(The year 1325)

Valenus emerged from his rocky tomb, fully healed and starved of blood for what felt like and what possibly was centuries. He pulled himself towards the edge of the lake, the cold water felt horrifying as he forced himself up, out of the bank.

"Good lord! Are you ok, Sir?" a woman asked, jumping out of her carriage.

"Forgive me... madam, I think I... fell, I think I... hit my head. Where am I?"

"England... Oxford. I shall have to get you to a doctor, young man, come on. I shall have my driver help you up and into the carriage" she promised.

Looking into her eyes he whispered "no, no you will not... you will just go"

"I beg your pardon?! I shall not just leave a young man in filthy dress with a head injury!" she snapped.

"Madam, please" he begged quietly.

"Enough of this silly nonsense, come on!" she ordered as her driver picked Valenus up and helped him into the carriage. She took him to the hospital, paying for his treatment as doctors examined him. Possible dinner, that was what they were but Valenus had set his sights on the ill, the weak. He did not want to, he did not want to have to but he was starved of blood, the hunger for it. He needed it soon or he would randomly attack, without a thought or feeling. He would become like his brothers, a vicious monster with a lust for blood.

"What seems to be the problem with our young friend?" the doctor asked as he looked over Valenus, the dimly lit hospital was a blessing, his hunger a curse. He could hear the man's veins pounding, the temptation to grab him and pull him, to sink his teeth into him and taste his blood.

"He has some kind of head injury, he has been making no sense since he arrived" the woman replied quickly before dipping into her bag, paying for the doctor.

His body was cramping, contorting into all kinds of shapes. He could feel it being ripped apart, nails ripping into him as he struggled, still screaming. Only one thing could make it stop; only one thing could save his life, stop his hunger... blood, human blood. He was directed towards it, like a moth drawn to flame, he was to blood. A monster in his mind and the minds of others, a vampire to those who saw him, knew of his cursed existence. He never wanted nor expected to be human but feeling a little more human, that would have been nice. 

Women hurried past as he struggled to get on his feet. Thankfully they paid him little attention, it was easy for him to prey, prey upon the sick and weak. As the nurse strutted off, hurrying to a screaming patient in the distance, screaming in agony, Valenus found the strength to get off the bed, onto his feet. The cold floor was nothing; his hunger was monstrous, never-ending and brutal. He leaned over a woman; blood covered her face, her ripped wool dress as he lifted her neck. She did not even fight back, not even flinched as he bit into her so desperately. Her blood poured down her neck as he drained her; slowly her life left her body, like a candle being blown out suddenly.

He shut her eyes as he cleaned himself off. Finally he could feel his powers, his strength returning. He no longer felt like an old corpse or a man barely clinging onto life. He could feel blood running through his veins again, awakening that which had been long since dead and forgotten. The pain in his veins had ended; the lust for blood had started. He could feel it, his strength and the power in his veins driving him on. He needed to leave the area; the sunlight would soon come from him if he was not careful enough.

He had drunk enough blood to survive the night but not the day, never the day. He needed blood again but his lust would have to wait, he had to get out of the city before he was butchered or the others awoke from their suffering. They would be hungry too, their victims not so lucky but Valenus had no choice but to feed, he had to feed and kill, avoid making another Avana. Avana was a monster, whatever happened to her, happened to her but he hoped she was dead, that the sun had caught and killed her, slowly. 

He lost his mind, hidden away in the painful discomfort of his hunger. The blood in his veins was not yet enough but soon it would become enough, he would make it enough. There was nothing he could do; he could not always fight the hunger but sometimes he would have to, if he was moving to a new city, he would have to. There was the pain, the bloody mess he had made of himself, his mind. What was going to happen to him? He was unsure, just hungry for blood, human blood. There was the pain, the panic in his eyes.

Where was he going to go? He did not know but that was no surprise, he did not know where he was. He had a basic idea from the woman dying of some illness. The people there were sick, very sick and yet he was alive, sort of alive. He was broken inside; his mind and soul were broken and tormented.

What if he stayed? What if he fed off the people who were going to die? What if being a doctor could make him see, make him realise and understand? He could then tell who was going to die, then feed off those who were suffering, put them out their misery while sating his own lust for blood. 

He was a monster, a blood thirsty monster but he could make something of himself, of his life. He had decided for himself, he was going to become a doctor. He would always be a vampire, immortally so but he was going to help and hurt people. If he could help more than he drained, killing the patients with no hope of survival, could he call those people fair deaths? The hunger, the monster... could it accept the dying souls? Hungry for blood, he definitely was, a monster without a care in the world. No thoughts, no feelings just plagued with the muffled cries of victims, his victims.

To give something back in his life felt like a good idea, as if that was where he was being drawn to. He could feel human again; feel the blood pumping through his veins. It was merely the urge to kill but he did not care. It did not matter how or how long it took, he would become a doctor and save the lives of many innocents.

"So, you wish to become a doctor. Why might I ask do you believe you should be a doctor?" an older gentleman asked as he twirled his moustache. Valenus kept his mouth shut for a few moments, thinking of his answers.

"Because I wish to help those who cannot be helped and those who can be" he replied, assure of himself.

The man merely nodded positively, his ginger hair neat as he wrote down Valenus's answer. He looked up at Valenus and asked "how good are you with blood? How well can you handle witnessing the dead?"

'I kill people and drink their blood' Valenus thought as he looked at the man's pale blue eyes. "I am... still getting used to the idea, I will not lie" ironically lying through his teeth as he leaned back.

"Honesty, it is a valuable trait. I need to know you can work hard; I need to know you can make a difference. Any man who works for me, works here because I have requested their help or I think they are of high enough standard to work for me"

"The truth is that I want this job, I want to repay people's kindness, save the lives of others like mine was saved. I want to make a difference" he admitted quickly. Naturally he missed out the part about being a vampire, wanting to kill anything and everything he could find, as long as the person was sick and weak with no chance of survival, he could consider them fair game.

He worked tirelessly through the night, changing bandages, clothes and offering his support to grieving families. Many patients were put out their misery once he identified their sickness, his thirst then sated for another couple of nights. The poor were usually the sickest, their body unable to fight off that which was killing them, what Valenus could smell.

It was strange; it was as if he could smell when they were close to death. The closer they were to death, the more he could smell them, the sweet smell of death. It was as if he could sense what was coming for them because it was never coming for him. Was it God? Did God think he needed to suffer more than he already was? Broken down and begging for him to lift the curse, that was one of his many lifetimes. He spent it trying to rid himself of his monstrous form, trying to put right what had gone wrong in his life.

 He was starved of blood a lot but sometimes it was necessary for his survival. He was sometimes a monster, sometimes he looks like a monster and sometimes he does not, sometimes he looks human or human enough to pass for human somehow. He could look like a broken down, sickening corpse with blood missing from its veins but he shrugged that off.

The life he led was an interesting one, a good one and an interesting one. He kept most of his sanity and most of his humanity, the blood in his veins kept him sane even though it could lead him down the path to insanity. He liked the blood, the fantasy of a bath in blood but he resisted, for his humanity. He needed the blood; he needed the life, a life... any life.

The fantasy was his ability to ignore the hunger, his reality was that he could not, he was starved for blood. There was no way he could keep going the way he was but he had to, he had little to no choice. There was the blood, the lives and his brothers, those who would kill him without even blinking. He was a monster, a blood chilling monster who fed off life and who wanted and needed life. He tried to cure himself but curses... they run deep, deeper than his ability to cure it. He was a monster, that was obvious to him but others were oblivious to it, as if the lie was not enough.

He started studying, studying harder and harder as he struggled to shape his goals. He did not care about his brothers, they would return when they had to, when their tomb was broken and they could be released. They would come after Valenus if they realised he was out of his own prison. He never thought he would see the night's sky again or feel his strength again. Throughout the years he had changed, becoming a monster then a man, his blood and lust for blood had to end, soon. 

He could take his knowledge as a doctor and go anywhere with it, change his name and pretend to be someone else. He had to leave his old name behind, hide in plain sight. The world had forgotten his old-fashioned name, his knightly, chivalrous values and his monstrous crimes. It only showed him the truth, that he needed to change, move with the crowd and the times, change his name, not his hair or his lifestyle, not much of that but his name and mannerisms, some of it had to change for him to fit in and survive. 

He routed around papers, newspapers and letters that littered the place. He was looking for something, a name he could call himself. He could not be Mr Howard forever, could not keep himself so... formal but Valenus was just so... old-fashioned, it did not fit.

The longer he went around the city without a name, the more people suspected him, saw him as a threat to themselves and their families. Thankfully illness ravaged the city, causing despair but it would not take long before people noticed the bite marks, the demand for blood, the need to appease himself. He felt like an addict, like the need for blood was his addiction but at the same time, it was his food, his drink and his life. Without it, he would mummify, become a hideous thing unable to use any gifts, a monster with no blood in his system. 

Where was he going to go once he was done with one city? Where was he going to go when he had no choice but to run, he wanted the blood and he was going to kill again and again, an endless cycle until he found another way, he was trying to but there was no choice or chance. He was damned, damned before it even began. Blood, he needed it to survive but there had to be another way, a way he could stop... killing. He needed the blood but not the kill, he could stop the killing if he knew how to. 

He picked up a small piece of paper, horse hooves had trampled on it, a cartwheel over it too by the look of it. It was not the paper he was interested in but the name, the name written on the paper, Victor. It could work, he could change Valenus and become Victor, Mr Victor Howard, soon to be a doctor if fate, his mind and his tutor would allow him to. It would be the perfect cover; he could travel from city to city, country to country under the pretence of him helping the sick, the weak while feeding off the very sick, helpless people. 

'How long can I suffer this? How long can I suffer you? Always in the background, always haunting my mind as I try to continue with life, believing in life, in the life I know. What can I do? Where can I go? I feel it, the blood in my veins, pumping in my veins horrifically. Where can I go? What can I do? What will happen to me when I have little to nothing left to lose? I will die, that is what. I will die slowly in a poor, pathetic panic. This is my fate now, this is my pain now... I only wish it would end' he thought as he hid from the sunlight, sleeping in an old house, the cellar beneath it.