They tossed my limp body into the back of a diesel van like a sack of garbage, and I landed in a pile of other body bags - each filled with someone else who’d probably had just as terrible a night. The van was quiet for a moment, just the low hum of the idling engine and my ragged, shallow breaths in the dark. Outside, I heard the familiar gruff voices of Lester and his lackeys, muttering about something called the Master’s Blood, then footsteps fading as they wandered off.

A few seconds of silence passed before a soft rustle came from behind me, as another figure appeared, slipping into the van as easily as smoke.

I felt the cold press of something sharp as the figure, with quick -precise movements- unzipped the bag, cracking it open just enough to slip a hand inside. A faint smell of vanilla and something darker, richer, filled the air -quickly replaced by a faint metallic scent that hit my nose like catnip, as they tore into their palm with a fingernail, pooling their blood in one hand before tipping it to my mouth.

I heard the slice of flesh and felt the warm liquid trickle on my lips as the figure pressed their bloodied palm to face, letting a few drops drip onto my tongue. The blood was thick and strangely potent, and it hit me like fire, searing down my throat, and though it wasn’t enough to pull me fully back to the land of the living, it kept me tethered just enough to the living world to feel every painful jolt -they didn’t get a chance to finish zipping up the bag before the goons returned, oblivious to the open van or unzipped bag. Instead, they just muttered something, zipped me up tight, and slammed the doors again, sealing me back in darkness.

The last thing I saw before the van doors shut was a distant -faint, satisfied smile flickering on the shadowy figure’s face as they disappeared into the night.

The van rattled along the road, the diesel fumes swirling thick in the stale air. I drifted in and out, barely clinging to any sense of time or place, each rattle of the engine shaking loose another fragment of awareness. All I could register were flickers of motion, the rumble of tires on gravel, the dizzying waves of pain that rolled over me. Eventually, the van lurched to a stop, and the doors creaked open, releasing a blast of desert heat that hit me like a slap as it seeped into the cramped, humid air inside.

I felt rough hands gripping my ankles, dragging me across the gritty floor of the van before dumping me on the ground. The desert air was thick, hot, and it only made the pain sharper, searing. I lay still, listening as other bags thudded onto the hard-packed dirt around me, one after another, bodies piling up. A shuffling sound followed, and the distinct zip, zip, zip of bags opening one by one, letting the oppressive heat settle on lifeless faces and blood-stained skin.

Then footsteps approached - a deliberate, measured pace that stopped just a few feet from where I lay.

“Are you finished, gentlemen?” The voice was cold, each syllable clipped and impatient. Lester, of course, barking orders like a drill sergeant who found himself inconvenienced by the very task he was charged with. “Midnight’s coming fast, and if you don’t complete the blood ritual by the hour, this batch of hopefuls is a wasted effort.”

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“Yes, sir. Got the Master’s Blood right here,” came one of the goons’ voices.

“And the vials from the other houses,” another added.

“Good.” Lester’s tone shifted to a self-satisfied calm, one that made my blood run colder than the desert wind. “To keep the peace, each of the houses contributed their own bloodlines, which we’ll use to mix into the Master’s Blood for the ritual. The council’s clear on this: unsanctioned turnings mean the final sleep. We don’t want any upstart gathering a personal army, now, do we?”

“Understood, boss,” came a weary mutter.

Lester’s voice grew sharper. “All right, then, let’s get on with it. Take the Darkblade and drain them - we need every last drop in the ceremonial chalice. If you’d be so kind, don’t waste a single ounce.”

A hesitant voice chimed in, filled with exhaustion. “But boss, can’t we just, I dunno, have a little? The fight drained us dry. That bastard fought harder than he looked…”

“Yeah,” said another, almost whining, “we’re starving. You said we could get something once this was done.”

I would’ve smirked if I’d had any strength left. At least I’d managed to knock them down a peg or two. Small victories.

Lester’s voice cut through the night. “Quit your whining. You’ll have your reward back at the estate. For now, finish the ritual. The clock’s ticking.”

The goons shuffled back, muttering, but they obeyed. I could hear them collecting the blood from each body, capturing it in a large silver bowl that clinked softly as they added the vials from each house. After a few tense moments, Lester dipped the Darkblade into the mix, stirring with a practiced, almost ceremonial reverence. Then he lifted the blade, a thin trickle of blood trailing from its edge, which he ran his tongue over with obvious relish.

“Get on with it,” he snapped, his patience worn thin.

I heard more footsteps, felt rough hands on my face as they tipped the chalice, letting the warm, sticky blood drip over me, choking me, seeping into my mouth and nose. My body shuddered, lungs burning as they filled with the hot, thick liquid. I heard other bodies around me cough and sputter, but none moved.

“It’s done, sir.”

“Good,” Lester replied, his tone brisk. “Boys, get back in the van. Rest while you can. I’ll finish things here.”

I heard them murmur tired thanks, their footsteps fading as they shuffled away. Lester stayed behind, his steps slow as he walked down the line of bodies. A moment later, the cold metallic click of a handgun punctuated the silence, followed by a loud, echoing bang.

One after another, I heard the gunshots, each bullet sinking into a chest with a sickening finality. When Lester reached me, I felt the cold press of the barrel against my sternum before the deafening blast cut through the night. I could barely register the pain, only a dull, distant thud as my body gave out entirely.

Satisfied, Lester moved down the line, kicking each body over the edge into a pit. When my turn came, I felt a brutal shove as my body tumbled, limbs flopping, and finally hit the ground with a jarring impact.

As I lay there, fading fast, I let my last thoughts drift away. No more running, no more fighting. It felt like the end - and it was almost comforting, the prospect of letting go. Rachel’s face flashed in my mind, vivid, as if she were here, waiting for me. It was a strange comfort, one that filled the dark edges of my thoughts, easing me toward the oblivion that reached for me.

I’ll see you soon, Rachel.

The world went dark, and this time, I didn’t fight it.