No More Vampires

The air stung with each desperate breath as his feet echoed in the night, his calves protesting as they burned. Adrenaline coursed through his blood, only adding to his thoughts jumbling together as he desperately tried to understand his situation. His mind furiously raced as his eyes darted at shadows.

His feet slid as he came to a halt, something in the air demanding his attention.

What the…

As he stayed still, despite the urges screaming for him to run, he raised an eyebrow and frowned. Goosebumps could be felt on the back of his neck. His desperate running had been the only sound that filled the night, but now something new disturbed the silence.

A scream. Loud as a train engine. For three full seconds, the noise continued, coming from seemingly one direction. North.

The boy’s legs jerked into motion, carrying him across the desolate space again.

Tip. Tap. Tip.

Echoing through the space was the constant welter of leather upon marble. Sprung from the boy’s boots, erratic pants had begun to separate each of his stomps. Heavy breaths escaped his throat. The cold winter air pierced through his lungs.

Sprinting, the boy’s red eyes flickered from left to right. By the pale light offered by routinely interspaced windows, he saw that he was atop a carpet. A long red thing. Patterned by golden shapes and thick as a finger.

Then he stopped. All of a sudden, his body froze as if gripped by some otherworldly force.

A long, winding staircase lay before him. Taller than ten of him combined. Polished marble reflected in the shy moonshine. On the railing were ornate, golden statues. Shiny as swords. Glistening while long blood-crimson curtains swayed ever so slightly in the light breeze.

He inhaled in. A scent of dust filled the air, the memory of generations upon generations still living within each inch of carved lime and tuffeau. Continuing to watch, the boy’s eyes drifted to the busts.

“Hm.”

He recognized them. Busts, tall as an arm, running along the balustrade. A knight, dark hair flowing as smoothly as his silver blade, the heads of bandits and renegades piled at his feet. An Earl, steady blue gaze and a brimming wallet ready to advance his interests. A princess, innocent orbs cunningly searching for the next suitor to swindle. All the memories, intrigues and squabbles of those who had passed by still resided within stone, dust and air.

It was all too familiar, not unlike re-visiting a home once abandoned.

That fact, immeasurably unnerving beyond all else, sent a shiver down the boy’s spine.

“Weird.”

He bowed his head, eyes out of focus. Three seconds passed. Then it hit him.

Wait, I can feel!

Somehow, he controlled his body again. Air passed through his lungs. He wiggled a finger. Then a toe. And finally, when he had all but confirmed his dominance, he relaxed.

Rotating his body, the boy faced the darkness. A pensive look flared across his face. Taking deep breaths, he steadied himself against the balustrade. His mind thought over his situation again. This palace, this staircase, all of it was bizarre. As a Vampyyri, his normally acute senses would enhance his perception. He saw perfectly in the dark. And smelled the faintest traces of blood. Yet when he looked up, he saw only darkness, and when he sniffed, he detected only a cold void of life.

Where am I, anyway? He thought. A Simulacrum?

His query gave way to measure. The boy stared onward, his eyes in full focus. A borderline pink-red tinted his eyes. He glanced about, tracing the staircase, attempting to look to where it led. It was an empty action. No matter how much he tried, anything beyond a few metres was masked by shadow.

All he could detect was the creeping sense of dread making its way up his spine, as well as his ever-increasing heart rate.

He let a minute pass this way.

“Dammit.”

Again, fear claimed him. The boy, fingers trembling, tapped the balustrade. Anxiously, his eyes darted to and fro.

“AHHHHHHHHH!”

A scream echoed. Pitched high like a child. Reverberated on the marble steps, every single outcrop reflecting a thundering screech of pain.

Again? It was the same sound as earlier. Only, more pronounced, and embittered with an even more fearful edge. By the time he took in that fact, a surge of energy possessed the boy’s legs again.

“Merde!”

He hit the ground running, arms moving like a trained athlete. Whatever command his mind issued, his body had stopped responding. Each nerve, now guided by pure command alone, fueled him. And yet, in spite of his illogical action, he still retained thought. He ran. And as he did, the boy began to formulate an answer to his conundrum.

Is this the result of a spell, perhaps?

To begin with, none of this made sense. He remembered now. Moments prior, he had been tucked in his bed, his mind set on the breaking of the morrow. Now, his feet raced across blocks of marble in pursuit of some unknown objective, one unknown to even himself.

Two minutes passed.

The boy ran through countless spaces. Corridors, stairways, and rooms.

With every step, his heartbeat rang louder. For all the boy knew, he was running to his death. An untimely death wrapped in absolute dark.

What the actual fuck is happening? He thought. And why does it feel like I know what’s going to happen?

(He feels like he knows what will happen and is afraid).

Beyond mere fear of the unknown, too, existed a distinctly familiar type of fear. A fear of premonition. There was a sense that something awful would happen. It was precisely because of that fear that he did not wish to proceed. Though he knew not why he suspected that what lay ahead would be particularly terrible.

Heavy breaths trembled in his lungs.

For some reason, I’m heading to a specific place.

It only just came to him. He wasn’t sure why. All things considered, it was impossible to know where he was going. Much less in a brand-new location covered in pitch black.

Mind control…

Cold saliva went down his throat.

Channelling all the resolve he could muster, the boy issued a command, sending a signal to his body, attempting to stop it with due force.

Nothing’s happening! I can’t stop moving! To no avail.

He kept running. Footsteps upon footsteps strummed against polished marble. His legs, then weary with fatigue, began to shake.

And then, just as suddenly as he had begun running, he stopped.

The boy found himself in control again. He flexed the fingers of right hand, and felt blood circulate. Deep, gentle breaths found their way into his lungs. He wiped at his forehead with his sleeve and carried away a sheen of sweat.

Where am I? He thought. He had been so preoccupied with his body. So indulgent in his lack of self-control that he only just then took in his surroundings. Huh. He started to look from side to side. On an initial impression, he seemed to be in some sort of room. A small space no bigger than two people wide and long. Devoid of any furniture whatsoever. Set with stone bricks in the wall, and a single opening which he came through.

There was an odd smell in the air too. Acidic and reminiscent of iron simultaneously, constantly pouring from his feet into his nostrils. His nose wrinkled in disgust, and with prolonged exposure, the boy began to look for its source. In doing so, his head tilted downwards, and his eyes caught sight of a strange thing.

There was something closeby. Near him, lying on the ground was an object. It was about a person long, and just as similarly a person wide. And, oddly enough, even seemed to be adorned with clothes. He could see that it had an black uniform, an yellow aiguillette on each shoulder, and a golden pattern embroidered down its back.

All in all, the object was given clothes fitting for a ‘Vampyrri’. A person. For all that though, the boy still struggled to register it as one. As most know, people tended to not be covered in blood, and furthermore, with their stomach lining coming out.

A voice came from the object. “Ah.” It moaned, hoarse as metal on rock.

The boy faced it calmly. He reacted and took a step back, hand on his waist.

Common sense rendered him unable to accept his situation.

Tremors worked into the core of his bones. A chill down his spine. Pricks and pins thrust into each pore on his body. Yet his gaze remained stuck, focused only on what was before him.

In that instant, it came to him. He was watching what remained of a person. That body. That scorched mangle of flesh, in fact, belonged to a child. No older than ten. He realised.

An Vampyrri too. One of his own. Its pale skin still visible underneath the dark gleam of blood.

Unable to look away, the boy continued to inspect the body, running his eyes from its feet.

That…

Across the child’s body, he saw dark, deep gashes. One on its right arm, one on its chest, and one on its face. The wounds of a sharp weapon. Still fresh. Recently made, judging by the severity.

When he had enough of the gore, no doubt disturbed, the boy turned his gaze to the child’s features. His eyes were set on the boy’s head. There, he saw locks of raven, damp hair splashed on the white marble.

What is this feeling?

He was transfixed.

Thirty seconds had passed. His eyes continued to linger on the body’s heck. Even as thirty seconds lapsed into two minutes, however, he still continued to stare. Why? He did not know.

Whatever it was, the outcome was the same. His eyes could not move from their place. He could not bring himself to look at the boy’s face. When all was said and done, he knew not why either. Had it been denial? Were the prospect of registering a soon-to-be dead’s face, that much of an terror?

He glanced at the body, noting a duty as an individual, no as an official of the Chorusian Mandate, to confirm their identity.

I have to do this.

Almost hurriedly, he glimpsed a glance at the boy’s face. There, he saw a pair of fading eyes, straddled between a lock of brown down the middle. Green as grass.

How strange.

More importantly, he also glimpsed a sliver of familiarity. Some spark of recognition. Perhaps fueled by dying delusion, perhaps fueled by wishful thinking. Whatever the cause, though, the feeling was unmistakable.

He felt he knew the dying child.

“Ah”...

Coming from the youth was a wet mutter. A rough voice filtered through blood. The boy shook in his place, disturbed by the sound. He had thought the child dead. Stirred by new-found realisation, he almost wished he was.

Uncomfortably, the boy continued to stare at the child’s face. He’d stopped, however, when the child’s arm suddenly lifted.

His hand.

He ran his eyes down the child’s hand, confirming its colour at a closer distance. The shade of skin was a horrifying pale. Whiter than Vampyrri tended to be. White as death. Reaching out to him, as if he were a lifeline. Grasping.

In return, the child received only bated breath and silence. The boy wanted to scream, to tell the child to stop moving, to place pressure on his wounds, and to save him from his cruel fate. But he didn’t. All his body did was gawk. For all his heart wished to do, his muscles knew only fear.

The two remained that way for some time.

Huh?

His eyes flickered in reaction. The child moved, struggled to one knee, even. Despite the unfathomable loss of blood and life, he had mustered resolve. It seemed for a second even that he would live. That in the face of impending doom, the child would arise, take his place amongst the living and carry on. As a second passed however, the boy begrudgingly rejected that idea.

Before long, the child collapsed again. A fit of pain-induced whispers came.

In the misery caused by such a morbid sight, time seemed to freeze. With each second prolonging into an eternity past, the boy wished only for it to come to an end. Cruel as it were, the child’s prolonged existence caused only more pain for the both of them.

“Ah”.

Finally, death beckoned. Puke and bile regurgitated through the soon-to-be deceased stomach. Yet before it could fill his throat, there came a final, faint whisper.

“Aide moi, V-”