Sunlight streamed through the shattered windows of the ruined mansion, filtering in golden beams across Elias' blood-slicked skin. His eyes squinted as the warmth touched his face, and he instinctively raised a hand to shield himself from the glare.
Drip.
Something thick and wet splattered against his cheek.
He blinked, then groaned. Another drop landed on his chest.
Elias slowly sat up, his muscles stiff but humming with strength. As his hand lowered, he saw the crimson stains on his palm. Then he looked around.
Blood. Everywhere.
The once-lavish grand hall was now a crimson grave. Bodies—or what was left of them—lay in twisted heaps, some turned to ash, others frozen in expressions of agony. Elias, half-naked and wearing only torn shorts, was at the center of it all, coated from head to toe in gore.
"Well, damn," he muttered. "Guess I really painted the town red."
He rose to his feet, surveying the carnage. Memories came back in flashes—fangs, roars, fire in his veins, and then... darkness. But something pulled at the edges of his thoughts.
A chant. A voice.
He remembered clearly now: the witch, standing at the edge of the chaos, arms raised as she whispered in an ancient tongue. Her voice echoed even now.
"He won't remember this when the sun rises."
And next to her, that smug stranger with the long blond hair had smirked.
"It's for the best," he had said, voice smooth and amused.
Elias snorted. "Well, that little mind trick certainly didn't work."
He looked down at his body. Something was different. It wasn't just the aftermath of the battle or the grotesque red paint job. It was something deeper. Something changed.
He flexed his fingers. His muscles responded like finely tuned wires, pulsing with vitality.
"I've never felt so... alive."
Elias stepped outside into the sunlight, blinking at the brightness. He took a deep breath.
Energy surged through him.
"This... this is power," he whispered. Then louder, with a cocky grin, "I feel incredible!"
But after a second sniff, his face twisted in disgust.
"Ugh. I also smell like I bathed in spoiled wine and dead things. Which... yeah, checks out."
He turned back toward the mansion. "I hope these mosquitoes had a wardrobe."
He scoured the house until he found something wearable—a simple shirt and pants, though the fashion screamed several centuries behind. Still, they were clean and fit well enough.
Outfitted, Elias stepped back outside, arms stretched. "Now for a bath. Time to find a river or a lake or even a fancy vampire hot tub. Anything really."
He took off into the woods, sprinting at full speed.
And immediately crashed into a tree.
"Oof!"
He rolled over, groaning.
"Okay, so the power boost is great, but maybe my reflexes need to catch up."
He tried again. This time he zigzagged, weaving around trees—until his foot snagged a root and he tumbled down a hill.
He landed in a thicket, leaves in his hair.
"Nailed it."
Eventually, through several more crashes, missteps, and at least one unfortunate tumble into a squirrel nest (don't ask), Elias reached a shimmering river. The water sparkled in the sun, cool and inviting.
He stripped and waded in, letting the cold water wash over his bloodied skin. The shock of it cleared the fog in his mind.
As he scrubbed his arms and neck, he stared at his reflection rippling in the current. The red in his eyes had dulled, but it lingered.
"Whatever I've become," he said softly, "I'm still me. Right?"
A pause.
Then a splash of water to the face. "No time for existential crises. I smell like the underworld."
Clean and refreshed, he dressed and stood at the edge of the river.
"Alright," he said, gazing into the forest beyond. "Time to find someone. Or a town. Or a map. Anything that can tell me where... or when... I am."
With a grin and a deep breath, Elias sprinted into the unknown.
"Let's see where this takes me."