Evolution

[Mircea]

Mircea gulped great lungfuls of air so filled with filth that it choked him. The noise deafened him until he could hear nothing but a mindless roar and when he opened his eyes it was only to find himself blinded by lights of a thousand colours. Surely the shadows were tormenting him, punishing him for thinking to gain strength from other wraiths such as he; the wandering spirits of the dead, but he had an advantage over those others held within the shadow’s embrace and prevented from passing on beyond this limbo between worlds and onto true death. He was a vampire. He had sustained his life – and now prevented his death – by stealing the essence, the very life force of others. Once upon a time it had been blood, the rush of bright, sweet, crimson life pouring over probing tongue and staining pale flesh that had extended his existence well beyond his mortal span. Now it was something different, something cleaner, something more pure. The very spirit of a person, keeping them tethered to the In Between, the shadows with their endless stretches of nothingness. Mircea had taken this essence, stolen what some would call a person’s very soul and had consumed it, strengthening the ties he had created to hold himself away from death’s embrace even after his body was so damaged as to be unable to contain him any longer.

They had come for him in waves and he had laughed in the face of their weapons. To think they believed themselves capable of his destruction! Did they not realise he was vampire, that he possessed the immortality these fools could only pray their gods would give them. Where had their all-powerful deities been when he had slain them? One after another with hands turned to claws and, as they had fallen, so he had brought them to rise again, calling the dead from where they lay, broken and defeated by his hand and he had turn them against their friends, their families, their allies. The dead and undead had killed the living over and over again until the vampire had to stand upon mounds of bodies, the fur of the form he had taken stained in blood and matted with more things besides. There was a pause in the fighting as the great beast roared and growled and the human cattle hesitated. Afraid, he could smell their fear even more clearly in this form. His head raised and eyes turned skywards as he bayed once more, the sound cut short when a human pierced his heart finally and all fell, zombie and vampire alike. His form changed once more before the light left his eyes and it was a man like any other who had fallen that night who lay naked and dead atop the bodies, but Mircea was not gone as the others were. No, precautions had been taken, spells laid and rituals performed away from the prying eyes of the humans and others of his own kind and now, surely, he found himself in the In Between as arranged, where he could neither see nor hear nor smell. He might as well have been dead but for the fact that he could think and act and feed and there were so many to feed from!

Mircea had chosen carefully where he was to die that night, if he was indeed to die and, just as rituals had been taken to protect himself should his body be destroyed, so too had they been performed to trap his enemies in this place when he slaughtered them, to keep them away from whatever paradise or torment they might have been destined for had it not been for his hand. No god or goddess would decide how worthy his foes were, only Mircea himself would allow them to pass or remain as he chose. His slaughter of the humans had left many in the In Between with him, waiting to either ascend to paradise or fall into oblivion as he allowed it. They wandered the shadows, sometimes alone and others in groups and he had taken from them whenever he could, whenever he came upon one, though some had tried to fight him, few even had strength enough to drain him of some of his own essence before they fled back into the nothingness. Twice perhaps he had come upon a wraith he recognised; a brush against the spirit’s essence and he had known it to be that of his childe, his Habren and though he had tried to remain with her, they had become separated in the darkness each time and he was left alone once more. His first meeting with his youngest childe had given him hope though, proving that the precautions they had taken for her survival had been at least largely successful and, if she was strong enough to maintain her existence in this place, she too would be able to return to the mortal world with him. Had their work for Amaranthia been as successful? He couldn’t be sure, for though he had taken steps to maintain her spirit in the hope that they could return her to life one day, he had not met with her in the shadows and hope had waned. Perhaps she was simply elsewhere, however, yet to travel so far from their home in France to this new world in the Americas.

How long had he existed like this? Long ago had he lost track, for in this place there existed neither sun nor moon to tell day from night and there were no trees or snowfall to discern when autumn turned to winter. He knew not whether he had waited millennia or merely a day, stealing death to maintain his own half-life and then… Then the shadows had parted and flung him from nothingness into… Into everything, overwhelming sensation he had long ago forgotten could exist.

This was surely his punishment; to be forced to see and hear and feel all that those he had taken from had ever seen or heard or felt all at once, but then he smelt it. Smelt something he knew those mortals he had taken could never have smelt and appreciated as he did. Life. Life existed here and then it was as if he could hear the blood that flowed swiftly through a thousand bodies, hot and alive he could feel their hearts beating as if they were held within his own skin. There was no life in the In Between. Only the dead and almost-dead, but nothing that shone with life like wherever this place was shone with it. This was life, the world as he had once known it, but not. The air was dirtier, polluted; the noise louder, less natural and the light… How could anybody see through such brightness? It felt as if he stared at the very sunrise that could have consumed him and yet he did not burn. There could not be such light in the night, surely and then he looked up and saw no stars in the sky, only inky blackness, incomplete. Not night and not day, then what?

Another In Between had met him and confused him for in this place he could see and hear and smell and feel. He had a form here, fingers he could move, fists he could close and a knowledge that he lay naked looking up at the strange sky above and when he turned his head there was nothing to provide shelter above or to the sides. The ground he lay upon was loose and cool beneath him, rough with stones and other things. Perhaps grass or woodland? Maybe this was a stepping stone on his return to life? Never before had he died, nor had he ever walked the fade as some others did and so he knew not what it was to make his back to the living world from that of shadows and darkness.

Then the screams began.

[Mircea]

The smell of blood and fear surrounded him, overwhelming as Mircea struggled to be still, keeping his eyes closed, his body unmoving as only the dead could manage. After a stunned silence noise rang out once more, panicked shouts in a familiar language, though it took a moment or two to recognise it for the English it was, although some of the words and phrases still seemed strange to the man. There were calls to ‘shut it down’ and some dull roar of background noise halted abruptly before further shouts that they had found a body. Male voices, few at first, but more and more joined the chorus until it became impossible for even the dead man to tell them apart.

Nobody touched him and the earth around him didn’t seem to shift; nobody approached, but the concern of those around him seemed to grow as there were now shouts to call the ‘cops’, whatever they were. More panicked questions followed: Who would bury a body in a church? Surely they knew it would be found once renovations began; it was too well preserved to be an old body. That almost made Mircea laugh out loud, one corner of his mouth twitching briefly in a smile before he could catch himself and hope that nobody had noticed amidst the madness of his discovery. If only these mortals had any idea of how well ‘preserved’ this body was, how long it had lived and how long it had lain quietly beneath the church, its very presence most likely poisoning the precious, consecrated ground until he had been unearthed.

Something about that did concern the man lying dead upon the earth. No priest or bishop would have allowed a being such as Mircea to be laid to rest within his church; they surely would have scattered his ashes to the four winds or tossed them in running waters as the legends had often told to do. Perhaps something had gone terribly wrong… Or wonderfully right with his preparations to preserve his life even in the event of his death.

What Mircea did not know, what he could not know, was that the church had been foolish. His body had not been destroyed or turned to dust when they had killed him all those years ago. Instead, his beastial form had been stripped away, leaving only a young, naked man behind, lying amongst piles of young, dead men, instead of the ravening monster they had hunted so passionately. He, like so many young men Mircea had called from their grave to fight at his side, had been assumed possessed by the vampires or even the devil himself and so his body had been laid to rest at the foot of the holy altar where evil could torment it no more. Had they burned it, perhaps it would have been harder still, even impossible for him to return without a vessel waiting to accept him, but who had ever heard of a vampire that did not turn to ash once destroyed? Certainly none who had survived Mircea’s death and so he could not have been a vampire at all, just an unfortunate mortal victim of their evils; indeed, many had recalled often seeing the man knelt in prayer in one place or another. He must have been a good man, an honourable man, a pious man even and it was little wonder the vampires had sought to corrupt and destroy him. He deserved a peaceful and safe rest, away from the evils of the world.

More noises joined shortly after, loud, sharp sounds that assaulted the senses and made the vampire cringe away from them, turning his head to one side… He knew someone would notice when they next looked upon him, but the predator still needed to hunt, to feed and there was a method to doing so that meant he needed to coax someone closer while he remained at peace, dead to the world around him until the humans drew close enough to inspect the change.

Eventually, the earth moved as he had known it would, dirt shifting and falling over his form as someone approached, muttering about how the dead guy had moved and that ‘this had better not be some stupid prank.’ Still Mircea waited, beginning to take small, shallow breaths, barely noticeable unless one was looking for. The approaching male reeked of stale sweat, alcohol and smoke, the stench of him letting Mircea know when he was close, leaning over the dead man and reaching out to check for a pulse. As soon as the mortal touched him, the vampire made his move, one hand wrapping tightly around the thick neck to cut off any shouts of panic that might give the other sheep chance to escape. A slow smirk curled the vampire’s lips upward at the sight of the thickset man in his brightly coloured coat... So afraid, his eyes widened when the bright halogen lamps that bathed the entire place in light enough to rival a mid-summer afternoon. The protective hard hat fell to the earth at the side of the two men with a small thud as Mircea forced him closer, drawing him in with the hand around his throat until the two were pressed chest to chest.

He sniffed, tasting the sweat and fear upon the man, petrified of this stranger, risen from the dead, but it wouldn’t last long... His fingers spasmed, tightening his hold on the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe to keep the screams at bay when he released his hold and replaced fingers with teeth, sinking his fangs harshly into the soft, heated flesh to feel that thundering pulse beneath his tongue, just begging for the release he gave it. It was a kindness, really, not to drag out this poor creature’s suffering, but he wasn’t killed quickly out of any kind of mercy from the vampire. No, that was simply a consequence of having his throat torn out so the blood would flow faster into his mouth, washing down over Mircea’s chest where he couldn’t drink quickly enough. Even the blood tasted stale, a sure sign that this man had not looked after himself as he should, that he had abused the life given to him and did not deserve to retain it when there were men like Mircea who would relish every moment he had in this third life. Once satisfied he had taken everything he could from this one, Mircea discarded the empty husk his meal had been contained in and rose, clothed only in the blood of his first meal in centuries, sharp eyes casting around the panicked scene before him, men screaming and beginning to run as they understood that something was very wrong, but could not begin to imagine how wrong it was about to be for them.

They began to try to run.

Mircea laughed.

He always enjoyed when prey ran and took off after them, moving with undead speed to cut off their escape as he moved from one to the next, tearing open one throat after another and drinking swiftly from each before moving to the next, ensuring none but he would leave this place alive. By the time it was over, the vampire’s skin was almost entirely died crimson, his hair slick with blood and the ground around him was littered with bodies, torn apart, but with far too little blood, considering the damage done to them; he had taken his fill, satisfied at last after endless hunger by the time he finally stepped through the old church’s door and into the city that had grown since he had last seen it. There was more machinery outside, between stone walls and metal fencing, but all was quiet when he slipped out of the open gate, sparing a glance at the sign attached to the security fence.

Coming soon: The Necropolis Nightclub

[Mircea]

Mircea wasn’t sure how long had passed since that first night and the massacre at the Necropolis building site. He didn’t know how long it took for his new life to finally become more than he could stand; they grey skies overhead, the constant city lights, loud, horseless carriages and narrow, endlessly busy streets everywhere. The vampire missed the stars overhead and quiet nights, wide open spaces to run or hunt or simply... Be. It seemed that everybody in this modern age was always doing something, never stopping, never resting, never simply enjoying the preciously short lifespan these mortals had. They always thought of themselves as immortal, that death would never quite catch up to them, but Mircea... Mircea knew better than any of them and their complacency infuriated him, but there was naught to be done about it.

And so, one night it simply became more than he could stand to watch as he stood in the shadow of one of the tallest buildings he had ever laid eyes upon and watched yet another pair of mortals arguing and virtually brawling in the street about, he presumed, a collision of their carriages. It was enough to tempt him to kill them all and have done with the lot of them, but not only would that seriously diminish the available food supply, it would expose their kind to danger once more and their numbers were not yet substantial enough to risk doing that. Instead, he turned his back on the fight, walking first and then, as the streets grew more deserted, breaking into a jog; he needed to move, to lose himself to the simple, repetitive motion of his body and so the jogging quickened to a run and then to a sprint and still faster he ran until he was all but a blur, near invisible to the naked eye and leaving a rush of air in his wake. It was a joyous feeling, to move so quickly, his body working to push him onwards, ever onwards, but he was looking ahead and the river was rapidly approaching, but Mircea didn’t want to stop, didn’t even want to slow down and turn off to find a safe crossing.

He kept going, the water getting closer and closer with every stride, every fraction of a second that past until he was barely a dozen long, loping strides away; then half dozen... Three... Two... One... On that last stride, Mircea planted his foot more firmly upon the ground, the strong, long-honed muscles in his thigh propelling him forward, the man with every intention to simply dive into the water and swim to the other side, but he kept going, watching the water rushing beneath him before he landed on the far bank, still running into the deep woods that pressed against the edges of the city, spoken of only in whispers amongst most of the city’s vampires, rife with rumours of creatures of myth and legend that hunted his kind, but Mircea didn’t care, he simply wanted to run and keep running until all his frustrations were left behind.

That was until he met with one of those very creatures, a giant white wolf emerging silently from between the trees, frost clinging to its fur and Mircea finally stumbled to a halt just a handful of strides away from the beast that had also stopped in its tracks to turn its attention to the vampire before it, naught but anger and hunger in its gaze. This creature of two legs had invaded its territory and now stood before it and Mircea knew that even at the peak of his powers he would have struggled to best such a magnificent beast; he couldn’t help but admire it though, built in every last detail to hunt and prey and devour that which crossed its path. He glanced around quickly, seeing no easy means of escape and having already decided he could not face the beast in combat and hope to win, Mircea turned to his last hope: Prayer. With a long, slow breath, the vampire kept his eyes upon the white creature, somehow still only half seen amidst trees of green and brown and cast in silver moonlight and, as he breathed out once more, his shoulders relaxing some small amount, he prayed silently:

’Protective Mother, I have strayed far from the safe path this night and ask that you guide me so I might return safely to those who wait for me this night.’

It was a short prayer, but he knew not what more to ask for as he stood for a moment more before easing between a pair of trees, feeling the wolf’s eyes following every movement as it readied itself to pounce. The movement was all the man needed, placing the thick trunk of an ancient tree between himself and the animal and allowing him to spy what had previously been obscured from his view. He would never fit into the hollow of the tree as it stood, but as he could neither outrun nor overpower the creature, he knew not what else to do. Crouching quietly and with little else to hope would see him survive this encounter, he looked to the dirt at the foot of the tree and then to his own two hands, the only tools currently at his disposal. Even as he watched, his hands changed, fingers elongating and his nails growing into claws.

A smile twisted his lips, but this alone was not yet blessing enough to see him safe; it would do him little good against the beast he knew to be listening for him, his only security so far being his lack of heart beat, the tree between them and the beast’s patience and security in knowing that it was the superior specimen between the two predators, but Mircea had no intention of fighting it and instead turned his attention once again to the small space between the tree roots and the soil around them, digging his hands swiftly into the earth and carving furrows in the ground that quickly grew, expanding the hole as he dug through the dirt. In less than a minute, the hole was large enough for Mircea to force his way in, reaching out at the last minute to draw the mound of soil he had created back in place behind him and he crouched there, waiting silently, listening for the beast to either come or move off.

It felt like hours before Mircea could safely dig himself back out of the hole he had made for himself, hesitating to sniff the air for nearby predators before he struggled his way back out into the fresh air, but, once free of his secure hiding place, the vampire wasted no time in retracing his steps through the wilderness to the city side of the river.

[Mircea]

Not long had passed since the encounter with the wolf in the woods that Mircea once again found himself frustrated by the place and time he found himself living in. Time and again he had discovered his pockets to be lighter and emptied of what little money he had. At first, the man had put it down to simple absent-mindedness and assumed the money dropped or misplaced, but so often had it occurred that the only reasonable explanation remaining was that somebody was taking it upon themselves to remove the modest sums from his person. The realisation angered the man enough that he began to pay particular attention to the contents of his pockets until, one night, he felt the hand that tried to slip away unnoticed with the small bundle of paper notes that made up his night’s income.

No sooner had he felt the shifting of his clothes than one large hand hand closed firmly upon the wrist of the would-be thief, jerking them closer even as the vampire pivoted to sling the villain into the wall behind him, his free hand wrapping around their throat. He paid little attention to the being in his grasp, noting only that they were male and smaller than he, but it had little bearing on anything; a thief was a thief and, whether man or woman, human or vampire, young or old, would be looked upon with the same level of distaste. A snarl rose in his throat, teeth bared at his captive while he tightened the grip upon their arm and easing that on their throat just enough that, were they human, he would not suffocate them in his frustration. For all he was angry at the violation of his person and possessions, it did not warrant murder by any stretch of the imagination.

“Do not ever place your hands in my pockets again,” he hissed, a feral smile twisting his lips as the thing in his grasp whimpered and tried to squirm against him. Oh, it felt good to exert himself this way, to establish his place as the predator at the top of the food chain. Again he squeezed his fingers, feeling the bones within the thief’s arm grinding together and dragging another pained sound from it as the pressure grew and grew, the muscles in his arm bunching to squeeze his fingers ever tighter. The eventual splintering of bones was audible, sounding off with a series of sickening cracks as the arm snapped in several places, the damage quite a surprise to both thief and attacker who hadn’t realised he any longer possessed the strength to do such a thing with his bare hands, but what was done was now done and, if the truth was told, Mircea found himself quite satisfied by the outcome; in another age and another place, the thief would have lost the hand altogether, not merely had the bones broken and the limb rendered useless for the duration of its healing time.

“I think we have reached an understanding,” he whispered, leaning down to breath the words in the whimpering, pathetic creature’s ear as he released the hold on both arm and throat, transferring his grip to the man’s shirt, dragging him away from the wall and tossing him, he intended, into the nearby pile of trash, piled up in the alleyway between buildings, but, once again, was surprised by the extent of his strength, no doubt increased by frustration and rage and the throw instead sent the thief flying over the pile and on down the alley to slam with a crunch against the wall at the very end, where they promptly slumped to the ground, unmoving, but still making small sounds of pain to confirm they remained living, if more seriously injured than was either anticipated or intended.

Still, it would likely get the message through more effectively than any police officer could manage and Mircea could only conclude that he had done as was necessary to remove a thief from the city’s streets, allowing him to relax a little once again where the little money he possessed was concerned. He may not have had great use for it himself, but all he had may be needed by one of his blood and Mircea simply could not abide by the thought of another taking from them for their own benefit.