- 'Why should they feast on the blood of others when they have blood of their own? Even then, they require both.'
---
When Kael approached, the street was quiet, gray light pressing against the rooftops, as though the city itself had dimmed its pulse in respect or fear. Kael's footsteps were measured, silent, almost a rhythm in time with his heartbeat. His barely ochre eyes scanned the homes along the avenue. Each one was a brittle imitation of perfection, but Lucian's stood apart. It was immaculate even from this distance—pristine stonework, windows polished until the reflections cut like shards of the very high quality glass they were forged from. A pale breeze twisted through the trees lining the street, carrying the faint, yet unpolluted, tang of urban cleanliness.
Kael had walked past houses like this countless times before, observing wealth like one studies a specimen—fascinated yet entirely separate. But as for Lucian's home, it was not merely wealth; it was control, a certainty carved into the fabric of the walls. Everything in sight was deliberate, as though the air itself had been instructed on how to behave. Kael felt the pull of it—the silent invitation to a space where chaos could be mapped, measured, and restrained.
He walked up the short cobbled path and pressed the intercom. The tone was light, almost polite, but Kael felt the weight of invisible scrutiny. Then the door swung open with a precise, controlled motion.
"Kael," Lucian greeted without warmth, black hair framing his wolf-cut face perfectly against pale skin. His grey eyes flicked over him briefly, noting the rumple in his sleeve, the slight dust clinging to his shoes. "Come in. Your presence is punctual, and very much appreciated."
No-one was watching.
Lucian allowed himself to smile a little more genuinely than usual.
Kael, a bit taken aback, reprociated the gesture before he stepped inside.
The air was cool, scented faintly with the antiseptic sharpness of cleaned wood and faint wax polish. His gaze swept across the foyer. Marble floors reflected his own feet, tiled in geometric precision, leading to the main hallway where light filtered evenly through tall, unblemished windows. No clutter, no incongruence, no sign of the careless human insects who filled the rest of the city. Everything had a place. Everything had a purpose.
---
The house was not large in absolute terms, but it was the best-looking house on the best-looking street of the city, and it bore the unmistakable stamp of its owner's obsession with perfection. Furniture lined the walls like soldiers on parade, polished wood reflecting the pale sunlight, edges sharp, lines precise. There was no softness, no indulgence. A vase of crimson roses sat on a small table, petals flawless, stems trimmed to identical lengths—a touch of elegance amidst stark order.
Lucian's father, occasionally present, was mostly absent: work trips, society functions, business ventures of consequence. The old man left Lucian to his own devices ever since he had turned ten, and Lucian had built an empire of control in those years—every room a laboratory for observation, every object a node in a network of precision.
Kael moved through the spaces quietly, his eyes drawn to the subtleties: the labels on every drawer, the perfectly aligned spines of books, the small glass containers holding insects he had collected months prior, pinned meticulously like trophies. Everything exuded thought. Lucian did not merely live here. He shaped it, as though he were bending the universe to accommodate the logic of his mind.
---
Kael followed Lucian up a narrow staircase into the masterwork of his domain: his room.
The space was immense, with a ceiling high enough that a ladder might have been required to reach the highest shelves. Sunlight fell in precise, narrow beams, striking a polished floor that gleamed like liquid. Against one wall, a double bed loomed unnecessarily large, draped in crisp linens with a blanket folded to exact angles at its foot. Rococo flourishes decorated the corners: carved gilded edges, baroque embellishments, intricate patterns that seemed almost alive with excess, yet held to order by Lucian's obsessive eye.
A gold-ornated mirror dominated another wall. Its glass reflected Kael's figure, pale and lanky, but also the perfection of the room itself—the symmetry of the furniture, the alignment of every object, the methodical chaos of the books stacked by subject, each labeled meticulously. Kael felt like he didn't fit in, with his baggy black jeans and loose knitted jumper. Like his presence was unworthy of this environment. Nevertheless, Lucian welcomed him with more politeness than warmth and more manners than unfiltered enthusiasm.
Trophies from science competitions glinted on a shelf, alongside framed certificates, each awarded for biological research, chemistry precision, or mathematical reasoning.
Kael noted the study table. Its surface was polished wood, free from dust. A crystal vase held the bouquet of white narcissus flowers, similar to the one he had glimpsed downstairs. Books on biology, neurochemistry, and zoology were stacked in precise order. Kael understood instinctively that this was a place not only of study, but of meditation, rehearsal, and planning. Every inch of Lucian's room was a reflection of the man himself: exacting, meticulous, blooming with authority, alive with the energy of a mind that saw patterns in the world and reduced them to order.
Lucian gestured to the seat across from him. "I'll assume you have no complaints about the setting. Then we can proceed with the studying..."
---
Kael agreed readily to the study session. If he already knew the current year's curriculum in advance; teaching it back to Lucian was a methodical pleasure. He explained concepts with surgical clarity, highlighting nuances most students would have overlooked. Lucian absorbed it, taking meticulous notes, asking questions only to sharpen understanding rather than from ignorance.
Hours passed without disruption. The sun shifted lazily across the sky, leaving the room in muted shades of gold and silver. Their eyes locked from time to time. Gold and silver. Outside, the street was still quiet, still lifeless. Lucian did not speak unless necessary, and Kael had no need for frivolous conversation. They were
once again aligned in a silently but mutually agreed method of procedure.
Lucian occasionally allowed himself a small indulgence: the thrill of Kael's precision, the amusement at seeing how he could articulate the mundane with artistry. And Kael, in turn, allowed himself a small enjoyment: the opportunity to observe Lucian, to note the subtle curving of his lips when satisfied, the way he positioned his pen, the micro-adjustments of his posture, as though the boy himself were an experiment.
"Soon," Lucian murmured, voice low, "I will show you something fun."
Kael's curiosity, usually dormant, sparked.
---
The television, muted and buried beneath stacks of carefully arranged books, flickered to life with scrolling text. Lucian had placed it strategically—just enough to observe the city's pulse, not to invite distraction.
A news anchor's monotone voice reported on the disappearance of a boy student. Details were sparse: name, age, last known location. The footage showed a faint image of a classroom, children blurred like moving shadows. That really was him. Lucian's and Kael's recent 'human' lab rat.
Lucian's gaze sharpened. His grey eyes, cold and analytical, scanned the frame. Genuine gladness pulled at the corners of his lips. "Looks like it took over thirty hours for them to realize one of their kind is absent. At such pace," he said softly, almost to himself, "he'll be declared deceased in a century."
Kael's pastel yellow eyes flicked to him, and for a moment the silence between them was almost tangible. Then, slowly, Kael smiled. The world had been easy to manipulate. The insects had not even noticed a member of their colony had vanished.
Lucian leaned back slightly. "A pest removed. Invisible to its kin. Nothing changes for the rest."
Kael murmured, voice hushed, almost reverent: "We could do this… on a larger scale. Guide the infestation. Cleanse what is unfit."
Happiness creased Lucian's eyes, thin and sharp. "Yes. The pests are legion. The decay is systemic. Yet all it requires is precision."
For a brief instant, the world outside the window—the trees, the very distant hum of traffic, the lives of the insects scuttling about—ceased to matter. They were no longer just observers. They were architects. And the first act had already been performed.
---
That evening was designated for reflection and planning.
As night fell, the house quieted further. Lucian moved through his room with deliberate motions, inspecting each book spine, adjusting the positioning of the white narcissus, aligning pens and notes to perfection. Kael watched, fascinated.
"Do you feel it?" Kael asked, voice soft, almost fragile in contrast to the certainty of Lucian's movements.
Lucian paused, fingers resting on the mirror's gilded edge. "The ease with which the world ignores its own rot… the speed at which decay goes unseen… It is intoxicating. And it is ours."
Kael nodded. His mind raced, envisioning insects, rodents, human decay, and the methods by which they might direct it. The thrill was visceral: the knowledge that the world could be bent to their hands, that the pests surrounding them—every careless, thoughtless human—could be culled with precision and discretion.
Lucian gestured to the wall of notes and diagrams, meticulously arranged. "We will need planning. Methods. We cannot allow sloppiness. Only the most thoughtless insects perish unobserved. We must not join them."
Kael allowed himself a rare shiver of anticipation. Together, they began to map possibilities, detailing movements, timing, and vulnerabilities—not for insects, not for classmates, but for the decayed, complacent mass of humanity.
By the time night had deepened, both were exhausted yet alive, invigorated by the clarity of purpose. The first act of true power had been executed. The first step toward cleansing was no longer hypothetical. It had already begun.
And in their quiet, aligned minds, a single understanding took root: the world was theirs to observe, to control, to eradicate.