Kite entered his den, sipping at his glass of wine with a rare sigh of content. Behind him, the television sat turned off, and on the walls around him hung pictures depicting the stories of Roman mythology. Kite sat down in his chintzy armchair and drank deeply, greatly enjoying the merlot he had picked out.

His well-deserved time alone was interrupted, however, when the television across the room flickered. Annoyed, he looked up, as it continued flickering. The change in light was distracting, as was the static that accompanied it. Kite reached for the remote, when a ghostly voice echoed through the room. "You will die in seven daaaaaays...."

Kite's hand returned to his lap and he closed his eyes, shaking his head with a knowing smile. "Come on out, Sven."

A handsome young blonde, who looked to be maybe two or three years younger than Kite (27), emerged from the bathroom with his arms crossed. "Damn. Thought I had you."

"I have yet to see 'The Ring'," Kite replied with an amused expression. He held his glass up, then gestured to the merlot sitting on the table. "Wine?"

Sven shook his head. "Nah, I prefer red anyway. You know that, Kite."

"Of course," Kite answered, looking at his old friend cryptically.

"So how could you have not seen 'The Ring', anyway? Everyone's seen 'The Ring'!" Sven protested.

Kite sipped his wine thoughtfully, then stated with a disinterested tone, "I am the only person who matters in this world, and since I have yet to see it, that means that no one has seen it."

Sven rolled his eyes. He knew Kite was a powerful vampire with a strong family line, but Sven deserved a little credit. "You're not the only person who matters. I matter too."

"Do you?" Kite challenged, rising from the chair. "A test then. Surely if you mattered, then your existence would be acknowledged by someone other than myself?"

Sven nodded. Kite closed his eyes, setting his wine down. "Then allow me to prove you wrong."

The pair traveled through each room in the huge manor. In every room, the family members, servants, guests, and tenants would greet them with a shout of "Master Kite," or "Sir Kite," or "Lord Kite, how are you?". Yet not once did anyone mention Sven's name. They returned, after about thirty minutes of traveling, to the den, with Sven's face flushed in anger.

"Man, except for those government morons in the kitchen, I knew every one of those bastards for at least a year each, and not one of them even LOOKED at me!"

Kite turned to him, a secretive smile crossing his face. "Yes. I told you. You do not matter. No one will remember you."

His choice of words sent a cold chill down Sven's spine. He took a step back, uncomfortable, searching for a change in subject. His eyes darted around the room, but their gaze was drawn to a twinkle of light in Kite's hand. Relief flooded through him as he spoke, "Hey is that - " and then the realization sent an even deeper horror through Sven's body.

"The Chain of Souls?" Kite finished for him, holding up the black necklace with a strangely-colored diamond amulet. "Why, yes. It is."

Sven backed up again, his heel touching the wall. "You know, Kite, I've known you for ten years, but I've never asked you this before. Who...ARE you?"

Kite's expression changed from contempt to hatred. "I am the ambassador, entrusted with your escort to the next world, and I believe it is finally time for you to make that trip." He raised his left hand, opening his palm and curling his fingers, like he was clutching an invisible ball in his fist.

"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" Sven stammered, fear holding his legs in place like cement.

Kite hesitated, seeming to actually consider his question. "There is no word for it in your language, but, roughly translated, I'd say I was going to 'unmake' you." A beam of white light began to charge in his hand.

Sven finally restored his legs and leapt up, grabbing a sword off the coat of arms on the wall and charging at Kite with it.

Kite's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a malicious smile. "Good bye, Sven."

Sven's screams of agony echoed throughout the halls, but of course no one in the house would remember them the next day.