As my wife well knows, my delving into the darker secrets held by alchemy and the other sciences has held no ground. The enigma of the paranormal still dwells beyond my understanding and the stages in which one can reach these bizarre states of being baffles me further. Such is the case of immortality and the immortal I had acquainted myself with, a mere two moths prior to this writing. My father had made it his life's work to achieve immortality. He travelled the world over and looked under every rock he could spot. Yet, he died, a wealthy bachelor at the age of forty. That's our curse, they say. No man in the Kane family line will ever reach the age of forty-one. This alone drove my father to insanity and implored him to pass all that he had discovered down to me. Those secrets to life, that is. But in all his writings and all his studies I could not find one shred of information that could help me to reaching that point beyond the final destination.
Now, returning to the fact off the immortal. Doctor Faus Imilius Palov. That was his name. I had found it strange that since he had come around, emigrating from a foreign land, commoners had been turning up dead. The body count was at thirty-two, but I shrugged it all off at first, thinking Imilius couldn't possible have anything to do with it. He was of a noble title, yet he was never one to indulge the masses with his presence or attend parties where he might flaunt his earnings. No, Imilius was quiet and content. Preferring the astonishing gazes of women and their company behind the closed curtains of some far-back room, away from the bustle of the ball.
I couldn't exactly say what it was that drew me to him. He looked to be just a few years younger than myself. He had black, slick hair, green eyes and skin that was so light and perfect, he almost glistened in the moon. I wouldn't have taken much interest in his company unless I were to have witnessed his immortality first hand. It was in a dining-hall. Folk from all over had been called together to celebrate the knighting of some nobleman's son. I forget the name. Imilius was cutting bread and I had pushed past a group of swooning women to speak to him about his opinions and findings when it came to the essence of prolonging life. He smiled, as if he was an expert on the matter. He quoted poetry and basic findings. Avoiding answering my questions at every turn. It wasn't until he failed to see he had cut through the bread and sliced his flesh that he became more hesitant in speaking to me. I saw him bleed for a moment, then our eyes met and he realized what he had done.
Imilius rushed off and I pursued him further. He left the party and I followed. We met in an alley, down the road from the knighting hall. When I confronted him he grabbed me by the throat and lifted me above his head. I drew a dagger and plunged it into his chest. Right in towards the heart. He dropped me and removed the blade with ease. I groveled at his feet, begging for my life and the secrets of prolonging it. I'm not quite sure what it was that made him say he would help me. Perhaps he was tired of living alone. He taught me for a time. Over two months I gained his trust. I was surprised to learn he gained his life, not from form or the elements, but from the stolen life of others. He could kiss someone and steal the soul from their body. This gave him all their remaining years. That was when it was finally proved to me that he was the one behind the mysterious deaths of the commoners.
I pretended to be amazed. I knew that if I spoke out in opposition, he'd kill me. I went along with it. I witnessed him kill sixty more people, all the while trying my damnedest to figure out how I could finally end him. This was genocide at it's peak and I feared for the day he would expect me to take my first life and carry on his teachings. His master was the devil, contacted in the pursuit of eternal life. Imilius knew now that if his extended life were to ever end, he was destined for hell, based on the contract he had made. This is what made him dangerous. He gained lives faster than he could lose them. He'd gain years in a month and I saw no way of ending his life. All that I could think to do was to knock him unconscious, cut up the body and hide it in different places. My conspirators and I took care of it. I had invited a group to Imilius' home, shorty after smashing a lantern over his head. Immortals were not immune to incapacitation. After slicing his body and proving to them he could not die, these men, who I shall never name, aiding me in cutting Imilius apart, placing his legs, arms, head and torso in separate boxes, all so that they would not rejoin. We then each took one pice of his body to an undisclosed location and buried it. I figured in a couple hundred years or so, the lives he'd stolen would finally run out. Only time can tell now.
I have a son and the murders have ceased. Life is looking up, but I can only imagine the pain my old friend is going through. I use the word friend loosely. His severed head, six feet under, screaming into the dirt and longing to take my head. Some part of me can't help but feel sorry for him in some way. I just pray an evil like his does not return. If so, I fear future generations may not have the power to combat this evil. As for myself, I've stopped my hunt for prolonging life. I only have another two years left. I have become ill and the family curse is setting in. I write this for all my future kin. To my son, Barnabas, and my fir, Mila, I love you both and I will see you both in the next life. Goodbye. Claudius.