Impatient; the monster had grown impatient, waiting with a sickened mouth and thinning cheeks for another taste. His jaw ached from the throbbing in his gums as they shifted around teeth that grew pained from the prolonged, unquenchable thirst. But it would be sated soon enough, and his agony would diminish.
Or at least, that's what Babanel promised him.
The night was dark, filled with smells and images that were heightened beyond measure to the fledgling who had spent weeks trapped within the walls of that cathedral. He almost dared to feel free again as the bottoms of his bare feet touched the forest floor, arms stretched out to allow his fingertips to graze against chilling bark. But his Maker stayed nearby. Barely a breath away wherever the boy looked, he was a constant presence; in the trees, in the shadows, bathing in the blessed moonlight as it pierced through the canopy above. Babanel swore he wouldn't leave his side that night, and he didn't. He hadn't, ever since...
Rebirth.
The process had eluded Michael. Even with the progress of his new predatory brain, he couldn't fathom how it happened. One minute he was a mortal, and the next he was hunting in the night like a rabid animal. His bones felt sore; from his new set of fangs he was just on the brink of discovering, to the marrow of his legs that felt heavier than usual. But that was necessary, wasn't it? Denser bones made it easier to ground themselves when they were standing still, listening to the world pass them by like an impenetrable fortress. And their inhuman speed defied its constriction anyway. Defied physical laws that were bound by wights, but never themselves. Never again.
He felt reborn. Like an entirely different person. Like a whole new Michael who could shed the skin of the masterful painter he had hopes of becoming. That Michael was no more. That Michael he would mourn for and grieve when the time came. But right then, under the illuminating forests just outside London, he could only feel hunger.
"This way."
The young Vampire went eagerly, following the distinct smell of his sire as it led him through the thickened wood. They had walked for what could have easily been hours. Sifting through the underbrush of the forest of England, heading towards an unknown destination that Babanel said would be filled with things he could eat. Things that would satisfy the cravings. And he trusted him. He trusted the words of his captor, trusted that he wasn't leading him blindly into a trap. Trusted that the older man would feed him and keep him comfortable. After all, he was going to be king.
It wasn't long until his teeth were sinking into the punctured wounds of a mortal. Until his leftover reflexes of wight-like breathing subsided, and all he could do was suck the blood that pooled against his tongue and began to fill his eager mouth. Each drop more delicious than the last, each taste of rust and glorious life more fine than the one before it; it enveloped him. It consumed his brain, made it impossible to hear the hollering of his sire in the background.
"I said stop!" Babanel had curled his massive fist around Michael's forearm and yanked the boy from the dried up corpse. "You stop before the last drop, do you hear me?" No, he couldn't hear him. The young Vampire licked at his new set of teeth, touching the hard bone delicately with the tip of his tongue and pulling the dribbling leftovers from the corners of his lips. An expression of utter ecstasy passed over his angular features, the newborn's eyes closing as he soaked the feeling in.
"You could've kept that one alive, but you chose instead to show no willpower, Michael."
The boy didn't care. In that moment a meteor could have struck him dead, and he wouldn't have any regrets. The feeling was too good, too rich to let the scolding of his Maker force him to stop letting it consume him. Was this what it was to be immortal -- to be a Vampire? Was this what it meant to become evolved, to be something much more than human? Was this sensation what it was like to truly be alive?
He suddenly felt himself being shook, and it rattled him into focusing his dull green gaze into the eyes of his Maker.
"You could have let that one live, Michael."
"So what?"
And then he struck him. Babanel's palm had snapped against the boy's cheek, and it stung like sunlight did on his new form's skin. The elder man pulled the boy closer, forcing him to keep watching through the pain. The burly creature's voice grew low, husky as ever as he spoke fearlessly, inches from the fledgling's face.
"We are not monsters -- you are not a monster. Do you hear me? What you are now is strong. You will never be weakened by plague, or suffer agonizing death like they will. You will never be able to feel like they do; to love as they love, to be pained as they are, and to live as they live. Do you understand that? They give the very thing that gives them life, to us. The only thing that keeps them standing, keeps them fighting for their families, their loved ones -- they give that to us."
He forced Michael away, letting him stagger a bit as the boy brought a hand to his cheek. "You will not sully your new kindred with seeing mortals as only meals, Michael. Not while I am still alive. You will always respect what they provide for us, what Mother has given to them to sustain us with. You will learn to honor your feast, boy. Make no mistake."
"I'm hungry," he said.
"You'll eat soon," the man replied.
"After this?"
"Perhaps."
Michael eyed him from the pew he sat in, feeling his insides writhe with insatiable need. All he could think about was a feast; a table brimming with the foods of his homeland that he missed already. He imagined a welcoming sight of breads and well-made pastries sprawled out across a banquet capable of seating twenty or more. But instead he was there, trapped in England, with nothing but the swollen organs inside of him grumbling for food.
His captor had told him to be patient, something that no longer seemed to come naturally. Ever since he had woken up he had urges and wants and needs that demanded to be met and sated, otherwise his entire body would fill with the desire to erupt. And erupt he had, until his captor would come and put him at ease. He had woken up in England a week ago, and since then there had been a few incidents where the man -- Babanel, they called him -- would settle the boy down within the folds of his arms. He would coo this tune Michael had never heard before, and whisper him words in a tongue that he didn't recognize as human. More beast than man, he had told Babanel, only to have him shrug and laugh. There was a tenderness to his captor, and while Michael didn't want to admit it, he was becoming less frightened about being... What had he promised?
A King?
Dull hazel eyes glazed over as he lost himself to his thoughts, idly sitting with his finger tucked between his lips.
A king -- a ruler to a name he could hardly pronounce: Striga. It was as foreign as the language Babanel would speak in hushed tones to others they came in contact with around the cathedral when he didn't want Michael to know what they were talking about. Striga. The name was rich with a guttural accent, and a refined nature; a contradiction that his captor said with pride when prompted.
The rusted taste of blood pooled into his mouth and shocked him from his thoughts. Michael pulled his finger away slowly from his lips, and winced at the feeling of removing his own sunken in teeth from his broken skin.
He glanced at Babanel with a frightened look. The man took three long strides before he was there, snatching Michael's wrist away.
"You're not a cannibal, boy. You don't feast on your own flesh, do you hear me?" Michael nodded, with his bloodied mouth hung agape. "I don't care how hungry you are. You will feed when I feed, and no sooner." The boy continued to nod, shaken from the tightness of his captor's grip. Babanel released him, and went back to sit atop the golden throne...
But the hunger went on.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stared at his blood for a moment as the liquid bled into the fabric. It had stained his tongue, and he could still savor the curious candied aftertaste. Strange and satisfying...
Before the idea of how inviting his own flesh had been consumed him enough to try again, he heard the large doors open, and the clicking of footsteps against the floor of the cathedral. Babanel rose to his feet just as Michael swiveled in the pew and turned to see what it was -- what the two had been waiting for.
She was a small girl, with dark brown hair and golden eyes. A whole head shorter than the blonde figure that walked a step behind her. A smile rested on her face; this contagious smirk that lit up the dreary, yet elegant room. Made more beautiful by her childlike presence and humbling nature. Michael heard Babanel stand and take sturdy steps towards her. He glanced between the young girl and his captor, watching as the burly male lifted her into his arms and squeezed. She laughed, and illuminated their space.
Then her eyes trailed beyond their embrace, right at him.
"Is that the child," she asked.
"Aye, that's him,' Babanel replied.
Immediately Michael shrunk in the pew, leaning into its wooden frame as if it could ever hide his monstrous size. But this action did not deter her. Instead, the girl wandered towards him and let her smile grow into a full grin of regal confidence. She placed her hands on the back of the structure and nodded his direction.
"My name is Chandra, and you are Michael DePalmado, painter from Avallon. I've heard much about you these past few days. I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you after your rebirth, but I trust you'll forgive me."
She leaned in slightly as Michael looked up to her unaged face. There was a soothing aura about her, and this faint smell of lavender in the air the nearer she was.
"Yeah," the boy started, somewhat taken aback by her speech, but also struggling to ignore her radiance. "R... rebirth?" His eyes glanced again between Babanel and Chandra. "What does that mean?"
"He doesn't know?" The girl questioned, turning to Babanel and shooting him a look of displeasure. Babanel simply shook his head, and she frowned, turning back.
"Michael," she began, "you were turned a week ago, child. You're a Vampire now. Son of the Striga."
____
"It's alright, boy." But Michael only ignored the soothing words of Babanel.
"It's not alright! You said I would be king, but king of Vampires?!" The child paced the aisle between the pews as Chandra, Babanel, and the young blonde male sat watching on.
"You're not king of the Vampires, just king of England's Vampires," the blonde chimed, which only seemed to make matters worse. Babanel shot the boy a look, and he excused himself of the conversation altogether.
"Michael, it's alright. You're alive and well. This is your destiny."
"You keep saying that! That's all I've heard for days now, but you lied to me! Not once did you say I'd be a fucking Vampire! How?! That's impossible! Th-"
In half seconds, Babanel had stood once more and snatched Michael by the arm, pulling him away from the other two. The child struggled in his grip but it was, of course, in vain.
"Listen," he said, leaning in close to the young boy's face, "I don't know how to explain this to you, but your human life is over and a new one has begun. I'm sorry, Michael, for having it happen this way, but you have got to believe me when I tell you that we need you. That this is where you belong. This is the plan Mother Moon has had for you."
"How is this where I belong?! Vampires aren't real!"
At this, Babanel shook him and grabbed at his other hand, yanking it forward. "Look. Look!" He held up the finger Michael had felt himself gnawing at, seeing no wounds in sight. "You bit yourself, boy. Your thirst for blood will only grow stronger, but I'm here. I'm here to help you through it for as long as I can, do you hear me?" He shook his head at the words. It was impossible to wrap his brain around. The stories of frightening monsters that preyed on the weak mortals of the world. Children of death that wandered the darkness thirsting for life. And now he was one of them? It couldn't be...
But the blood had tasted sweet on his lips, and even just the reminder of it made him crave more...
Maybe Babanel was right. Or maybe this was some sick game to keep him complacent in their kidnapping.
Green eyes fluttered open slowly, and muscles that had been molded into new strength felt sore and foreign as they twitched with movement. He didn't recognize where he was, and as his mind started to come to, he began to feel frightened.
The colors of the night were vivid. He could see, with new eyes, every lucid fiber of the stones walls around him, like the pores of his own flesh. He could see the moonlight streaming through the stained windows this multi-colored hue of blues and reds, and the dust particles that danced inside the vortex of light as if suspended on wire. As he pushed himself to sit up, his fingertips brushed against fabric where before he had sworn he'd felt the brick of a building...
Michael looked around the room, wincing at the colors he saw in the darkness, with only the flickering of candles from a wrought-iron chandelier to guide his vision. Or, so he thought. It was all so new, so sensitive to take in. But when he drew a shaky breath, it was made even worse. He inhaled the fire that flicked on the candles, the dust that sat atop the desk across the way, and the distinct smell of rot in the air.
Fear built itself a home in the pit of his stomach, and he reacted to it with widening eyes and careful movements. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed he was sitting on and looked around once more, thankful no one was there. Escape had to be quick. He made for the window, with narrowed eyes trying to see through the hot sear of the moonlight. But panic started to shift, and he forced himself to look out. No, he was too far up to break the glass and get away safely...
"You're awake."
Michael froze in his stance for a second, and then turned quickly, pressing his back to the stone wall. The dark figure in the open doorway was hazy, with the young boy still trying to fight his way to see with his new eyes... new abilities. "Don't be frightened, boy. It's alright."
"Where am I," he asked, louder than he thought himself capable of.
"England," the husk voice replied. "You're in England."
Michael took another breath, gasping and gripping at his chest as the array of smells invaded his senses like a personal assault. "H-How is that possible?" The young man's thick accent curled at the end of his hysterical voice. He shook his head. Just hours ago he had been in Avalon -- how could he have made it to England in what felt like the blink of an eye?
"I brought you here."
"Why?!" Faint courage and anger pooled inside of him, but he couldn't keep it for long.
"Come, boy. Sit down." The figure moved through the black, keeping itself at a safe distance even as Michael motioned for the bed. How could he escape now with that wall of a person standing in his way?
"You kidnapped me..."
"You're no child," the man retorted.
"You stole me!"
He could feel the other physically cringe at the assumption, but he didn't care.
"No. I claimed you."
"What does that even mean?!"
"Michael," he asserted, and took footsteps towards the light. In the darkness the painter could make out vague features, but as the giant stood under the chandelier, his face illuminated at last. A burly, hairy man, with rippling arms likely capable of tearing a bear to shreds. Or, an artist from France.
"Do not come any closer!" Michael protested, pulling himself backwards further on the bed.
"Don't be stupid, boy. I'm not going to hurt you."
"Then why am I here?"
"Because," the man's husk voice said, "I felt like I knew you the moment I saw you. We were made for each other." The tall man took a hesitant step forward as he spoke. "Don't you remember? In the alley, when I took you?"
Michael closed his eyes, willing himself to wake from whatever insane dream this was. But when he didn't, all he could remember was the sound of his skin puncturing under his teeth.
"You bit me..."
"Aye, I bit you. And I gave you my blood in return. This makes you mine now, Michael. Your destiny is here, in England. With me."
"No," the boy spat. "I have a family in France! I have a life there -- a destiny there! With them! You can't just take me from all of that!"
"All of what?" The other's voice exploded through the air. "Your painting? Your idle, human daydreaming? I am giving you something much greater than that, boy; a chance to live forever! To become a king!" The man's booming voice made Michael tremble, but it was the only trace of fear about him as he stared back into those dark eyes.
"You... You and I, Michael... The world you knew before is not what it seemed. I am giving you a chance to become something more than a painter on the streets of Avalon."
A silence crept up between them. A chance to live forever. To become a king... But whose king, and why? Why him? "What if I don't want this?" The young man's voice was small and insignificant in that stone room. His question only made the man chuckle lightly:
"What's that, Babanel?" The curious eyes of the boy peered over his Maker's shoulder, eyes wide as saucers. The Elder chuckled and smiled under his dark beard, leaning back and patting the seat beside him on the floor. "Come, look." The slender leg's of the progeny curved and laced around each other as he sat beside him, happily staring. "Well? What is it?"
"It's your present."
"My present? For what?"
"It's your birthday tonight, Michael."
"It... It is?"
The older man nodded and wrapped his arm around Michael's shoulder, pulling him closer to allow him a better view. "It was a year ago today that I made you. Do you remember it?"
How could he not? That day would forever haunt his memories. The night that Michael was turned was as deeply ingrained into his mind as the memories of the blue sky, and the warmth of the sun. It was only a year ago, but he knew he'd never forget either of those for as long as he lived.
"Of course I do," he replied to Babanel with a small smile. Tucked under his Maker's arm the boy lingered over the memories of what happened that fateful night. He was just a painter then, nothing but a young man with big dreams. Nothing more than a simple, modest boy who wanted to sell his masterpiece and perhaps one day paint for the royals of France. He remembered the smells as he walked down the alley, how this strange scent of rust hung in the air as he gripped his art supplies tightly against his chest. How Babanel's voice was the last thing he heard, and the first thing as well when he finally opened his eyes as a Vampire. He remembered the sounds; his neck's skin making a mushy crunching sound as the old man bit into it. He remembered how afraid he was, and how at peace he was when he awoke.
"I'll never forget it, Michael. I had seen you out around Paris selling your paintings, and I knew the minute I laid my eyes on you that you were meant to be my child. We were made for one another, weren't we?" Michael nodded and smiled bigger at those words. He felt the same. He had never resented Babanel from taking away his mortal life. It was a gift he gave him, not a curse, and Michael accepted it as one.
Babanel pushed the gift towards him; an elaborate drawing Babanel had made using charcoals, of the two of them. "I'll never forget your eyes when you woke up here, and how at ease you looked..." The Elder's voice trailed off and Michael turned, looking at his eyes. He could see the red of tears forming around them and he playfully nudged the old man. "Why would you cry?!" The young man laughed innocently and leaned forward, staring down as he touched at the drawing.
Babanel's hand touched the back of Michael's head. His eyes took in the full view of his most beloved creature, his most prized possession. In that moment he knew he'd never have or make anything as precious as the young man sitting next to him. He was so proud, so in love and in awe. "I will never forget you, my boy." Michael looked over at Babanel and nodded. "Happy birthday." His Maker leaned in and kissed the top of the boy's forehead.
"Let's go see Mother Moon. She wants to give you a present as well."
~
"Babanel! Get up!" Michael scrambled to his Maker's side as the blood pooled around him. "Get up! They're going to come back!" He rocked his Elder, tugged and pushing over and over at his body and clothes, making ill attempts to wake him up.
A weak and battered Babanel opened his eyes and looked up at his boy. "Get... Get out of here." Michael shook his head fiercely at his Maker. "Are you completely mad?! You have to get up! We have to leave right now! They're going to burn this whole place down, Babanel! Come on!" Panic in the young man's eyes as he made the attempt to pick his Elder up, not knowing what to do.
He couldn't though. He simply wasn't strong enough to lift the weight of Babanel, and so the old man fell back onto his back. "Mich... Michael, go."
"No! Shut the fuck up! I'm getting you out of here!" He pulled at his Maker's arm before cutting into his wrist and offering the blood. "Hurry, drink!"
The smell of burning wood filled the young Vampire's nostrils, and the urgency set in a little more...
~
The Elder shifted around in his coffin as he slept, the smell of burning wood and fire filling his lungs. Michael's eyes fluttered open, curious if he was just dreaming the scent or not.
"Babanel...?" As his eyes focused, his senses coming alive again, he realized it wasn't a dream. The heat around his coffin felt like he was stuck in boiling water. Michael forced open the lid of the wooden coffin, only to be struck back with the harsh cloudiness of smoke filling the room.
"What the..!" Coughing violently in reaction to the black smoke filling his lungs, the Vampire scrambled out of his coffin and fell to the floor. He hurried back to his feet and found the closest window of the room, smashed it with his hands and quickly dove out, rolling to the grass below. He had decided to stay in a nearby hotel in Monir city, at least to keep close to De La Nuit before he would head back to Thirst to see Emery. Now he regretted the decisio, tenfold.
He ran off towards the woods, turning back when he was a considerably safe distance. Michael watched in horror as lava crept through the streets, burning the wooden structures all around Monir, catching almost everything on fire.
"Holy f-" The snapping of a branch above him made Michael jerk a few steps back, avoiding it as the large piece of wood broke off and fell. He turned around him, seeing that even the forest around the city was now aglow with flames. Coughing again as the thick smoke whirled through his lungs, Michael ran off as fast as he could.
He reached for Collette, for the Vampires he knew; Emery, Calvin... Making sure each of them were safe, and for the time being, they were. The Vampire slowed his pace to a stop somewhere up a hill, overlooking Monir. He watched, dumbfounded as the volcano in the distance blackened the night with ash, and Monir fell victim to it's force.
