"Come with us, the brothel could use one as exotic as you are."
"Huh?!" Mark wasn't sure he had heard them correctly, however he prepared to dash away or at least try, it would be a miracle to evade them in his present condition.
Mark shook his head, telling them no and he saw their faces contort to that of contempt and before he knew it, they all had collars in their hands held out. He was a little taken aback over the idea of where they might have come from, in a second, nothing was with them, only their sexy wear, but in the next was collars with them, there was only one possible explanation of where it might have been, and Mark certainly didn't want to think about it.
The one closest to him snarled, revealing large white teeth–teeth like that of a herbivore, but dense. Mark swallowed, his eyes moved about, and he took a step away when he was pinned down, with a knee strongly pressing against his back.
The wound on his back stung from the pressure and he winced in pain.
His assailant bent to his ear and whispered,
"We will be kind to you, don't you worry." And then smirked, the evil smirk that told that she wasn't going to keep her word.
Mark struggled with the feeble strength in him, his vision was starting to become a blur, and he shook around like a fish straight out from a lake. One of his arms was turned behind and pinned on his back, the other grabbed a handful of the soil as the pressure on his back swole.
Then the black collar with little pointy ends around it came over his neck, it clasped his neck, but it didn't hurt.
He gritted his teeth in resistance and a thought came to him.
'I must use it.'
His eyes gleamed at the ring that sat on a finger of his right hand. The Ring of Count Damarian, he had made the right choice of not keeping It in his inventory.
"Count Damarian, dark and grand, unleash your power by my hand." He called, immediately, a dark red muck embalmed him instantly, and his captor suddenly withdrew.
They all stood and watched the muck make Mark's body its home.
The muck writhed like it was living, and Mark stood, appearing like he was one red slime monster, then the muck reduced in size, and began to slowly sink beneath his skin.
[You have gained the properties of a count vampire for fifteen minutes]
[14:58]
Mark snarled his new large fangs at the bunch, his skin took the appearance of alabaster, he doubled in size and height and yet his outfit held.
He arched his back a little releasing the pent up feelings inside of him, and he roared.
Pressure built around him, a shockwave swept forward.
The three Eja women guarded themselves with their arms.
Mark felt energy flowing through him, he was bubbling with energy, and he felt like he could do anything. A part of him did feel that perhaps he could have saved the ring transformation for a later much needed time, but that was a pesky thought much too late. He had activated its skill and gotten new powers now, best he used them.
He swung his head and made another roar. The women had momentarily left his mind and all he wanted to do was to display his new might.
Then he opened his eyes, revealing the slitted pupils and red irises.
The transformation was complete.
The women slowly backstepped, knowing that they were greatly outmatched. Mark saw the one closest to him gulped, and he smirked in satisfaction.
It was his turn. He stomped forward his right feet, and a pressure emanated from it, going in a line and to the group.
They saw it coming and jumped out of the way, but as soon as they did. Mark closed the gap between them. One's feet hadn't touched the ground when Mark's new large hand circled around its neck, holding it up.
He looked at the rest with nonchalance, like he only needed the least bit of energy to make a mockery, a game of them. His hold on the creature tightened and there was a crunch, and its head dangled to the side, life stolen from it.
Mark threw the corpse to the side and went for the other two. He lunged at one and sent forward an arm like a sword, swift and powerful, and it went through it, red blood circled around his arm, and splotches on his clothing.
He turned to the last who had begun scrambling, a wise decision, but not enough. He flung the corpse in his arm and zoomed to the last, stopping her by her head which he grabbed tightly–his hold felt like a resolute wall, she couldn't move and she simply froze on the spot.
Mark smirked and closed on her face. His long tongue swept around his teeth. He pulled back on his arm slightly and then there was the sound of bones breaking, it wasn't loud by any means, Mark in his usual human self wouldn't have heard it, but he was a count vanpire now, one with greatly enhanced senses.
He heard her neck bones grind from his pull, the sounds it made delighted him, it was music to his ears. He didn't know when he had his eyes closed until there weren't more of the bone crushing sounds and then he opened his eyes to see her head on his hand, with his fingers caved in and bloodied. On the ground was the rest.
He dropped the head and watched it roll by its body and when it stopped, his lips curved into a maniacal smirk.
The three must be the unluckiest bunch in the city.