Chapter nine

Millennia ago

 The first thing he became aware of was of the darkness that surrounded him.  The second thing he became aware of was the terrible thirst tearing at his throat, driving him mad with the need to drink something, anything, that would quench that terrible feeling.  It could be describe as pain more than any thirst he had ever experienced before, and he cursed whatever had done this to him to make him feel this way.  No human should feel like this, and part of his mind doubted that any human had ever felt this sort of pain before.  It tore at his throat, killing him, yet there was nothing he could do about it.  The darkness that surrounded him had a solid feel to it,  and when he reached out his hands, they hit against something that was only a few inches away from his face.  It was definitely solid, feeling very much of stone, and was incredibly heavy.  He could not even begin to push that mass away from him.  He reached out, feeling a cold despair rushing through him, and his hands hit against the solid stone again and again and again.  He was surrounded by it, in some sort of stone box that prevented any sort of escape.   
 Fear began to race through him, but he could not feel his heart starting to race as it should have.  He could not seem to feel his heart beating at all.  He lay a hand upon his chest, and waited.  After a wait far longer than it should have been, he felt a slow, sluggish thump in his chest before his heart fell silent yet again for an incredibly long time.
 He cried out, lashing at the top of the stone box with his hands.  It was then that he noticed the claws at the tips of his fingers where his fingernails should have been.  He stared in disbelief at the long, sharp points his nails now came to, and then marveled at the fact that he could actually see the claws before his face.  There was not an ounce of light coming into the box, and, therefore, he should not have been able to see anything at all, but he could.  Looking down at himself, he could see that he was dressed in a long, flowing, white toga, a magnificent garment meant for a member of royalty.  Was he back in Rome?  Had he accidentally been buried?  If so, what was it with the long claws at the end of his fingers?
 Memory kicked in, and his hands flew to his mouth.  He tried to hold the claws back as he probed at the inside of his mouth, feeling along his teeth, but he still managed to cut himself a couple of times.  There wasn’t much pain to accompany this action, and very little in the way of blood.  His fingers happened on a double row of fangs he was sure had not been there before.  What had happened to him?  What had the witch done to him?  The answer came to him soon enough.
 She had made him as she was.
 She had turned him into some, inhuman monster.  If that was so, though, why had she placed him in this terrible box to die, for surely that was what was meant for him, considering how much pain he was in.  He felt sure that he would not be able to last much longer as he was, not without getting something to slack this terrible thirst that was still running through his entire system now.  He felt it in his throat, his stomach, his mind, his muscles, there wasn’t a single part of his body that was not being affected by this terrible, pressing need that he could not address in the condition he was in.  There was nothing in the box with him aside from his clothes, and he could draw no moisture from these.  The thought of slicing his own wrist and drinking from his own veins ran through his mind, but he quickly pushed that thought out of his head, wondering where it could have even come from.  It was not something he would have ever thought of before, and he could only guess that it was due to his new condition.
 He cried out, howling like a savage animal even as he was shocked by the noises that was now issuing out of his mouth.  It was as if the cries of some savage brute of a beast were echoing around and around in the box he was trapped in, even though he knew it was his own mouth, his own throat, that was making that terrible, inhuman noise.  He started clawing at what he assumed was the lid of the box, feeling small furrows forming in the stone above his face and chest, but how could that be?  How could he possibly be strong enough to claw his way through any amount of stone?  It couldn’t be true.  It couldn’t be, but that was exactly what he was doing, slowly, ever so slowing, digging his way out.
 Light suddenly flooded into the small box that had been his entire existence for a short while, and he coward away from it, drawing his hands up to his face to protect his eyes from the terrible brightness that now spilled in, raining down upon him.
 “Oh, please do be quiet.  You’re going to ruin my mood, and that is not the wisest thing to do at any time.”
 He looked up through the spaces between his fingers, slowly blinking away the blurry image that his eyes were sending to his mind until he could see the woman who had attacked him, the one who had done this to him, the witch.
 He shot out of the box faster than he would have thought was possible, and grabbed hold of her neck.  “Undo what you have done to me, evil witch.”
 He had his hand about he neck one moment, and was flying through the air the next.  He hit the stone wall with his back so hard that he was sure it should have broken, but all that happened was an incredible amount of pain shooting through his body before he fell to the ground.  He was even able to bring himself up to all fours only moments after hitting the ground.  Looking at her, he saw that she was now at least a dozen or more feet away from where he was.  She had managed to toss him that far with just one hand.
 “That was not the best thing for you to have done, if you want to continue to live,” she informed him in a voice very near to boredom.
 “Why would I want to live like this?” he spat at her, trembling with his own anger and fear at what he had become, what she had done to him.
 She sauntered over to him, her hips swaying gracefully from side to side, and even though he knew he hated her, he felt a stirring rising up inside him, demanding that he pay attention to her, and its, needs.  She knelt down beside him with no concern at all, as if she did not consider him the least bit of a threat to her, and seeing what she had just done to him, he very much doubted that he was.  Placing a finger under his chin, she lifted his face up to the light, and uttered, “Who would not wish to live forever?”
 “And what is the price for this gift?” he demanded, hating himself for being the least bit affected by her.
 She smiled, revealing two, long fangs.  “You simply have to live by the light of the moon, live off the blood of man and stay with me, so that I can insure your survival.  Are these too much to ask of you, to join me in eternity?”
 He turned his head from her, looking towards the gravel about his feet.  He did not want to be a killer of man.  He had been a general for such a short time, but he had enjoyed it, the benefits, the excitement, and he had been the one to give the orders, lead the troops into battle instead of having to kill anyone himself.  Oh, there had been a few who had gotten past his men, but they had met an untimely death at the point of his sword.  Could he live the life she now offered him, turning his back on everything he knew was right and good?  Could he really do that, just to live forever?  Was it worth it?
 “And if I should refuse your offer?” he asked, not sure how she would respond to that.
 She bared her teeth, a savage growl erupting from deep within her.  “Then I would have no use for you, and if I had no use for you, why would I wish to keep you around?”
 He pulled back away from her, rubbing at his neck.  “You would kill me?  You would kill something you just created?”
 She laughed, a cold, hard sound.  “Why should I not do with you as I please?  You are my creation now.”
 “And as such, is it not your place to take care of me?  Am I not now your responsibility?”
 She threw her head back, and let loose with a peal of laughter that echoed off the stone walls about them.  “Responsible for you?  I, responsible for you?  How little you know of our kind.  You are nothing more to me than a toy, a play thing until I get bored of you.  If I so chose, I could simply toss you out into the night right now, to die on your own.”
 Now, it was his turn to laugh.  “Am I not already dieing?  This thirst you have set upon me is killing me as we speak.”
 “My, my, you do know nothing at all, don’t you.  Your thirst will not kill you.”
 “How can that be?” he wanted to know.  “How can something this painful not cause the death of me?”
 “We are much stronger than that,” she informed him, moving away from him and pacing about the sarcophagus he had woken up in.  Running her long, elegant fingers over the dusty stone, she said, “Only a handful of things can cause our death.  The light of the sun, wooden stakes, decapitation and fire.  Other than that, we are truly immortal.  Nothing can harm us permanently, and nothing else can kill us.  Is it not a glorious life we live?” she cried, spreading out her arms, letting the clothe of the red toga she wore flow about her form as she spun about, a crazed smile upon her face.  She began to sway and glide to a song he could not hear.  “Is it not grand?” her voice drifted around him, caressing him with its gentle touch.
 “I don’t think so,” he said, fighting against the influence of her voice.  “This thirst in me is far too painful for me to think any good of this existence.  How do you stand it?” he wanted to know, for she seemed not to be bothered by anything, if he were to be truthful with himself.
 She glided over to him on such graceful feet that they seemed to barely touch the ground.  Kneeling down beside him a second time as he finally sat up, she said, “It is my age.  You see, the older we get, the less we hunger for human, or any other type of, blood.  You will need to feed several times a night at first, while I only need to feed once every few months.  Of course, if I am having to provide for you, I will need to increase my feedings for the time being.”
 “What do you mean ‘provide for me’?”
 She lifted one arm, and then sliced through her wrist with a claw on the other hand.  Crimson liquid instantly started flowing from the wound.  The smell was intoxicating, driving his hunger, thirst and need.  He could feel the smell flowing into him, making him whole.  It was sweet and wonderful, and he could not stop himself from taking her wrist and pressing it against his lips.  He did not even try to be gentle with it, seeing no reason to.  If she wanted him to be the way he was, then she should have to deal with all the consequences.  He drew from her veins, sucking the sweet tasting blood out of her, drawing it into himself.  He could feel the pain of the thirst finally starting to abate for the first time since he had woke up.  The thirst itself started to slack off, but did not vanish like he thought it should have.  He continued to draw harder and harder on the opening in her wrist, trying to drain her body as he knew she must have drained him while he had still lived.
 “That is enough,” she said.
 He continued to feed from her.
 “I said that is enough.”  Her tone was not so soft and gentle this time.
 Still, he ignored her, drawing what he needed from her to live, to ease the pain, to fill the thirst.
 A moment later, he was once again against the wall, shaking the stars from his eyes.  Looking up, he growled, “What did you do that for?”
 She was moving away from him, covering her wrist with her other hand, but he could still see the blood trickling from between her fingers, still smell it on her skin, and he found that he was not filled, that he wanted more, much more.  Could he drain her of all the blood she had?  She had said that would not kill her, but would it weaken her?  Would it hurt her?  Now, he was actually curious to find out.
 “I told you that was enough.  You will listen to me when I tell you something.”
 He ran the back of one hand across his mouth, wiping off a small, smidgen of blood that had fallen from his lip.  “And what if I don’t do as you tell me?  What if I just keep feeding and feeding from you?” he asked as he got up off the floor.  He took several steps towards her, not sure how she would react if he tried to take more of what he wanted from her. 
 He swiftly got his answer.
 He picked himself up off the floor by the wall yet again, dusting at his clothing and glaring at her, still on the other side of the room.  She had a smug grin upon her lips, showing off the two, large fangs yet again.  “I think you now know what will happen if you try to defy me.  You are young, inexperienced with the life I have bestowed upon you.  You do not know our ways, our talents or our powers.  We are far more than humans could ever be, but that is only after we have lived for a while.  The young are stupid and foolish, just as you have demonstrated.  You need me if you wish to live for more than a short, short while, and I suggest you remember and respect that.”
 “But I’m still hungry,” he whined, not believing that the petulant sound he heard was actually coming out of his own mouth.
 “Then you must feed,” she said plainly.
 Moving towards her, he said, “I was trying to, and you pushed me off.”
 Shaking her head, and moving away from him once again, she said, “Do you think I am going to let you feed from me all night?”
 Confused now, he stopped and said, “Why…yes, I had thought that.  Isn’t that how it’s done?”
 “No, you little fool.  Usually, a vampire parent does not let their offspring feed from them at all.  I only did it because I wanted you to have the strength to go on your own hunt without the burning need for blood driving you to do something foolish and stupid.”
 He glared at her, feeling angry and cheated.  The thirst was once again starting to burn at the back of his throat with a painful intensity that was maddening.  How often did he have to feed, every few minutes or so?  How was he to even attempt to live such an existence if he was in constant need of blood?  Not only could he not possibly fulfill his needs during the day, he would have to kill so many at night that he would either have to be constantly on the run, or being hunted down and killed for the monster that he now was.  What was this she had done to him, a blessing in disguise or a curse?  “I’m starving,” he snarled at her.  “What do you expect me to do about it?”
 “Why, hunt, of course.”
 Marius shuddered at the thought of actually going out and hunting what he used to be.  Could he actually bring himself to go out and drain another of their blood until their body was limp and useless in his arms.  Turning from her, he shook his head.  “No.  No, I will not do this.  I will not take a human life just to feed this unending thirst you have cursed me with.”
 She was upon him before he had even finished the last word, slamming him against the wall, and holding him in place with unmovable strength.  She bared her fangs at him yet again, and snarled, “If you will not behave as you should, I will dispose of you.  There are many other’s like you in this world.  Do not think for an instant that you are irreplaceable.  I have had many before you, and shall have many more after you.”
 He pushed against her, but could not even get her to budge an inch.  “Realizing that he would not be able to beat her in anything like a fair fight, he lowered his head, and uttered, “Alright, you win.  I’ll do it, but I don’t have to like it.”
 She threw back her head and laughed.  “That’s what they all say, and in the end, it is their darker nature that shines through.  Fine.  Hunt.  Even if you don’t like it, go now and find yourself something…young to eat.”
 He fled the room, her laughter echoing behind him as he rushed up the stone steps that were just outside the small room he had been in.  He didn’t look one way or the other as he ran up the winding steps, not wanting to slow down, not wanting to be stopped by anything.  He just wanted to get away from her and what she had turned him into as fast as he could.  He thought that if he could run fast enough, perhaps he could somehow outrun this curse and the spell she had placed upon him.
 He reached the top of the steps to find himself in a large and elegant dining room complete with an enormous, hardwood table, chandeliers galore and gold and silver decorations hanging from every wall.  It was easily one of the most impressive rooms he had ever seen.  The chairs were lined with velvet and silk, and there were more than enough of them to seat a very, very large family.  Candlestick holders were placed every few feet along the surface of the table, and silver platters were set before each chair as if a very large party were about to commence sometime very soon.   Marius spared just a few moments to wonder what sort of parties could be held in this place of devilry and witchcraft.  What sort of creatures attended the feasts?  What was served at these feasts of the damned?  He wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answers to these questions, and he was certain that he did not ever want to be invited to one of these parties.
 He turned towards a door near the head of the table, and ran on out into another, large room.  This one had very little in the way of décor, and he felt sure that the double doors at the far end would lead to the outside world.  He rushed to these with the desperation of a madman, banging through them and crying out as the cool breeze of the night hit upon his face.
 He raced down the street, heading away from the monster and her fortress, trying to get away from what he was, yet knowing deep in his heart that there was no escaping what he had become.
 He moved blindly through the night, not paying the least bit of attention to where he was going.  When he finally came to his senses some time later, he found himself to be completely and totally lost.  He had no idea where he could possibly be, not even what city he could be in.  Anywhere in southern Europe seemed to be about right, but that wasn’t quite helpful to him right now.  The buildings were made of stone and a few wooden structures popping up here and there.  His sandals slapped against the stone paving as he moved, the sounds echoing off the buildings around him.  Few walked the streets, and this was not surprising given the hour of the night.  It was far too late for any but the most delinquent of society to be out and about.
 Shaking, confused, he slowly walked through the darkened streets, pulling the toga close about him, even though he could not feel the chill of the air he knew must be there.  When he did breath out, which was not as often as he had before, he could see puffs of mist circling his face, could feel the soft moisture alighting gently against his cheeks, but the cold of the air seemed not to affect him at all.  At least that was something to be said about being of the undead.
 A clattering sound off down one alleyway close by caught his attention, and he moved off in that direction.  Perhaps it was just a large rat, scouring for anything it could find to eat.  Perhaps it was something else.  As he neared the opening of the alley, he looked down it to see a young, filthy man moving about in the refuse, presumably looking for food.  Marius could take no pity on the man.  He was young, and had a look of strength to him.  There was no reason he could not have gained a job of some sort, even if it was the army, he would have been gladly taken in.  No, this man had chosen this life for himself, and what would it matter if that life was to suddenly end this night.
 The thirst was upon him again, driving him mad with the need to quench it.  He slowly approached the man, suddenly aware that he could feel the heat radiating off his body long before he came close to him, able to hear the beat of his heart in his ears.  He could smell the scent, the wonderful scent, of his life’s blood, pumping in his veins.  Did he even know what a wonderful smell this was, the man who was mucking about in the trash of those around him?  Did he have any idea what he possessed, and how much it was worth to those of the night?  Marius greatly doubted that.
 He moved in for the kill, silently stalking up behind the oblivious man.  He could feel a wonderful rush surging through him as he neared his prey, feeling the need to take from him what he needed to live. 
 He came up behind the man, and grabbed him from behind, wrapping his fingers over the man’s mouth so no one would hear him scream.  With a savage snarl, he drove his fangs into the man’s neck, tearing it open.  Blood rushed out, covering both of them, and he clamped his lips over the wound.  He drew and sucked at the open veins, but the blood still flowed too quickly for him to catch all of it, and a good portion was wasted as it streamed out of the cuts in his neck.  He gloried in the warmth of the blood as it flowed down his throat, filling him body and soul.  The sensation was absolutely wonderful, like nothing he had ever felt during his mortal life, and it was all he could do not to release the body clutched tight to his chest and cry out in ecstasy.
   “My, my, what a messy eater we are.  And here I thought you had said that you refused to partake of human blood.”
 He spun about, dropping the body on the ground where the corpse fell into a puddle with a soft splash, to see the owner of the voice that had mocked him so terribly.  Now that the thirst was not so demanding upon his mind, body and soul, his conscious cried out at him for what he had done.  He looked down upon the body, the young man he had killed out of cold blood for no better reason than that he had been without a home.  He backed away from the body, his face contorted in an expression of true horror.  Turning back to her, he uttered, “I…I didn’t mean to do it.  I didn’t mean to kill… anyone.”  He moaned pathetically as he collapsed to his knees, soaking his clothes in the very puddle the body had fallen into.  “How could this have happened?  How could I have taken another life?  I…I don’t even remember what came over me.”
 She leaned close to him, her breath in his ear as she spoke, “And that is the way of the young of our kind.  They hunt without thought or discretion.  Today, a homeless man.  It could have easily been a prince or a king.  It won’t matter to you who you draw your substance from, just as long as they have a vein to bite into.”  She pulled away, laughing.  He hated that laugh.  He hated her.
 He put his head into his hands, and sobbed, “How am I to live?  How am I to live like this?  I will be hunted down and killed for sure, if it is true that I will not be able to control myself.  I proved that tonight, with this poor soul.”
 She caressed his face, urging him to stand beside her.  “That is why I will stay with you.  I will keep you safe during the day, and offer you substance each night before you leave to hunt.  You had some thoughts during this hunt, did you not?”
   He looked down at the body, vaguely remembering his thoughts on how the man was homeless, and therefore of no use to society.  He could remember his dislike of the man, and how it had felt that he was doing the right thing by taking his life.  Nodding his head, Marius muttered, “Yes, I do remember thinking when I killed him.”
 “That is because you had fed off my blood before you left for the hunt.  If you had not, you would not have even thought that much.  We are hunters by nature, and prey on the weak, those that would harm the greater good of the community.  What do the weak have to offer, Hmm?  Nothing.”  Gesturing with disgust at the body laying before them, she said, “What would have come of him?  What greater good did he serve in the scheme of things?  What did his life offer that none others did?  I can tell you what.  Nothing.  He offered the world nothing at all.  He was no more than a parasite, feeding off the refuse of those that do deserve to live.  You did the world a favor.  That is what we truly were meant to do.  That is what we truly are.  We do for humanity what they can not do for themselves.  We weed out the weak so that there is more for the strong and their young.”
 Marius felt himself shuddering at her words, wishing she would say no more.  He had not wanted to kill this man who had done nothing to him, and he did not want to hear her come up with reasons on why he should have died.  It was all so horribly, horribly wrong.
 “Come,” she said, tugging at his elbow, slowly leading him away from the man he had killed that night for his own, awful needs.  She took him back to her home, and laid him to sleep in the sarcophagus he had awoken up in.  He allowed her to close the lid over him, and wished terribly that it would never, ever open again.