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"Gosh, I'm so hungry."
The lumberjack sighed as he swung his axe. Taking a half-step to the side to avoid the arrow flying toward him, Owen plunged the blade into the skeleton's skull before it could nock another.
Watching the bones clatter loudly onto the ground, Pyro set down his torch and rummaged through his pockets to pull out a cluster of sweet berries. "I've brought some berries, if you want them." he called, stepping out from the tree he'd been hiding behind. Guiltily, he thought back to the beginning of the trip, where he'd practically cowered behind the backs of the other two men as they defended from the fearsome creatures of the night. So much for helping to protect them while they lit up the path ahead.
Scott approached soundlessly from somewhere, still wringing out his coat from when they crossed the river. "Thank you." He grinned. For a second, his teeth seemed to elongate and sharpen in the crimson moonlight.
Pyro blinked. Scott accepted the berries from his hands. His teeth were normal sized. A little pointy on the edges, but certainly not as ferocious and knife-like as before. Was he seeing things? Was Scott... a vampire? Suddenly, Pyro recalled Avid's frantic exclamations back in town. Numerous speeches being given about the dangers of the supernatural, combined with large wooden signs and wild gesticulations punctuating every half sentence. Even Scott and Owen had asked if he believed in vampires. How did he respond? He'd laughed it off and said something along the lines of: "I'll believe it when I see them".
But... What if there was one standing right in front of him? Suddenly, things didn't seem so funny anymore.
The dry leaf litter crunched softly under the footsteps of the approaching lumberjack. "Sorry, what did you say?" Owen had returned from dealing with the skeleton archer.
Turning, Pyro offered the small berries to the man automatically and repeated what he'd just said. "I've got some berries." A bright idea struck him, and Pyro quickly reached back into his pocket to pull out a few cloves of raw garlic. "And, uh, I've got some trail snacks as well." He grimaced internally, cursing his past self for forgetting to pack more nourishing food. Owen must be starving.
Owen gave the sweet berries and garlic cloves in Pyro's hands a cursory glance. "No, thank you. I've got my own food." Whilst saying that, he still quietly accepted the garlic.
Scott looked at the two in bemusement, this time squeezing water from the sleeves of his coat. "You never warned me that my boots and the rest of my clothes were going to get wet from this." He sighed, shaking his head with a flourish.
Having finished their short break, the group of three continued onward, traipsing through the dead forest and undergrowth. The various shades of grey that Pyro had seen in the daytime were now dyed crimson by the bloody moonlight filtering through the trees, leaving him with a growing sense of unease. Was this a bad omen? Having the blood moon rise two nights in a row...
The men chatted aimlessly as they went deeper still, their voices echoing into the night. It was as if they were the only living beings in this forest.
"Did you hear about the consecration of the second beacon?" Owen asked, cutting through the tangled bushes to clear a path.
From behind, Scott peered over Pyro's shoulder into the distance as he replied. "I've felt it." He paused, and exclaimed in surprise. "Oh! There's one out there." Pyro turned to follow his gaze, even holding his torch up to illuminate the ground before them, but all he saw were trees, more trees and fog. Yet, if he squinted, he seemed to see a cluster of lights in the distance. Maybe that was it. He elected to pretend that everything was fine. Scott was definitely not a vampire. Just a guy... who was extremely rich... and had a somewhat vintage dressing sense. Everything was fine.
Owen sped up excitedly. "Oh, we could do them a favour."
A feeling of eagerness rose up and gently pushed aside the unease in his throat. "Let's give it a look!" Pyro suggested. His footsteps seemed to resound in his ears as he hurried to keep up with the lumberjack. Pyro had never had the chance to consecrate one of the beacons before. The sticky mud, which had slowed down his pace when he'd first begun exploring this dead forest with the others, seemed to be nothing to him now as he basically tore through the woods in his haste.
Pushing through the overgrowth, Pyro staggered out of the dense forest to behold a tall pillar coming into view through the thick fog. Looking down, he realised belatedly that it was located in the middle of a large lake. Sparkles floated above the lake's surface like little stars, glinting invitingly toward the three men.
Before him, Owen had already begun treading through the water. "I think this might've already been visited. We might be late to the punch." he remarked.
Carefully, Pyro slipped into the lake, shuddering at the icy water that enveloped his body. Looking down, he realised that his feet were unable to find purchase on solid ground, on account of the depth of the lake. He swallowed nervously. He wasn't very good at swimming. Disregarding the weightlessness in his stomach, Pyro kicked off the edge and began to make his way toward the other side, carefully holding his flickering torch above his head as he did so. When he finally clambered up the sandy shore, Owen had shovelled some dirt against the side of the obelisk. Noticing his arrival, the lumberjack nodded toward the top of the obelisk where the beacon was located.
"I made us some steps up." He said. Owen seemed not to notice the chill as a breeze nipped at their dripping figures. Pyro shivered and watched Scott elegantly step up from the water, this time shaking his head in resignation as his clothes were now completely soaked through. Whilst Owen dug, Pyro wandered around the small dirt island to get a better view of the obelisk. It was made out of a smooth, blackstone brick material which felt cool to the touch. In an attempt to make conversation, he commented lamely, "The infrastructure's very nice."
The other two didn't seem to acknowledge it as they were both preoccupied, so he gave up.
Once the makeshift dirt staircase was made, the three men cautiously scaled the obelisk, mindful of slipping off the smooth surface. The moment Pyro approached the beacon, a comfortable wave of heat washed over him, much akin to the warmth one would feel from sitting at a fireplace in the winter. Instantly, Pyro felt his shoulders relax as the cold receded. Beside him, Owen circled the beacon. "I think they've already got to this one. Which is nice of them, I suppose." He sighed, placing a hand on it.
Peering at the orange cube-like gemstone floating in the middle of its glass casing, Pyro recalled a different version of the beacon, atop a tower. Which, coincidentally enough, also floated on an island in the middle of a lake.
"So this is the butter in the block that I heard someone talking about." He murmured, mentally superimposing images of both beacons to compare how they looked. Inside his heart, Pyro felt a tinge of bitterness as he recalled the previous day, when Pearl and Owen had joked that the beacon on the tower looked like tofu of all things, laughing about his term "butter in a glass case". The pumpkin orange colour of this beacon looked even less like butter compared to the cream one in that beacon! He grumbled to himself momentarily.
"Oh, yes. This is what it looks like when it's consecrated." Owen nodded, seeming a bit absent-minded. "Could you back up a little for me?"
Pyro nodded and stepped back toward the dirt staircase. "Yeah, sure. I'll just... keep watch." His voice trailed off. Approaching the bottom of the dirt pile, he regarded the red moon hanging creepily in the sky. According to his memory of the moon phases, it appeared to be... a waning crescent? That random bit of trivia he'd found in a book one day reappeared in his head, and Pyro chuckled at the ridiculousness of the situation he was in. This trip was supposed to be a nice and relaxing one, coming into town to interview the Oakhurst locals about the history of their town, write a killer thesis paper and all that fun stuff.
And now here he was, gallivanting around in a dead forest with toxic black flowers in the middle of the night with two people he's met for a day. What a juxtaposition. "Gnarly moon." He said, to no one in particular.
Watching the two men kneeling opposite each other at the beacon, Pyro wandered over to listen in on their conversation.
"-wait a minute." Scott was saying.
"Oh... Really? Well, this complicates things." Owen shuffled around for a second, as if he were thinking.
Was something wrong? Pyro climbed back up the dirt pile. "What's up?" He asked.
"Nothing~" Scott called out in a saccharinely sweet tone.
Pyro blinked. As Scott was about to continue, Owen suddenly spoke, his voice coming out in a rush. "I just don't like sharing, really."
The fog around them suddenly seemed to surge and thicken. A gust of wind slowly picked up, and a chill ran down Pyro's spine. What were these two talking about?
"Well, I was here first." Scott’s voice dripped with arrogance as he spoke.
"I think I was here first, actually!" Owen seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth, his voice dipping low and into a tone of annoyance that Pyro hadn't heard from the man ever since they'd met. Were they having an argument?
"Mmm." Scott hummed, leaning forward against the beacon casually, his arm draped languidly over the glass casing like a proud cat. "I don't know, I've been here for a long time."
"Two hundred years." Owen puffed out his chest, glaring at Scott whilst his hands slowly balled up into fists.
"That's baby talk." Scott's smile grew wider, and amidst Owen's spluttering, he drawled, slowly enunciating every syllable he spoke. "Over six hundred years."
Owen jerked back, as if he'd been enlightened. "Oh my god. Goldsmiths. I knew it rung a bell." He put his head into his hands.
Pyro found himself unable to follow the conversation. What did they mean by hundred years or something? Was the beacon a hundred years old? Were THEY hundreds of years old? He approached the pair. "What's going on up here?" Finding his voice, he quickly inserted himself into their conversation, social conventions be damned. He needed answers.
Scott stood up to face him, lips curling upward with amusement. His blue eyes narrowed into slits, and Pyro felt a sudden sense of crisis as they roamed around leisurely, yet seemed to be seeing right through him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose slowly, as if ringing an alarm bell.
"He's been around here longer. I suppose he takes claim." The lumberjack said slowly, his gaze not quite meeting Pyro's as he emphasised the last two words.
"Yeah." Scott's smile grew wider still, one that stretched just a little too wide to be considered humanly possible. "I get first dibs."
Pyro felt his brain stutter to a halt. "First dibs-first dibs on the beacon, right?"
Looking back and forth between the two men, Pyro prayed wildly to whichever god up above that everything was merely a jest- a setup- hoping against hope that the two were just joking with him.
Yet, their expressions told him everything.
The two overlapping voices that were tinged with amusement denied his earlier question. Owen stepped forward and placed a bandaged hand on Pyro's shoulder, gripping it firmly. "You're not going to make this difficult for us, are you?" He whispered into Pyro's ear. There was no breath coming out from his nose. Pyro felt his mouth go dry. "What's going on?" He asked. This couldn't be happening.
He turned a pleading gaze toward Scott, who had at some point taken yet another step forward. "I've got first dibs on you, silly~" The blue-haired nobleman cooed as if he were comforting a wounded animal, reaching out to caress Pyro's cheek with a pale hand.
It was cold. Freezingly cold. Just like a corpse.
Like a vampire.
Pyro swallowed heavily. Scott's hand- no- his entire body was shaking. "On me?" His voice came out squeaky. Like a mouse. The hand holding the torch trembled. The wind howled above them, battering the three men as a fog rolled toward the island. He couldn't see the other side. Behind that forest, the ruins of Oakhurst somehow felt a thousand times more comfortable. Even despite most of the townsfolk being a little off in the head. That was fine. Anywhere but here.
Scott's eyes crinkled upward in a smile. "Yeah."
The wind picked up speed, growing increasingly fiercer and fiercer. It was so loud. Pyro couldn't hear himself think. With a puff, it snuffed out the only torch he had. Suddenly, the entire island was plunged into darkness. In the distance, sparkles danced on the lake surface, as if mocking him for getting himself into this predicament. Pyro gulped, his eyes frantically working to adjust to the absence of light. Though, it quickly became apparent that he was the only one affected. The other two men- no, vampires- were still staring at him hungrily. Eyeing his blood. Pyro tried and failed to get himself to move. "I don't know-" he heard himself say mechanically. He took a step back. "I don't like-"
He jolted, feeling Owen's hands grasp his left wrist gently, prying the now-useless torch from his sweaty palm. "Can I just take a little bit?" Owen asked softly, rolling up Pyro's sleeve to expose it to the cold air. As if he were holding a piece of delicate porcelain. Hearing Scott's reluctant assent, his eyes flashed with a terrifying voracity. "Just hold still for a minute for me, please."
Pyro turned to look at Owen, his mouth dropping open stupidly as he thought to protest, but-
Pain. A piercing, razor-like sensation. It tingled for a moment, and then ripped through his arm - his chest- like lighting. His fingers jerked and twisted around, a sharp fire igniting his nerves- Pyro tried to scream, his breath coming out in short bursts, he couldn't breathe- he needed to breathe- his heart pounded away furiously- he smelled iron- no, tasted it on his tongue-
He could move again. As soon as Owen let go, Pyro shoved him hard. It hurt. His wrist bled profusely, dribbling down his arm like a warm and sticky waterfall. The metallic tang filled his nostrils, clouding his mind. Making it hard to think. It was as if his body's movements were disconnected with his brain's. One step became two, and two became many, and Pyro felt his feet catch the edge of the dirt staircase. "I don't feel too good-" He began to say, but his legs kept moving backward, stepping off the solid ground onto the air. For a moment, the world spun, a familiar weightlessness settling inside his stomach as he instinctively stretched his arms out to catch himself, and the ground rushed up to meet his face. Pyro landed awkwardly, coarse dirt and sharp stones digging into his skin, his left arm taking the brunt of the fall, smearing his blood all over the soil. A dull ache reverberated throughout his body, and he struggled to stand.
The two vampires were grinning, walking over casually, as if they were going on a brisk morning stroll.
Pyro staggered as another sharp pain bit at his arm- he must've twisted it during the fall- clarity setting in as his panic-stricken mind accepted his new reality. "You drained me." He said dumbly, looking at the puncture wounds the lumberjack left behind.
"Well, I prefer the word feeding." Owen grinned, baring his bloodstained fangs as he spoke. "You can take whatever's left," his eyes travelled up toward Pyro's wrist greedily. It was still bleeding. "Unless you need my help."
Scott stalked forward, his teeth sharpening into fangs. A pink tongue ran across his lips, as if in anticipation of a good meal. "Nah," he said, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard. "I think I'll be fine." The shiny blade reflected the crimson moonlight, cutting an arc through the air.
Pyro's unusually slow brain finally registered the dangers before him. "I gotta go," he gulped, turning to flee as his legs burned with pain and exhaustion- the two long journeys he'd made that day wearing down on him- but it was as if the world was moving in slow-motion, and distantly, Scott teased as he chased. "There's nowhere to run."
Panic thrummed in his veins, the adrenaline fuelling him as he raced away from the two vampires. The ground was bumpy and jutted out at weird angles, and now that he couldn't see, Pyro stumbled over the protruding clumps that sought to trip him up, dashing toward the lake shore, toward freedom-
Thud. His vision went black for a second, and Pyro choked as he found himself swallowing a mouthful of icy water. The back of his head hurt. His left arm hurt. His legs hurt. Desperately, he kicked and swam away from the small island as fast as he could. "I got to get out of here," he sobbed to himself like a mantra. "I need to leave." His eyes stung and blurred, the currents buffeting his body as he struggled to shore. The sparkles which had glittered oh-so invitingly at him now blinded his vision. As he trod through the waters, the howling gusts of wind tossed him around like a rag doll, but mercifully, knocked him towards the shore.
Once again, Scott called out from behind him. "You don't need to go anywhere." He had swung the stone sword into Pyro, knocking him into the churning lake. Now, he was cutting through the waters like a shark, his eyes gleaming with hunger as he reached out. "You look so tasty. Don't leave~"
"Get away from me!" Pyro cried, swatting the vampire's claws away as his feet scrambled to find purchase on the sloping shelf of the lake, dislodging a few loose pebbles. He fumbled with the sheath on his belt, wet hands slipping against the handle of his sword. "Vampire!"
Scott dodged the clumsy swing with ease, laughing as he lunged forward and tackled Pyro to the ground, knocking the weapon from his hands and the breath out of Pyro's lungs. Pyro felt his heart drop.
No, not like this-
The vampire's fangs sank into his neck like butter. For a moment, Pyro felt nothing, and he fantasised that everything was a dream, he'd wake up at home in his bed which was decidedly not in Oakhurst, where he was not being bitten by vampires... Alas, his brain finally registered the sweeping chill stabbing at his throat.
And in the next second, an extremely unimaginable pain ripped through his entire being. A scream tore out of his lungs, and Pyro spasmed, twisting and writhing under the iron grip of the vampire, his mind screaming as what felt like a million different stakes shot through his skull and skewered his brain matter.
Unlike the previous bite, it was as if the blood in his veins was repeatedly boiling away, burning his veins, scalding his muscles, scorching his skin- before curdling up to ice, the frigidity penetrating deep into his bones; cracking, reforming, tearing apart... Pyro struggled to move- to get away- yet the very act set off yet another wave of suffering, the piercing pain hammering and battering his body. Every single fibre and molecule of his being felt like it was being torn to shreds, and yet something in his body was still frantically stitching every particle back together in a desperate attempt to save his life. It hurt. It hurt so much.
No more. Pyro thought. Just end my suffering now.
Hot tears squeezed out of his eyes involuntarily, and he gasped raggedly, voice coming out in a gurgle. Blood. So much blood. Pyro's arms flailed around wildly, fingers clawing and gouging at the ground in the only way he could express his agony. In the moonlight, his fingertips seemed to sharpen to a point. Just like a vampire's.
Something stroked his hair softly, as if in an attempt to calm him down.
"Shh..." A voice whispered, and a cold hand intertwined with his trembling one. "It'll be over soon."
Numbly, Pyro registered the disappearance of the fangs in his neck, and the pressure exerted on his back let up. Recognising that he was out of danger, his frantic heart finally seemed to calm down. A deep exhaustion set in, swiftly taking the place of the ebbing sensation of fire and ice. He felt his eyelids slip close.
Suddenly, the muddy ground seemed very comfortable.