Rebar was bent tightly around the legs of Johnathan Edwards. It dug into his skin as he hung upside down, God knows where. Cold blood trickled down from his calves where the rebar held the tightest, causing him the slightest of pain. His consciousness slowly returned as his vision went through stages of blurring and clarity.

He felt weak, so impossibly weak. He felt like he was starving, entirely dehydrated, and developing gangrene from the most terrible frostbite all at once. He was on the verge of death, if not already dead. There was nothing in the foreground that could help him, nothing in his blurred vision that could save his soul. Or at least, that was so until a figure came from the corner of the room.

The figure was a woman, who slowly stepped towards John until their faces were level. The woman took a step back, she was deeply pale and had cataracts that blotted out the whole of her eyes. She raised a mirror, which John had not noticed, and only then did he see himself.

There was a large emblem cut into his forehead. It was a sickly blackish green, still dripping blood off of his newly carved forehead.

John had no energy to scream, he had no energy to even react, he just sat there. He had dried up like a leaf in the fall, and he was waiting to crumble apart.

The woman lowered the mirror, suddenly replaced by a man of a Bob-Dobbs-esque countenance. He stared into John’s eyes, He spoke in an upbeat manor,

“This sort of mirror is fine, just beware of silver mirrors.”

He chuckled a little, then tossed the mirror back behind him.

“You might think this is unfortunate for you, but I’ve got something to show you!”

The odd man grabbed one of John’s dangling wrists, and yanked on it without much effort. John was dislodged from the rebar, pulled like a particularly large splinter. The rebar bent to make room for his legs, which were scarcely connected to the rest of his body by a few stray ligaments.

The disconnect between John and his pain was finally felt, as the slow sear of the rebar digging into his flesh was replaced by outright hellfire.

Then, without even a word spoken or a gesture made, the man shoved the palm of his hand into John’s mouth.

John was weak, and the push upward against his head caused it to collide against the ground. Something else lethal, something else he wished could have been lethal.

Then, his strength returned. Fluid ran over the ceiling of his mouth, and down his throat. It was the man’s blood, as oddly cold as his own.

He regained the full control over his limbs, and in doing so, continued to train more blood from the man. A sensation of pleasant stretching came over his legs as they slowly grew back into place. Horrible gnashes fully reformed themselves, without even the slightest sign of injury.

He was powerful, more powerful than he had been as a man. He was greater than any illness, greater than any wound. He was fully reinvigorated, returned to life.

Then, the hand was drawn from his mouth.

“When you awoke, I’m sure you felt this was a curse. But know, I can tell you know for certain that it is your greatest boon!”

The man from before had entirely changed yet again, this time representing a tall, rail thin figure who had to hunch his back to fit under the room’s ceiling.

His eyes were glazed over, like the woman he had portrayed earlier yet with an incredibly subtle glow. His smile was the same as before, merely wider. His skin was a sicklier pale than any man has ever seen, to the point death’s horse would be concerned upon seeing him.

The man pointed a finger at John’s forehead,

“The mark I have given to you is the mark of blood-thirst. Aside from marking you as my thrall, it grants you some of my power by my blood. It is not the mere strength that all vampires are promised, for it includes my mental prowess, and the abilities I have gained from mastery over demons and skill over magic.”

John rose to his feet with the discipline of a soldier.

“You may lose a piece of your free will, for my power is far greater than your own, but I assure you that has nothing to do with me being malicious. You will grow in strength, and you will soon overcome it. Until then, I have a task for you now that you act as my new thrall."

John did not speak, he just waited patiently. The man rustled through his clothing, which appeared to exist in some quantum state between robe and trench-coat, acting as both and neither at the same time.

The man pulled out a piece of paper. On it, was the picture of another man.

“This man is named Benedict Helsing, and he is our enemy. Bring him to me dead or alive by dawn as a show of your worthiness to serve under me. Otherwise, you will face consequence at his hand. He has proven a strong adversary, and you will be far from his first man removed from immortality at his hand.”

At last, the man stepped back, giving John the courtesy of a bow.

“You’ll know where to find me before dawn arrives…”

The man stepped back further, and placed his arm across the push door on the room’s west wall.

“I should mention, you’re in competition with a few others. I think that should be no problem, right?”

John stood still and said nothing. The man stared at him.

“Good, good. Also, you may call me Thanatos, I don’t think I’ve gotten that across yet.”

There was a moment of awkward stillness until Thanatos proceeded to grab onto the doorknob, peek outside, and then step back inside.

Thanatos slowly walked to the left until he reached the room’s wall, then he continued moving, fading into the wall as if made of a cloud of dust.

John felt his shoulders slouch back to normal, and his breathing return as a reflex. He hadn’t been breathing for the last couple of minutes, it was odd.

Breath is not necessary, but it strengthens you. Breath is the pulse of your fragmented soul.

There was an inaudible voice in the very back of John’s skull, ever so slightly familiar.

With Thanatos gone he felt sick, yet he also felt free. Secondarily, he felt the urge to search for the man named Benedict Helsing, the man who was his enemy.

Benedict Helsing didn’t look incredibly athletic based off the picture. He looked sort of unkempt, more so ragged than rugged. He had a slight beard of overgrown stubble, and while by no means an exceedingly fat man, he was by no means skinny either. The most dangerous thing about him could be some strength hidden beneath his layers of adipose tissue.

Whatever made this Benedict Helsing man a threat was hidden from John, yet he felt an irrational hatred for the man all the same. This mission was suddenly personal to him. As he realized that, the door was pulled open from the other side.

It had not immediately occurred to John that the room he stood in was pitch black. Only after a beam of light from an outside streetlamp did he recognize the new clarity of his vision.

John ran to the room’s corner in an attempt to stay hidden and more securely view whoever was trying to enter his place of rebirth.

The intruder seemed to have noticed his skittering, and also seemed to hold a flashlight. It was the exact moment when the flashlight landed on him, where both he and the intruder knew who the other was.

That mark on the forehead, that overgrown stubble. Benedict saw another vampire sent to kill him, while Johnathan saw the very man he was told to kill.

“Shit!” Benedict shouted to nobody, running from the door and leaving it to slowly close itself. John gave chase, running straight towards the door and knocking it off the hinges with his elbow. It flew into an opposing wall, revealing the only entrance to his room sat in an alley.

It was a reflexive intimidation tactic. Benedict hadn’t cleared the distance John could, which gave him the liberty of revealing both his strength, and his rage.

John sprinted towards Benedict Helsing. Thinking of his name only infuriated John more and more, ‘Benedict Helsing,’ he thought. ‘what sort of name was that. Benedict Helsing. He sounds like some Victorian era beggar. The only worse name would be Benjamin Helsing, I would hate that name even more...’

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

John was infuriated even further by Benedict’s persistence. Benedict kept running, even as John did nothing but get closer and closer to him. Benedict had some hope, or some plan, or some item that he expected would save him, and John hated the folly of this thought.

Benedict continued to run, even as John inched on being just a few feet behind him. It was a perfect hunt, just John and his prey. Then, like a powerful gust of wind, something hit John from the side.

Before John could react, he was knocked to the ground in the middle of the road. His skull hit the ground with enough force to shatter it on one side. An arm was pressing his skull against the pavement with the strength of a hydraulic press, but he withstood it.

John watched as Benedict ran further and further. The arm pressed his head into the ground harder and harder until blood began to sprout.“I will be the one to kill Ben, make no further attempts, or else I’ll leave you to crumble in the sun. Do you understand?”

In that moment, the mass the hand was attached to had become obvious, it was another vampire. In that moment, John fell prone.

“Do as you will…”

Pain was seeping into the fissures that had opened all over John’s skull. The pressure continued building, the tension of the other vampire’s fist and the weight of the earth formed a sandwich of lethal force. But then, the hand was lifted.

“I’ll be back for you if you so much as take a step, Ben’s life is mine to take.”

John took the vampire’s suggestion, believing himself to be thoroughly outmatched. Yet even then, there was a feeling in his stomach. A burning, sparkling, propelling sort of feeling, that he felt like he was wasting by just standing there.

Benedict was just standing there. It was far down the road, but he wasn’t moving an inch. That burning feeling at his core suddenly switched, it was one of temperance and inaction. He would keep the spark burning by just standing and observing.

The other vampire ran faster and faster towards Benedict, who remained unfazed. It was the folly he had learned to despise, yet it was also intriguing.

The other vampire got within a couple feet of him, standing within range. The silence of the street had been amplified in hindsight, no cars passed by, no people were jogging, not even a single soul was watching from a window.

Then, in that moment, there was a click, then a blast. It was like holy thunder was called forwards to strike the other vampire, whose expression was that of rage, shock, and utter disbelief that he had forgotten one of the greatest threats to vampires in the modern world.

The other vampire’s upper half new resembled a form of chunky salsa. Benedict stood there, stance wide, holding a smoking shotgun. John heard a tiny voice in the back of his head.

Heat makes your flesh vulnerable and disrupts your healing. This is why fire is the quickest path to a vampire’s death. White hot blades sought vampire blood in the past, now it is firearms.

A single bullet is concerning, but many are a quick path to eternal death. They are an end to immortality even before the sun rises.

Then, across the long street, Benedict and John locked eyes. Both had lived, and both had witnessed the creation of a pair of legs with no torso.

Benedict took off running, only for John to match his speed once again. John wondered why Benedict continued to run now that he had obtained such a shotgun. But the burning, sparkling feeling pushed him forwards, and nothing could slow him down.

It was a careful, repetitive game of cat and mouse. John would gain on Benedict slowly, now aware of the threat his kin served, even if they were after the same goal.

Benedict darted around a corner and into an alley. He stumbled very slightly, giving John the hint that he was becoming tired. It hadn’t occurred to John that it was odd he could run this long, given how he looked in the photo.

John discarded this, and followed him into the alley, where he stood hunched over with his hands on his knees, catching is breath.

Benedict turned and John prepared to kill him right there. Thanatos would praise him heavily, and raise his rank. He would grow more powerful than the vampire who had tried to stop him earlier, and he would sit at Thanatos’ left hand as a great commander of his coven.

John felt nothing but admiration for Thanatos then, as he slowly approached Benedict. His breathing stopped, to give of a sense of uncanny power to Benedict, to do something only a vampire could truly do. Benedict would perish here, and it would be at his hand.

Benedict took a few steps back, but it was clear he genuinely was too exhausted to run. The shotgun was in his hand one moment, and placed on the ground the next. John could hear his heartbeat, smell the fear running down his spine.

“Before I die, I have one question. Are you a new vampire?"

John was caught off guard by the sudden question. Still, he responded.

“It wouldn’t matter. All kin of my coven despise you, Benedict. You will perish in any case."

The response was sort of automatic, but in hearing it, Benedict stood still.

“Call me Ben, not Benedict.”

There was some loss of fear, like he had set the perfect trap. The pull of that spark deep in John’s core continued pushing him forwards, no matter the risk. Benedict had to die, and he had to die immediately. Benedict’s death was more important than his own immortality.

John ran forwards, breaking into an immediate sprint, clearing the six or seven foot distance that stood between them. He had no doubt that this would be the end of Benedict, and that this would be the start of his glorious servitude to Thanatos. But as soon as he got within distance to rip Benedict limb from limb, he stopped.

Benedict punched right below his abs. John froze up, some mix of hot air and thin blood shot from his mouth. He reeled for a few seconds, fully incapable of movement, like what remained of his soul had just been dispelled from his body. Worse yet, Benedict pulled a vial out of his pocket.

He uncorked the vial and flung the contents onto John’s face. It was water, but water that burnt. It soaked into his skin, emitting a terrible pain, far worse than he had ever experienced as a man. Like a flame that regenerated nerves just as quickly as it burned them away.

The sensation was followed by intense nausea, and as his soft petrification ended, he collapsed to the ground.

John sat in a fetal position, wretching, entirely stunned. Benedict ran straight past John and back into the street. John had lost his lead.

John continued to retch until something bubbled up from his throat, something rancid and congealed. It slid up, knotted with clots, a wet mucous mass, and it forced it’s way up until its awful taste filled John’s mouth.

He hacked and coughed, but it wouldn’t leave. It stuck in his mouth and down his throat nearly suffocating him, until eventually, it gave way.

It flung onto the filthy ground, first writhing, then bubbling, then steaming the same way his own face did after being splashed with holy water. It was an instant exorcism, whatever this thing was lived inside of John, and now it had left.

It bubbled more and more, eventually giving way to high pitched whistling, the screams of a dying clump of red.

It soon began to dissolve, first into a thick substance, then into something thin and watery, and then into nothing at all.

John got down on the ground, he couldn’t let the thing leave, he began to lick the ground where it once sat. But every time his tongue touched even the dampest of remains the taste was so awful he couldn’t help but continue retching.

Weakness overcame John, the flame inside of him had been drenched, he laid like a corpse in the alley, and in his last moments he felt that inaudible voice.

A vampire who doesn’t breathe is vulnerable to an attack to the solar plexus. It throws the shadow of life from his lungs, rendering him weak and immobile.

You must drink blood and regain your strength, lest the sun return you to dust.

Then, there was another voice. Two voices.

“See, he’s alive, he just looks dead.”

“Why is he sleeping in an alley?”

“I don’t know, he’s a drug addict or something. Only drug addicts look like that.”

John turned his head to see a man and a woman, about his age. They were dressed fairly well, they came there to check on him. He wasn’t sure what time it was.

“Looks like he’s really waking up.”

“Shit, what does he have on his forehead?”

“I don’t know, see if he speaks English, you can ask him that yourself.”

John stood himself up. Hunger and exhaustion were the shackles that bound him down, removing his strength and limiting his thought.

“Hey, what’s up with that mark on your forehead? Is it a weird tattoo?”

Then, in that moment, he acted. He placed his hands on one of their shoulders, and ripped a massive chunk from his neck.

The other ran and blood spilled all over John’s face, drops that landed away from his mouth were absorbed by his skin. He continued until the man was a hollow husk, and he was nearly the powerful corpse that walked earlier that night.

John dropped the pale corpse and ran after the next man. The next man actually could have escaped if he was luckier. If he was dealing with a vampire who was only sort of peckish, he could have easily escaped by now, but John was still absolutely starving.

He bounded down the street in a single leap, almost as if he was flying, and he tackled the second man to the ground.

The second man had only three seconds to scream before every ounce of blood had been extracted from him, through the same method as the other.

John looked up towards the sky, it was sunrise. The sky turned a sort of orange as the sun reared its head. It acted as a curtain over the moon, new light blotting it from view.

John felt weakened, he felt normal, and he still felt hungry. A few people began to populate the streets, one of whom stared at John. Then, a hand covered his forehead from behind.

“Be careful where you walk during the day, some people may know what your mark means, and you aren’t nearly as untouchable while the sun is up…”

Thanatos stood behind John. He was back in that Bob-Dobbs form, the wide smile of which hid any hint of his true emotion.

“Let me begin by saying I’m impressed at your survival. Many see Benedict, but they tend to not live much longer afterwards. Follow me to my own home, I believe we’ll have a nice discussion there about how you did last night.”

The two of them stepped into the nearest alley. Thanatos was now an enigma to John, like all understanding that had been given by him had been taken away. Thanatos was a foreign figure, an untrustworthy figure, a passageway to death.

And so John wondered: ‘Why didn’t I see that at first?’