Introduction

Hatred is an odd emotion. It is as strong as sacred love, but much easier to grasp. Requited love can come after years of desperate, hopeful searching for most, but hatred can be implanted as the moments of birth. Unlike love, it can be taught. And unlike love it can be conquered.

When time passes, generations of beings pass as well. Some age, some die, and some are not affected at all. And as long as time continues, the old battles rage as though they had just begun, though none can exactly state how they came to take place. Fingers are pointed and words are spread, but fact and myth are hard to separate when tainted with the indestructible power of time.

Vampires, such seductive creatures, the children of the night. Damned at the moment of their defining change. Some of them beg for it; others fight with all their will to prevent it. Either way all vampires are presumed vile, cruel, violent beings. Nothing more than monsters thriving with their lust for blood.

Some mortals are wronged by a vampire and, so moved by the horrific experience, carve themselves a path as a vampire hunter. They seek and kill the immortals shamelessly, with no though or peaceful notion in their closed minds. They believe that every single vampire is a damnable parasite, with either a soul of blind virulence or no soul at all. As they plot and loathe relentlessly they never even consider the rather obvious possibility that not every vampire has a spirit of poison or will of treachery. They raise their children to hate the immortals as well. They teach then to hate upon birth. Many become vampire hunters themselves when the appropriate age surfaces.

Vampires are left to fight the relentless hunters. And they have grown into instant haters of the mortal hunters, not bothering to realize that this endless war is no one's fault. Instead of fighting to prove themselves as beings that still possess their personal souls and still feel emotion and kindness, many live recklessly, violently, only aiding the mortal hunters' theories and "knowledge".

Some vampires are easily horrible. But, with the same notion, some mortals are horrible as well. There truly is no good side, no bad side, no right, no wrong. There have been too many losses to ever have any truly victorious winner. And it is all bred from hate. Hate and the refusal for understanding or courage or chance.

However, like everything that thrives, exceptions are always born, or changed for that matter. The exceptions are painfully rare, and hardly ever enough to make an impact upon the ignorance that fuels the atrocity. But they are real and rare time to rare time those exceptions come together and fate gives them a chance to overcome hatred and replace it with something much, much stronger.

Chapter 1: Immortal Incineration

The heat was unbearable. The colors were blinding. Red, orange, and golds so vivid you could see them radiating for miles. The night was a dry one, as usual, and the humid heat overpowered the atmosphere. No inch of rain or mild zephyr could be able to manage its way through the suffocating town. It was always hot, it seemed. And miserably so, at least to Christian.

It was a weird emotion that he felt as he watched the beautiful white mansion burn brightly. The colors, the treacherously bright colors, contrasted brilliantly against the darkness of the night's empty sky, void of stars and dreams. His stomach was twisted into knots of nervousness and slight shock. But it wasn't the mourning a normal mortal would have felt while watching the foundation be consumed by greedy flames.

Christian had grown up in the large mansion turned inferno. All nineteen years of his existence had been spent in it. Its appearance had always offered illustrious beauty, but never any comfort for him. Perhaps that was why he wasn't as devastated as he was sure his parents were. The mansion's immaculate chastity had almost been frightening. Much too perfect in Christian's personal opinion. Still, it wasn't easy to watch the place burn to the dark green ground it had set on for so long. After all, his precious belongings had to burn with it.

The fire trucks had arrived a bit earlier, adding to the seizure-capable brightness and flashing that the fire had contributed well enough on its own. They, as Christian had already guessed, were too late. There was nothing they could do to stop what was happening. The house was far too engulfed by the raging heat to be salvaged. His parents arrived shortly after the trucks, though Christian didn't know how they were informed of the fire so quickly…They had both demanded to know why their home was being burnt to it's foundation in front of their very eyes.

"Vampire came….only way to save myself…" he wasn't sure if his mumbling or if he really even said anything to them at all. It was possible that he only thought he had. But they had heard his voice, soft, but honest. His mother had looked at him with horror and wrapped her skinny arms around him tightly, while his father nodded at him. Christian cringed at the demented sort of happiness on his father's handsome face that was trying to hide under an expression of solemnity. But Christian could easily sense the pride his father, Braden, the most renowned vampire hunter in the country, had felt upon knowing his only son had purposely killed an immortal.

Don't be too damn pleased with the idea, Father. I would have killed a mortal hunter just as fast….It was a maneuver sprung of self-defense only, Christian thought to himself as he studied his parent's face out of the corner of his green eye. The flames cast eerie shadow across it, making it appear more morbid and cruel as ever. Christian's mother had finally released him and stepped away, taking with her the scent of her strong perfume. Her could see the damp tears streak her face now, though now sound escaped from her tightly pursed lips, painted a tacky shade of coral.

Putting his focus back onto the burning house, Christian realized he was soaked in sweat. It truly was beginning to feel like a sort of hell. But then again, it always had. But he despised the heat, the damnable heat that followed more consistently than any shadow ever could.

Deciding he had seen enough of the sight for the rest of his lifetime, Christian turned away from the still-flaming mansion and gravely quite androids he knew as parents and began walking to know certain destination. He looked down at the dark ground, longing to hear the grass crunching under his feet instead of the towering fire or relentless sirens. His black shoes seemed to be the only thing familiar to him as he walked slowly away.

"Christian! Where are you going now?" he heard his mother's

voice ring more shrill than any fire engine siren.

He slowly turned around and, clearing his throat, responded loudly, "For a walk."

She looked as though she was beginning to protest, but Braden gently touched her arm and said something similar to, "Let him go, he has a lot of this past night to think of." His voice hadn't really been audible, so Christian had to follow the art of reading lips. Either way, he turned and continued his slow pace away from the falling home.

His father had been wrong. The last thing Christian really wanted to think about was the raging fire or the way it felt to hear the vampire's tortured cries as it has burned to most likely nothing.