Lunation of Fate

In the world of Dianium, a legend is being survived by those bearing the anathema given by their gods.Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.

Legend has it that out of her thirst for power, the goddess of blood, Karmi, granted her loyal worshippers the gift of the dark arts: whoever wields it will rule over another.

As they grew in number, the wolf-god of flesh, Rolfus, realize it was catastrophic for humankind. He gave his followers supernatural strength to fight off Karmi’s worshippers.

This was Rolfus’ charge, but as time passes the evil nature of men defeat their purest desires. His followers began to abuse their power, using it for selfish gains.

With the chaos in the world, Dianos, the moon titan, awakened from his slumber of a thousand suns.

He became furious at the fold of events, thus he subjected both to a curse to overpower them by the witborns, humans untainted with their gifts.

Rolfus and Karmi’s worshippers received the same curse of being subject to untainted humans, though their supernatural gifts remained in their blood.

So exist the bloodline of werewolves; known as fellhounds, the bloodline of vampires; termed as bloodhunts, and the untainted humans; called the witborns, with the witborns overpowering both of them with hydropneumatic technology.

Today, the daily dealings in Dianium is deem peaceful and in order compared to things pass. Unsaid hostility towards each other still run in their veins, so each bloodline is kept to their regions. There are but few open cities in the world of Dianium, as it serves all bloodlines trade and commerce.

Fellhounds are of brawny type, bearing a rugged and boxy physique. Their canine teeth are wider and sharper than their human ancestor. They are mostly hairy, but they have the most beautiful eyes of royal blue or light hazel.

They are physically strong: one can carry a baby elephant without breaking a sweat. Their favorite pastime is athletics. When wounded or tired, they regenerate at a faster rate than witborns.

Fellhounds are loyal to their word and caring in nature.

Bloodhunts are of scrawny type, their kind being tall and pale in complexion. This is because they like to live in dark places and avoid sunlight, as they will burn literally if exposed to the sun. They would still survive, but it will be harder for them to regenerate. They have dark eyes that can pierce a soul.

Each set of canines of the bloodhunts looks sharper and pointier, so as the top tip of their ears, but they look sophisticatingly beautiful.

They excel in the magic, arts, and music, which they use in defense against witborns and fellhounds. They are a mysterious lot.

As the witborns build cities and towers on flat ground, the fellhounds decided to live in the mountains. While the bloodhunts retreated to dark and gloomy underground caves.

The witborns have overpopulated Dianium, compared to the fellhounds and the bloodhunts. They advance in knowledge and new technology, compiling codexes and conducting studies to maintain their defenses against the other races.

Dianos, the moon titan, gave the witborns the gift of air and water power technology. With this knowledge and means, they have constructed what is called the Tink Tank.

A Tink Tank is a steam-powered full armor that is worn and controlled mechanically by the wearer. It is a battle suit with enlarged limbs to raise up the strength of the witborn wearer.

It is also installed with glass panels at the front for guarded viewing and to hinder the mind control skills of vampires. This powerful suit is the first line of defense from the fellhounds and the bloodhunts.

Meanwhile, the bloodhunts have an arsenal of their own, but of the unconventional kind. They do not opt for selective breeding, but want to maintain their gifts through perpetuity.

They naturally developed in their blood the means to make themselves immortal: by drinking blood of other creatures. So far, the best quality comes from untainted humans, though it is hard to come by. They abhor drinking the blood of the fellhounds; the taste seems repulsive to them.

Selective breeding is the key to maintain the gifts of the werewolf race. Because of this, they are quite strict within their tribe, else it would weaken the supernatural gifts within their flesh. To keep their strength as they age, they eat untainted humans sold off through the black market.

This is where Juste’s abhorrence lies. They are required to eat a human witborn on their 18th birthday. He just couldn’t take the thought of eating a live creature that looks, moves and speaks like him.

The human branch had already split into three species, but deep down, instinctively, Juste would have not of it. Juste thinks he’s just a cursed human being, and he needs to reverse this curse in their bloodline starting from him.

The tradition of eating human flesh has become less effective for the fellhounds, so the consumption of witborns must be at a more frequent rate. This was why Chastine had been experimented on, with tiny lumps of her innards biopsied and collected.

She was a virgin. So instead of being discarded and slaughtered in the dishonorable way, she was to be offered in a ritual as the coming of age to their princely Juste. She was specially purchased by the wolf king for this purpose.

But the predator and prey had one thing in mind: they both want to get out of their eventual situation. Juste couldn’t take eating Chastine so he wants to defect from their clan, while Chastine wants to break free and live as free human. They both want to escape that which imprisons them.

“So, is that a yes I just heard?” crooned the happily surprised Juste to Chastine.

“You want me to take back my decision?” muttered the passively irate Chastine, as she smiled with her eyes automatically squinting.

Juste denied his enthusiasm with sarcasm, but underneath his words was an obvious jittery panic, “hah, suit yourself. I’m not the one going to die soon,”

Chastine confidently replied, “face it, you need me to achieve your goals. I’m that one in a million chance you’re dying to have.”

“Feisty guilt-tripping aren’t we?” Juste was growing irritable at the flow of their conversation.

“I’m just stating a matter-of-fact.”

“Fine…” Juste threw a thick pin from his coat to Chastine, “…prove your skills right now then let’s resume the talk.”

Chastine’s little hands picked the needle on the damp floor. Her nimble fingers tinkered on the keyhole of her chains with the pin Juste gave.

“Hurry, Chastine…” Juste was becoming impatient of her bust out. Then as he commented on her sluggishness, the unfastening of her chains became palpable in his ears. Then, there followed the freefall drop of those very chains on the stone floor.