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With a final, rattling sob, Jack von Pyroscythe dies as he lived. Violently, terrified, and with water in his lungs.
And then you wake.
You come to crouching, coughing violently on the shore of a lake some time just past midnight, two near strangers watching you choke uncaringly. Water laps at your shoes and soaks your overcoat. With each painful, wheezing exhale comes spilling out another mouthful of water. Comes creeping in an emptiness in your lungs. You do not inhale after every cough. You do not need to.
Owen, the lumberjack, watches from a distance with a fascinated sort of hate as you curl in on yourself through the wracking coughs. You wonder how you must look to him. Foolish, surely. They’d both said as much. Pathetic, definitely. That went without saying. But did he see prey or something new? Did he watch the other man, Scott (and the thought of the name twists something in your gut you do not have the clarity of mind to identify), hold you down and finish draining you with disgust or excitement? Does it matter? Really, truly, does anything matter anymore?
You can feel Scott standing behind you. He makes no move to assist. You work up the courage to glance up at him, tears in your eyes as you blink water out of your vision. He’s not even looking at you. Instead he licks his fingers clean of your blood, looking pleased with himself. The holes torn in the side of your neck ache. You stare at him as he tidies himself, as he relishes in the crumbs of the meal he’s made of you, and find yourself wanting.
For what, you’re not sure. The splatters of your own flesh across his cravat? The confident smirk that cuts a jagged line across his face, the untouchable power behind his newly crimson eyes? …Him?
It’s all so confusing. The distinction is so immaterial in this moment, where your coughing has begun to taper and grow dry and yet you still can’t seem to shake the feeling of water in your lungs. There are very few things that feel clear to you in the now. Three, if you’re really counting. They are as follows:
1.You are dead.
This is indisputable. You inhale and find the feeling of air in your lungs uncomfortable and foreign. You exhale and note the silence in your chest where once sat a beating heart. There is a crystal clear image in your mind, rendered in perfect clarity through fear alone, of your vision fading as Scott held you underwater. His head dips beneath the waves next to yours as he drains blood from your neck. And yet.
2. You are alive.
Miraculously (though you’re quite certain your situation is not a gift from the divine as the word might imply,) you kneel here before these two men, conscious. Thinking. Is this life? It must be. You feel things. Living people feel. You feel scared. You feel trapped. You feel… oh, God.
3. You are hungry.
The need to eat flashes across your mind and sticks to your gray matter like the sort of salt water taffy your mother would give you when you were young. It lingers. It aches. Hunger has become some immutable fact in your mind that seems near impossible to ignore. You know you are hungry. You know you will always be hungry. You know you will never, ever stop trying to sate that hunger and you will never, ever succeed. Some things stay the same.
You have never been a man of superstition. You call yourself a scholar, and you know firsthand the dangers of blind belief. But you are not an idiot. You do not need to be a conspiracist to see what is right in front of you, to know what you have become.
“Vampires,” you mutter, your voice hoarse and filled with a miserable fascination. The word fits awkwardly in your mouth. Scott looks down at you and laughs at your tone as you continue. “I suppose I couldn’t have seen that one coming if I’d tried.”
Scott hums, bending down and placing a hand on your back. You shudder instinctively at the touch. Embarrassing. “Well, to be fair. I didn’t know about him either. I thought that I was getting a much, much larger meal.” Like that’s supposed to be comforting. His hand on your back reaches for the collar of your coat and he yanks, pulling you awkwardly into standing position. You scrabble for purchase in an attempt to keep your upright balance as he lets go, turning around before you’re fully stable. “Alright, up you go.”
You brush yourself off, wincing at the heaviness of your damp clothing. Owen approaches, disgruntled. He sighs. “Right, well. Welcome to the ranks. Shame I got you all the way out here and got nothing, but…” He shrugs, glancing at Scott with annoyance. “Someone got here first, so…”
They bicker, and the words wash over you. Vampires. You, a vampire. You poke at your mouth and feel a pin prick where a far duller canine used to sit. You reach in your coat for your journal, and pull out a dripping wet book, soaked in water. The ink is smeared and running.
Your research paper was in there. Well, the first drafts of the introduction, anyways. Not that it matters much- you’re unsure the living dead can pay tuition. You stare at the waterlogged pages blankly. This should feel like something meaningful, some kind of loss. Last time this had happened, you’d been so angry. This time it doesn’t feel like much of anything at all.
You think of a river. You think of beasts, and what it might look like to watch someone drown.
At least, you think bitterly, you are consistent. At least the writhing ugly creature inside you is not newborn. At least your father won’t be surprised if the news of your untimely resurrection as a creature of the night reaches his ears, though you doubt it will. You doubt he’ll be listening.
What would he say if he saw you like this, sopping wet and starved? Perhaps he’d call this karmic. He’d be correct. You were nothing more than a pathetic little boy who thought he could play at being more than his mistakes. Who couldn’t go a month without falling into the hands of some greater conspiracy, too cowardly to run before it was too late.
What right would he have though, to criticize you? You are nothing but a stain on his reputation he has washed out, a rotten fruit off his family tree he has picked and composted. If he saw you now, he could not scorn you. You wouldn’t let him. You’d-
“How does this…” you start, both of their heads snapping in your direction as you interrupt their conversation. You flinch instinctively, and Scott rolls his eyes before gesturing for you to continue. “How does this work, then? I mean. Is this forever? Is this actually happening?”
Owen laughs, and Scott raises an eyebrow. “What do you think? Does this feel like it's just a dream to you?” The brown haired man sneers at you derisively, and you think if there was any blood left in your veins you’d flush hot with embarrassment.
“…Nevermind, then,” you mutter. It does feel like a dream, a little bit. Perhaps it’s the blood loss, but you do feel a bit like you’re floating, like this can’t actually be happening. Like you’ll wake up tomorrow only halfway to Oakhurst and decide to turn around and study another ruined town instead for your thesis.
Things lull into silence for a bit, the two vampires studying you quietly like a piece of meat. You suppose that’s fair, considering they did just eat you. Finally, after the silence begins to get too uncomfortable and the sound of water washing against the shore gets too loud, Scott claps his hands together, and looks at you expectantly. “Well! We best get back to town before the night goes on any further.” He grins at you conspiratorially, all sharp teeth. Like the two of you are in on the same joke now. Maybe you are. “Wouldn’t want anyone worrying.”
“Right, right,” you say, for lack of any better response. You think all three of you know no one was worried about you in the first place, but that goes without saying. Scott starts back to town without looking to see if either you or Owen follows. Owen rolls his eyes to himself and mutters under his breath about nobility before following. you stand alone in shallow water for a moment before limping after them.
It’s not like you have any other choice.
-
It is silent in town when you return. To be expected. The three of you had left after the sun had begun to set, and though you weren’t sure just how long you had been out, the moon now sits high in the sky behind cloud cover. Everyone but one person seems to have gone off to bed. Avid, the young hunter you had written off as a lunatic mere hours ago, stands watch at the gate and he jumps from a half asleep daze as the three of you approach. Scott waves up at him with a smirk, the top half of his face now covered by a mask no one but you or Owen can see in the darkness, and calls up at him.
“Sleeping on the job, Avid?” he laughs, and you find yourself smiling weakly from where you lean on Owen’s shoulder. He’d noticed you falling behind halfway through the journey back and grumbled before dragging you home by the arm.
Avid splutters, looking around frantically for the source of the voice. “N-no! Just… just resting my eyes waiting for you! where have the three of you been?” he demands, before finally spotting you and really looking over your group.
You wince preemptively, unable to imagine just how miserable you must look, sopping wet and limping. At least it’s not cold anymore, you think. The water had been freezing as you’d stumbled away from Scott, who’d simply smiled and prowled forwards while you had tripped and sputtered and crawled backwards through the lake, one hand to your neck in an attempt to stem the sluggish bleeding coming from Owen's bite. When you next woke, the feeling had been gone. All that was left was pain.
“Pyro here tripped and fell into the lake on our way back into town,” Scott explains with a light laugh, patting your shoulder. You laugh with him.
“Oh my gosh!” Avid shouts, and you’re near certain the quiet of the late night in Oakhurst has been thoroughly disrupted at this point. “Pyro, come in, come in, let’s get you inside, are you alright?” And what a question that is. Owen moves to steady you as you sway, eyes fixated on Avid as your mouth dries. His grip on your side keeps you upright, but it also serves as a reminder. A threat, like you weren’t already terrified into silence. You try your best to look bashful, but with the way Avid looks even more concerned upon seeing you meet his eyes, you’re certain it’s more of a grimace. “I’m fine,” you sigh. There’s no need to fake the exhaustion in your voice. “I’m just ready to get some rest.”
Avid nods sympathetically, clamoring down from his post at the top of the walls to the side of you opposite to Owen and putting his arm under your own. You tense as he approaches. He smells… nauseating. Like sweat and fear and meat, like a well seasoned steak. You gulp and swallow back a mouth of drool. There’s something pricking at your top lip, and your teeth feel like they’re shifting in your mouth. Owen’s grip digs into your side again as Avid helps you stand upright and you bite your tongue instead. The muscle breaks under your sharpened teeth, but no blood fills your mouth. You nod your thanks to Avid and the four of you make your way to where you’ve been staying with Apo, the soldier girl.
“So,” Avid whispers to you conspiratorially, “See anything in those woods at night? I’m glad you made it back in one piece! It’s dangerous out there!”
You pry your teeth out of your tongue and feel the hole immediately close behind them. “No, no,” you lie, voice somehow steady. “Only thing dangerous in those woods is the ground beneath my own feet. I just took a little swim before the other two fished me out!”
Owen laughs, the first smile you’ve seen on his face all night. It’s not a kind one. “Thankfully you weren’t alone out there! Who knows what could’ve happened.” You laugh back, and it sounds high pitched and nervous. You feel Avid shift next to you.
“Yeah. Thankfully,” you manage. None of the words coming out of your mouth feel like what you want to say. “Let’s get inside, I’d like a change of clothes and some sleep. Please.”
Who knows what could’ve happened, you repeat to yourself, hysterical. You feel like you’re still drowning, chest tight and heavy like you still need air in your lungs and there’s nothing coming out of your mouth but bubbles.
Perhaps you still are. You try to recall what it felt like with your head under the water and only remember the burning panic in your body doused under the icy water into a floating sense of calm deliverance. The end within your grasp, a messy miserable end to a messy miserable life that felt perfectly fitting. That felt entirely insignificant. A bubbling anger that had broken your peace, a boiling hunger that insisted there was still more to prove. That you were undeserving of such a fate. The anger persists post mortem. You can feel it, nestled deep beneath your sternum and growing. None of this is fair. No one has noticed, and why would they? You’re a complete stranger.
Owen and Avid bring you back to your home without much trouble, herding you around town like a stupid, docile animal. Scott follows behind, hovering smugly. You do your best to ignore Avid’s heart beating rabbit fast next to you, each pulse more distracting than the next.
The three drop you off in front of your door, Owen stepping back at the cusp of the doorstep. Avid shoots him a disgruntled and suspicious look as your weight falls nearly entirely onto him and he stumbles, shouting in surprise. “H-hey! What the hell, Owen?! You nearl-“
Owen hisses, cutting him off. “Try not to wake up the entire town with your shouting, why don’t you? Pyro here is capable of walking inside without the three of us stumbling around and disturbing his sleeping roommate at this hour.”
You find yourself nodding in agreement, shrugging off Avid’s shoulder if only to get away from the blood pumping through his veins. “Thank you, Avid, but… I’ve got it from here. I’d just like to dry off and get some sleep now.”
Scott scoffs out a laugh from behind you, mock offended. “No thanks to me… or Owen?” He tacks the last bit on. Behind the skull mask he wears, you can imagine his eyes twinkling with some sort of fucked up amusement. “I’m hurt! Tell me, Pyro, did my help back to town mean nothing?”
The words stumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and your stomach twists in knots. “No- no! Of course, thank you for…” You’re not sure what for. Killing you? Changing you? Watching Owen drag your pathetic self back to town? “…everything.” It feels like too much. It feels like not enough. Scott looks satisfied, though, so perhaps that’s all that matters.
You bid the three farewell and sneak into bed. Apo sleeps on the far side of the room, tossing and turning in her sleep. You spare her barely a glance and collapse into bed. For a moment, it feels like you’ll never sleep again. Like you couldn’t possibly close your eyes and relax, like you’ll spend an eternity trying to process whatever the fuck just happened you.
And then you blink, and your eyes don’t reopen. You dream of nothing at all.
-
You wake the next morning unsure of when you had even fallen asleep, the memories of the night before frustratingly fuzzy. It had been so clear in the moment, you’re certain, but now your attempts at recollection fall short. All that’s there is the feeling of water filling your mouth, your nose, your ears, your lungs, and… him. Scott, his mouth above your collarbone and hands pushing you under the water. It had been intimate, the way he cradled you, his claws digging into your shoulders as he had consumed you. A type of closeness you’d never felt before. The blood loss had left you woozy, compliant and weak as you died in his arms.
At least he had dragged you to shore.
You roll out of bed to face forever. The sun that shines in through the window stings your skin and each breath you force feels fake and shallow, like there’s not enough room left in your lungs to contain the air. Your stomach growls again. Your coat is still damp. You shrug it on anyways.