The corpse slumbers eternal before me, what life had once infested this flesh, had fled beyond reach. In death there is an eerie quiet, a stillness that draws in the darkness to shadow his features.
No longer can this man fear me, and no longer can he wrong me.
His blood now courses through my body, burning hot as a blazing fire, as it boils away in my veins, leaving behind traces of power that will remain with me.
It’s not unexpected and the difference from my past strength is not overly remarkable, but for one change. Whether through use and familiarity or through the blood I consumed, my vampiric strength now stays with me even without an aura of fear.
Ranking up to E from F, if I’m to trust the system written within the skillbook.
Beyond this, I should also be able to cast a small measure more vampiric magic before my veins burn and threaten to collapse. How many will I have to kill, and drink dry before I can be as strong as the red-eyed villain?
Staring down at the lifeless corpse, my mouth dries and my chest tightens.
I stab the corpse, breaking ribs without concern as I pull it apart with my æther fuelled strength. This twisted young creature may yet serve me, his body put to better use in this state than in life.
My head is floating in the clouds as my hands work with a will of their own.
Flashes return to me, moments of that night...
Father’s screams turn to bloody gurgles, while my step-mother’s screams are clear, ringing through the air like a cruel siren in the night.
Despair and desperation drown out all else in the room, stuffing my mouth more effectively than a handful of cotton.
I want to run, to abandon everyone and just flee for my life, but I can’t even do that.
I’m too weak to be a coward.
My frozen hands move with a will of their own, as I tear into the man’s chest. There’s little blood remaining in him.
His eyes shine with dull terror. Were mine the same?
His heart is soft and still in my hand. Is mine the same?
A tremor takes my hands from me for the length of a heartbeat, but no heart here is beating.
More and more of my own cold magic floods into me, and I wear it like a cloak. A warm blanket against the emotions that would flood me.
The moment passes, and though I feel it should be otherwise, my heart is still frozen. I’m still a monster.
Clarity returns, all that remains of who I once was now that my soul has left this fractured container behind. What being can live on without a beating heart? What being can find pleasure in such atrocities and cruelties? What being can sip fouled tea as their family’s corpses are put away into boxes?
No, the soul that I remember having is gone. It must be, for the girl I once was couldn’t do these things. She wouldn’t.
In the darkness, bright as day, I tear from the man his heart and fully sever his head. The parts of a man that are most dense with the essence of life.
The rest, I leave splayed. My cuts were amateur at best and my efforts more designed by passion than a proper mind. It is a cruel memorial that remains... but what more might be done with it…?
Perhaps, there is something that can be done with it…
On instinct I reach for the remains, my hands seeking to craft something, but my mind does not know what. My sanity escapes to consider future plans whilst leaving my hands to the insane work of binding bone and flesh into something new, something useful.
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