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Owen froze as he watched his friend burn. The townsfolk flocked to him and spoke of the the mayor’s supposed misdeeds but Owen wasn’t listening. These people who flinched and hid their children when he walked by now rushed to him in “worry”, expecting to be thanked.They gathered in their self-righteous show of their morality by vanquishing the evil.
Louis was dead. The only one to have showed him kindness, gone. Sick, foolish bastards, the lot of them. They would pay for this.
Shaking himself out of his grief stricken stupor, Owen pounced. He felt warm metallic blood run down his throat as he bit down on the nearest person, his first victim. Chaos was quick to ensue as the townsfolk ran to escape or gather their weapons. Owen tore through the crowds effortlessly, his new claws allowing him to cut down his victims with terrifying efficiency. The blood of 2799 people choked the streets and dyed them a brutal crimson.
Then, it was over. Deafening quiet descended on the now empty town. Louis's pyre stood - still burning - in the centre of town. Owen slowly approached it, not daring to look at the charred remains of the only person who ever cared about him, the only one who ever loved him. In a final burst of rage and greif, Owen gathered the flaming wood from around the base of the pyre and burned Oakhurst to the ground. Everything was gone. Only Owen remained.
Owen didn't know how long he had spent knelt before the pyre in the ruined town. He had nothing to live for now, no-one. Lewis had explained prior to Owen's turning that as a vampire usual methods of death would prove ineffective and ways that could kill them were difficult and painful. Owen pondered death for a long time. He did not want to live without Lewis but he also did not want to waste his final gift.
Eventually, Owen decided to leave town, unable to bear staying there any longer. He made his way to the tower on a hill a while away from town and began to dig. If he could not die, then he would remain below the tower and pray he would never wake again.