The weight of the water presses on me from all sides, as if thousands of invisible hands are squeezing every part of my body. The pressure builds with each breath I don't need, with each beat of a heart I don't have. Or didn't have...
So much time has passed.
I don't breathe—never did, like those pitiful creatures on the surface. Air was their necessity for their fragile existence; for me, it was only a means to catch the scent of their fear. But now, my body disobeys. It feels foreign, unfamiliar, like wearing clothes tailored for someone else.
Where are my claws? Razor-sharp, capable of tearing steel like parchment? Where is my armor—those bone plates that shielded me from mortal swords and arrows for centuries? Where are my horns—my pride, the crown of a predator raised to the heavens as a symbol of my supremacy? Instead, I feel... softness. A sickening, nauseating softness of human flesh. Skin as tender as a newborn lamb's, without a trace of my true form.
I lie on the ocean floor, sand scraping this unfamiliar skin with tiny, irritating touches. Small fish dart past, their scales glinting in the dim light filtering through the water's depths. They approach me fearlessly—before, every living thing sensed my essence from miles away and fled in terror. Now, these pathetic creatures mistake me for one of their own, for carrion washed up by the sea.
How much time has passed? Hours stretch like centuries, days blur into an endless cycle of tides. Or perhaps centuries have passed, and it feels like mere minutes? Time has lost all meaning in this watery prison. My thoughts tangle, my consciousness drifts into the dark depths of oblivion, only to return with painful clarity. That light... that unbearable, blinding light... what did it do to me?
I remember it with agonizing precision—not golden like the sun these mortals worship, nor silver like their moon. It was white, pure to the point of intolerance, like the concentrated essence of life itself. It poured from the heavens in streams, each ray burning me from within, reshaping, remolding my essence into something else. For the first time since my arrival in this world— so long ago that even the stars have shifted their patterns—I felt something akin to exhaustion.
Not physical—I never knew what that was. My former body knew no pain, no fatigue. But my mind... it feels drained, sucked dry, like my victims in their final breath. Their faces flash before my inner eye—dozens, hundreds, thousands of visages twisted in horror. Elders, women, men, youths, and maidens—all equal in the moment they met me, all reduced to fuel for my thirst.
And now I'm here.
Thirst. It stirs, slowly igniting in the depths of my being, like embers fanned by a breeze. Familiar, comforting, it's the only thing unchanged in this nightmare of transformation. It pulls me upward, toward the surface, toward air, blood, and fear. Toward the life I can take. But my body doesn't move, as if turned to stone, frozen on the ocean floor for ages.
I try to move a finger—any finger—but nothing happens. Muscles ignore my mind's commands, as if the connection between them is severed. This new body doesn't know me, doesn't heed my will. It lies like a puppet discarded by a child, lifeless, at the mercy of the currents.
Time flows. I don't know how much passes—days, months, years? The current slowly shifts the sand, exposing and burying parts of my body. Tiny sea creatures—crabs, starfish, schools of fish—brush my skin, crawling and swimming past. Sometimes, I think I hear their thoughts—small, primitive, driven by instinct. Hunger, fear of predators, the search for food, the urge to reproduce. Pathetic, insignificant thoughts of lesser beings.
Above, far over my head, seasons change. The water warms, then cools. Storms rage across the surface, their echoes reaching the depths where I lie. Tides roll my body like a toy, scraping it against rocks and shells. I am here and nowhere—my mind wanders between sleep and wakefulness, between memories of the past and the emptiness of the present.
In these long periods of oblivion, visions come. I see my hunts—not the recent ones in snow-covered forests before meeting that being, but the ancient ones, the first. I recall the taste of the first blood to touch my fangs. It belonged to a boy in hides, who thought he could protect his group from the monster in the dark. His fear was pure and beautiful, like morning dew. His blood—hot and sweet, like spiced honey.
I saw cities I burned, not for destruction but for the spectacle—flames leaping to the skies, reflected in the eyes of fleeing humans. Their screams blended into a symphony of fear that caressed my ears better than any music. I saw plains littered with the bones of my victims, rivers red with blood, forests where even beasts feared to tread the paths I walked.
Then something changed. At first, it was subtle, like ripples from a fallen leaf. A finger twitched—barely, so slight it could have been the current's trick. But it wasn't. Somewhere deep in this foreign body, something awoke, like a rusted mechanism finally turning.
An eyelid trembled. I felt a muscle—tiny, weak, but mine—contract at my will. Then another, a third. The body began to awaken, cell by cell, fiber by fiber, as if the light that bound me was losing its grip. I felt control returning—not fully, not instantly, but in pieces, as if reassembling myself from shards.
But with awakening came a new awareness. The first thing I felt sharply was a pulse. Not mine—I never had a heart that beat in rhythm with life. It was another's pulse, far above, on the shore. Human. Not just one—dozens, hundreds of heartbeats merging into a single rhythm, like war drums before battle.
Their blood called to me through the water's depths, a beacon in the dark. Each heartbeat echoed in my bones, each drop of their blood sent waves of scent that even the sea couldn't mask. Thirst awoke with new ferocity, wild and untamed, forcing this weak body to move against its nature.
I tried to stand. The effort was labored—muscles weakened by stillness, but they began to obey. The body felt light, disgustingly light. I missed the familiar weight of horns scraping the ocean floor, the armor shielding me from the world, the majestic presence that inspired fear with a glance.
My hands rose to my face—slowly, uncertainly, as if learning to command this body anew. Fingers—soft, clawless—touched what should have been my face. Instead of the hard bone plates that protected me for centuries, I felt smooth skin. Soft, warm, human skin. I shuddered and struck the sand in disgust, raising a cloud around me.
Where are my horns? Majestic, curved, sharp as spears? Where are the bone plates covering my head? Where are the spines along my spine? My fingers slid across my face, finding only human features—nose, lips, cheeks, forehead. All smooth, even, disgustingly symmetrical.
What happened to me?
The question echoed in my skull, unanswered. I remembered the light, the pain, how my essence twisted and reshaped. But why like this? Why this vile parody of something?
Hair curled around my face—long, wet, heavy. It fell over my shoulders, creating strange sensations on my skin. Before, I had no hair, only a mane of hard fibers, like metal wire. These soft strands felt alien, out of place. In rage, I yanked one, and a sharp pain shot through my scalp.
Pain. I felt pain.
For the first time in my existence, spanning millennia, I experienced it—sharp, real, burning. The sensation was so new, so foreign, that I froze, analyzing it. Nerve endings I never had sent signals to my brain. This body could suffer, just as my victims did.
No, no, no.
Rage flooded me like a tsunami. I screamed, and the sound from my throat was alien—high, human, full of emotions I deemed beneath me. It wasn't the roar of a predator that terrified all life. It was a cry of despair, weakness, humanity.
I struck the water, creating waves and whirlpools. Sand rose in clouds, fish scattered in panic. My movements were swift, furious, but painfully human. What did that light do to me? What did that sky-bound creature with star-like eyes do? That thing with wings of light and a voice like a chorus of angels and demons' screams?
Gradually, rage gave way to cold calculation. Emotions were a luxury I couldn't afford. I needed to understand, adapt, survive. Then—revenge. On everyone. On that creature first.
I swam to the surface. The movements were... natural. That surprised me. As if this body knew what to do, even if my mind rebelled against each gesture. My legs moved in a rhythm I didn't recall learning. My arms sliced through the water with unearned grace. The body swam on its own, driven by instincts implanted by its creator.
The water grew lighter as I neared the surface. I saw sunlight piercing the depths, creating golden columns in the blue haze. Fish grew larger, their movements more complex. I felt the boundary between water and air, between my prison and the world above.
When I broke the surface, the sun hit my eyes with such force that I squinted involuntarily. It was the same as before—a yellow disk in a blue sky—but somehow brighter, more painful. My eyes watered, lids trembling with strain. I raised a hand to shield them and saw it again—white, soft, with blue veins glowing beneath.
A hand. A human hand. Five fingers ended in short, blunt nails, useless for hunting. No claws to tear flesh or pierce armor. No bone ridges to make every strike lethal. Just soft skin and fragile bones. The skin was pale, untouched by the sun, with a pinkish hue of life. Like theirs. Like prey.
No. NO!
The revulsion was so intense I nearly sank back into the water. But thirst wouldn't allow it. It grew with every second, becoming unbearable. Above, on the shore, life pulsed. Dozens of hearts, hundreds of liters of blood, thousands of fearful breaths. All waiting for me.
I swam toward the shore. My movements grew confident, muscles warming, gaining strength. When my feet touched the bottom, I stood and waded through the shallows to the sandy beach. Water reached my waist, then knees, then lapped at my feet. And then I saw my reflection in the calm water of a small cove.
A human. A young man with curly dark hair falling in wet strands over his shoulders. Symmetrical features—high forehead, straight nose, full lips, strong chin. Sky-blue eyes, deep and clear. Broad shoulders, muscular chest, flat stomach. Beautiful, by their standards. Perfect for humans. Flawless, with no trace of my true nature.
A face women would call beautiful, men would call noble. A hero's face from their legends, a warrior or prince. A face to inspire trust, admiration, perhaps even love.
"A-A-A!"
A scream tore from my throat against my will. I struck the reflection with my fist, shattering it into a thousand ripples. Water sprayed upward, briefly hiding the hated image. This isn't me! This can't be me! I am the hunter, the Higher, the nightmare that haunts their dreams and feeds on their fears! Not... this. Not this caricature of a human.
But when the water stilled, the same face stared back. This time, its expression mirrored my feelings—lips twisted in disgust, eyes blazing with rage, brows furrowed. At least this reflection captured my true essence.
I climbed onto the shore, sand crunching under bare feet. The sensation was new—before, my paws were covered in hard plates that felt no texture. Now, every grain, every pebble sparked in the nerves of my soles. Uncomfortable, distracting.
I stood on the beach, naked as a newborn, trembling not from cold—I still barely felt it—but from rage and powerlessness. The sun warmed my skin, a light breeze played with my wet hair. Somewhere, gulls cried, their voices blending with the surf. A peaceful, idyllic scene that infuriated me to my core.
In the distance, I saw houses—stone, tall, with flat roofs and elegant columns. The architecture was unfamiliar, unlike any I'd seen in my wanderings. White walls gleamed in the sun, adorned with vibrant frescoes of sea scenes and mythical creatures. People were everywhere—I felt their blood, heard their steps, their voices, their laughter, their breaths.
But now, I looked like them. Now, I was one of them outwardly.
No. Never.
I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles whitened. As long as thirst lived in me, as long as I remembered the taste of their fear, I remained myself. Form was nothing. Essence was everything. This human shell wouldn't change who I was at my core. I was still the predator, just better camouflaged. Yes, that's it. Exactly.
I took a step forward, then another, adjusting to the new body. Muscles moved smoothly, joints without creaks or pain. It was flexible, strong—for human standards. But compared to my former form... I squeezed my fingers with maximum force, nails digging into my palms. Pain again—faint, barely noticeable, but irritating in its novelty. Tiny drops of blood welled from the cuts.
I raised my hand to my lips, tasting my blood. Metallic, slightly salty from seawater. Disgusting, as always. At least that hadn't changed. My own blood was always bland, tasteless, lacking the sweetness that made victims' blood so desirable.
I looked at the settlement in the distance, and suddenly, information flooded my mind. Streams of knowledge, as if someone opened windows in my consciousness. Knossos. The name came unbidden, as if planted in my brain. Minoan civilization. Crete. Aegean Sea. Palaces with labyrinths. Bulls and frescoes. Maritime trade.
The information poured in, filling the voids of my mind with details I'd never known. I saw maps of these lands, as if from a bird's-eye view. I knew their gods, customs, language, history. Where did it come from? What force fed me this knowledge?
Thirst surged, pulling me from my thoughts. I felt their blood's scent even from this distance—sweet, intoxicating, calling. Each heartbeat echoed in my veins. It summoned me, as always, but now differently. Now, I was one of them outwardly. The hunt would be... more interesting. And far easier.
I moved toward the city slowly, deliberately, studying every sensation of this new body. Each step came easier than the last. Sand gave way to grass, then the packed earth of a road. The body, once alien and wrong, was becoming... not familiar, no, but more obedient.
Muscles worked with surprising harmony. I moved faster than any human could, but I could hide it, blending in without drawing attention. My reactions were lightning-fast, my balance perfect. Some deep part of my consciousness acknowledged this form's advantages. I could slip among humans unnoticed. I could approach a victim without sparking fear until the last moment. I could...
No. I hated this form. Hated its weakness, its vulnerability, its susceptibility to pain. Hated how it made me resemble them—prey. Lesser creatures that existed only to feed beings like me.
The first human I encountered on the path to the city was an old man. He walked from the city walls, leaning on a crudely carved staff, a woven basket slung over his back. His clothes were simple—a rough, unbleached woolen chiton, leather sandals cracked with age and dust. His gray hair was neatly trimmed, his beard well-kept. The basket held vegetables and clay pots—likely returning from the market.
Seeing me, naked, standing in the middle of the road, he stopped. His eyes—brown, kind, framed by wrinkles—widened in surprise. There was no fear, only confusion and... pity? He quickly scanned me, noting my lack of clothes, my disoriented expression, my wet hair.
He spoke in an unfamiliar language, words melodic with long vowels and soft consonants. But I understood them instantly, as if the knowledge poured into my mind translated in real-time.
"Young man, are you hurt? Do you need help?" His voice was hoarse with age but warm, full of genuine concern.
He pitied me? Him?! A lowly creature trying to help a higher being, mistaking a predator for a wounded lamb? The irony was so absurd I barely suppressed a laugh.
I smiled—slowly, cautiously, experimenting with this face's expressions. Muscles lifted the corners of my lips, crafting a look that should seem grateful, slightly embarrassed. For the first time, my lips curved into a smile, and it wasn't terrifying, because the old man stepped closer.
He set his basket down and pulled out a piece of rough cloth—a spare chiton, judging by the cut. Simple clothing, likely belonging to a family member. He handed it to me with a fatherly expression.
"Here, cover yourself. The nights here can be cold," he said, his trembling fingers steady in their resolve.
I took the cloth, feeling its texture—coarse but sturdy. Chiton. The word surfaced in my mind with knowledge of how to wear it. Minoan attire, worn by the people of these lands. I draped it over my shoulders, fumbling with folds and fastenings. The fabric scraped my overly sensitive skin but concealed my nakedness.
The old man kept talking, gesturing toward the city, inviting me to follow. His speech was unhurried, filled with details about the city, where to find food and shelter, people who could help a stranger. He spoke of his family—wife, children, grandchildren—with the guileless openness typical of these creatures.
I nodded at the right moments, maintaining the illusion of a grateful traveler. But with each word, my thirst grew. I saw blood pulsing in his veins, flowing, shimmering.
I could bear it no longer.
In one step, I was before him. Too fast for such a pitiful creature.
I gently pulled him close, feeling the pulse beneath my fingers. His eyes widened, now filled with fear—pure, primal terror. He tried to cry out, but only a rasp escaped. I leaned closer, inhaling his fear, feeling thirst surge. My lips brushed his neck, and I realized my teeth... had changed. They were sharper, longer—not human teeth but a predator's fangs. They pierced his skin easily.
"Blame your pity."
The first drop of his blood seared my tongue, and the world exploded in color. The same sweetness, the same intoxicating rush of power, the same dominion over life and death. I drank deeply, greedily, feeling his life flow into me, its warmth spreading through my veins. His fear was the sweetest part—that moment of realization when he understood I wasn't what I seemed, that something else lurked beneath this human skin.
When I finished, his body went limp in my arms. I lowered him to the ground, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. The blood on my skin was bright red, vivid against the pale flesh. I licked it off, unwilling to waste a drop. Delicious.
My gaze fell to a puddle left by morning rain. The human face, now smeared with blood, stared back, its eyes glowing from within, like embers in a dying fire. My teeth—sharp, long—slowly retracted, returning to their human guise.
I smiled.
So this is how it will be. A mask by day, my true essence during the hunt. Convenient. I could tolerate this... for now. Until I found a way to reclaim my true form.
I donned the chiton, smoothing its folds. The clothing restricted movement but was necessary for disguise. I saw humans wore it, and to blend in, I had to cover my body.
I dragged the old man's body into the bushes and left it there. Not out of fear of discovery—I didn't care if they found him. It was just... tidier. I liked order in my hunt. I loved the hunt.
Knossos greeted me with noise and smells. Thousands of people moved through narrow streets, shouting, laughing, haggling. Their blood merged into a single intoxicating stream, calling to me. But I restrained myself. A massacre was dull. After years of inaction, I craved true fear. Hunting in a crowd required caution, and I needed to learn their ways first.
No one paid me attention. Just another young man, handsome but unremarkable. I walked the streets, absorbing information. The Minoans built multi-story stone houses with inner courtyards and sophisticated water systems. Their clothing was vibrant, adorned with patterns. Women wore open dresses exposing their breasts, men donned loincloths or short tunics. In my plain chiton, I looked like a pauper, but that helped—no one looked twice at the poor.
I studied their language, listening to conversations. Words formed sentences, sentences formed meaning. By day's end, I understood most of what was said and could speak simple phrases. Their speech was melodic, with long vowels and soft consonants. Pleasant to the ear, if I cared.
But only thirst mattered. By dusk, it was nearly unbearable. I left the main streets, slipping into quiet alleys where houses huddled close, casting shadows where I felt almost at home.
A girl walked alone, carrying a jug on her shoulder. Young, with honey-colored skin and intricately braided hair. Beautiful by their standards. Her steps were light, her breath even. She hummed softly, unaware of danger.
I stepped from the shadows, blocking her path. She stopped but didn't fear—only raised a brow questioningly. In the twilight, she saw only a handsome man, perhaps a foreigner, judging by my clothes and slight accent.
"Are you lost?" she asked, and I understood every word.
"Yes," I replied, smiling. "Can you show me the way to the harbor?"
She smiled back, white teeth flashing in the dim light. She set the jug down, pointing the way.
"It's that way, then turn left at the temple..."
I wasn't listening. I studied her neck, where a vein pulsed, counting heartbeats. She was so close I felt her body's warmth, her skin's scent mixed with oils and flowers.
"Are you listening?" she asked, noticing my stare.
"Very closely," I said, stepping forward.
She didn't retreat—curious, brave girl. My eyes changed, I felt it—pupils dilated, filling the irises, turning my gaze into an abyss. She noticed the shift—her smile faltered, her hand rising to her chest in a protective gesture.
"What's with your eyes?" she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.
I didn't answer. I seized her wrist, yanking her to me. She cried out, struggling, but I was stronger. I clamped a hand over her mouth, dragging her deeper into the shadows where no one would see.
"Quiet," I whispered in her ear. "I won't hurt you."
A lie, of course. There would be pain. But brief.
Her fear was exquisite—pure, unrestrained, primal. It made her blood sweeter, more desirable. My fangs lengthened, ready for the feast.
When I finished, I gently laid her body down, covering it with her chiton. She looked asleep—only two small punctures on her neck betrayed the truth. I wiped my lips, feeling sated. Thirst retreated, but I knew—only for a while. It always returned.
Days in Knossos blurred into weeks, weeks into months. I learned to live among them, mimicking their mannerisms, speaking their language without an accent. I found a home—a small house on the outskirts, once owned by a lone man I drained on my first night. I learned to acquire money—sometimes stealing, sometimes taking from victims, sometimes working, doing tasks requiring strength.
How amusing it was to pretend to be human. So funny, so funny. Seeing their fear reflected in my eyes.
Oh, glorious.
People thought me a foreigner from distant lands. I called myself Tenos—a name I chose, overheard in conversation. It meant "shadow" in their tongue, and I liked it. A shadow gliding among them, unnoticed until the final moment.
I learned to choose victims carefully. Lone travelers, prostitutes, drunks no one would miss. Sometimes wealthy merchants, their deaths blamed on robbers. I didn't hunt near my home, always venturing to other parts of the city or beyond. I needed little—one victim every few days sated my thirst.
My new body... I still hated its reflection. Hated how women looked at me, how men envied my strength and beauty. Hated how easily I blended into their world. It was wrong. I was the predator, they the prey. The line between us should be as clear as day and night.
But I had to admit—it was too convenient.
Over time, I noticed advantages. My strength remained—I could snap a human neck with one hand. My senses were sharper—I saw in the dark, heard whispers through walls, smelled blood from afar. And my mind... it grew clearer. Knowledge came easier, memories sharper, without blurred edges. I recalled every victim, every hunt, every drop of blood.
I studied their world deeper. I read their scrolls, listened to their sages, observed their rituals. They worshipped gods—human-like beings, stronger, immortal, living on Mount Olympus. I laughed at their beliefs. If gods existed, they weren't like humans. They were like me—predators feeding on fear and blood.
Or like that sky-bound creature with star-like eyes, whose gaze taught me fear.
One night, after a hunt, I sat by the window, staring at the stars. The blood of a recent victim—a young fisherman camping on the shore—still burned in my veins, filling me with strength and clarity.
I thought of my past, of millennia of hunting, of endless snows and scorching sands I'd crossed. Of how the world changed around me while I remained unchanged—a predator, ever-hungry, ever-seeking new prey.
Now, I'd changed outwardly, but inside, I was the same. Thirst hadn't vanished; the hunt continued. I was, and always would be, the hunter, the Higher among them. Just with a better disguise. Now, I could walk among them, choose the best prey, savor their fear on a more... personal level.
I raised my hand, studying the slender, clawless fingers. This hand would kill as much as my clawed one. Perhaps more—this human form let me get closer.
Footsteps sounded outside—light, male. I froze, listening. A young man, judging by his gait, alone at this late hour. Foolish. Dangerous. Tempting.
I slipped to the door, silent as a shadow, and cracked it open to see the passerby. A young man, no older than twenty, with long hair tied in a knot, wearing a light tunic. He walked quickly, not from fear but with confidence, almost defiance. Something about him was... unusual. His blood smelled different—not like ordinary humans. It carried a sharp tang, like lightning mixed with rain-soaked earth. I frowned, sniffing. This wasn't just a human.
He stopped near my house, at a crossroad, and tilted his head, as if listening. His dark eyes scanned the street, lingering on my window. I stepped back into the shadows, but too late—he'd noticed movement. His lips curved in a faint, almost mocking smile.
"Come out," he said, his voice low, laced with a strength that didn't match his youthful appearance. "I know you're there."
I froze. No human noticed me unless I wanted them to. My disguise was perfect—I moved like them, spoke like them, looked like them. But this one... he saw through it. Or felt it. Thirst stirred, but curiosity drowned it. Who was he? Why did his blood smell so strange?
I stepped onto the street, slowly, letting him take me in. My chiton was clean, hair neatly pulled back, face a mask of calm. An ordinary human, a foreigner, unremarkable. But his gaze swept over me, as if seeing not skin but what lay beneath—my true essence.
"Who are you? What do you want at my house?" I asked, mimicking their speech, slightly elongating vowels.
He smirked, crossing his arms. His movements had a predator's grace, but not like mine. Not a blood-drinker.
"My name is Kreon," he said. "And you... you're not what you seem, Tenos."
I tensed, hearing my name. How did he know? I hadn't shared it with anyone, except those who soon became my prey. Yet he knew. It was... unsettling. For the first time in ages, I felt not the hunter, but the hunted.
"How do you know my name?" My voice stayed even, but rage simmered within. If he knew too much, he wouldn't leave here alive.
Kreon stepped closer, eyes locked on mine. His hand rested casually on his belt, where a small pouch hung, tied with a leather cord. A faint scent wafted from it—herbs, metal, and something I couldn't identify.
"I'm a mage," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "I sense ones like you. Those who hide among humans but don't belong. Creatures that devour human souls, and you... you're a creature."
All sounds faded. Mage. The word ignited in my mind, bringing fragments of knowledge I didn't understand how I'd gained. Waves of information crashed over me. Mages—humans wielding powers beyond others, drawing energy from earth, sky, stars... or something else. Seconds later, the flood receded. I recalled stories from Knossos' streets. People feared mages but respected them, saying they could command wind, fire, even fate. I thought it was nonsense. But the knowledge that surfaced said otherwise. Magic.
How intriguing.
I smiled, showing human teeth—for now. Let him think I'm just a man, let him relax.
"A mage, you say?" I stepped toward him, closing the distance. "And what do you want from me, mage Kreon?"
He didn't retreat, though I saw his fingers tighten slightly on the pouch. He knew I was dangerous but wasn't afraid. That irritated me. Humans should fear me. Always.
"I want to understand what you are," he said. "You're not a demon, not a god, not a spirit. But not human either. Your essence... it's alien. Like you came from another world. Rumors are spreading in the city. People are disappearing."
I froze. The disappearances didn't concern me, nor the rumors. Another world. He was closer to the truth than I was. I didn't know my own origins, but his words struck something deep in my consciousness. The image of the sky-bound creature with star-like eyes flashed before me. That light that changed me. Could this mage know more than I did?
I didn't get to ask. Kreon suddenly raised his hand, and the air around him shimmered, like heat rising. His fingers traced a complex, glowing golden sigil. I felt an invisible force slam into me, throwing me back. My body crashed into the house's wall with such force that the stones cracked, and I broke through, collapsing inside in a cloud of dust and debris.
Pain seared through me—sharp, unfamiliar. I roared, leaping to my feet. The wall was ruined, but I was mostly unharmed. Blood trickled from a gash on my shoulder, and I licked it, tasting the familiar flavor. The wound closed, but even so. Thirst surged, drowning the pain.
"You'll regret that, mage," I growled, vaulting back onto the street.
Kreon waited, standing in the road's center. His hands glowed with golden light, sparks swirling around him like tiny stars. He was calm, but his eyes showed tension. He knew I wasn't ordinary prey.
"Show what you truly are," he said, his voice a command.
I laughed—a raspy, inhuman sound. My fangs lengthened, eyes blazed red, skin tightened, revealing pulsing veins. I still looked human, but now something... wrong. Something that would make any human flee in terror.
But Kreon didn't run. He raised both hands, and the ground beneath me trembled. Stones tore from the pavement, hurtling toward me like arrows. I dodged the first, second, third, moving faster than any human could. My body, though human, was still a weapon. I lunged forward, closing the distance, and struck.
My fist hit an invisible barrier around the mage. The air hummed, sparks flying. Kreon winced but held his ground. He muttered something, and the barrier flared brighter, throwing me back. I landed on my feet, skidding across the stones.
"Not bad," I said, wiping blood from my lips. The barrier's impact split my lip, and the taste of my own blood fueled my rage. "But you'll still die."
I charged again, faster, smarter. I didn't run straight—I zigzagged, using shadows and debris as cover. Kreon tried to track me, but I was too quick. His spells hit empty air, tearing earth and walls but missing me.
I reached him in one leap. My hand closed on his wrist, snapping bones with a crunch. He cried out, not in pain but in fury. His free hand darted to the pouch, throwing a handful of powder at me. It ignited in the air, becoming blinding light.
I roared, shielding my eyes, but too late. The light burned, piercing my lids, skin, bones. I felt my body lose control, falling under the mage's will. I collapsed to my knees, clawing at the ground, struggling to rise.
"What... did you... do?" I rasped, feeling strength drain.
Kreon stood over me, breathing heavily. His hand was broken, blood dripping onto the stones, but he held himself with dignity. There was no fear in his eyes—only resolve.
"A binding spell," he said. "It won't kill you, but it'll hold you until I learn what you are. The Supreme One gave me this for a reason; he knew…"
I laughed, despite the pain. Binding? He thought he could bind me? Me, who hunted for millennia, who drank the blood of his ancestors for centuries? I gathered my remaining strength, feeling thirst restore control. My blood boiled, fangs lengthened further, eyes burned brighter.
"You don't understand, mage," I whispered, rising slowly. "I can't be bound."
The spell cracked like glass under pressure. I felt it break, my will tearing its threads. Kreon stepped back, eyes widening. He realized his mistake.
I lunged—not at him, but to the side, into the shadows where his spells couldn't reach. I moved faster than ever, feeling this human body reach its limit. But I didn't need limits. I was more than this body. I was the Higher, the shadow, the nightmare, the predator.
Kreon shouted a spell, and a wall of fire rose before me. I leaped through, feeling flames lick my skin but not stopping. Pain was nothing. Thirst was everything.
My hand seized his throat, lifting him off the ground. His eyes met mine, and I saw not fear but... regret? He muttered something, but I didn't listen. My fangs sank into his neck, and blood flooded my mouth.
It was... different. Not sweet like human blood, but sharp, searing, like lightning. It filled me with power—and pain. I drank deeper, feeling his life fade, his magic dissolving into me. His body went limp, and I tossed it to the ground.
I stood over him, breathing heavily. The mage's blood burned in my veins, making my skin glow, my eyes blaze. Something was changing.
Something stirred within me.
I looked at my body. Still human, but now... stronger. Skin healed quickly, gashes vanished, muscles tensed, ready for the next hunt. I was faster, sharper, more dangerous in an instant. The mage's blood made me more than I was.
But questions lingered. How did he find me? Who was this Supreme One?
And what was this strange feeling at the edge of my consciousness?
Sounds interrupted my thoughts. Guards and townsfolk were running toward us. The noise had drawn attention. Grabbing the mage's belongings, I turned and melted into the shadows, leaving his body in the street. It was time to leave this city. The next hunting ground awaited. Too much noise here.