Kylar Knight

Kylar Knight was afraid.

It was that emotion, that terror, that truly conquered his soul. It loomed over his mind, concealed as it melted to hide within the darkened shadows. It dwelled within his heart, intertwined with his heartstrings which it played with a soft and smooth tone. Residing within his very soul, it became more. Fear had never been just a grain of dust; it was a young tree, and its flowers were blossoming as it began to flourish within him. The roots had dug deep into the core of his heart as the tendrils wrapped around the tissue, and the branches grew outwards as the tree of fear stretched to ever corner inside of his body.

Kylar heard the unfortunate hum of power initiate, and the faded flicker which bounced off the fence of barbed wire behind him only justified his assumption that electricity had begun to surge through the steel. His eyes darted away, focusing on all that was in sight. The street on which he stood was rather narrow, and on either side it was lined with homes and other buildings, all of which were quite small. In various places other streets branched off the main street, buildings lining those as well. The buildings themselves were rather short, few having reached three stories in height, and all of them seemed to be painted drab colors like a dirty white, a pale gray, or a black similar to that of the night.

It was as if the city had been drained of most of its color.

Grass was scarce, and where it did grow within the city's limits, it seemed to be dying. Lost of its lush color, it had dried and the shade of what had once been an emerald green had dulled. The green had bled out, leaving only what seemed to be a somber gray with specks of a dying green. The leaves of the few trees which existed within the city had become just the same. Windows were abundant among the buildings, yet it seemed that dirt and ash stained the glass. The sky was not a shallow nor a deep blue, and it no longer blushed pink, red, or orange like it would at a usual rising or setting of the sun. It was just a sorrowful shade of gray which seemed to be carrying the same melancholy that the entire city itself radiated.

Presumably from the homes or perhaps a factory, the smoke which billowed in the air was the color of charcoal, and it seemed to be thick as it engulfed the sky in a shade just a touch darker than what it already was. It was seemingly a mist of obscurity, shrouding certain buildings in its enigmatic flow, and bringing darkness to what seemed was already bleak. In truth, this colorless city reminded Kylar of the man who had spoken to him and the others only moments before his release into the city. He had sported only a frown, eyes of hopeless misery, and he had spoken of a fight, of bloodshed between the seventeen who stood before him. Eight hours of spilled blood, pain, and screams beyond terror.

It had only truly just begun.

The souls of his shoes hit the pavement with each step Kylar took, the asphalt concrete making a somewhat grinding-like sound as it came into contact. The sound got louder as the beat's pace increased, and soon he found himself breaking into a rhythmic run. The ground felt like air underneath him, and he ran atop it with ease. The wind which blew back at him was gentle, swooshing strands of his hair in every direction to only make it messier than it already was. In the somewhat serenity within running through the dark city, he found peace. However, if it was with himself, the city, or something else, was still not clear.

After a while, he found himself slowing down. It wasn't because he was tired; in true honesty, he really wasn't having gotten used to simple exercise after the many hours he had spent working out alongside Blythe. It was more of the fact that he had only started running to calm himself and take his mind off the fact that there were others who were most likely hunting him. Once reaching that understanding with his mind, he knew he could take a moment to stop, to look around, and to think the next eight hours through.

The first scream belonged to a young woman.

It was a high-pitched sound that pierced the air, fear evidently laced in between the uneven tone. Kylar's eyes darted to the street just yards ahead, and without confirmation he knew that it had come from just around the corner. He should have run; he should have escaped before he was pulled into the mess. His curiosity overwhelmed him, and he found himself taking steps towards the street, but staying close enough to the house so he wouldn't be seen. Leaning forward to catch the view past the edge of the houses' corner, he let the scene seep into his mind where it imbedded itself permanently.

Soft blonde curls of hair danced in the air, the woman to which they belonged held in a headlock by another man. Her heels scraped the street, and her hands were clawing at the man's hands, but it certainly wasn't enough. Her eyes darted forward as they met Kylar's and he could only stare into the rather confident blue masked with fear. Her lips were parted, and he saw her throat move as another scream escaped her mouth. The man moved his hands in one fluid motion as he twisted the young woman's neck, her body falling to the ground limp. The fear was still frozen in the blue ice of her eyes.

The pain was overwhelming.

To see someone fall limp, die to the hand of another person right in front of you, was a crime beyond punishment. Murder was a serious thing, and to see it before him, Kylar found it unrealistic. But above all, it was scary. Of course he had been thrown into the city to kill, but he hadn't really thought it through. He truly hadn't even thought about taking a heart, a mind, a love, a life away. To see it happen before him, the steps to a perfect kill unfolding, was threatening. As he closed his eyes, letting the scene settle in his mind, he felt the wall to his wild side crack. It was much larger than the one before, and soon parts of it crumbled. Just a few edges, nothing severe, but with certainty it was known that it was on its way to destruction.

It wasn't just scary, it was also wrong. Maybe that's why when Kylar opened his eyes there was a fire inside of them. Perhaps that was the reason that drove him forward, running after the man who had just murdered a woman in cold blood. He didn't care if he himself was doing a sin, because truly he was ridding the world of an evil by going after this man. He would kill him; he would murder him for committing such a sin. As his thoughts raced as quick as his heart and feet, the wall to his courageous side crumbling as the sound echoed inside of his mind. The wall was breaking, and it wouldn't be long before it was completely destroyed.

He feared himself.

The peril pulsed from within, each beat of his own heart growing stronger with danger. The hunger that had seized his heart was so strong, and he was afraid of what that man's actions could do to him. How quickly they could bring out a side of him that he had kept hidden for years. The man may have been fast, but Kylar was quicker for sure. His time working out had paid off; he had always known it would have at some point.

With a final jump off the ground, using his height to his advantage, he tackled the man to bring both of them down to the dark-colored asphalt. He scraped his elbows, the street's concrete material digging into his skin, and the rocky surface of the road biting into his stomach, but the pain was dulled by his senses. His only focus was the man who had fallen to his side, claw marks from the woman he had just killed clearly visible on his wrists. The man's glare had come upon Kylar, as if intimidating him to say that he would bring him his wrath. He ignored the warning as he pulled himself to his feet. He raised one foot as he stepped closer to the man on the ground who was coughing. The foot which he brought down on the man's stomach held so much power within it.

The grimace which followed was somewhat satisfying.

He continued his attacks, kicking the man in the shoulder with a strong soccer kick. He stepped up onto the man's stomach, bending his knees down for a moment as he got ready to jump. Yet somehow, the man's hand found its way to his ankle, his fingers snaking around it as he pulled Kylar down to the ground. His knees and elbows took the hit, and he found them a bit wobbly as the uneven surface scraped the side of his face, a shallow cut on his cheek that brought droplets of blood to the surface. His eyes bounced back to the man who wore some sort of smirk. His eyes narrowed as he stood to his feet.

"You killed a woman who did absolutely nothing to you, so it's about time someone does that to you," Kylar said, disgust clearly laced between his words. He stepped forward, bring a punch to the man's stomach with pure power. It was really the same as the gym; there he used a punching bag, and here he used a man who had done wrong. As his fist connected with skin, contentment blossomed inside of him. The man coughed once more, blood spewing from his mouth. Kylar wasted no more time as he delivered another kick to the man's legs, and then a stronger one to the side of his chest.

The hunger was only intensifying.

Lifting up a foot to deliver the final blow, his eyes met the man's. Dark brown irises stared back, the mess of curly and silky brownish-black hair framing his face. The man was young, perhaps just a bit younger than Kylar, and if anything, he was reckless. But he had killed someone. That was truly all he needed, wasn't it? He couldn't be afraid; he was no coward. Looking away to the sky, he didn't let himself think anymore. He brought his shoe down to the man's face, the crack of a bone bringing him relief and maybe even some pride. He didn't bother to look down for the mess of blood; he knew it might make him regret his choices. Instead, he let his gaze linger on the gray of the sky, a small smile playing on his lips.

Kylar Knight was brave.

Calvin Popovich

NO ENTRY

August Sterling

  "August dear. It zis time for school, ya." The Siplor's German maid, Louisa, knocked on the young Sterling's door. The boy in the full size bed groaned from the headache he's had since the morning before.

"I'll be out it just a minute." August lied. Instead of rolling out of bed and getting ready for the day, he flung the covers off from over his head, and the rays of sun coming from between the blinds hit him. "Ahhhhh. Mavis, it burns, it burns." August stumbled over to where Mavis slept on the floor and tried to shake her awake, which caused the black belt to karate chop him in the throat.

"Don't ever wake me up before 7 o'clock." She turned over to the now bawling August, "What's wrong with you? I didn't hit you that hard."

"It burns. It stings and it burns." He mumbled under his breath just loud enough for Mavis to hear. He felt his skin crawling with heat, his skin flaking the longer the sun was on him. He rolled around on the floor, trying to find some shade, but to no prevail. Redness covered his body.

Mavis smirked and stifled a laugh. "This happens to every newly bitten vampire. The shock and pain should subside in a couple of days."

August stopped squirming just long enough to say, "But I wasn't bitten. I was poisoned!" August recalled the events of yesterday morning. The black kool-aid was one of Mavis's concoctions to turn him into a new-blood vampire. August finally stopped grinning and laid flat on his back. He sighed and finally sat up, pain still inflaming his now bright red skin. "You never did explain to me why I was turned. You just kinda... you know, did it."

Mavis sighed and pushed herself out of her sleeping bag. She wore nike shorts and a tank top, so she pulled a black fleece blanket off of the bed above her and wrapped it around her shoulder. "Alright, I'll tell you, but first, you have to turn off the AC." August stood up, walked over to the bell on the other side of his room and rung it. He pressed the button underneath the speaker and spoke. "Hey, uh, could you guys turn the AC down? Mav- I mean, I'm getting a bit cold up here." The second he realised the button, he felt the cold breeze disperse. As much as August loved the life he lived, the price he head to pay was defiantly not worth it. The maids and butlers were great, and everything at his every command was the life every kid wishes for, but August defiantly grew up to fast. He would have so much rather have his parents home and playing board games with him, like a normal suburban family in the movies would, but instead, Mr. and Mrs. Siplor were always gone during the week, leaving August to maintain things on his own. August snapped out of his own thoughts and walked back over to where Mavis was sitting, and squatted down.

"That's better. Now, sit down and shut up so I can tell you the story of how little vampire August came to be."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So this vampire guy named Gareth, who's in love with a girl named Caroline told you to do this?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like it's almost nothing, but it's much more confusing than that."

August was feeling more confused than ever. He didn't know what to think anymore. He just couldn't go back to his normal life, because there was no normal life to go back to. "So let me get this straight. You've been a vampire since you were born, because your parents were vampires." Mavis nodded, "And when this random girl named Caroline got sick, the 'ruler', I guess of the vampires told you to turn me? But why?"

Mavis rolled her eyes, but spoke, "That's not important right now. First things first, we really need you to get suited to your powers. The number one thing yo-"

Mavis was stopped short by aPING sound made by her watch, which made both of the vampires jump. Mavis glanced down at it and her eyes widened. "Shit, August. This is not good. This is defiantly not good." Mavis grabbed August hand, which sent sparks up his arm. She started to run out of the house as quickly as she could, pulling August along, but she was stopped by Louisa.

"And just where do you think you are going?"

"Louisa?" August stared at his maid, clearly puzzled, "You're not German?" Even though Mavis seemed like this was a rushed situation, August needed to slow down and ask this question. He'd grown up with her, and always felt comfortable with her, but now he felt violated.

"Of course I'm not German you dim wit. Do you know how long I had to keep up that stupid act?" Louisa smiled coldly, "I always knew that girl was up to no good," she said as she pushed Mavis's shoulder, "Now that I know she's a vampire, I can finally end the rein of this new-blood." Louisa opened her mouth to show a full mouth of sharp bat like teeth. Louisa hissed and lunged, but Mavis was faster, and flicked up her booted foot right into Louisa's face, the maid crumbling to the floor.

Mavis kicked her while August said, "Is she dead?" August wondered if killing was part of the every day life of a vampire, because it was defiantly not something August was up to. He felt a little squeamish, and resisted the urge to gag.

"She's not dead," Mavis said as she dropped down to feel the unconscious woman's pulse. "She's just passed out, for now. We need to hurry though." Mavis pulled open the huge front door and ran with such agility, August struggles to keep up.

"Wait, what are we running for? You know I don't exercise." August gasped and wheezed with every word.

"Come over here." Mavis walked around a corner, pulling August with her, and pressed a button on her watch. Instantly, they were transported into a new city.

The city smelled of blood and red coloured the sky.

"What is this place?" August turned around in a circle, trying to capture the full view. The city was ominous , but it almost begged for attention, almost like it was crying, 'Here I am. Look at me.' Without realising what he was doing, August walked forward a couple of steps, but was pulled back by a strong force. The city was almost

"This isn't right. Something is defiantly wrong here." Mavis turned around the corner of a building and came running straight back.

"The city seems fine to me. The structure of these buildings is remarkable." August stroked one side of the building closest to them, the rough edges of the brick stinging his burnt skin, but he didn't seem to mind. It was almost like he's was in a trance. Like nothing could hurt him in this city. He felt drawn to it, and he knew he needed to see what was in the heart of it.

"Calling all new-blood. All new-blood to the center of town." August raced to the center of town, following only the little whisper in the back of his head. Mavis called after him, but August was much quicker.

After a while, August came to a short stop, causing Mavis to tumble over him as she stopped behind him.
"Gosh dang it Mavis. Watch were you're going."

"Don't you dare ever speak to me that way again unless you want me to ba-" Mavis stopped short, and August was pretty sure he knew why. All around him, young men and woman were starting to form a circle around the podium in the center. From the center rose a man, very simply dressed, but August knew he was a very important head figure.

Mavis drew in a sharp breath and whispered ,"Gareth."

Suddenly, August put it all together. It was like he was seeing the world in a whole new light. "That's him? That's the guy wh-"

" You all have eight hours until the real battle begins. This shall be just a test."

"Mavis? Do you hear that?" He turned to her, but she just shrugged her shoulders. The voice at the back of his head continued to speak, but August was still confused. Was it only new-bloods that could hear Gareth?

"Let the battle of the new-blood commence. " A new voice came into August's head, this time, almost robotic.
5
4
Every one around him started to stir, but no one moved.
3
2
"Mavis?" He turned towards the girl, who now held two knifes I'm her hand, but August thought this might be a bad time to ask questions.
1
A large buzzer went off. Almost like a basketball game timer.
"August? RUN!" Mavis screamed at the top of her lungs and ran in the opposite direction of the town center. All around him, vampires, by the looks of it, were all fighting in battle.

"What is this?" August shouted, side stepping another couple in battle. One wielded a sword, while the other had nothing but their own hands to work with.

"It's called a bloodbath, and you need to stay alert." Come this way." The sound of Mavis's voice was almost drowned out by the sound of screams.

"Mavis? Where are you taking me?" Mavis turned around just in time to tell August,

"August, watch out." As soon as she pushed him to the ground, a young man with green and yellow hair, almost shaped like a pineapple, drew a sword. His clothes hung almost to much on him, making him look frumpy, and made it harder for him to wield his weapon.

Mavis was much quicker than the pineapple guy standing in front of them. She slashed at him with both of her knives, blood splattering on everything. Finally, with one final slice, pineapple man flopped down to the ground.

"WOAH! That was the sickest thing I've ever seen." August karate kick and slashed at the air," First you were like, WHAM and he was all like 'oh no. Don't kill me.' And then boom he was gone. That was better than D and D." August continued to kick at the air, until something behind him made him trip over himself and fall.

"Oh my gosh. August get up and stop being a dufus." August pushed himself up off the ground and turned around to see what he tripped on, but quickly wished he didn't. Below him was the body of a young middle twenties man, dressed in a long sleeved button down and an argyle pull over sweater. His glasses were cracked and smashed all around him, the frames stuck in... Well, August didn't want to look at the mangled body any longer. August felt his stomach growl, and he knew what was about to happen. He scanned around him and found a trash can. He ran over to it, but didn't make it. He felt like his insides were coming out, and he threw up all over the ground. The sound and smell made it worse, making his stomach empty out faster.

"Ugh." Mavis covered her nose as she walked over to the hurling boy, "Could you do that any quieter? We're trying not to attract any attention over here." August was finally done throwing up just in time, as he heard the sound of a battle cry behind him and Mavis. He wipes his mouth and turned around, facing two girls charging for them.
"Mavis, let's go!" August held her hand and ran further away from the city.

Rasheen Perpetua

The thing about Rasheen Perpetua is this: as much as he lives with restraint, he's also reckless.

-

Dawn is a beautiful thing in his mind: the way the oranges and pinks of sunlight mix with the blues and purples of sunset. They create shadows within each other, unfold and merge to make something grander than themselves. But this dawn in particular is magnificent in his eyes.

It begins coolly, icy air hitting his flesh as the wind roars. Had he been who he was before – mortal, a human – perhaps he might have gotten cold. But he's much more than that now, he's someone unordinary which doesn't require light for warmth. Yes, he's someone cold-blooded; the cold doesn't faze him.

Dawn continues to commence, colors and hues blending into great somethings. Somewhere, just below the earth's crust but not by much, there is a concrete room filled with metal and wooden decorations. Simple things, like a mahogany desk with steel chairs to accompany it. Other than these objects, and the people inside of them of course, the room is spotlessly bare, never to see the light and dark of day and night.

One of the two men inside the room is much more handsome that the other, and slightly older though his face seems timeless. He doesn't say much, just introduces himself as one of the Elders overseeing the way these newly-turned vampires handle themselves under pressure.

The other man, a young boy, really, hasn't changed much since his peril transformation. He likes the law – though he always protests against it – and he can't wait to get further instructions for whichever situation they put him in. Pressure breaks under him, and he'd like to prove it again.

Gareth, the timeless man, says, "Think of this as a...bloodbath of sorts," he takes a moment to laugh at his little joke, then he continues. "The city is on lockdown, meaning all established vampires and mortals alike are resting inside of their dwellings. They have our word that they will not be harmed; you are not to bring any danger to them. Understand?"

Rasheen nods. Of course he doesn't want to bring harm to these people, or anyone else actually. Still, he listens intently as Gareth resumes his speech, his eyes growing narrower, yet grander, as time continues to elapse.

"You and the New Blood – our name for the newly-turned vampires – will be released from various entrances, exactly like this one. Technically, there is only one rule to this game," he takes another deep breath, then looks straight into Rasheen's eyes. "And out there, it's kill or be killed. But you mustn't harm anyone else. All fighting will cease to exist within eight hours. However, this said fight will begin in five minutes." Another deep breath, a crease in his forehead. "If I were you – and thank the Elders I'm not – I'd get ready. Try not to die, again..."

And with that happy note, Elder Gareth leaves Rasheen alone, sitting helplessly on the steel chair that creaks with his weight. However, he doesn't sit for long. Because of his past as an activist, and creating plans with the kids he grew up, he's used to fabricating elaborate schemes to penetrate an area and an even larger ploy on how to escape. All too soon, he has a conclusion on what he's to do in the following eight hours: he hopes to lay low, to hide out for as long as he can, fight only if provoked, and, well...to stay alive

Or about as alive as a vampire can get, he jokes, laughing silently. And just because it's the path of least resistance, doesn't mean it's the wrong choice, he reminds himself, still jogging in place to warm up for his long-lived run.

When a few more moments of silent jogging pass, a long blaring beeeeeep rings throughout speakers in the room, and into the tiny hole of his aide. He hadn't even noticed the speakers earlier, and now it's too late to adjust his hearing aide to their amplitude. The ringing might continue echoing in the room, but he's positive the sound is vibrating only in his hearing aide.

He decides to twist the knob a few times to the left, but then realizes how vital they might come in later. Who's to say someone won't be stalking him? After that little thought, he dials them to the right, but not enough for the buzzing to grow louder.

A small set of stairs materialize from the wall on his right, and a vault on the ceiling slowly opens. Rasheen climbs up the steps eagerly, waiting to get the hell out of the room and into whichever nook of the city he can. The door, however, has other plans. It takes time – something he doesn't have – for it open and Rasheen restlessly edges it on, muscles straining.

He calls himself a hypocrite soon after. There he was, almost screaming at a door to hurry and open up, but here he is now, watching silently as the sky dies out. It's a beautiful sight, really. The warmness of the sun is still present, but not as much as the cool air. The same oranges and pinks intertwine with the same blues and purples. And it would become even more precious the more he could observe it, but he can't, seeing a bloodcurdling scream echoes off every wall, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Before he can get to running, as he had planned, he takes a moment to analyze just what is happening in front of him. The woman on the ground looks to be only a few years older than him, perhaps twenty-five or twenty-six. Her skin is very much like his own, tan and silky warm. And both her hair and eyes mimic his as well, all dark and edgy. She has smile creases around her eyes and lips, signifying that she's something of a jokester.

But none of those features and personality snippets matter any longer when there's blood running downward, all over her neck and clothes, dampening everything she once was.

Like the day, she too dies quickly.

"Holy shit," he mutters, possibly one of his classier moments. "Holy shit, holy shit!" As real as it is, he can't believe what just happened. Even as he watches the other female – probably about the same age as her victim, with dark golden skin, eyes a hazel color, and killer leather boots on her feet – finish her off, he cannot truly comprehend a thing.

And good thing it hasn't sunk in yet, or else there would be no room in his mind to process that a baring of fangs is a sign to move out or suffer the consequences. He doesn't need to be told twice, and like the mind-set boy he is, he returns to his plan, running for his life quite literally.

In only about five minutes, he gathers his bearings and becomes dead-set on finalizing his plan. He is to run for perhaps an hour or so, trying to get to the edge of the closed-off city but not exactly so, and after that he's to hide out in any place that seems obviously unobvious. Once in his location, he will move around every hour, to lose his scent just in case he's being followed. If he sticks to this, and nothing breaks his physical and mental strides, he should live until this petty little game, or bloodbath, is over.

I could have majored in, like...I don't know something that requires more inhibition than studying, he thinks, heart beating normally and sweat not dripping yet. Then again, I quite like environmental science. I love nature, and I love animals so much. Slowly, that thought reminds him how much of a devoted vegetarian he is.

His breath steadily becomes uneven as panic sets in. He hadn't thought about what his new diet is to include now that he's a vampire. Can he live off human food too, or simply blood? And if he can only intake blood, does it specifically have to be human or animal (not that he values one over the other, per se)?

Get over it, he chides, pacing himself at a slower rate to get his heart beat to lower down. When the time comes, the time will come. I'm not hungry now, nope. Not hungry at all.

He continues to run, his mind thinking of a teacup piglet he once wanted as a child.

The years on cross-country have served him well today, seeing as he's about three miles in and his breath hasn't hitched at all – save for that small moment of panic he had about thirty minutes ago. Rasheen begins to think that he could slow down again, if only for a moment or two. So far, no one has approached him, or has seemed to do so. Deciding to take a tiny break, his run turns into a jog, then into a speed-walk, then into his usual walking pace.

Without the thoughts of a constant keep going, don't stop, don't stop, keep going occupying every inch of his mind, his thoughts are finally allowed to wander as much they'd like. However, it's his eyes which wander and float around, unable to settle on a single thing he passes.

This is his city, but it isn't all at once.

He's used to seeing people (either as mortals or vampires, he wouldn't be able to differentiate anyway) strolling, a purse or backpack in hand. He's used to seeing people talking, quiet whispers over brunch or outrageous laughter over drinks. He's used to seeing people living, enjoying the sunlight with those they love or escaping into the moonlight with those they want. He isn't used to this...oddity, this eccentric feeling of something being very wrong, even farther and deeper than the level of vampires being real creatures.

He ignores it, however, knowing that the reason people aren't out is because of him and the others like him – dangerous creatures of the night, hunting each other down without real reason or an afterthought of remorse.

And if he felt anything more than this ignorance, it too is quickly shoved to the back of his head, where the things he no longer wants to think about are placed. Because right now, only one thing matters. This one thing being a shrill shriek of: "Please help me!"

His legs are going in the opposite direction before his mind even knows it. And all too soon, there is protest.

This could be a trap. Like, a legitimate, well thought-out trap meant to lure people just like me.

It isn't! I know it isn't.

Caught in a moment of panic, he actually stops at a red-light, even if there is no one but himself out around here. What's even more pathetic is that he actually looks both ways before crossing the street.

Okay, but...how do I know that, exactly?

There's a difference between someone pretending they're in danger, and someone actually fearing for their life. And this is one of those life-fearing situations.

His heartrate is slowly picking up, beating harder a few minutes into his sprint compared to his prolonged, three-mile jog.

Yeah, well. Did I think of the fact that any one of these vampires could be actors? No, I didn't.

This isn't fucking acting, and I need to get over it. Someone needs my help, and I'm coming. What if this person is defenseless?

There is a feeling of lead being pumped into his legs; they become heavier than they ever have, even during season.

What? A fresh vampire being weak compared to another one?

No, wait, yes. What if...what if the person isn't a vampire?

"Holy shit," he mutters, heartbeat pumping as fast as his heavy legs carry him.

Soon, he's dodging alleyways and overturning corners in order to find the source of the noise. It becomes a difficult feat, especially since his breaths become heavy and obscure any other sound. He almost wants to turn around, give up, and stick to his plan. But that's when he sees the person. Or rather, persons...

A young girl, or perhaps just small in stature, cowers down, eyes and face both glistening with tears. She's pressed against a brick wall of some building ­– my yogurt shop, he realizes – hands held out defensively but the rest of her body given up. She begs the man in front of her, her attacker, to let her go, tells him she isn't one of the New Blood.

But he doesn't care.

His charming smile becomes nastier with every smirk he gives her as he looks her up and down; his tannish skin becomes pale with disgust but darker with lust; his brown eyes glint with something more than blue – it's want, a horrid, selfish want.

"Please," the girl says, one of her final phrases before the man's hands begin roaming herbody, and in turn Rasheen's roam his.

Rasheen has the man, or boy, in a choke hold, an arm gripped tightly around his throat and the other restraining the man's head from trashing. He looks at the girl, a familiar one with green eyes like sage, and tells her to run home now, and stay inside.

He doesn't wait to make sure that she's gone before he has his own fun.

He releases the man, a handsome one at that, from his choke hold, and instead, with heavy legs, kicks him down to the floor. He jumps on top of him, sure the man would be able to throw him off if he simply placed a leg on his chest. Once atop, he pins the other man down, his knees digging into the man's shoulders. He turns his head from side to side, examining his handsome features.

Too bad he decided to be a little shit, he thinks.

"So, planning on raping any girls recently?" he asks. The answer is one he expects, so it's one he ignores.

With his fangs gingerly out, he taunts the man before his hands go directly to his throat instead. He rather enjoys the hitch of the man's breath as he realizes there will be no more air to come to him. It's funny, actually, despite the horridness. The man almost trashes a few times, but Rasheen slams his head down to keep him still – it's what he tried to do to the girl, after all.

He watches with delight as the man becomes like dawn, the rosiness of his cheeks becoming blue and purple without oxygen. It's a rather pretty sight, surprisingly – especially when thinks about the ugliness of the man beneath him.

But this dawn...this dawn is something else, something special. It's life changing!

With his victim more bruised than anything, he walks away, unharmed...

And after some time, he encounters someone else, still vital: a girl of about twenty, with golden blonde hair and blue, doe-like eyes. She doesn't know him, and he doesn't know her, but she edges him on with a single phrase.

"Bite me," she says, fangs glistening with blood – human or vampire remains, it hardly matters.

Thinking back on how he planned he wouldn't harm someone unless they physically provoked him first, he decides to trash it all. He listens to her instead, does as he's told. Perhaps she meant it in some sexual manner, some kinky foreplay, but bite her he does.

All too soon, he's simply finished, but she's forever done.

-

The thing about Rasheen Perpetua is this: as much as lives with recklessness, he's also restrained.

Bōluó "Pineapple" Wen

He was different.

He could feel it within him- a sudden change, a whisper in his ear that said he was not the same boy he had always been. It was a dark transformation, buzzing lightly inside his mind; a transformation that twisted his smile into a smirk, happiness into a deep rage.

Since that dreadful night when he'd scampered back to the dorm, finally free of his attackers, he'd felt a change within him- he stood taller. He pushed his feelings away. The things that had once mattered most to him held no significance.

The pineapples were- quite literally- thrown out the window.

And the boy who had once named himself after them didn't care. He'd forgotten love, forgotten what the pineapples had once symbolized in his mind, left behind with a corpse feared by the morals he'd once treasured. He'd lost his sense of right and wrong, grew to love the night and evade the sun, discovered there was nothing left of the innocent, lighthearted boy he had once been.

Who was he?

The smell of pineapple couldn't be wiped from his room, and when they came knocking on his door, he was more than happy to leave behind a life that no longer suited him. Instructions were relayed, and for a moment, he wondered what would happen if he refused, carved his own path away from what he had been told to achieve.

Pineapple had always been so submissive. Pineapple had always backed down from a superior, recognized when to step into his place. He hadn't had an ounce of rebellion, not even the tiniest spark that whispered he could make his own choices, disobey. He'd never taken action before. It simply wasn't in his genes, wasn't an option in his mind to speak out or act against those who countered him.

Whoever he was, he was not Pineapple.

He wandered the streets, searching. He would follow directions for the time being, for his craving had evolved from fruit to blood, and the promise of it was far too good a deal for him to turn down. It was a need- just as strong as that for food and water and sleep- essential to his survival. He'd thought he'd felt that before, when he'd cherished his pineapples so dearly. But it had been nothing compared to blood, little more than a want in the back of his mind compared to his new obsession.

It didn't leave him alone.

He had chosen to think about pineapples, allowed them to wander into his mind and build a habitat there where he could constantly access them. But he tried to push blood away, and he wasn't strong enough. It bounced back right to the center of his thoughts, a boomerang he never wanted to return.

It was unnatural, terrifying; he wasn't a fan. Yet there was no choice but to embrace it. He had no option other than to attack another person, follow the orders of someone he didn't have to be told was above him. He couldn't do anything but try to hold them down with all his might, ignore the spikes of pain as they fought back against his clutch. The craving for blood made him tear through a stranger's neck, sever their head from their body, and drink. Oh, how good it felt. More refreshing than pineapple had ever been, more satisfying than anything he'd ever experienced.

Yet it was still off. His hands were coated in red, and he stared at them as life fled from the body next to him. He was not Pineapple. Pineapple would never even dream of killing.

The blood had begun to dictate who he was. His body had once held Pineapple, but that boy was long gone.

And he wasn't sure what remained. 

Apollo Finn

I should have asked Kohl for a ride home.

That was the only thought running on repeat in my head as I was shoved out of a metal door and onto an unknown street. My feet lost their footing on the sidewalk however and I ate pavement. Spitting gravel out of my mouth, I ran my fingers over my opposite palm, which was now skinned light pink. It burned, feeling hot despite the cold air surrounding me. Embarrassment flared across my cheeks even though I was sure no one had seen.

The sensible part of me told me to stand back up and start moving, but I didn't. What was the point? Folding my arms on top of each other, I propped my head up and stared out at the darkened street. If I was being honest, it was horrifying. Terrifying too. The darkness on both sides of me threatening to close in even more., to leave me without my vision in an unfamiliar place.

I wanted to be out under the floodlights instead. Yelling at my friends to hustle and pass faster. Not having to worry if I got hurt, because there was always medical tape nearby and I knew it was all fun and games. This wasn't either of those though. My mind wasn't ready for what I had been told and I had been pushing it down ever since the information reached my ears.

Kill or be killed, that wasn't real. They couldn't be serious. They couldn't. I wanted it to be just an elaborate prank, but even that would've been too cruel. It was real. Whether or not I was ready to accept it, I could hear the little voice in the back of my head screaming that it was true, that I needed to move before I was killed.

Pushing myself into a sitting position, I looked around. The street I was on was empty and desolate, enough that I could hear the breeze when it blew through the street. Tall buildings of brick and metal stood across and behind me, but they were less impressive than I was used to. This town was smaller, more intimate. It didn't smell of smoke and sewage as I was used to but of pollen and dirt. The air was fresher here, free of the smell of my city but no less free of the smell of death. It was like an underlying plague, clinging to the surface of every building and every sidewalk. A man was murdered on that mailbox, a man attempted suicide by bus on a nearby street.

I was getting depressing. Raking my hands through my thick curls, I turned my eyes up to the skyline. It would be okay, I just had to believe it would be okay.

The sound of footsteps cut my train of though short, my back shooting up straight in attention. Frantically twisting around, I found a girl standing on a sidewalk a good half block away from me. Our eyes locked for a long moment, lingering. Hers were in confusion, mine I'm sure, in worry. The most I could make out from her outline was that she was wearing a dress. Seeing her wasn't comforting, but a girl at night was better than a full fledged, muscle bound guy trying to rip my head off.

I didn't normally assume the worst of people. I reran what I had just thought through my head and frowned. That was fear talking, worrying me, giving way to stereotypes and predictions. I was better than that, or at least I hoped I was.

Deciding to prove to myself that I hadn't changed, I stood up unstably and started walking towards the girl. It would be okay. Breath entered and exited my mouth shakily, but I tried not to let it bother me. When I was close enough to make her out properly, I forced a smile onto my lips.

She smiled back, rose red lipstick outlining a row of perfect teeth. Blonde hair fell in waves down and past her shoulders. Her dress was pretty and black, cinched up tight around her hips... among other places. The tone of her skin stood out on the street like the moon standing out against the sky and her big blues eye were soft and inviting.

God, she was absolutely dazzling.

"Why thank you," the young woman responded, her smile turning somewhat competitive.

Heat rose to my cheeks as I realized my mistake. "...I said that out loud didn't I?"

She nodded, a laugh escaping her lips that sounded as soft and delicate as a newborn kitten. "It's alright, I get it a lot."

There was a look in her eyes that didn't fit the rest of her demeanor. Sharp and focused like a tiger waiting to pounce on its prey. Biting my lip, I racked my brain on what else I could say. When I finally thought of something and opened my mouth however, I was interrupted. A third set of footsteps sounded to my left and we both turned. They were a heavier set, clearly belonging to someone bigger than either of us.

"Am I interrupting something?"

A man stepped out of the shadows of a nearby side street, his height reaching six feet, his eyes darkened. Dark brown hair swept just above his eyes in a messy fashion, his body slender. Wiping something red from his cheek, he grinned. Worry flared in my gut, my eyes unfortunately falling upon the sharp canines that rested with the rest of his teeth.

If I had been anxious to approach the woman I was now standing next to, then this stranger was shooting my nerves to pieces. Yet what happened next was even more unexpected.

"Not at all," the response came from the blonde haired girl next to me, her own mouth opening to reveal pointed fangs.

Before I could quite grasp what was happening, she lunged. I stumbled back as the stranger was thrown to the ground, his shirt being shredded in the process. My feet rooted to the ground as I watched. Was I supposed to pick a side here? And if so, who was I supposed to help?

Thankfully, my choice was made for me by my gut. Well, to be more accurate, it was made by my gag reflex churning my gut like it was attempting to make butter. The moment blood started to leak from his neck I hightailed it into the nearest alley. My vision still continued to swim for a moment or so afterwards and I had to blink a few times to get the brick wall I was leaning against back in focus. Wherever my squeamishness with blood came from, it was already beginning to be a problem. So much as a glance made my knees weak and my brain fuzzy, yet I wasn't sure why.

A scream sounded from the street and I stiffened. Deciding to risk it, I peered out from behind the alley wall. Shadowed claws and teeth fought in a flurry until one slowly began to weaken. One of the strangers threw the other to the ground and I was forced to look away as a gurgling half scream was let out and the stranger's throat destroyed. I swallowed hard, my hand finding my own throat and covering it self consciously.

That's when the smell hit me.

Coppery, like opening a large jar of change when you went to the bank. Sweet like honey and as strong as tea that had been steeping for over an hour. It was rich too, the aroma making me want to gulp in each breath of air faster.

But the smell was of blood. I knew that to be true and yet my body still cried out against me. Hungry and pleading, my teeth raked against my rough lips in a battle as I tried to contain whatever beast was fighting me from the inside. Covering my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my letterman jacket, I took in the scent of sweat and fresh grass. My heart slowed, the saliva in my mouth swallowed and gone. I wasn't some fiction monster, I had overreacted was all. Or at least that's what I tried to tell myself.

"I'm surprised you left your friend for dead back there so easily."

For the second time that day, the same stranger had made me jump out of my skin. He stood only a few feet from me, that same grin on his face, only now the tips of his teeth were covered in crimson. Slowly, I swung my arm back to my side, feeling that any sudden movement would give him the go ahead to attack. Unsure what part of his accusatory statement to reply to first, I went with the easiest.

"She's not my friend," I corrected quietly. My gut twisted a little saying it, but I wasn't up for throwing myself under the bus.

Rolling his muddy blue eyes, the man's smile inches wider. "It's an expression shortie."

My cheeks felt warm and I let out a small "Oh" of realization.

"Listen, what do you say we cut right to the chase?" He offered, causing my heart to sink in my chest.

"W-what do you mean?" I asked lamely as I tried to stall him.

He frowned, the expression on his face switching from one of amusement to annoyance. "Y'know, fighting," he paused and pointed to a pair of puncture marks on his neck, the area around it scratched up and raw. "That other bitch already gave me this by catching me by surprise. Let's make this fair."

If this match was fair then I would be dead within the first ten seconds, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I lied.

"I'm human!" The words flew from my mouth faster than I could register them, my only idea to save my skin.

Giving me a skeptical look, the man took a step forward at the same time I took one back. I held up my hands in front of me at the same time.

"I-I'm human, really. That means you can't kill me." The rules of this sick event came back to me without warning, fueling the lie I was spinning.

I had been told them by an older man, his eyes had been depressed, his expression melancholy. Back then I thought he was crazy, my mind not bothering to hold onto what he was telling me. Now it all seemed a little less insane. Although I guess anything did when you had just seen someone rip another person's throat out.

Tugging me from my thoughts, the stranger spoke up again.

"If you're human, then how do you know that?" He inquired, his arms folded dubiously across his chest.

"B-because that's what we were talking about. Me and the lady, I- I know because she was telling me." I was a bad liar. My voice always managed to stutter and my cheeks to grow flush. He seemed to take it as nerves though and for that I was grateful.

There was a long pause as he mulled this over. I wished he would hurry up however, because the smell of blood was beginning to get to me again. If I could just last a little longer, then maybe he would buy my lie and he would leave. Unfortunately, he was still one step ahead of me.

"Then go inside."

"What?"

"If you're really human, then just walk into a building and I'll believe you."

The color drained from my face. The older man's voice, who I believe was named Kors, came back to me again. "It's fairly simple, just remember that you have to stay out on the streets 'til six." It sure as hell wasn't six yet.

Swallowing my worry, I met the stranger's gaze which were trying to pierce right through me. "I can't."

"Why not?" Mild amusement seeped into his voice and I could tell he was toying with me.

"Well w-we're not near my house."

He scoffed, "There's a door right there, if you step in for even a second then I'll believe you. If you can't do it, then you admit your a vamp."

My lungs begged me to scream, my stomach begged me to give in to the beast and my brain begged me to run. Despite all of it, all I could hear was my heart, begging me to prove him wrong. To prove to myself that I wasn't a vampire, wasn't a monster. Yet I wasn't able to. Collapsing to the ground, I gave in. There was no way I would get past him. Once again I was trapped in an alley with no way out, a stranger blocking my path, deciding my death for me.

"That's what I thought."

Footsteps rang in my ears as loud as my own heartbeat. Just end it. I saw the tips of black converse peak into my vision as a cold hand wrapped around my neck. Finish it. My head was forced to side, leaving my neck more exposed than before, the feeling of breath hot and moist against my skin. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took in one last shaky breath.

It was a mistake.

Flesh tore between my teeth, the scream loud enough to shatter my eardrums. I didn't stop. Warm, thick liquid coursed down my throat. Heavenly and tasting like metal, it filled my mouth and dripped down my chin, soaking my clothes. Claws scraped my arms and my sides but I still bit deeper. Only when I was met with bone did I pull away, the aroma still pungent in the air.

Opening my eyes sent a wave of horror and dizziness in my direction. I pushed myself away, scrambling to not be near the dead body. The eyes glossy, the skin still warm yet paler than I had ever seen. Drained of it's blood, the neck torn to tatters. My stomach urged me to vomit from the sight, but in the back of my brain I was getting a different message.

Find another, the words were quiet yet persuasive in my ear. You can feast, it whispered, my mouth filling with saliva at the thought of tasting blood again. Sweet and rich against my tongue and oh so satisfying.

That thought sent me over the edge and I heaved. Scooting back from the pile of red vomit, I let a shudder pass through my skin. Without meaning to, I pushed myself up to a standing position. There was no way I was wasting another second in this alley. My feet lead me outside, practically tripping over each other in the process. As I walked I pulled my jacket closer, it was getting colder out.

Wiping the taste of bile from my tongue, my fingers stumbled upon something sharp in my mouth. When I realized what they were, I yanked my hand back. Fangs. Small and sharp, they managed to rest just outside my mouth on my lower lip. I didn't know how to get rid of them, but I wanted to more than anything. They were a reminder of what I had just done, of what I had gotten myself into.

Pulling my phone out, I stared at my reflection. Two pinpricks of white stood out, but it was even worse. Every part of me below my nose was red. It wasn't as bad seeing it through my camera, but my knees buckled nonetheless. I sat down on the curb of a street a few blocks away from where I had been released, my head spinning like a top. As I closed the app and slide my phone back into my pocket, I caught the time.

10:59 pm. I had seven hours to go. Hugging my knees to my chest, I hid my head as the tears began to fall. Blurrily I watched as one droplet of water hit the pavement after the other. They left large streaks down my face through the blood, which only made me sob harder. I was pathetic. Smearing the tears across my face, I hoped they could clean off the evidence of what I had done.

Maybe, if I waited here, I would make it through the night.

Maybe no one would know what I had done.

Maybe it would be okay.

Maybe... maybe maybe wasn't strong enough.

Eugene Macmillan

I was a hunter.

The city was eerily quiet tonight. The brick houses and apartment buildings were all void of light – their curtains drawn and doors locked shut. It was as though they knew what had happened. My feet tapped on the tar of the road as I wandered down in nothing but my usual plain t-shirt and trademark denim jeans and army boots. I had only changed to get the blood off my shirt and after researching all day on the internet I was ready to take on anyone.

Well not 'take on'; it was more like I couldn't sleep. I wasn't sure vampires could sleep. That wasn't on the website and I couldn't particularly be bothered to keep typing into Google especially since I had completed a record twenty-four hour session. Plus I could roam the streets like I was a true night hunter. I didn't have to be scared of crazy druggos who turned out to be vampires.

I was tempted to go up to my parent's house and show them how strong I was – maybe gloat to them on what they were missing out on but they didn't deserve me anyway. I could scare them both night along and have them running into Church like a bunch of frightened children. They'd lose their jobs and have to learn how to live like normal people did – just like I did.

However, the temptation of owning the city was far too much. I wasn't sure how many other people had been caught by the mysterious druggo – I didn't particularly care. I could work as a hitman or keep better jobs with my heightened senses and bring in all the money so I could finally move out of my box-like apartment and stop stealing my neighbours Wi-Fi.

The trees began to sway, throwing shadows on the street but I was surprised to barely feel the breeze. It ruffled my hair slightly and I hardly saw the letter that blew by. I ran forward with ease and snatched it from the wind. I didn't know why I grabbed it – it could have been for anyone but years of bar working had made me curious. Besides, I had a feeling it was for me – stupid as that sounds.

I let the envelope float away with the final gust as I read the words etched onto the paper.

New-Blood,

They say the first night is the hardest, and tonight that will be a true test for you. There are more like you – freshly turned and waiting around the street with hunger boarding at their sense. I find the nocturnal life to be far more exciting than a diurnal one. The natural world only has one rule: killed or be killed. Impress me.

It wasn't signed but that didn't deter me – nor did the word diurnal but I assumed it meant something opposite of night time. But, although it did seem real, having some say new-blood made this seem less like a joke and more real. It made a weird feeling churn in my stomach – both good and bad at the same time. I now knew I wanted this to be real – to feel like I had a purpose and to be better than my parents thought I would turn out.

There were others out there too. I tentatively sniffed the air feeling more like a dog than a vampire but I thought maybe I could pick up a scent. All I smelt was the vague aroma of freshly bloomed flowers of the spring air mixed in with the light scent of pollution from the factories on the outskirts.

I thought of tearing the piece of paper up but something made me tuck it into the pocket of my jeans – maybe as a sentiment but I hoped it wasn't. My shadow elongated as I passed a streetlight and walked further down the street. It felt refreshing to be able to do something different. I'd normally be at the bar but I the minor dispute between the garbage meant he had taken me off the roster for two nights – like I couldn't live with a hundred dollars. Without my stupid boss I wouldn't be a vampire – something that nerds truly feared and loved and something that made me different and special.

I dismissed those thoughts immediately because it sounded like I was actually becoming all mushy and I'd be damned if I was going to lose my manliness when I had just become a vampire. That wasn't supposed to happen.

I wondered what Jane would think of all this. I wondered if I could tell anyone – would the person who wrote that letter allow me. He had said others so maybe I should be looking for them.

I picked up my pace and began to jog with ease – it was at the pace running almost. Had I been in college, I would have been a star athlete. I was eager to find someone like me and, sure enough, as I took a turn onto West Street where the lights seemed slightly darker, there were three figures at the end. Two were at one side while the singular one appeared to be walking away. The houses seemed more enclosed as I walked silently towards the figures. The green, bushy hedges rustled slightly as an animal shifted beneath the broad leaves. It growled as I moved passed and I hissed back with a snake-like sound and the animal silenced itself. Although I was eager to meet more vampires – I had a feeling that they all were what were called 'new-bloods' – something about the situation was off-putting. However, I was hardly one to think and I went into action like I always did.

I began to move faster with agility that I had never been blessed with before. Voices drifted through the still air and I could decipher between each person now. Two feminine voices, accompanied by another male, and judging from the tones I could predict the fight that was about to come. They were the sort of voices that the drunks used just before they threw a punch. I normally wouldn't have cared – maybe I would have joined in the fight – but one voice stopped me.

"Just rack off!" she said in a firm tone as she moved further away, "Harassment is a crime, idiots!"

Jane.

I almost said her name out loud. She shouldn't be outside – normally she would be in the bar by now. I felt my fangs lengthen into my lip as the pair drew closer to her. Jane was the only person I felt protective about – no one could hurt her. I remember her first bar fight – she didn't know I put the washing liquid behind the other girl to make her slip and Jane would never know because she always seemed so happy that she had won. I wasn't nice to anyone – only Jane.

"The note said it was a lock-down, bitch, no one is going to help you," the other girl's voice was laced with venom – a typical girl who thought she owned the world, I was unfortunately quite familiar with them. She knew she was pretty, I could see the blonde curls shining even in the night, "No friends means you're a loser and a loser dies,"

The blonde girl seemed as though she has taken to the vampire life already. I could barely resist the opprtunity to add into the conversation.

"Your definition of loser must be terribly wrong, then," I stepped out of the shadows of the hedge and noticed the jump as I came out. She wasn't expecting anyone else.

She lunged at me anyway like she was a ferocious cat. I'll admit that, for a girl, she packed a lot of power. I stumbled backwards as I flipped her over until she was on the bottom. She struggled underneath my body but she didn't know that I worked at a bar - I supposed that crappy pay was worth it.

"Did you want to be on top for this?" I smirked, leaning down closer the her face.

Part of me wanted to rip her body apart - literally, not sexually - and I could barely hold back the urge. She still had blood in her system.

Someone yelled in a cry of war behind us.

But all I could focus on was her neck. Her lips moved without words as I leant in closer feeling my fangs lengthen naturally. I wasn't sure if this worked on other vampires but before I even knew what I was doing my felt blood in my mouth. She growled and eventually began to stop struggling. I could feel this amazing buzz like I had just had the right amount of alcohol. Her skin was cold as I pulled away and I felt my hands go to her head and twisted it to the side with a sickening crack.

Behind me was silent. Too silent - call it cliche.

I quickly stood up to see Jane walking away. The other vampire who had been with us was gone, I assumed she scared him away and then ran as soon as she saw what I was doing. I couldn't resist the temptation of trying blood.

"The bar isn't open without me!" I shouted in the quiet street and her slim figure stopped. I knew she wouldn't walk away. I ran to catch up because I had a slight feeling she wouldn't stay around for long.

"What made you think I was going there?"

"You like a drink after something stressful," I shrugged, "You are a creature of habit,"

"And one of the night, apparently," she sighed.

"You don't like this?" I asked, confused. The chance to become powerful and she didn't want it. Jane must have been crazy.

"I just want to wake up or say I'm in one of your drunken dreams," her eyes met mine, they were glimmering in the dark. They weren't teasing or even remotely happy but I didn't have a clue how to handle that.

"My drunken dreams don't normally begin in a street," I smirked, "They start in-"

"Do I want to know?" she groaned and I saw the smile on her lips. Something kept the frown there though.

"About my sexual affairs? Probably, you are a bit weird like that,"

"Am not!"

"Are too! No arguments!" I poked my tongue out and I knew she was forgetting about all this. But part of me knew it was in the back of her mind. So I didn't leave the street and I didn't let her walk down it alone. Jane might not like this life but maybe she would learn and I wasn't going to let her do that by herself.

We were the hunters.

Liberato Di lorio

He felt something cold yet comforting slip over his body, the man had never felt anything like this before. Usually the cold was bitter and angry, chilling his bones until his whole body quaked and shivered. But this was soft, sweet and Liberato arched his whole body into the sensation.

Opening his eyes, he expected the reality of what had happened to crash down and ruin the bliss he was feeling. The knowledge of what happened was stark in the man's mind still, he knew what had happened and he was okay with it. It wasn't the first time this had happened and it wasn't the first. All he hoped that his consumer had paid him as he said he would.

The pain still hadn't come and Liberato looked down at his broken body to see if his body was paralysed and numbed by some horrific injury. Metallic and strong was the scent of blood which rose up into his nostrils and the man became aware of the pressure in his upper gums. But still the pain did not appear.

Maybe he was drugged, his body certainly felt like it was on a high, pain did not register and the feeling like he could do anything was present and so unfamiliar. The sun seemed so bright in this alleyway which seemed so dark only a few hours ago. The stench which very had bothered him before rose up so that his throat clenched and he gagged, tasting the bile in his mouth.

Everything was so wrong, and as Liberato tried to roll over onto his sides he saw the body of his employer from that morning. The man's body was ripped to shreds, his head was separated from his body, the flesh still red and wet with blood. This was not the worst part, the worst part was that as Liberato got to his knees he felt the urge to leap forward and gulp down the liquid which was still dripping ever so slowly out of the man's body and lap up the puddles of the plasma which covered the ground.

And somehow Liberato knew that the dead man was to blame, how he knew this really did not matter. What mattered was that Liberato was covered in the blood of a dead man who just had been murdered.

If the police caught him, he would be arrested and jailed without any other word to the public because of who he was. No one would believe him. He whispered out a curse toward the dead man and made up his mind. He would have to vanish, Liberato Di lorio, the well-known whore of that part of the city had to die, and a new counterpart had to take his place.

Little did he know how the venom had already killed the weakling known as Di lorio, it had destroyed everything and then built a new man from scratch. A new man without a heartbeat, a new man who could take over the world.

He ran, he staggered to his feet and after standing there swaying for a moment he ran. Liberato hadn't run for months now, his legs had been too weak to hold him up. But here he was, sprinting and twisting through the alleyways as if he was an athlete who was born to run.

Doorways beckoned him in, all haunts where he used to linger to lick his wounds. But others could often come to those shelters and Liberato needed to perish, everything which he once knew was gone and he could never, ever stop again.

Flashes of the blue sky and clean sunlight danced over him as he felt the warmth from those rays as if he had never stepped outside before. Some things was pure, and Liberato could smell the clean scents mixed with the rotten stenches of the city.

But then once scent which was so much more stronger than anything he had ever picked up before. It was metallic and tangy, the perfect mix of spice and sweetness. Liberato's footsteps shuddered to a halt and he turned to face the pale orange door.

He wondered what was behind them, and he could see the light through a crack. Everything inside him was screaming to enter and his hand trembling reach out to open to door.

The handle was snatched away from him as the door swung in on its self a revealed a girl standing in the doorway.

Her smile was so bright Liberato was almost blinded by it, but her eyes held a glint to them which made the man wary of being in her presence. Acting was a steady occupation for this newly turned, and Liberato could spot an actor when he saw one.

They halted only a few steps away from each other, each taking in the others features. Liberato saw the scorn in her pose as she took in his thin, ugly form and he knew she saw his admiration for her curves and beautiful face. He looked like that once, so fierce and bold but the world had dug its claws into him and he hadn't survived.

Stark white walls stood behind her, but the boy flashed his newly acquired enhanced vision into the corners and saw tiny flecks of blood. Liberato couldn't help but slime to himself, he knew he hadn't been wrong. For someone whose senses had been dulled for so long, these new abilities had come with a rush and everything around him was so overwhelming. He could smell her perfume; he could even scent the blood which still clung under her short fingernails. Before his eyes flashed away he noticed that the pinkie of her right hand was so chewed down, her own blood has been torn out.

Liberato didn't know her name, and he wasn't going to ask for it. Names were not needed, and once given they held a certain personal level to a conversation which he did not want to have. So he kept the silence and waited for the girl to do something. She smiled once again, but the man still did not return it. Therefore the mask on the female's face soured a little as she started to move around him.

He let her go, although the pressure on his gums tingled and grew once more. Liberato's left hand was clenched in his coat's pocket and he could feel the fingernails digging little crescent moon shapes into the flesh. A little more force and the skin would break, and he did not want that happening. The pressure to eat was already almost overpowering.

Vampire...

The word cleaved his tongue to the roof of his mouth, taking it hard to talk and even breath. But then he didn't need to breathe anymore as he was dead. Finally death had taken him but once again fate had cruelly worked her magic and made it so that his life would go on.

How he knew it was so, the man couldn't work out. But something inside him was calmly telling him it was so, and Liberato believed it.

Still hungry, although for something which Liberato still would not speak of and he could do nothing to take this hunger away. The man couldn't sleep to forget, he couldn't get drunk, the venom which now took the place of his own blood saw to that. Except for the fact of how he could now see, hear and smell so much better, Liberato would have called this worse than death.

The world he had been living in was already hell, so to die and just go to another one was worse and so much more bitter.

He wondered what the girl had been doing in the back room, he also wondered what she would think if he had let what was inside him down and out of the cage.

But then he turned the corner to fully enter the room, then he saw the corpse and heard the soft growl behind him. Liberato turned just in time to see the girl jump toward him with an outstretched hand. Silver glinted in the dull light and the man only had a split second to dodge the knife and hit it out of her hands.

Luck was on his side, and the steel metal clattered onto the floor as the two went tumbling back in a brutal embrace.

The fight was long and if he had not been turned Liberato would have been killed in the first few moments of the battle. For the very first move which the girl tried on him was flipping him onto his stomach as she tried to break his spinal cord. He counted it by rolling to one side, knocking the other newly turned the opposite way.

Only for a split moment was there stillness until they launched at each other again and Liberato felt the pressure roll over him again and this time he did not resist.

His fangs flashed downward for the very first time, and the man felt the surge of power and the joy which companied it was so strong Liberato almost moaned out loud in relief.

The only reaction he got from the girl was a hiss and the sharp click sound which accompanied the realisation that he was facing on of his own kind...and it was a battle to the death.

Together they tumbled over the floor, hands held onto to wrists and legs wrapped around bodies. If one had looked in at this moment, they could have easily mistaken it for something entirely different from the fight it was.

He felt the bite of teeth on his arm, she felt the bruising kick on his leg in her lower gut. Liberato didn't know how to fight, but he knew how to survive. He took blows in that fight which had have caused an ordinary man to collapse and fall, he took cuts which would cause a vampire defeat. But he held onto his grip, and he did not let go.

If Liberato bided his time, the girl would move and her back would break.

The sickening crack which sounded so loud in the empty room made the man wince, but it ripped a shout of agony from the girl who was now underneath him. He grinned, the fangs almost catching on his bottom lip and he looked down into the fearful eyes of the girl underneath him.

Gone was the actress which a confident smirk and swaying body, and in its place was a terrified girl who didn't know how to handle the monsters inside her. Liberato knew how to handle those monsters, they had been sleeping beside him since he was only a child.

So he didn't let his fangs click up, instead, he ran his tongue over them and then sunk his head into the girl's neck. If he thought hard enough, he could almost taste the pain and horror lacing her blood a tangy, almost spicy flavour.

Slowly Liberato rolled over onto his side, his eyes fastened shut and his belly full of what he needed. His mouth lay open and he pulled the air he didn't need into his lungs as a habit from when he was human forced him to do so. Utterly satisfied and lying in the blood of his conquered Liberato felt utter peace for the first time in what seemed to be forever. And he basked in the glory of his first kill.

The world still progressed outside, unaware of how Liberato now whispered out a blessing to the very monsters which he had cursed only a few hours ago.

Yu JiaMing "James"

​Life and death go hand in hand. Neither discriminate against people, choosing instead to rip everyone to pieces. That isn't to say that either are fair, though. Everyone knows that life, for one, isn't.

But if life is so unfair, why not just welcome death? Many try and succeed.

And how about those that don't? What about when you just can't have death? You want what you can't have, and eventually, you want death for the sole reason of wanting it.

James longed for death for years. In his systematic mind, everything was planned perfectly. But perfect planning doesn't always lead to perfect results. The timing was ruined. Is it even worth doing anymore, if he can't do it perfectly?

His family. They would think that it was done perfectly. They would look for him. They would find his farewell letters. Jasmine would be confused that her brother's true intentions took him a step further than just running away. She would join the search, questioning herself. Why bother to search at all, if he's already dead? But he might not be, and that flicker of hope keeps everyone looking.

But no matter how far they search, they won't find a body. And the lack of a body, of evidence, would keep that flicker of hope burning. Things would continue to feed the small flame. He had taken his gifts with him. There was no trace of blood except for a single stain on the playground slide.

And as the flames grew, so did the stories. But the truth was one that didn't come up in any tale, for the town was afraid. If James didn't die, that left running away and being kidnapped. Leaving at around 3 AM, never being found again?

Of course, the superstitious town's unsaid thoughts would drift to evil and magical beings, like witches, werewolves, and vampires.

~~~

Far away, James muttered to himself, "Kill or be killed."

That phrase stuck with him, the last thing that the female vampire had said to him before disappearing and leaving him with a pocket watch. Now what? Kill or be killed? His own plan of killing himself had been ruined, so why not let someone else do it for him? Sounded like a nice deal. Got him out of the sin of suicide and brought him to the same end result.

James checks his watch. It had been an hour, twelve minutes, and thirty-seven seconds since he had been left alone in this city.

~~~

Whistling a carefree tune, James ambled around the city, completely out of place with the tense atmosphere. What did he have to fear? According to the directions that some guy gave him, all he had to do was die. Sounds simple enough, right?

But it's not a perfect death anymore. He didn't want to die an unplanned death. James wanted to die by his own hand at the exact second of something special. His 18th birthday was special enough, but instead of dying, he became this... monster.

So the question was, did James still want to die?

The thought of not dying repulsed him, the thought of dying angered him. So what do? For now, maybe he'll just choose to not choose. He continued to walk through the gloomy city. The sky was grey and filled with clouds, and it looked like it could rain any second.

Drip. And the rain begins, making the depressed city more depressing. Running, he goes to duck under a tall stone-grey building, avoiding a rain. Nice, adding to the melodrama. A boy tries to commit suicide, turns into a vampire instead, and now he's facing death again. Seems like a novel.

So, if James was the main character of a book, what would happen right now? He'd be attacked. Warily, James looks around and presses his back to the wall. And he then he sees... Nothing out of the ordinary. Buildings, snow, and rain. A couple of large pieces of trash along an otherwise empty road.

Everything was peaceful, if a little boring. James was fine with boring. Boring was safe, and it meant he had more time to sort out his feelings. Speaking of time, he checks his watch again. He'd been waiting for an hour, forty-nine minutes, and fifty-three seconds.

~~~

Someone falls from the sky. No wait, that's not right. Someone jumped off a building at the end of the road. Suicide? No, the person's still alive. And the person is running towards him. Making a split second decision between life and death, James does what he's best at.

James takes off in a sprint, hoping that the wet and icy ground wasn't slippery enough to trip him. It wasn't extremely cold, the ice was melting. He could do it. The trick to not falling while running is to simply feel that you won't stumble. Don't run slower than usual, but make sure that each step you take is a firm one.

As he ran, there came another quick decision- to run towards the other person, and engage in close quarter combat, or to run away? James sizes up the other person for a second and is taken aback. The male couldn't have been older than Jasmine was, maybe 14 or 15.

Disgust. That's what he felt. James wasn't going to let a child be turned fully into a monster. Well, there goes his decision. Heading straight for the pale and sickly looking child, James jumps over obstacles instead of running around them. It came naturally to him after the countless hours practicing hurdles.

As he runs closer to the boy, he notices more details that made his heart break. He looked dead already but his eyes, oh god, his eyes, they were already the eyes of a monster. James fights the urge to look at his mirror but brings his hand to his belt anyways. In a smooth motion, he pulls out a dagger, the same one that he was going to use to take his own life.

Between the boy and James, there was only about 10 meters left and one obstacle in the way. Picking up the pace, as you would towards the end of a race, James jumps over the last obstacle and zeroes in on the boy.

The boy stops in front of James, ready to go for hand to hand combat, but James doesn't stop. Instead, he runs past and using the momentum of the sprint, he holds the dagger tightly and thrusts it into the raven haired boy's abdomen. Blood spurts out, blending in with James' cape. The dagger sinks in easily, too easily. Once again, disgust was evident on James' face. Was that how easy it was to kill now that he was a monster?

The boy falls to the floor, eyes wide open in shock and his mouth screaming in agony. James takes the dagger out of the child's abdomen, letting blood flow out quicker. It's still too slow. He places his hand on the dying boy's chest, feeling for a heartbeat. When he found it, he plunged the dagger there pulling it out again. This time, the effects were a lot faster.

"I'm sorry," James whispers to the boy who was still screaming.

The words of comfort went unheard as the kid died. James places his hand on the boy's forehead before pushing them down, closing his eyes. Shivering, he grabs a handful of snow and carefully cleans his dagger before wiping it on his cape.

He stands back up, putting the dagger in its place as he walks away, leaving a trail of footprints, a dead body, and a snowy ground with flecks of blood splattered around the body.

Unbeknownst to James, the "child" that he killed wasn't a child at all. In fact, he was actually the 21-year-old male, Liberato Di Lorio. And like James, Liberato had been wishing for death.

James had now spent two hours, nine minutes, and twenty-four seconds in the city.

~~~

Heading for another shelter, James walks slowly, conserving energy. He'd been told that he would be here for eight hours. A little under six hours left. He'd need food. There were stores and things, but he had no money.

He could steal it. James quickly shakes his head, dismissing the thought. He was going to stay as humane as possible. He shuddered at the memory of the boy's eyes, completely corrupted. Pulling out his mirror, James checks his reflection. He had red eyes, but they didn't look too out of place. Striking but not monstrous.

Sighing in relief, James continues to trudge along the road. It was quite dark, and James paused beside a street lamp to assess the situation. There were a few people scattered around, but it was mostly desolate. No sign of vampires. James pulls his cape closer to himself, remembering the cold. If he was determined not to die, it'd be pathetic to end up dead by the cold.

He kept moving. It'd be a good way to keep his warmth. Seeing a neon "OPEN 24 HOURS" sign in front of a small store, he heads in. Keeping his eyes trained on the floor, James calls upon his acting skills to make himself seem as small as possible, but not too suspicious. Don't let people remember you.

Ducking quickly into an aisle, James plops himself on the floor in a way so that the shopkeeper wouldn't see him. A quick debate with himself decided that he should try to sleep. He'd be able to wake up if someone came close to him, anyways. No harm in getting some rest.

He checks his watch quickly. It had now been two hours, twenty-two minutes, and seven seconds.

~~~

James wakes up to footsteps. He quickly grabs the first thing on the shelf - a magazine - and immerses himself in it, while looking out the corner of his eye for movement. There were two people, both girls. One with golden blonde hair, and the other with long brown hair. Both had striking red eyes.

Vampires. Now, to run out and draw attention to himself, or to continue in hiding? If he ran now, he'd probably beat them. But why use energy when you can rest? It's not much of a choice. He continues to flip through the magazine, looking busy. The girls were chattering amongst each other, and James strained to hear. Collect any useful information.

"Jane, I'm so glad I found someone like you!"

"Yes, I could say the same about you, Amy." Another voice, presumably 'Jane', responds.

Amy speaks again, "We don't really have to kill anyone right? As long as we survive until the end?"

"Yes, I suppose. But you'll probably have to kill some vampires if they come at you." Jane responds.

James turns over to glance at the shopkeeper, who seems oblivious to the conversation. Going back to his magazine, he focuses on the voices of Jane and Amy, but they seem silenced.

He stands up straight, allowing him to see over the shelves. Expecting to see the two girls looking at various products, James coughs in surprise and ducks down, before the brown haired girl looked up.

Instead of seeing the two girls looking at various products, James had seen one strangling the other. He sits down and pretends to read his magazine. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as the brunette walks out.

James witnessed Jane Bruno, a strict yet sweet girl, murder the beautiful Amelia Linox with a silent strangle.

He had stayed in the city for six hours, forty-seven minutes, and thirty-three seconds.

~~~

The smell of rotting flesh was getting to him now. James exits the store, trying to find another place to stay. Not very many places were open at 4 AM. On the street, there were bars, but he couldn't enter those. He kept on walking, enjoying the cold night air.

James walked a little over three miles when he found another 24-hour convenience store. Entering the nearly empty store, he heads towards the bathroom to fix himself up. Staring face to face with his reflection, he turns on the top and washes his face from any flecks of blood.

Once his face was cleaned again, James continues to stare at himself. His eyes, in particular. He wanted to wash the striking red colour away with the blood. But he couldn't. The eyes of a monster were his.

James was a monster. He killed an innocent child and watched a girl kill another without saying a thing. He didn't even deserve to die. He deserved a fate much worse than death. Living while being torn of all humanity.

While James was thinking, the clock didn't stop ticking away. His eyes bore into his reflection, and if he was looking, his clock would've told him that it had been eight hours since he stepped foot in the city.