Just a little bit
, he'd told himself. A pint from each and every adult in the town. Even less from children, whose life-fluids nourished him well for demented reasoning. They were simply young, and had longer lives ahead of them than most. Such, it was second only to the blood of an immortal. Or a baby, whom he would not touch. What disgusted him most, is the reasoning behind it.
Power. The power to stand against what was to come. To get information. Answers. To be worthy of acknowledgement and of truth.
No more silence. No more lies.
Small towns like this often had fear lingering about them. Fear of the dark was common when their truly were things which lurked in the dark. We lived in a world with far too many exceptions to natural law. A world where monsters often would prey on places like this, where everyone knew each other and there was but a single sheriff. Where the people were far from things that would help them. It was a place for monsters to prey.
Gas was getting low, and he needed some for the return trip. Not many gas stations out here, further and further from society. The cold lacked cruelty to a Nosferatu, a creature who was of the dark and of the cold. Of things antithetical to energy. But he was drawn to the warmth of human bodies and to the lingering fear. To the vulnerability. To the weak.
Voracious trudged through the snow in the exact same clothes he was wearing, the shivering cold doing nothing to his body as it did what it always did as his body matched the temperature. But the blood did not freeze nor did his body ever at any time slow down when his mind had locked onto an objective. His rifle was slung loosely around his neck, hovering in front of his chest, ready to be shot immediately. His "Executioner"
Ceremonial Greatsword was tied to his back and could be drawn given time.
How long had he been walking? Running? A few hours with only some vague sense of where he was actually going. There was life here. A lingering dread which drew him. Almost hesitation. An unnaturalness which set him off and repelled most creatures. Competition was difficult when one was not an Apex predator. But then something happened.
"What's that smell?"
His eyes turned blood red. He'd caught wind of the smell before the wind even carried more than a molecule of the stuff over to him.
Such a sweet smell.
The sudden wind whipped through her clothing, snapping the buttons on her shirt, leaving the blood-filled hole in her chest open to the elements. The wind stirred the blood inside, or perhaps it was only the motion of her breathing. The crimson-irised eye floating within surfaced, keeping Watch through the storm through the dimensions.
He a walk turned into a steady run.
Click. The unflicking of a safety as he took aim. He'd no breath to draw, and so no natural respiratory pause. His gun did not waver from a beating heart and his sights were still. The target was in sight. There was something strange though. A symbol. He stared at it and found himself unable to fixate on anything else until.
He half screams. Half Howls. The Beast kicks in, resisting any attempt at domination. Anything which would keep it from blood. Be it some external thing or Voracious himself.
His phantasmal screams echoed for many hundreds of miles, entering the minds of thousands and causing people to shoot out of their beds. Something was wrong, and now people knew. Nobody knew where then noise came from, as when it struck, it sounded like something inside of their heads. Like something that took their bones and shook them to make noise.
The beast was well fed, and it drove him to run away from this thing. This difficult prey. To go somewhere safe, and easy. Like a city. But Voracious did not desire this. He began to walk away, and then fell to the ground, shaking violently like a man with a seizure. But then he clutched his rifle and remembered what it was to be human. To overcome things greater than he. Asymmetrical warfare. This age was no different.
A guttural growl. He pulls himself up. And then, his eyes return to what they were before. From a firey red to an icey like blue.. He was in a field, a far ways off from the creature at half a mile away. But staring at that creature, that light, harmed his sight. His vision came back, but now he laid crouch behind a rock.
"Close your eyes."
He heard a voice in his head. And then he took up his rifle again, this time with his eyes closed. He felt something like a hand, almost guiding him. His other senses became automatically more honed, as he listened to the beating of hearts in the distance and the gushing rivers of ichor rushing through veins and the blowing of fierce winds Icy blades singing through the air.
Four targets. Laine. Hal. Leering Ace. And the robot. 6.8 Remington SPC. A good deal of stopping power combined with almost mechanical accuracy, him almost feeling a hand as he snapped from target to target and shot with easy relaxed trigger squeezes the whole way. The fierce winds of the ice storm, were used to curve the bullets into their respective targets, each seeking to find a home in center mass. The importance of the shots, was to determine the effects. Were they all bulletproof? How did they respond? He listened, intent on finding out.
He moved from behind his rock and jogged at a leisurely pace. No use in burning the innocent blood he had drank before. He wanted to make it worth something. His eyes opened, locked directly on his targets and nothing else, merely to observe the effects of this attack. And then they went right back to being shut.
He let his rifle hang, and began to slow process of drawing a sword almost as long as he