– Blood (4 units)
The notification echoed one last time in Corven's mind, faint and clinical, as he wiped the last traces of warmth from his lips. Blood-soaked and bare, he stood amidst the mangled corpses of the forest wolves.
Not a single piece of fabric covered him—no robes, no armor, not even a loincloth to hide his rebirth. Only skin, slick with blood, kissed by the cold silver glow of moonlight.
"I feel a lot better…" Corven murmured, a quiet chuckle rising from his throat as he rolled his shoulders. Joints cracked. Muscles flexed. His voice was clearer now—stronger. The savage thirst had been sated… for now.
"So this is no longer my world, then?" he asked no one in particular, looking up at the star-choked sky. The constellations were alien, ancient, and unblinking.
"Another world… as a vampire," he repeated, letting the word rest on his tongue like a fine wine.
"Vampire…"
He tested the syllables again, slower this time. A grin tugged at his lips.
"Sounds… fun."
He turned back to the dirt path, walking with a calm confidence that defied the blood caked to his body. He looked like a man chiseled by discipline—years at the gym, a perfect diet, and genetics carved by divine spite. But now his gains were wrapped in death's embrace.
His gait was clean. Silent. He strode as though the forest belonged to him now.
"You'd think I'd be more surprised by all this," he mused aloud, lips curling in amusement.
"But it's surprisingly thrilling."
Minutes passed under the forest canopy. Wind rustled through the leaves like whispers from the dead. Then, beyond the trees, a warm glow broke through.
A clearing.
Smoke drifted lazily upward in the distance.
"Civilization…?" Corven tilted his head. His blood-red eyes narrowed.
He left the forest behind.
What greeted him was a quaint rural village—small wooden houses arranged like quiet prayers to time. Fields of crops swayed gently beside bleating livestock. Chickens roamed freely. The air was rich with cooking oil, woodsmoke, and conversation.
But what truly caught his eye was the church.
Its gray stone walls bore a symbol he didn't recognize—neither cross, crescent, nor rune. It glowed faintly in the dark, carved above the entrance like a divine warning.
"It pains my eyes just to look at it…" Corven winced, averting his gaze as a subtle sting danced behind his eyes. The symbol's holy resonance tugged at something primal. Something wrong.
Still, he walked forward. Into the town of humans.
The streets were empty—families safe inside, their laughter and clinking dishes muffled behind closed windows. Light poured from within, golden and gentle, painting the night in warm hues.
Corven paused.
"The language... it's not English. Not Latin, Greek, or Sumerian either," he said quietly.
"But I can still understand it."
His strange gift still worked. Good. That would make things easier.
He wandered without purpose, curiosity his only companion. But before he could take another step—
A door creaked open nearby.
A middle-aged man stepped outside, yawning as he stretched beneath the starlit sky. His eyes landed on Corven—and froze.
"What…?" he breathed.
Corven waved casually, still bloodied and barefoot. "Hello."
The man didn't respond with fear. Instead, he rushed forward, eyes wide in concern, grabbing Corven's wrist with surprising urgency.
"By God's divine mercy, what happened to you!?" he exclaimed, dragging Corven toward his home.
"I'm… mostly fine," Corven replied flatly, blinking.
The man didn't listen. "Honey! Get some hot water and clean rags!" he shouted over his shoulder as they entered a small cottage.
A woman's voice called back from deeper within. "Why? What's wrong?"
"We've got someone injured!" he yelled again, guiding Corven to a rickety wooden chair. "Sit! I'll grab the salve!"
Corven glanced around as the man bustled away.
The house was humble. A straw roof. Dirt floor. Rough wood walls and handmade furniture. But it was warm. Lived in. It smelled like garlic, soup… and blood.
His nose twitched.
It was faint, but unmistakable.
The coppery scent clung to the linens, lingered in the air, pulsed faintly beneath the skin of his savior.
"Thirsty…" Corven whispered, his voice so low it was nearly a growl. His eyes darkened as he licked his lips, fangs pressing against his gums like coiled blades.
The hunger was stirring again.