It must be reasoned that there is value to the Bloodsucker’s blood. Despite their frail form, they live for an abnormal period of time. Even while being sickly, they grow larger. Even while malnutritioned, they grow larger. Rarely are they stricken with disease, to the point the doctors rarely have explanations for unknown pathogens. They are even bought by mercenaries, being bled at best convenience.
Even the rabid Bloodsuckers are non traditionally strong. They tore the ground of a castle previously used by their ancestors, yet their claws easily crushed through the stone with ease. One had lived and acted with just the top half of its body.
The reason being, the blood of the Bloodsuckers directly stem from Alucire. His blood, which had given life to the Bloodsuckers, had inadvertently passed on the special attribute of his own lineage. Blood that was strong, nutritive and protective, capable of great change. It was desired by many, for the properties of it were said to rival even the greatest elixirs of master alchemists.
The blood Bart had taken from the martial artist pumped from his body, reducing the muscle in his body. He visibly shrank in frame, and the weight on his back seemed too heavy for him to bear. The Shade quickly removed them, ever perceptive after having recovered from the daze.
The blood flowed through into Epim, to incredible effect. The gash on his face, the bite mark on his neck from the feral Bloodsucker all reduced in size and sealed themselves. His heart pumped with renewed vigor, and he opened his eyes.
Bart quickly retreated, his job done. He didn’t look as bad when the mercenaries had him, but it was clear he’d no longer be able to hold the weapons, and any future encounter would be all the much more dangerous for him. “I’m sorry, but you were in need. It-” Bart had spoken with quite a bit of shame, when Epim interrupted him with an unabashed gratitude.
Epim blinked many times in shock, looking around the room. He was quite certain he was dead, and now he was perhaps healthier than he’d ever felt before. “Bart, thank you!” He quickly scrambled to his feet. “I thought I was a goner!” Epim breathed deeply in and out, taking in each moment. He clenched his fists, and he looked at Bart with a smile.
“We should have killed that one when he had the chance first.” Prose expressed his frustration, glaring at the corpse on the ground. “We almost paid too great a price.” The Shade shook his head at this, showing a well meaning concern as it took a moment to examine him fully, looking for any more signs of injury. Once it was finished, it turned, not outwardly showing any hint of concern.
Prose looked up at the Shade, who now had its eyes permanently glued to the single corridor out of the room. It would not be tricked again. Prose placed his palm on his chin, once again in deep thought. “Let's take a moment's rest. For the moment-” The weapons all fly from the Shades arms, plunging themselves into the wall in a uniformed method where the sigils were. “I have some things I’d like to think about. Epim, how’d you notice these, it took me a concentrated effort to notice the traces?” Prose had managed as well, with a degree of effort. And while he was incapable of action, he was able to hear Epim’s comment about the walls.
Epim looked around, quite confused. “Well…” He lifts his right hand up, examining the ring on it. Once again, the twilight momentarily appears. And again quickly, the atmosphere returns to normal. “I think my ring’s quite useful at all types of things.” Epim has a smile, admiring it.
Prose shrugs his shoulders. The question was unsatisfactory in the absolute sense, but he understood that there were things about all of them that they had yet to understand. So he attributed the sight to the ring, and moved on. Now that he knew of the threat, he’d be sure to prepare himself for any repeat incidents. He turns to Bart, examining his smaller frame. “Bart, can I ask you some questions?”
Bart nods enthusiastically, his body may have gotten weaker but his spirit hadn’t.
“Which generation of your kind are you? How many sets of parents are there between you and the first generation?” Epim had told Prose of the Bloodsucker’s origin, and given their faith in the lord of the castle, and their apparent access to ancestors, that piece of history was still well remembered.
Bart tilted his head back and forth, thinking about the question. After a moment passed, Prose waved his hand. “It’s a tough question, if you don’t-”
Bart now shook his head back and forth. “No, no. I understand the idea of what you’re asking. It’s hard to say for me exactly, but if it helps, we are only fertile between the ages of thirty and fifty. Both genders, I’ve heard that’s quite odd outside the woods.”
Bart clicks his tongue. “Perfect. And… every Bloodsucker has the same ability you showed?”
Bart nodded. “I’m nothing special.”
Prose thought quickly, his mind on the trail of understanding. “One more thing, do you know if your species' blood has had this property, even before you reached your current state of evolution? Specifically, before your ancestors sucked your lord's blood.”
Stolen story; please report.
Bart shook his head. “No, the property of our blood stems from our lord. I suppose I hadn’t thought you didn’t know the context. It’s taught in our schools, and I've heard there are legends and stories told of it outside our domain.”
Prose nodded. “Quite fine, quite fine.” He muttered as a fantastical look covered his face. “It hasn’t diluted!” He yells, having reached his desire of enlightenment. “The blood your lord has given you hasn’t diluted. It’s strong, regardless of the members of your race! And it’s consistent. It affects you all the same.”
Epim pondered the words. “Prose what does that mean, why is it so important?”
Waving his hand dismissively, Prose flew around the air in excitement. “I can’t give you definitive answers, but I can tell you this. Something has poisoned the well.” He looks out to the corridor, his eyes constraining. “This place is as real as any other. We can break down the components. Rabid Bloodsuckers, what do you think made them rabid! Blood, it must have been blood!”
“That’s theory, Prose. I don’t see how, or what it proves.” Epim spoke, and Bart agreed with him through a skeptical look.
“It proves! If you take a leap of faith with me, there is perhaps a reason the lord stays in his castle. Has a rabid Bloodsucker ever been seen in the village, Bart?”
“No, it was the first I’ve ever seen any.”
Prose flew in circles, a clear grin of excitement. “Then, let me ask you this, has there been any other blood in Bloodsucker history that has made your kind act that way?”
Bart shakes his head, signifying there was no such blood. “Our species drinks blood and converts it into our own, we don’t simply add their blood to ours. When we give it to others, we perform the opposite process, converting our blood to theirs. ” When Bart stopped speaking, his face seemed to scrunch up.
Prose snapped, once, twice, three times. “And there lies the point! Why did the ferals’ aim for you first? Epim would have more blood, which seems to be your only category, no? And I’m sorry to say, but they clearly weren’t aiming because you were the most significant threat. They were blind, first of all. They were ordered to attack you, that implies measured want. And for what… Well, we can only guess. Maybe your personality?”
Prose’s point was proven, even through the shaky evidence. There was an intentional want for Bart, theoretically because of his blood, still untainted. They were trying to replace their own blood, although they already seemed refined and muscular. For what reason, there was not enough evidence to come to. Prose had really only discovered an ancillary factor to the greater mystery of the castle.
“And this, my friends, is important. For while the feral Bloodsuckers were all uniform, their leader was not. It acted differently, and it wasn’t blind. This implies a different blood tainted it than what tainted the others. The wife, perhaps? Or some other manor of taint?” Prose found himself engrossed in possibility, the thought of the untouched mystery was almost alluring to him, although it was evident his motive was supported by his disgust of the place they were in more so than anything else.
Epim’s voice brought him to reason. “You’ve ruled out age as a possibility for the sake of fantasy. And it’s not as if it must do with blood, because they’re Bloodsuckers. Whatever he just used on us clearly didn’t involve blood. It could be something else, couldn’t it be?”
Prose’s wings drooped. “Well, not all theories must be ironclad. Even if there’s a glimmer of truth in it, that makes us all the more knowledgeable, no?” Prose nodded,he was quite pleased by his own words. He knew they’d be a source of inspiration.
Epim shrugs, walking towards the corridor entrance. “Less so than if we searched for the answers.” Bart follows behind him, laughing slightly. The Shade makes sure it takes the front of the group. Prose stops in the air, staring as his shoulders slump forward.
“Well, best to prove myself right quickly then!” He follows behind, collecting the weapons and giving them to the Shade, who graciously held on to them.
They quickly traced back their steps, walking through the corridor they noticed a window had been propped open. “The thing really was clever, it hid on the outside and waited for us to enter its trap. We should have always had someone watch the entrance” Prose took pleasure in breaking down their errors.
Returning to the center hall. They expected no changes, but they were mistaken. The blood on the ground had dried, and the flesh on all of the Bloodsucker had been stripped. Only the bones remained, pristine just like the larger one in the ballroom. Perhaps not strange, but comical, each of the skeletons retained the same pose and damage from the previous encounter. The upper and bottom half of the one each individually seemed to have decayed into their bonelike state.
“Do you have a theory on this one, Prose?” Bart spoke innocently. The sight left him afraid again, something he was growing quite used to, and the removal of some of his vitality did him good good in his nerves either.
“It’s whatever the Shade saved you from earlier.” Prose took no time to explore more of the idea, his interest clearly elsewhere. Bart looked to the Shade, and made sure he stood just a few steps closer behind it at all times.
Epim looked around at the multiple corridors that stemmed from the hall, and tried to think hard on what to do. He thought back to Bart’s mimicry, and was struck with inspiration. “Bart! Can you scream like you did before?”
Bart nodded, rearing himself back and inflating his lungs with excessive amounts of air. Then, as loud as he could he released the same sound as the Bloodsucker from before. “SCREEEE” The sound bounced off the walls of the hall, and echoed down each corridor.
And back, far away, a screech returned. This time it was not followed by a mass of footsteps, it simply faded away moments after it was heard by them. The group nod and implicitly understand each other. They head down into the corridor the screech came from.
The corridor was ultimately similar to the last one, no major differences. Looking out through the window, the shadow of one of the castle towers makes itself known as they look out their right.
They are surprised then, at the fact that the room they come to is a large spiraling staircase, downwards and not up. The group examines the walls and the ceiling closely, Epim raising his hand and using the twilight gleam to examine the area. Nothing seems amiss, so they descend the staircase.
Bart screeches again, the scream echoing off the walls behind them and down deep into the staircase. And again a screech returns, from deep beneath their feet. They did not know if finding the Bloodsuckers would solve their mystery, but more so than anything else it was their only lead.
The steps were made out of wood, a red carpet draped over them and down the entirety of the stairs. Prose seated himself onto the Shade again, not liking the stuff feeling in the air.
The torch light was strong, and as they descended down deeper the air grew stale. Unsure of their destination, they descend deep down the stairs, into what used to be known as the castle’s dungeon.