Gabriel crouched in the dark recess of a rocky outcrop, his once sharp breath now unnaturally quiet. His skin tingled painfully under the thin rays of the rising sun, every beam a reminder of his cursed transformation. The faint sunlight that touched the eastern horizon sent a creeping burn through his veins, forcing him to retreat deeper into the shadows.

He had never known such agony before—the sun, once a symbol of life and hope, now felt like a hammer pounding his existence into oblivion. He was no longer Gabriel the Holy Warrior, no longer the commander of the Iron Brotherhood. He was something else now, something far darker and twisted. The curse of vampirism had been forced upon him in the moments following his betrayal of the gods—a punishment for his blasphemous curse thrown into the heavens as he lay amid the bodies of his fallen comrades.

The bite of his betrayal was still fresh, the memory vivid. Only hours before, his own blood had turned cold in his veins, his body breaking and reforming into this new twisted version of himself. Now, Gabriel wasn't even sure if he belonged to the world of men anymore.

The wilderness around him was a place of solace, but also danger. To the west, orcs scoured the land, hunting him and the remaining survivors of his once-mighty band. To the east, where Gabriel now trekked, lay the wild lands, a desolate region known for its barren hills and the strange, twisted creatures that roamed its fog-covered forests.

It was his only hope. The only place left where he might find sanctuary—or at least where the orcs wouldn't easily follow. The mountains and forests to the east had always been deemed treacherous, but for someone like Gabriel, the danger no longer mattered. He was not just running from the orcs. He was running from himself.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Gabriel shifted deeper into the cave he had taken refuge in, his body shaking with an unfamiliar hunger. It gnawed at him constantly now—a vicious, dark craving that haunted his every thought. His eyes had changed, sharper than ever, able to pierce the darkness with unnatural clarity, but they also thirsted for something he feared to acknowledge. Blood.

His hands clenched into fists, his sharp nails digging into the stone beneath him as he fought the instinct. He wouldn't give in. Not yet. Not until he had control.

The night would come again soon enough, and with it, freedom from the torment of the sun. But even as he waited for darkness, Gabriel's thoughts wandered to the future. The orcs, the Iron Brotherhood's fall, the city—the plans he had once made, the legacy he had hoped to build—were all crumbling now. In its place, only a cold hunger remained.

As the hours crawled by and the light began to fade, Gabriel rose and made his way from the cave, heading deeper into the wild lands. He moved with a newfound speed, his enhanced senses guiding him through the underbrush with ease. The wind carried the scent of fresh water and the faint traces of life in the distance. The trees closed around him, their twisted branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers.

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Soon, he came upon the remnants of an ancient road, broken cobblestones scattered among the weeds and dirt. This was a forgotten place, lost to the ages, untouched by men for centuries. And yet, there was something else here—something watching him.

Gabriel's muscles tensed as he slowed his pace, his eyes scanning the forest's edge. His ears caught the faintest of sounds, a rustling in the bushes. He wasn't alone.

Without a second thought, Gabriel melted into the shadows, his body becoming one with the darkness that had now fallen across the wild lands. He had become a creature of the night, and in these moments, it was both a curse and a gift. His every movement was silent, his breathing nonexistent, his body moving with inhuman grace.

From the treeline, a group of figures emerged, their forms hulking and familiar. Orcs.

Gabriel's lip curled as he watched them, his hands instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. There were five of them, each armed and dressed in crude armor, their faces painted with the blood of previous conquests. Orc scouts, likely sent to track down any remaining survivors.

They hadn't seen him yet.

Gabriel waited, letting the darkness shroud him. He could feel the bloodlust rising within him, the hunger for violence that the curse had awakened. These orcs had taken everything from him—his home, his people, his humanity. Now, they would feel his wrath.

The leader of the group grunted an order, gesturing toward the path ahead. The orcs began to move, but they wouldn't get far.

Gabriel struck without warning.

He lunged from the shadows, his blade flashing in the moonlight as it tore through the first orc's neck. Blood sprayed in an arc, and the orc dropped to the ground with a wet gurgle, his eyes wide in shock. The others barely had time to react before Gabriel was upon them, his sword a blur of steel and death.

The second orc swung his axe at Gabriel's head, but Gabriel moved faster than the eye could follow. He ducked under the blow and drove his blade up into the orc's chest, the force of the strike sending the creature stumbling back before collapsing in a heap.

The remaining three orcs charged him, but it was futile. Gabriel danced between them, his movements swift and deadly. He slashed through armor, flesh, and bone with ease, his sword singing with each strike. One by one, the orcs fell, their lifeblood soaking the ground beneath them.

When the last orc hit the ground, Gabriel stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with the effort. But it wasn't exhaustion that gripped him—it was the hunger.

The smell of blood was overwhelming. It called to him, beckoning him closer. Gabriel clenched his fists, his entire body trembling as he fought the urge to give in. But it was no use. His hunger was too great.

With a growl of frustration, Gabriel knelt beside one of the fallen orcs, his hands shaking as he reached out. His mind screamed at him to stop, but his body refused to listen. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the orc's neck, and then—

He recoiled, his body jerking back as if he'd been struck. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. Not yet.

Gabriel wiped the blood from his lips, his breathing ragged as he stood. The bodies of the orcs lay around him, a grim reminder of what he had become. He sheathed his sword and began to move again, leaving the corpses behind him as he continued his trek eastward.

The wild lands stretched out before him, a desolate wasteland filled with danger and uncertainty. But Gabriel didn't care. The world he had known was gone, and he had become something else entirely. He was no longer the Holy Warrior of Light, no longer the banisher of darkness. He was a creature of the night, cursed and forsaken.

As he walked, the wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the distant sounds of war drums and the whispers of the gods he had cursed.

The wild lands would be his home now, until he found a way to end the curse—or until it consumed him entirely.