The last vampire stumbled back, trembling with fear. His eyes darted between Eric and the hunters watching from outside the cage. He raised his hands, desperate, pleading.
"Get me out of here! Take me out now!" he screamed, his voice cracking as his fear consumed him. "He's not normal—he's a monster!"
The hunters didn't move. They stood stoically, their expressions cold and emotionless, as if this was nothing more than entertainment to them.
The vampire turned his back to Eric, desperation overriding his survival instincts. "I said—"
Before he could finish, Eric lunged with inhuman speed. His hands clamped onto the vampire's shoulders as his fangs tore into his neck, ripping through flesh and sinew. Blood sprayed in thick, warm jets as Eric drank deeply, growling like a starved beast. The vampire's screams were muffled, choked by the blood pooling in his throat, before they fell silent entirely.
Eric didn't stop. Even as the vampire went limp in his grasp, he kept drinking, his teeth sinking deeper, his claws digging into the corpse as though he wanted to merge with the violence itself.
The hunters exchanged a glance but remained stoic. One of them moved toward the corner opening it. With a heavy clank, more vampires in tattered clothing were shoved into the cage, their faces a mix of terror and disbelief as they saw Eric hunched over the lifeless body, drenched in blood, his chest rising and falling like a wild animal.
One of the new arrivals stepped forward, defiance in his eyes. "You think we'll just let you pick us off one by one?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You're just a newly turned mutt—"
Before he could finish, Eric darted toward him, his speed almost imperceptible. The vampire barely had time to raise his arms in defense before Eric's claws pierced his chest, ripping him apart with unrelenting precision.
One by one, the vampires were forced into the cage. And one by one, Eric tore through them, his rage unquenchable, his attacks primal and unforgiving. The cage floor was slick with blood, the air thick with the metallic stench of death.
The hunters remained still, their faces void of emotion as they threw in more victims, watching as Eric slaughtered them all. Some of the vampires begged, others fought back with everything they had, but none could match the sheer ferocity of Eric's attacks.
When the last vampire fell, the cage was silent. Eric stood alone, his chest heaving, his body covered in blood and gore. His hands trembled as the adrenaline began to fade, his claws retracting slowly.
It was only then, as he looked around at the carnage surrounding him, that he felt the weight of what he had done. The room reeked of death, and the sight of torn bodies and lifeless eyes burned into his mind.
Eric stumbled backward, his back hitting the bars of the cage. The sizzling pain of the green barrier jolted him, and he flinched, but it barely registered. His breathing was shallow, and his vision blurred.
He slid down the bars until he was sitting on the blood-soaked floor, his head in his hands. His fangs ached, his throat burned, and his body screamed in protest.
For a moment, he let out a low, broken laugh.
So this is what I've become.
But then his thoughts shifted, and the image of Alaric's face, as clear as day, appeared in his mind. It steadied him.
The hunters outside the cage, watching him with varying degrees of interest and unease, slowly began to edge closer. One of them, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, chuckled under his breath.
"Well, well," he sneered, eyeing Eric from behind the bars. "Seems like the mutt has some fight in him after all."
Another hunter snorted, arms crossed. "I don't know, looks like he's about done in. That was quite the show, but he's probably too weak to do anything now."
Eric's darkened eyes flicked from one hunter to the next, scanning them, his lips curling into a smirk despite the exhaustion weighing on him. His veins still pulsed black under his skin, and his fangs remained sharp in his mouth, an ever-present reminder of what he was capable of.
"Can you take me on now?" Eric rasped, his voice low and dripping with venom.
One of the hunters raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and stepped closer to the cage, taunting. "What, you think just because you killed a few of your own, you're some kind of challenge? You wouldn't last a minute against us."
Eric's eyes narrowed, his grin sharp and cruel. "You really want to test that theory?" he sneered, taking a step forward, his voice dripping with mocking amusement.
The hunters hesitated. They could feel the tension in the air, the promise of violence crackling around Eric like an electric charge. But none of them moved forward, their bravado flickering.
Eric laughed darkly, a broken sound, filled with disdain. "What's wrong? You all were so eager a second ago. Or are you scared of a newly turned mutt?"
The hunter who had spoken first, the one with the scar, stepped back, his smirk faltering for a brief moment. His eyes flicked to the others, who were now standing a little straighter, their hands twitching toward their weapons, but none of them dared to make a move.
Eric's grin twisted wider, his eyes glowing dangerously. "Didn't think so."
The silence stretched on, broken only by the quiet crackle of the green energy surrounding the cage. The hunters stood still, unsure of how to proceed, the tension palpable.
Then, without warning, Grayson's voice echoed through the room, cutting through the thick silence with an icy calm.
"Enough."
The hunters shifted uncomfortably, not daring to speak out of turn. But none of them moved. They waited for Grayson's next order, their posturing fading into uneasy stillness.
Eric stayed where he was, the corners of his lips twitching in a bitter, exhausted smile. They weren't going to try anything now. Not unless they were stupid enough to actually get inside with him.
Grayson's voice came again, even colder than before. "You've had your fun."
The hunters didn't speak, still standing back as they regarded Eric with wary eyes. They weren't going to test him, not yet. Grayson might have been in the room, but they knew better than to take any chances with a vampire like him.
_____
The scene shifted abruptly, the blood-soaked carnage of Eric's battle fading into the sterile, oppressive brightness of a white room. Alaric sat on the edge of a narrow bed, dressed in a thin patient's robe that clung to his frame. The room was blinding in its purity, from the walls to the polished tile floor, the kind of white that seemed to erase any sense of warmth or comfort.
He looked utterly out of place here.His hands rested on his knees, fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to clench into fists.
A single fluorescent light buzzed faintly overhead, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. There were no windows, no sense of time or space.
The door hissed open suddenly, the sound jarring in the quiet. Alaric's head snapped up, his cold eyes narrowing as a man in a white coat stepped inside, clipboard in hand. The man was tall, his movements clinical and detached, his face devoid of expression.
"How are we feeling today?" the man asked, his voice a monotone that made Alaric's skin crawl.
Alaric said nothing, his gaze icy as it locked onto the man. The silence stretched uncomfortably, but the man didn't seem bothered. He simply made a note on his clipboard before continuing.
"You've been awfully quiet," the man said, stepping closer. "No fights. No outbursts. It's almost like you've accepted your place here."
Alaric's jaw tightened, but still, he didn't speak. The man's lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it was more mocking than genuine.
"You know," the man said, leaning slightly closer, "it's fascinating how someone like you can appear so calm, so composed, when we've stripped you of everything."
The iron ring around Alaric's neck felt heavier than ever.His hands twitched slightly, but he forced them to stay still.
Alaric's lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk flashing across his face. "You like the sound of your own voice," he said quietly, his tone cold and sharp.
The man froze for a moment, his smile faltering. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, there it is. I was beginning to think they'd broken you."
Alaric's smirk disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, his expression unreadable once more.
"I suppose I should introduce myself," he said, his voice still carrying that cold, clinical tone. "Dr. Halloran. I've been assigned to oversee your...progress."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, his sharp eyes watching every movement the man made.
Dr. Halloran stepped closer, his movements measured, almost predatory in their own right. "Selene," he continued, the name hanging in the air like a blade, "has instructed me to remind you of the terms. If you resist, even once, the young vampire dies. Painfully, I might add. She wanted me to emphasize that."
Alaric's face didn't betray much, save for the faint tightening of his jaw. But then, almost effortlessly, a smile curved his lips—cold and knowing.
"Resist?" he said, his tone light. "I wasn't planning to."
Dr. Halloran studied him for a moment, as if trying to determine the truth behind Alaric's words. Then he smirked faintly. "Good. It'll save us both time and unnecessary mess."
He gestured toward the narrow bed. "Lie down."
Alaric glanced at the bed, then back at Dr. Halloran. His smile didn't waver, but there was something unsettling in the way his eyes gleamed. Without a word, he swung his legs onto the bed and lay back.
Dr. Halloran approached with an air of detachment, pulling thick leather straps from beneath the bedframe. He began fastening them around Alaric's wrists, tightening them with precision. Alaric didn't flinch, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as though the doctor weren't even there.
"You're surprisingly cooperative," Dr. Halloran remarked as he secured the straps around Alaric's ankles, pulling them taut.
Alaric's smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he glanced at the doctor. "I've learned to pick my battles."
Dr. Halloran's lips twitched in amusement, but he didn't respond. Instead, he moved to the head of the bed, ensuring the restraints were secure.
When he was finished, he stepped back, folding his arms as he studied Alaric. "It's interesting," he mused. "Most subjects—especially ones like you—tend to struggle. Fight. Scream, even. But not you. You just lie there, smiling like you know something we don't."
Alaric tilted his head slightly, his smile never faltering. "Maybe I do."
Dr. Halloran chuckled softly, shaking his head. "We'll see how long that lasts."
He turned and moved to a small console in the corner of the room, his back to Alaric. The sound of buttons being pressed and machines humming to life filled the space, the sterile environment growing even colder.
Alaric closed his eyes briefly, his smile fading as a flicker of unease passed through him. Eric's face flashed in his mind—bloodied, desperate, alive.
He opened his eyes again, his expression blank as he watched Dr. Halloran. Whatever they planned to do, he would endure it. For Eric.
Dr. Halloran returned to the bedside.Leaning down, Halloran brushed his fingers lightly through Alaric's hair, his touch almost gentle. "Remarkable," he murmured, his voice low and filled with something that made Alaric's skin crawl. "It's so soft. Like the finest silk. You must have been quite the spectacle, even before you became what you are now."
Alaric didn't react, his eyes locked onto the doctor's face, his expression unreadable.
Dr. Halloran's fingers continued their path, "And your eyes," he continued, his gaze meeting Alaric's. "They remind me of the saddest gray skies I've ever seen. Stormy, tragic, endlessly deep. It's fascinating, really."
The doctor tilted his head, studying him as though Alaric were a puzzle to be solved. "Your features," Halloran went on, his tone almost reverent. "Every detail so... precise. It's no wonder Selene wants to keep you in pristine condition. A creature like you is a rarity, even among your kind."
Alaric's jaw tightened slightly, a faint sign of irritation slipping through his otherwise calm demeanor.
Noticing this, Dr. Halloran smiled faintly, his hand retreating from Alaric's hair to rest lightly on his shoulder. "You're holding back," he observed.
Dr. Halloran wheeled over a steel tray, its surface gleaming under the sterile white lights of the room. On it lay a collection of instruments, ranging from scalpels to strange, futuristic devices whose purposes Alaric didn't want to imagine.
The doctor hummed as he picked up a pair of scissors, their blades sharp and glinting. He ran his fingers through Alaric's hair again, his thick, hairy knuckles brushing against Alaric's scalp.
The doctor's face was flushed with anticipation, beads of sweat gathering on his brow, though he didn't seem to notice.
"Let's begin," Halloran muttered, snipping a lock of Alaric's hair. The strands fell softly onto the tray, but before they could settle, they began to disintegrate, turning to ash in the doctor's hands.
He let out a gasp, his eyes wide with awe. "Marvelous!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch. "Absolutely marvelous!"
Alaric's gaze didn't waver, but his fingers twitched ever so slightly against the restraints.
Dr. Halloran's grin widened as he cut another lock, slower this time, watching intently as it dissolved before his eyes. The hair left on Alaric's head began to grow back, the process slower than the rapid healing of a wound, but deliberate and steady nonetheless.
"Incredible!" Halloran shouted, his excitement bubbling over. He leaned closer, inspecting the strands as they regrew to their original length. "It's slower than your flesh, yes, but the regenerative process is still unparalleled. It's as though your body refuses to let go of perfection."
He stepped back, clutching the scissors tightly as he looked at Alaric with unrestrained glee. "Do you understand what this means?" he asked, though it wasn't clear if he expected an answer. "Your very being defies nature. Even in pieces, you refuse to be anything less than whole."
Alaric's lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You sound like a man who's never been told 'no,' Doctor," he said, his voice low and laced with disdain.
Halloran laughed, a deep, guttural sound that echoed in the room. "Oh, I've been told 'no,' Alaric," he replied, setting the scissors back on the tray. "But the difference is, I never let it stop me."
He turned to retrieve another instrument, his excitement palpable. He pressed the blade to Alaric's cheek, dragging it deeply and across his skin. The cut opened wide, blood immediately welling and spilling onto the pale surface of Alaric's face.
Alaric didn't flinch, didn't so much as blink. His gray eyes stayed locked on the doctor, unwavering, detached. The absence of pain made it easy to remain silent, though he was keenly aware of the man's growing fascination.
As the wound began to seal itself, the blood remained smeared on Alaric's face, gleaming under the harsh light. Dr. Halloran leaned closer, his round face alight with intrigue, and carefully extracted some of the blood with a glass vial. He lifted it to inspect it under the light, muttering, "Incredible. Absolutely incredible."
He glanced at Alaric, who remained stoic, and then back at the blood in the vial. "It doesn't disintegrate," he said, voice rising with wonder. "Unlike when I take a piece of you." He gestured vaguely toward the singed remains of Alaric's hair still on the tray. "Those vanish almost immediately. But this..." He swirled the blood in the vial, studying its consistency. "This stays. Why doesn't it disintegrate like the rest of you? Does your body not recognize it as part of itself? Hmm... fascinating."
Dr. Halloran picked up a large pair of rusted clippers, their edges sharp and worn from years of use. He held them up, letting the light glint off the steel, and glanced at Alaric with a wicked grin. "Are you ready Mr.Immortal?"
Alaric watched the clippers approach his hand with an eerie calm, his gaze steady. He didn't move, didn't flinch, as the doctor grabbed his wrist and positioned one of his fingers between the blades.
Without hesitation, Dr. Halloran snipped.
The finger separated cleanly, but just like the strands of Alaric's hair, it disintegrated into ash before it could hit the tray beneath. Only a spatter of blood remained, dripping onto the pristine metal surface.
Dr. Halloran let out an exhilarated gasp, his eyes wide with awe. "Remarkable!" he exclaimed, holding Alaric's hand up to inspect the spot where the finger had been. The skin was already knitting itself back together, the bone reforming as if nothing had happened. Within moments, the finger had completely regenerated.
"Your body doesn't cling to the discarded pieces," the doctor murmured, almost reverently. He dipped his fingers into the blood left behind and smeared it between his thumb and forefinger.
Dr. Halloran set the clippers down and began scribbling notes in a leather-bound journal. "What a perfect subject you are," he said, not even glancing at Alaric as he wrote feverishly. "So much to learn, so much to test."
He paused, turning to look at Alaric with a strange gleam in his eye. "And yet... you don't seem bothered at all. No pain, no fear. Fascinating."
Alaric finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "Should I be afraid, Doctor?"
The man chuckled, his round shoulders shaking. "Oh, you should, my dear boy. You absolutely should."
Alaric's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk, though his gray eyes remained cold.
Dr. Halloran leaned back in his chair, absently stroking his chin as he looked over the pages of notes he'd been scrawling since Alaric arrived. "You are quite the puzzle," he murmured, flipping to a fresh page. "Miss Selene has given explicit instructions. No decapitation, unfortunately. She believes your head is the key to your... remarkable condition."
Alaric watched him in silence, his pale gray eyes unflinching.
The doctor continued, his tone turning almost conversational, as though he weren't discussing something monstrous. "She told me her elders believe that if I remove your head, the rest of your body will disintegrate, just like the hair or your fingers. And then—" he paused for dramatic effect, gesturing wildly—"you'll reappear. A whole month later or maybe more no one knows for sure. Somewhere completely random on this vast, beautiful planet."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his beady eyes fixed on Alaric's face. "Wouldn't that be something to witness? You, appearing out of thin air. Oh, how I'd love to test it..."
Alaric gave no reaction, his expression a cold mask of indifference.
The doctor chuckled and stood, walking to a tray filled with tools. "But no, Miss Selene won't allow it. A shame, really. Imagine the things we could learn." He picked up a small branding iron and examined it. "Not that I'm lacking in options, mind you. There are still plenty of experiments we can try."
He heated an iron over a flame, the metal glowing red as it burned hotter. "I wonder if your skin will blister, or if it'll just heal before it even has a chance."