The Vloodmir Vampires

AVAILABLE FOR KINDLE PURCHASE ON AMAZON // When a lust for equality and desire to break free from a tight autocratic structure forces itself into the hearts of the fed-up, hero's will rise. But when one large plan is altered by those on the side lines, who will fall and who will take the power from the Vloodmirs? But most of all, who will survive and who will die? Will secrets be leaked and will lovers become haters of one another?
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3. Prologue



Vloodmir was a quaint little place in the middle of nowhere. Well, that was how it seemed to the outsiders and those who passed by without a second thought – if they managed to find Vloodmir which was rare in itself, it was so well hidden.


The city itself had been around for hundreds of years, the plaza being created in 1805, the centre of it all with everything panning out from there.

It was the first thing which was created by the founders when it had been won in a bloody, harsh and dangerous war. 


1805 was the darkest period in Vloodmir history due to a war between two of the largest clans, two clans with immense power, beauty and were very dangerous. Each a killer in their own way and right, their attacks distinct. The Vloodmirs and the Trusonis. The Vloodmir's claimed a bloody victory thus claiming the land for their own purposes, needs and desires. The Trusonis had wanted to build a city of political power, a city and a kingdom that was a force to be reckoned with, one that was brains, beauty, and power. The Vloodmirs on the other hand wanted a fighting force, a modern day, Vampiric Sparta, but as Britain and France were building their industrial empires and dominating the world as well as destroying it bit by bit, Vampires all around had to fit in and blend in, to almost become invisible. Not invisibility cloak invisible, but blend in invisible. If invisibility wasn’t achieved, then they were going to die and their secret be announced to the world, to be gazed at through glass, to be tormented by children and parents. To be pointed at with fascination and disgust.



The war broke out in around 1800 and what seemed like hell reigned for months and years on end, fire fighting against fire. Two large families with influence and power battling against each other for dominance and claim over sacred, pure, unused land. Many peasants and civilians switched sides a countless number of times, confusion racking their minds and desires. They didn’t want to be on the losing side, but then again, no one did. Propaganda, speeches and tough, persuasive murder took place on the unclaimed land, be it on the field or in the safety of their own camps. It was a miracle that people didn’t leave what would be Vloodmir altogether. But they all needed a leader, someone strong, someone who could lead them all to victory. Someone who could turn the empty, lonely land into a thriving city. A place of trade, a place of power and a place of wealth and beauty.


15th December, 1805, the exact date the war had begun five years ago there was a tragic death.

Korbin, leader and head of the Trusonis was held before his family, his allies, the cold blade bearing his family crest – a small falling angel – engraved into the hilt. Korbin could feel the icy, rain soaked edge pressed up right against his skin, digging in slightly, digging into a vein, digging into his flesh. He didn’t breathe or utter a word. He was struck with fear, but he shouldn’t’ve.

Korbin was a leader, someone people looked up to! To show fear now would be his weakness, it would be his death. His actual death would be his own blade. A downfall, a tragic way to die. The Trusonis and their allies looked on with trepidation. As fast as lightning, the killer’s muscles moved, even the sharpest eyes of the Vampiric couldn’t see the slice as Korbin’s throat was slit, a vein cut, blood splashing and splattering onto the floor, staining the thin, pathetic grouting which was being overthrown by weeds and grass.


Silence fell over the crowd, the image, feeling and aura of death before them turning their vision blury and turning red. Their desires changed and their fury and pain became one collective emotion. The mist from their breath clouded the air, tensions rising and anger building quickly. They all took a step forward, their thirst for the blood of their enemy so strong and over powering every other emotion. For the Trusonis, everything was moving in slow motion. They could see each drop of blood hitting the floor, they could hear it loudly in their ears, echoing. They were feeling anger; they were feeling hatred. They wanted the Vloodmirs to feel the same amount of agony that they were.


There was no other sound heard as Korbin’s body slammed onto the floor and a young woman screamed as she caught her first glimpse of what was happening, her voice shrill and piercing, a cry strong enough to injure the ears of the surrounding people. That young woman in question was Evelyn Parker. Her hair blew across her face, her eyes glistening with tears that slowly left a gleaming trail down her face. Her hands were clenched into fists, sparks flying from the gaps between her fingers, gently falling and extinguishing on the wet grass. The tattoo on the back of her neck, reflecting a heartbeat on a hospital monitor machine was glowing brightly. She would break, she would snap and the world would crumble around her, bringing everything to ash and dust. Her mother, Genevieve gripped her daughter’s shoulder tightly, digging her nails in, sending bolts of electricity down Evelyn’s spine. Despite sharing the same element, Evelyn wasn’t immune to her mother’s torture. She cried out again, but this time in fear and sunk to the floor, the wet dirt and mud clinging to the knee pads of her very modern outfit. Of course, in the Vampiric world, they had the best minds, it was shocking that they hadn’t invented hover boards already. But, they had to fit in, there were rules to follow. Korbin was what Evelyn wanted to be when she grew up; smart, strong and powerful.


A gentle hand rested on Evelyn’s shoulder, massaging it gently, trying to ease the pain but to no success. Joseph Parker hauled his step-daughter up, wrapping his arm around his daughter’s shoulders, pulling her close towards his body. His love for his daughter was too much, so much, he was the one who had turned her and Genevieve. Genevieve would never forgive him for what he had done to their life, ruining it forever, and forever was a long time, forever was infinite. Despite the violence happening before their eyes, Genevieve had time to give a harsh gaze of anger towards her husband. His eyes had a faraway look as Joseph looked down at the body of their leader. A casual observer from the side lines would think this was due to the death he had just witnessed, but no, that answer would only be half correct. It was from the ghost which Joseph saw. His crescent moon which was highly detailed, conveying his ability. Had been constantly lit up, the tattoo emitting a gentle white light. The violence and the viewing of the dead constantly was making him nervous, the ghosts of all the dead surrounding him made Joseph and others with the same ability nervous and irritable. He chewed his lip, tasting his own blood, pleasing and sickening him. His sanity was already going down the drain from seeing the dead in this war. Five years it had been going on. This was one of worst abilities a Vampire could have. Looking down at his step-daughter with a tender loving look in his eyes he glanced at his wife with the same look, only for it to be returned with utter hatred with no desire, compassion or fear. Just nothing. Pits of darkness leading into Hell.


Korbin’s lifeless eyes gazed at the Trusonis and their allies, there was nothing left but a dead body on the ground which was already claimed. The Trusonis began to back away, some slowly, some quickly, the Vloodmirs advancing with each agonising step. They were pouncing and tackling the younger ones and the children, ripping their throats out and throwing them to the floor with their broken necks. The parents were stupid to have their children before them. It made them such easy targets. Those children were killed instantly. Joseph turned away, pulling his family closer to him to keep them safe. Genevieve tried to pull herself away, but no success greeted her. Despite not caring, she knew that she couldn’t use her ability to hurt Joseph, at least not now. She needed him. Genevieve needed Joseph for his home, his money and his influence. He earned a good deal of money from his ability. He spoke to the dead and relayed their messages back. It ruined him bit by bit and he had ruined Genevieve’s life, so Genevieve thought it fitting that Joseph kept working to so he could feel what she did. Joseph thought, that deep down she loved him, that she truly cared for him, but that was only an act. Genevieve didn’t care. She would never care. The word care wasn’t in Genevieve’s vocabulary. Genevieve would never care for her daughter in a loving way, not after what Joseph had done to her, Joseph had ruined her own daughter and watching him tenderly holding her while they ran made Genevieve want to vomit, but that wasn’t ladylike. Evelyn was only fourteen, 209 years of actual age. She would be eighteen when she would stop physically aging, forever frozen looking beautiful. Her eyesight would be perfect, her skin as clear as her mind, her thoughts and opinions fully thought out. It pained Genevieve to think of her daughter looking so beautiful and being so powerful. They really did look perfect together with Genevieve looking 28 while her husband looked around 32.


The run to safety wasn’t pleasant to say the least. Evelyn kept trying to look back, to get one last glimpse at the man who she wanted to be in a female form. Her father forced her to run, Evelyn’s heavy boots slamming onto the cobbles with every step she took.

Genevieve’s short tight dress made it hard and her heels really didn’t help. But still, she ran, her blonde hair streaming out. Joseph pulled them both along, his body trembling and shaking. He couldn’t keep it up for much longer, he was 900 for God’s sake! Leaving his ‘teenage’ Vampire years. At the rate of his sanity, he would have to be killed, he wouldn’t even reach old age. Genevieve many a time had contemplated killing him off, there was many a chance to do so while the war was raging on. A stab in the back then scream with joy – disguising it as sadness – as he departed the world splayed out on the blooded grass. Genevieve would get condolences from the Army sign up, money and fancy things from customers. The only depressing thing would be her daughter. Evelyn would be a wreck, sobbing and crying. Pathetic, simpering brat. She would lock herself in her room, whishing she was more like him, more like her disgusting father. Evelyn was, in many ways like Joseph. She had his eyes and many of his personality traits. But Evelyn’s main trait was from her mother – her anger. When Evelyn snapped it was violent and devastating. Genevieve had tried time and time again to keep Evelyn away from people, at least until her anger had subdued. It had never worked. Keeping her locked up away from civilization made her wary and nervous around things outside of her comfort zone. She was protective of her family and friends – if she ever got any. Whatever Genevieve had tried to prevent, it hadn’t worked, it had backfired. Genevieve needed her husband gone. It wasn’t like she cared for him anyway.


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