'Where did I go wrong?' The question echoed in my mind while I gaze into the starry sky a chilling counterpoint to the turmoil within. Regret, sadness, and a burning rage warred within me, all amplified by the agonizing helplessness of my immobile body.
In this life, I'd strive to be a good son, a prodigy, at least, that's the image I'd carefully cultivated in the village. But beneath the surface, a different truth festered: I was merely a man, navigating a second life, burdened by the weight of past mistakes and the ever-present pressure to succeed. I wasn't a genius; I was a relentless self-improver, a man driven by an insatiable need to prove myself. My mother, however, saw past the facade, cherishing me unconditionally.
"My bright shining star," she'd whispered, her voice a balm to my often-troubled soul.
My father and brothers, however, remained unmoved by my achievements. I was an anomaly, too unique, too relentlessly driven for their comfort. And now, here I lay, entombed in the cold earth, the finality of death a stark contrast to the vibrant life I'd fought so hard to build. My father's voice, cold and devoid of warmth, pierced the silence.
"I never liked you," Alexander Corvinus whispered. "You were always too different. But Helena… Helena loved you, so I kept my silence. But this accident… I couldn't bring myself to tell your mother the truth."
The words hung in the air, a testament to his hypocrisy. He hadn't even called me his son as he oversaw my burial.
"That's why I'm telling her you ran away," he continued, his voice laced with a carefully constructed regret. "To pursue your dreams. Your mother believed you'd amount to something… but it seems she was wrong."
His sigh, heavy with the weight of unspoken guilt and self-preservation, echoed the finality of the act. He was about to seal my fate, to bury me beneath the cold earth, along with the secrets that festered within his heart.
'Oh, Alexander,' I seethed, rage and defiance surging through me. 'You are so profoundly wrong. I will become something beyond your wildest imagination,' Although I couldn't move I felt, a primal energy throbbed within me.
My body was changing, shifting in ways I couldn't comprehend. The agony was intense, my throat was torn, my stomach slashed open, leaving gaping wounds that pulsed with an unbearable pain. I couldn't heal, I needed blood, a desperate need that no one suspected.
My vision blurred, darkness descending like a suffocating shroud as the weight of the earth pressed down upon the wood. The final sound I registered was the dull thud of dirt against the coffin, a sound that only fueled my burning fury.
I would survive. I would come back. And I would have my revenge, with my own hands.
•-----•-----•-----•-----•
"There are too many of them, sire," a vampire knight, clad in blackened armor, reported to Viktor, one of the three ancient vampire elders, as they rode horseback through the ravaged landscape. The knight's voice was strained, reflecting the brutal chaos unfolding before them.
Viktor, the most seasoned of the elders, his face etched with the weariness of centuries, glanced at Marcus, who rode ahead, his features grim and resolute. Amelia, the youngest elder, remained silent, her gaze fixed on the horrifying scene: a brutal battle raged in the forest, a war between the sons of Corvinus.
"Marcus, this is madness," Viktor's voice was heavy with concern. "We have to stop him. If we don't, he will keep creating these mindless beasts."
Marcus, his face a mask of grim determination, shook his head. "No! He's my brother," he insisted, his voice firm, yet tinged with desperation. "No one touches him." He had brought Viktor and Amelia into this world, transforming them into vampires to aid him stop William, but not to harm his brother.
"Fall back!" Marcus commanded, his voice strained with a sorrow that mirrored the battlefield's carnage. He knew his brother, William, was unlike any other werewolf. William possessed an unnatural power, his white hair a stark contrast to his immense, almost monstrous size. His rage was a force of nature, uncontrollable and terrifying.
The vampire knight, understanding Marcus's desperate plea, looked to Viktor, who nodded in grim agreement. The knight turned, his voice ringing out across the battlefield.
"Retreat!" he bellowed, urging the remaining vampires to escape the slaughter.
Viktor and Amelia exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the impossible situation. Marcus, blinded by his love for his brother, couldn't see the danger William posed. They had to stop William, even if it meant betraying Marcus.
"Let's go," Marcus said, his voice barely a whisper, leading the retreating vampires towards their ancient castle.
As the sounds of battle faded, the only sounds remaining were the guttural snarls of werewolves feasting on the fallen, their blood staining the earth. They didn't know that the blood, both vampire and werewolf, was seeping into the ground, seeping into a forgotten grave, where a buried man's soul stirred, his eyes snapping open, fueled by an insatiable thirst for vengeance.