood of both myself and others by a mere touch, a basic application of my Soulful Technique: Vampiric Vale. I could tell from how his blood was being pumped that his heart was close to decommissioning all together.”
Saa’ir raised an arm towards Armaros with an open hand, as if asking for something. “And the second reason?”
“You.” Armaros quickly replied as he pointed at Saa'ir.
Saa’ir lowered his hand while raising an eyebrow. “Me? What do I have to do with the man's declining health?”
Armaros chuckled and adopted another mischievous grin. “Well, Saa'ir, my friend, here's the simplest way I can put it,” he shrugged, “you're dead, Saa'ir…”
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Next: (Chapter 42) The Immortal & Lustful King of Vampires: Part 2