The first thing Darian noticed was the smell.

It hit him like a tidal wave. Rot, decay, and the putrid mixture of filth all coalesced to smash against his senses. And despite his enhanced perception, the shapes that shuffled in the darkness appeared more like blurred phantoms than people. They regarded him with bloodshot eyes, each too weak to speak out. The sight of them turned Darian’s stomach and reminded him of his desperate nights alone waiting to die.

“People of the village,” he said in a commanding voice. “I do not come to harm you.”

They moved closer, some standing to walk on shaking legs, others crawling across the floor like wounded animals.

“Then why do you come?” Said a woman’s voice.

She was tall, and despite the blood trailing down her face and her advanced years, she struck Darian as quite the beauty. But her fiery red hair marked her as Fria’s mother. And through her stained dress, Darian could tell one of her legs was gone. Destroyed by the Justicars during an “accident” according to Fria.

“Aelen Rostcliff,” Darian said, doing his best to offer a warm smile. “I am a friend of your daughter's.”

“She mentioned you in our brief conversation.” She stopped about ten paces from him, the other infected villagers gathering around her. “But you should not be here.”

“I am immune to this plague,” Darian said. “It cannot harm me.”

That sent a murmur through the crowd, then a young man with blonde hair inched forward, dragging himself across the ground. By the white underclothes he wore and the golden sun necklace around his neck, Darian realized the boy was one of the sick Justicars.

“Then you are one of Argus’ chosen.” He bowed his head, several of the villagers following suit.

Fria had told him once the people of her village were not devout Argus worshipers, but desperate times seemed to have changed their minds.

“No. I am not blessed by Argus.” He waited for all eyes to return to him. “But I am blessed, in a sense. For not only am I immune, but I can share this immunity with others.”

Aelen and the rest did not seem convinced. “How?”

“I am not human.” Darian let his fangs emerge, a few of the infected gasping at the sight. “I am a vampire, a creature of the night. And I can share my gift with you.”

The young Justicar scooted away, his blood-streaked face a mixture of shock and confusion. Then Darian spotted a familiar, grim face amidst the crowd.

“Darian?” the man said, his voice full of gravel.

“Jorg.” Darian had no love for the Justicar, but the man was a shadow of his former self. His cheeks were sunken, his skin pale, and foul-smelling blood leaked out from the corner of his watery eyes.

“Can you truly…make others like you?” The Justicar wobbled as he spoke, all his old strength gone.

“I can,” Darian assured, though he wasn’t sure on how the process would go. He’d read the skill again prior to coming here. He would need to drain the target of blood, then have them drink some of his vampiric blood to complete the process.

“You are a monster,” the blonde headed Justicar said, drawing an angry look from Jorg. “You’ve come to tempt us away from Argus’ holy light.” He gripped his necklace with what little strength he had, looking at the sick villagers around him. “Do not listen to him, good people. Trust in Argus can be our only salvation.”

Dark thoughts pierced Darian’s mind as his temper flared. But he would not force anyone to accept his offer. Ultimately, it would be up to the individual to decide.

“Argus has abandoned us,” a woman from the corner said, clutching a young boy close to her chest. There was another on the ground beside her. Darian could not hear him breathing.

That is when he noticed the bodies stacked in the corners, their faces covered in dirty sheets. Looking at them lit a fire in Darian’s heart, and he stepped closer to the crowd.

“Argus is not here. I am.” He looked them each in the eye, one after another. “But I will not force my…gift onto you. And know that once you become a vampire, there will be no turning back. You will forever hunger for blood, and you will never again be able to walk in the sunlight, for it will burn you to ash.”

“See!” the young Justicar cried. “This blasphemer is but a demon sent to collect your souls. What he offers will forever put you out of Argus warm embrace.” His hand lit up, but whatever skill he attempted to activate failed, and he fell back, his face streaked with sweat.

“Part of what he says is true, I will admit.” As Darian spoke, two of the villagers moved to stand beside him. “You will never again be able to warm yourself in the sun’s light, and the followers of Argus may come for you. But know they gathered outside this night with the intention of burning you alive.”

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Fria’s mother hung her head. “I suspected they would attempt such a thing.” She eyed the young Justicar and two of his companions. “Since their God’s defeat at the hands of Atarax, they have become far more brutal.”

“The commander,” the young Justicar rasped. “He only does what he must.”

“Your commander is dead.” Darian said. “He and most of his men.”

“Monster,” the Justicar said, his eyes widened in fury.

“Monster,” Darian said in a mocking tone. He was growing tired of hearing that word directed at him. “I killed him to stop him from killing you. Perhaps you’d rather burn to death?” Darian squared his shoulders. “As a vampire, men like this will label you a monster, a beast. And perhaps they will be right.” He glanced at Aelen. “But a good friend told me that it’s not what I am that makes me a monster, but what I do. Becoming a vampire will be difficult, and you will need to control your thirst for blood. But it will cure you of this plague and offer you a second chance.” Just like how I was offered a second chance.

But he still wasn’t sure turning someone would cure them. All he could do for now was hope it would work.

“My daughter,” Aelen said, hobbling closer, her walking staff tapping hard against the floor. “She trusts you. And for me that is enough.” She looked down at her dirty dress, the cloth spotted with blood. “If this lets me see her again, then I will do what is necessary.”

The two villagers beside Darian nodded their approval, the man and woman holding hands as they reached some unspoken decision.

“Our children are out there,” the woman said. “They have lost so much already. We will not have them lose us.”

“You will desire their blood,” Darian said, his voice low. “Seeing them again will be too dangerous, at least until you can control your thirst.”

“Even then,” her husband said, giving his wife’s hand a tight squeeze. “I would do anything to see them again, even if the chance to do so safely is small.”

Some might consider their desires selfish, but Darian thought of his parents. What would they have done to see him one last time?

“Anyone who wishes to become a vampire, please gather around me. But be sure this is what you truly desire.”

Two more people came forward, both young men around seventeen or sixteen years old. Then an older woman after them. Darian eyed the small gathering of Justicars, his mouth falling open as one of their number lumbered forward.

“There is still much I must do,” Jorg said, frowning. “Dying here would forever stain my honor.” But the Justicar couldn’t make eye contact with Darian. He simply moved past him to join the others.

Then the woman who clutched her son came forward, the boy’s face pale as milk. “Can you cure my son?” she asked.

He looked down at the boy, the child’s ears clogged with dried blood. Can I even turn a child into a vampire?

Darian leaned close to the woman, speaking low for only her to hear. “There is a dwarf in the village with a vial that will cure the two of you. Tell me your names and I will ensure he takes care of you.”

He wasn’t sure Durance’s golden liquid could cure her son, but if it didn’t, he could resort to turning the boy into a vampire.

“My name is Veronica,” she whispered. “And my son’s name is Tomas.”

Darian nodded. “I will speak with the dwarf as soon as I can.” She whispered her thanks and backed away.

None of the other villagers approached Darian. They instead huddled back from him, some praying to Argus for their salvation. Darian was readying himself to speak more when Jorg nudged his arm.

“They are decided,” he said, wiping a thin trickle of blood from his ear. “No amount of convincing will get them to follow you now.

Darian didn’t trust the Justicar, but his gut told him the man was right. “Very well.” He turned for the door. “Follow me.”

***

They arrived at Fria’s home without incident. She had shown Darian a back path, one that would keep the infected out of the main street. Only six people shuffled along behind him, their bodies shivering in the cold. Darian was most impressed with Fria’s mother, who despite being limited to one leg showed great strength on their short journey.

“What will happen to those we left behind?” Isaac, one of the teenage boys, asked.

“The remaining Justicars will continue to watch them, I think. But I can’t be sure.” He could overhear the remaining Justicars talking as they made their way here, but they talked of Darian and not of the infected.

Darian opened the door, the warmth of the far fire pressing against his cheek. Then he helped the others inside. Fria and Zan were gone, as was planned. She was to stay with a friend on the eastern side of the village and keep watch on the Justicars. Darian couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t try something while he slept.

He turned and regarded the group, his heart racing. This is it. From this night onward, he would no longer be alone. A new race would be born into this world, with Darian as their creators. Fria’s mother had been chosen as the first, and she came to him with a mixture of fear and apprehension.

“Are you sure?” he asked her once more.

She nodded. “I am.”

Darian gripped her gently by the shoulders, his fangs emerging. Most of the villagers looked away, but one of the young boys and Jorg continued to stare.

Then his fangs sunk into her neck, and he drank and drank until he could feel her heart slow, her life nearly snuffed out. She became limp in his arms, and her walking staff clattered to the ground. Her sweet blood dripped down his chin, and he fought the urge to drain her dry. But he pulled away while she still breathed. Then he bit into his wrist, tearing the flesh.

“Drink,” he commanded as he pressed the wound to Aelen’s mouth.

There was a thrum in the air as she consumed Darian’s blood—an energy in the atmosphere that pulsed from his body into hers. Then she convulsed, her eyes fluttering. He carried her to the bed in the corner and placed her gently on the blankets. There she lay, her veins pulsing with new power.

He turned, the villagers looking at him with expressions ranging from fear to awe.

“Alright then,” he said, wiping the blood from his lips. “Who’s next?”