Dr. V hesitated before whispering into the air, "I don't want to drink human blood. Can I survive on animal blood instead?"
A voice echoed in his mind — Vlad's voice.
You can, Vlad replied, but it won't help.
Dr. V jolted. "What are you doing in my head?"
Oh, mortal, mortal... I'm you, and you are me. We are parts of the same.
Dr. V narrowed his eyes. "Then why can I hear you like a separate voice?"
Because, Vlad said calmly, you haven't merged your memories with mine yet. You should, soon. I've seen your memories — quite fascinating — but you have no clue about the world hidden behind your so-called peace.
A sharp chime rang out, and suddenly a glowing blue screen popped up before his eyes:
[MEMORY MERGING PROGRESS: 0%]
[ADVICE: HOST SHOULD DRINK HUMAN BLOOD TO TRIGGER THE MERGING PROCESS]
"What?!" Dr. V shouted, his voice echoing through the icy cave.
He took a deep breath, calming the panic rising in his chest. "Let's first think about getting out of here. I'll worry about... dining later."
He glanced around. The cave was sealed tight — no visible exit. The ice surrounding him was too smooth, too pristine to be naturally formed.
"Looks like... the ice has melted," he muttered, examining around. Then a thought struck him. "System, did you do this?"
No answer.
He sighed. "Can I get something to help me get out of here?"
[DING!]
[HOST HAS UNLOCKED INVENTORY]
[YOU HAVE BEEN GIFTED A WEAPON]
His eyes lit up. "Can you give me that weapon right now?" he asked eagerly, visions of a bazooka, tank, or other weapons dancing in his head.
Swoosh!
A soft thud followed.
He looked down.
Dead eyes.
Flat stare.
There, resting on the icy ground, was a rusty shovel, with the worn-out wooden handle.
He inhaled sharply. "We are adults here. Be calm. Be calm," he repeated like a mantra, forcing a neutral expression.
He picked it up, gripped it tightly, and with all the frustration he could summon, hurled it down onto the ice in hopes it would shatter—
Boom!
A hole exploded open where the shovel struck.
He stood frozen, mouth agape, staring at the perfectly carved hole in the thick ice.
Then slowly... he looked back at the shovel still in his hand.
"…What the hell is this thing?"
He said answering his own question "Is this some kind of OP weapon?"
There he stood—a naked man, shovel raised above his head, like some primitive human holding a stick and going on hunt.. The cold wind lashed his skin, but he didn't flinch.
Crunch. Crunch.
Each step echoed softly against the icy cavern floor as he approached the newly formed hole. Peering down, he saw nothing but abyss.
Then—
Whooosh!
A gust of icy wind surged up from below, screaming past him like the breath of some ancient monster.
He stepped back slowly, careful not to make a sound, like a man trying not to wake a sleeping dragon.
"Hey… System? Maybe a plane? A parachute? Something that flies? Or maybe start with the basics—where the hell are we? No, scratch that. More importantly—why are we even here?"
Silence.
Only the mocking howl of wind answered him.
"Well," he muttered, rubbing his arm "guess I'm on my own then. Let's go before I go insane here."
He returned to the edge, eyes scanning for any kind of footing—nothing. Just smooth, beautiful and deadly ice.
Then his eyes dropped to the shovel in his hand.
An idea flickered.
He began to chip away at the ice, bit by bit, careful not to dislodge too much. He needed a slope, not an avalanche.
Tap. Tap. Crack.
The strength of the vampire —and the surprisingly sturdy shovel—helped more than he expected. Even against ancient ice, thousands of years old, he managed to carve a small path forward.
Bit by bit, he chipped away, creating a narrow incline downward.
Then, the snowstorm began.
Visibility dropped fast. Wind howled through the cavern, slashing at his bare skin like invisible blades. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
He pressed forward.
After what felt like a full day, he had descended over a kilometre. The path was crude—nothing more than a shallow slope carved into the frozen walls with shovel-shaped steps. But it worked. And it led somewhere.
As he continued downward, a rough pathway revealed itself—uneven but walkable.
With every step, the hunger gnawed deeper.
His moon-grey eyes slowly turned into a deep crimson.
His steps quickened, not out of choice, but out of instinct.
Then—a scent.
Delicious.
It slammed into him like a wave. His mouth watered uncontrollably.
He froze.
Footsteps.
Barely audible, but he heard them. Not just heard—felt them.
Shadows emerged through the blizzard, three shapes moving against the snowstorm.
A snarl escaped his lips before he realized it.
His vision pulsed red. The change was complete.
He launched forward—silent and swift. His fangs gleamed under the pale light, his dark hair dancing with the storm.
The moon watched silently, casting its silver blessing upon its child's first hunt in millennia.
Time slowed.
Three humans. Their carotid arteries glowed in his predatory vision like light bulbs.
He struck.
In a blur, he snatched the last one from the group, vanishing with him into the shadows.
Thud.
A trembling voice escaped from the man as he slid back, pressing himself against the icy wall.
"W-Who are you?"
What stood before him was no longer just a man—it was a monster cloaked in human skin, with glowing red eyes, elongated fangs, and nails glinting under the moonlight.
The vampire crouched low, stalking forward like a predator toward its prey.
The human couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
Just when the creature's fangs neared his neck—
It stopped.
Froze in mid movement.
The red in his eyes faded—replaced by the cool glow of a winter moon.
Dr. V exhaled and stared at the terrified man, crouching beside him. His voice was soft… tired….
"Hello, sir," he said with a weary sigh. "I need a little of your blood… just a bit. Please don't worry. I'll get you out of here after that."
The man, though paralyzed by fear, gave the faintest nod.
"Thank you, sir," Dr. V replied gently, almost apologetically.
Dr. V opened the man's left arm, exposing it up to the shoulder. With trembling restraint, he bit into the front of the elbow, sinking his fangs directly into the brachial artery.
In his mind, Vlad's voice echoed, dark and indulgent:
"Ah… finally—the taste of blood. It is sweeter than the nectar of heaven."
Dr. V clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want this. But losing control—like he just had—was far worse.
So he drank.
Slowly… carefully… the warm blood slid down his throat.
And as it did, his body began to change.
It was like pouring life into rusted machinery.
Dead, sluggish organs stirred to life.
Blood flowed to his stomach, then liver, then heart—
And with each beat, his body reawakened.
At 500 milliliters, he forced himself to stop.
His fangs retracted. He gently pulled the man's sleeve back down, covering the puncture wounds.
The man couldn't meet his eyes—he stared off, silently shaking.
But Vlad's scream roared in his mind—
"More! Drink more! Blood! Give me BLOOD!"
Dr. V didn't respond to Vlad's internal screams.
He simply stood up, turned to the man, and said with genuine gratitude,
"Thank you, sir. I'll help you get down. You'll feel dizzy if you stay here too long—and don't worry. You'll recover in a few days. I only took a little blood… about the same amount you'd give at a blood donation center."