#and i want joachim to travel around europe before that but that woudl require me to do research on early middle age europe and no thanks

[beevean]

WIP Saturday

(supposed to be Wednesday but you know)

I was tagged by @monochromatictoad! I do have a WIP, several in fact :D and I tag @the-crow-binary and @viralvava, if you guys are willing to share!

Since I'm stuck here, I'll get the chance to post the most complete part :P

~

On Walter’s throne, Joachim was bored.

And he was so sick of being bored.

Oh sure, at first he was delighted to see the throne room from that new perspective – no longer on his knees kissing Walter’s ridiculously ornamented boots, but sitting where the wretched despot used to sit, looking down at the pathetic creatures crawling in and out the hall.

(he could still smell his stench on his throne, fresh blood and meat and polished metal Joachim couldn’t stand it he hated it hated it hated him him him)

He had been weak and helpless for so long, that he didn’t know what to do with his newfound power: it was a liberation and a burden at the same time.

At first, he passed the time killing some of the monsters that bowed down to him, shaking like rippling water. Some of the uglier ones, the slimy ones, the mermen who still dared to show their faces around him as if he didn’t have enough of them and their blood that stank of rotten fish; it was easy, to decapitate them with his swords, or cut off their limbs to leave them to bleed out, or exert more of his power to crush their windpipes and lungs. They made funny noises when dying: they made for lovely music. And it felt so, so good to do so not because his body cried out for nourishment, seized by despair and the primal need for survival: but because he could, and there was nothing who could stop him, not anymore.

But even that grew stale. Death had no gravitas, for someone who had transcended it.

So Joachim spent some more years exploring what he used to call his home, to refresh his memory.

(Not all of it: he gave the watery caves a wide berth. He’d rather descend into Hell and break his legs there: it was bound to be a more pleasant stay. The sound of falling rain still made him jolt on the throne. He could kill any eventual witness to that sorry spectacle, but not the shame burning in his dead guts.)

(One day, he finally sealed the entrance for good measure, and his cackling resonated up to the surface.)

The new enormous chapel, polished to a shine and bathed in the silver moonlight, only made him scoff. He could stare at the giant crucifixes and the statues of holy women without his eyes melting: they were mere counterfeits, bait for the knights’ hope and faith. How like Walter, to meticulously create something so ostentatious as a form of mockery. Joachim had no affection for the Christian God he was forced to worship in his life, so no emotions ever stirred him – he counted it as a victory against his dead master, who used to drink Joachim’s anger like distilled blood.

He’d visit the abandoned theatre quite often, force the vain succubi to give him a show, to transform into Joachim and Walter and reenact the moment he had slayed the former Lord, perhaps with a little embellishment for his amusement. And Joachim clapped, clapped hard enough that the sound of his joy echoed into the empty hallways! If they were creative enough, he’d even spare them.

He didn’t understand why the inhabitants of the castle were so terrified of him. So maybe he had a little too much fun cleaning up the place, but he had no intention of imprisoning anyone, so they should be grateful that their new Lord was much more merciful. Not that he cared about the opinion of lurid creatures who enjoyed their useless freedom when he rotted in the bowels of the castle, forgotten by everything, lower than the maggots that squirmed in decayed corpses.

The alchemy laboratory brought back memories that Joachim could have done without. Walter had taught him the basics of alchemy, in that place, he had told him about the Ebony and the Crimson Stone, the greatest treasures for a vampire to hold. And Joachim looked up to him, to his knowledge, and he had allowed him to fill his head with his obnoxious voice, and allowed him to touch him with those filthy paws of his, and…

Well, Walter was dead, and Joachim still remembered how to read, albeit slowly. He could soak in the rest of Walter’s knowledge by himself. And curse him for even thinking of appreciating one thing about that bastard, but his wealth of knowledge was immense, and a more than fulfilling pastime.

But the gardens were by far his favorite wing of the castle. Air, fresh air, for him and only him to feel on his skin! He even breathed it, as if to replace the stagnant humidity that had become part of his body. And oh, how he had missed the night sky, the stars spreading over his head rather than those stalactites he had watched grow, waiting for them to impale him. He enjoyed laying on the damp grass, drawing in the air with his swords, and stare at the immense, red moon shining upon him, a benefactor he had forgotten about.

Soon, the castle became tight on him. Another cell, just bigger than the one he had called his home for… he was afraid of knowing how much time had passed ever since that fateful day, when he tried to show Walter that he was no mere toy, that he deserved the throne more than he did.

Never. Never again. Never again will he be stuck!

He hadn’t realized that Walter was his reason of living. Not just because he had gifted him with eternal life; the reason he never melted himself away under a waterfall was because for countless time, he had anticipated the sweet taste of revenge.

He feasted on that revenge. And then what?

Joachim had wasted enough of his immortality.