I left Knossos under the cover of night, carrying Kreon's pouch. Inside were herbs, a metal disc, and some powder that teased my senses. I'd examine it later. The city faded behind me, its noise replaced by the crash of waves and the howl of wind driving sand along the shore. I walked barefoot, leaving faint prints on the wet sand. This human body still infuriated me—too light, too soft, lacking the familiar weight of horns and claws. But the mage's blood I drank seemed to have changed me. It boiled in my veins, making each step faster, each breath deeper, each heartbeat louder. I felt its power, like lightning striking the earth, and with it grew something new—control. The changes were noticeable, but most importantly, my thirst was no longer a beast straining at its chains. Now I could harness it, wield it like a blade in my hand. Yet it still called, demanding blood, fear, life.
The mage's blood had done something to me, made me stronger than ever. Every sip of blood had always empowered me over centuries of hunting—I felt it—but his blood, drawn from unknown sources, awakened something greater. My muscles surged with power, my vision sharpened, my mind cleared of fog. I could hear heartbeats from hundreds of paces away, smell fear through the wind. And for the first time in millennia, I could choose when thirst would take over. It was... novel. Intoxicating.
I moved north toward the mountains, where, according to rumors, wild tribes lived. They didn't build stone houses like the Minoans but hid in caves, fearing shadows and praying to their gods. Their fear would be thick, their blood sweet. I knew it, as a predator senses prey beyond the horizon. My hunt would never end, but now it would be subtler, more refined.
Hours later, the forest greeted me with dampness and gloom. Trees taller than my old form wove their branches, blotting out the sky. Sunlight barely pierced the foliage, and I felt almost at home—in the shadows, where my essence breathed freely. The ground was soft, covered in needles and moss. The scent of rotting leaves mingled with the distant aroma of blood—animal, human, alive. I walked, listening to the world. Birds fell silent as I passed, their tiny hearts beating faster. They sensed the predator. Good.
Thirst grew, but I held it in check. The mage's blood gave me mastery over it—I could wait, choose my moment. It was like a game: the longer I restrained my hunger, the sweeter the blood, infused with fear. I was learning to savor the anticipation.
After a few nights, I found tracks. Narrow, with imprints of crude sandals, they led to a river. A tribe. I crouched, touching the ground. Sniffing the earth, I caught a fresh scent—people had passed here this morning. Three, maybe four. I inhaled deeper, detecting sweat, fear, and... hope? They carried something heavy, perhaps game. They wanted to eat, to survive another day. I smiled. They would be my prey.
I followed the tracks, moving silently as the moon growing on the horizon. The forest thinned, revealing a plain where a river gleamed under the moonlight. I saw them—four men sitting around a fire. They roasted a deer carcass, their voices low and rough. Their clothes—hides tied with ropes—reeked of fat and smoke. I hid behind a tree, watching. Their blood called, but I waited. Fear would make it sweeter.
One, the youngest, stood to fetch water. He moved to the river, and I followed, gliding between trees. My steps were soundless, my breath unnecessary—air was irrelevant. He bent to the water, and I let a branch snap underfoot. He froze, gripping his spear. His eyes scanned the darkness, heart racing. He didn't see me. I felt his fear—sharp as iron. I stepped from the shadows, letting him see me—tall, in a chiton, with a human face but eyes beginning to glow red.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"Tenos," I replied, smiling. My fangs extended slightly, and he noticed. His spear shook in his hand.
"Leave," he said, backing toward the river. "This is our land. Strangers don't belong here."
I stepped closer, feeling thirst clawing but holding it back.
"Just a traveler. I want a drink of water. Let me taste it…"
He didn't believe me. His fear thickened, his blood sang louder. I saw his fingers tighten on the spear, sweat beading on his brow. He was ready to run or fight. I gave him hope—stepped back, as if to leave. His shoulders relaxed, his breathing steadied. Fool.
I lunged faster than he could blink. My hand seized his throat, stifling his cry. Fangs sank into his neck, and blood flowed—hot, sweet, laced with panic. It was better than the Minoans'—rougher, richer, like wine aged in the earth. Hunters tasted better than farmers. I drank, feeling power flood me. Muscles tensed, vision sharpened, hearing caught the footsteps of his companions running toward the noise. I finished, letting his body slip into the river. The current carried it away, hiding my tracks.
The other three appeared with spears, eyes gleaming with firelight and fear. I didn't play. My thirst was sated, but their blood called. I moved toward them, faster than they could see. The first fell with his chest torn open by my hand, the second crumpled with a broken neck from my strike. The third thrust his spear, but it glanced off my skin, leaving no mark. I grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and sank my fangs into his neck, savoring his heart's final beats. Their blood strengthened me—my bones hardened, my body quickened. I grew stronger with every drop.
I tossed the last body aside, joining the others. Corpses were useless to me.
I vanished into the forest, leaving the fire to die out. After brief consideration, I threw their bodies into the river—let others think it was beasts. But I knew rumors would spread. People would fear, and their fear would sweeten my hunt.
These lowly creatures feared everything.
Days bled into weeks, forests gave way to mountains. I moved north, where the air grew colder and people warier. They sensed something in the shadows. They hid, searched, speculated. They found my tracks but couldn't comprehend them. I left signs—scratches on trees, bloodstains on rocks—to feed their fear. Fear was my ally, making their blood sweeter, the hunt more thrilling.
I passed through a dozen groups. Their blood was refreshing, like winter's crispness.
One day, I stumbled upon a sanctuary—a circle of rough stones with a fire burning at its center. A dozen or more people gathered, beating hide drums, singing in low voices, their bodies swaying in rhythm. Their blood smelled different—tinged with faith mixed with fear. They prayed to something they called "the Eternals," descended from the sky. I hid behind boulders, listening. They spoke of beings arriving on a vast ship, larger than their mountains. These beings were strong, beautiful like gods, promising protection from "monsters." I smirked. Monsters? They didn't know I was here.
Their words about the Eternals stirred my memory. Ajak, Sersi, Ikaris—names they chanted like prayers. They said these beings taught them to sow grain, build homes, defend themselves. I recalled the light that changed me, the sky-bound creature with star-like eyes. Were the Eternals the same ones who gazed upon me? I didn't know, but I wanted to.
I chose a victim—a woman who stepped away from the circle to fetch water from a stream. Young, with long braids and eyes full of faith. Her blood smelled sweet, like honey infused with her prayers. I waited until she bent to the water, then emerged from the shadows. She saw me but didn't scream—only froze, staring as if I were one of her Eternals. Her faith was her weakness.
"Are you one of them?" she asked, her voice trembling with awe.
I smiled, letting my fangs extend slightly. Her eyes widened, faith turning to fear. "Not quite," I said, stepping closer.
She backed away but tripped on a stone. I grabbed her shoulder, clamping a hand over her mouth. She struggled weakly, her faith hindering resistance. My fangs pierced her neck, and blood flowed—hot, thick, flavored with her hope, making it richer. I drank, feeling her life pour into me. Her blood was sweeter than a shepherd's—faith made it more potent. My control over thirst strengthened—I could stop without draining her, but why? I finished, leaving her body by the stream. Her braids covered her face, as if she slept. Let them think she drowned.
I returned to the sanctuary, hiding in the shadows. The people kept singing, their voices trembling with fear and faith. They spoke of the Eternals, how they fought "monsters." I listened, memorizing every word. One mentioned the Eternals speaking among themselves, calling the monsters Deviants—creatures that tore apart humans and animals, drinking their blood. I frowned. Deviants? Like me, but I was greater. I was the Higher, even among these creatures. Their hunt couldn't compare to mine.
I returned to the sanctuary that night, driven not just by thirst but curiosity. The talk of Eternals and Deviants burned in me like embers in ash. If the Eternals knew of creatures like me, they were either enemies or the key to understanding what I'd become. But for now, I wasn't seeking them—the night was mine, and these people, with their drums and prayers, were prey.
These foolish humans couldn't know anything important.
I lurked at the edge of the stone circle, where shadows blended with the fire's smoke. Their singing grew louder, the drumbeat faster. They didn't sense me, their faith blinding them. The central fire cast flickers on their faces—tense, sweaty, filled with fear and ecstasy. Their blood's scent intensified, mingling with smoke, herbs, and something else—a metallic, almost imperceptible trace. I sniffed. It wasn't just their bodies' smell. Something alien, inhuman, lingered in the air. The Eternals? Or something else?
I chose the moment when their singing peaked, drowning out all else. My first step was silent—I glided toward a man at the circle's edge. Older than the others, with gray in his beard, he clutched a feathered staff. My hand shot to his throat, fingers squeezing, silencing him. Fangs pierced his neck, and blood flowed—tart, flavored with age and weariness. He was easy prey, his body going limp quickly. I dragged him into the shadows, leaving only a few drops that mingled with the dirt.
But they noticed. A woman with long hair screamed, catching movement in the dark. The singing stopped, drums fell silent. The quiet was thick—I heard their quickened breaths. They peered into the night, clutching knives and spears. Their fear was palpable, making the air heavy, my hunt sweeter.
"Deviant!" shouted a young man with a tattooed shoulder, raising his spear, hand trembling. "Eternals, protect us!"
I laughed softly, letting them hear. The sound echoed off the stones, and they huddled closer to the fire, as if it could save them. I stepped forward, letting the firelight illuminate my face. Their eyes widened—some screamed, others fell to their knees, whispering prayers. They saw my fangs, my glowing red eyes, like a beast's. But I wasn't a beast. I was greater.
The first charged—a young man with a spear. Brave but foolish. I dodged, his weapon slicing air. My hand seized his wrist, bones snapping like dry twigs. He screamed, but I silenced him, fingers tearing into his neck. Blood sprayed, hot, flavored with fury. I tossed his body to the stones, where it crumpled like a broken doll.
The others screamed, some fled, others fought. A woman with a knife lunged, eyes blazing with desperation. I caught her arm, twisting until the knife fell. She was next—her blood bitter, steeped in fear for others. I drank quickly, not savoring, as the rest encircled me, their spears and torches trembling.
There were too many to play cautiously. I moved like a shadow, faster than they could see. One by one, they fell—blood flowed like a river, soaking the sanctuary's stones. I tore flesh, broke bones, drank their blood. Each sip fueled me—their faith, fear, despair nourished me. I felt myself grow stronger with every drop. These were mere sparks of power, but they were mine.
Yet I didn't lose control—thirst didn't rule me; I ruled it.
The last, an old man in a long robe, didn't resist. He stood by the fire, gazing at me, eyes calm, almost empty. "You're not a Deviant," he said softly. "You're something more. The Eternals will find you. They will avenge us."
His words hit like a cold wind. I found it... amusing.
"Ha-ha-ha." He flinched, but I didn't care. Joy seized my mind. Threatened? By whom? The Eternals. "Ha-ha-ha. Old man, you're funny. Or was that a final prayer to save yourself? I don't care."
My fangs sank into his neck, and he died silently, his blood nearly tasteless, as if he'd already given all he had.
When it was over, the sanctuary was dead. Bodies lay among the stones, the fire dying, smoke rising to the sky. I stood alone, surrounded by their blood, fear, and faith. The Eternals' scent lingered faintly, drowned by death. I wiped blood from my lips and vanished into the night, leaving only silence and slaughter.
But the old man's words lingered. "The Eternals will find you." So be it. Let them come. Perhaps I'd find them first. After another hunt. Who knows?
I continued through the mountains. The ground grew harder, dotted with stones and sparse bushes. The cold intensified, but I didn't feel it. My human skin resisted the chill. The blood I drank strengthened me each time. Shepherds, hunters, women by streams—their lives flowed into me, fortifying body, mind, control. I could walk days without rest, see in pitch darkness, hear the wind's whisper a kilometer away. But thirst never vanished. It grew smarter, slyer, like me. I could wait, choose, but it always returned, demanding blood.
I noticed oddities after a few days. Tracks, unlike human ones—too large, with three clawed toes pressed into the earth. They reeked of blood, not from my hunts. Days later, I found bodies—deer, wolves, sometimes humans—torn apart in ways no ordinary predator could manage. Their blood was drained, but not by me. It infuriated me. Someone was hunting on my path, stealing my prey. I followed the tracks, thirst mixing with rage. Whoever it was, they'd pay.
One night, I found a fresh trail—deep, smelling of blood and rot. It led to a cave in a cliff, where darkness was thick as tar. I entered, my eyes adjusting instantly. The floor was littered with bones—human, animal, old, and fresh. Blood was still warm but scarce, as if licked clean. I inhaled, catching an alien scent—not human, not beast, but... other. My fangs lengthened, eyes glowed red. I was ready.
The silence was heavy, like before a storm. Then I heard it—a low growl from the cave's depths. My muscles tensed, the blood of the mage and my victims surging, making me faster, stronger than anything on this earth. I stepped forward, unafraid. Let it know I'm here. Let it fear.
From the shadows emerged a creature—massive, over three meters tall, its body covered in black scales gleaming like wet stone. Its paws ended in long, curved claws, like mine once were. Its head resembled a wolf's, but its maw was wider, filled with sharp teeth, and its eyes burned yellow, like a predator's. It stared at me, hunger in its gaze—raw, primitive, like mine but cruder. It sensed my blood, altered by magic and centuries of hunting. But I wasn't prey. I was the hunter.
"Who are you?" I growled, my voice lower, almost like my old form, filled with the power of consumed blood.
The creature didn't answer. It tilted its head, nostrils flaring, inhaling my scent—blood changed by magic and eons of hunting. Its eyes narrowed; it saw me as a threat. Good. Let it try.
I didn't wait. My legs tensed, and I lunged for its throat. My fangs, enhanced by the mage's blood, were sharper than any human weapon. They pierced its scales with a crunch, like a knife through hide. Black blood gushed—thick, with a metallic, rancid taste. It burned my throat, but I clamped down harder, feeling its power flow into me. My muscles tightened, skin stretched as if ready to reclaim the bone plates of my past. I grew faster, stronger, more dangerous.
The creature roared, the sound shaking the cave, making stones tremble. Its paw swiped, claws tearing my shoulder, ripping chiton and skin. Pain flared but faded—wounds healed in seconds, the mage's and victims' blood making me near-invulnerable. I dodged its second strike, leaping aside, and crashed into its back, my fist slamming into its spine. Scales cracked like ice under a hammer. My fingers tore into its neck, ripping scales, feeling flesh yield.
It thrashed like a cornered beast, claws raking cave walls, dislodging stone and earth. A boulder split, showering us with dust. But I was faster. My fangs found a weak spot—a gap between scales at its neck's base—and I bit down, draining its life. Its blood was wild, untamed, flowing into me like a river, filling me with power. My muscles hardened, bones strengthened, eyes burned brighter than ever. I felt my body change, absorbing its essence, becoming something greater.
The creature tried to throw me off, paws pounding the ground, raising dust clouds. It spun, snapping at me, but I was untouchable. I leaped to its chest, my claws—now longer, sharper—tearing into its flesh. Blood sprayed, mingling with the bones, creating a choking, intoxicating scent. I struck repeatedly, my blows like a hammer on an anvil, each tearing deeper. It roared, but its voice weakened.
It made a final attempt, pinning me to the ground. Its claws dug into my ribs, but I laughed, feeling wounds close faster than it could inflict them. I grabbed its lower jaw, fingers clamping like a vise, and yanked. The maw cracked, teeth scattering like shards. It howled, and I seized the moment, sinking fangs into its chest, where its heart—if it had one—beat. Blood gushed, and I drank, unrelenting, feeling its life fade, my power grow.
Finally, it collapsed. Its massive body hit the ground, shaking the cave. Stones cracked, and the moonlight no longer reached here, darkness enveloping all but my glowing eyes. I didn't stop. My fangs tore its neck, blood fountaining, flooding the cave floor. I drank until its eyes dimmed, until its body was an empty husk. I stood, breathing heavily, feeling its power merge with mine. My skin glowed, eyes blazed red, and I knew: I was more. The Deviant's blood, like the mage's, changed me. I was faster, stronger, and my control over thirst was absolute. I could go months without drinking if I chose. But why? I stood over it, covered in its blood, my body trembling with new power. My fingers thickened, claws lengthened, and a fire burned in my chest, unlike anything since the light changed me.
It was transforming me.
And more.
I looked at the Deviant's body. It wasn't just a beast. The word surfaced in my mind—Deviant. A creature born for destruction, for hunting, like me. But it was crude, primitive. I was different.
I was greater.
Raising my hand, I willed something to move. Blood droplets around me rose, floating before me in a large, spherical mass. Oh, glorious—I felt it like a third arm. What was this?
I smiled, mouth full of blood's remnants. So intriguing. The floating mass obeyed my will like a tamed beast. Something new.
I left the cave, carrying new power and new questions. Where did this blood-control come from? Who created the Deviant? Were the Eternals linked to it? Why did its blood, like Kreon's, change me? What was I?
I felt myself becoming more, but it was intriguing. For the first time in millennia, I wasn't certain of my nature. I thought only human blood strengthened me. I was wrong.
But one thing I knew: I was the Hunter, the predator, the Higher. No one—humans, mages, Deviants, or Eternals—would stand in my way.
Five hundred years passed like days for a mortal. I roamed continents, exploring a world that unfolded before me like an endless canvas of possibilities. Each century brought discoveries—about myself, the power in my veins, the blood art that became my calling.
The first centuries, I studied human ways of killing. Egyptians with bronze blades, Sumerians with spears, northern nomads with stone axes—each nation crafted its methods of war. I watched from the shadows, memorizing their movements, every technique. Not because I needed weapons—my claws and fangs surpassed any metal—but because knowledge made the hunt more interesting.
In the valleys of Mesopotamia, I observed wars between city-states. Warriors fought in phalanxes, spears gleaming, shields ringing with blows. I descended on battlefields after, where the wounded writhed in agony, their blood soaking the earth. Their suffering sweetened the blood—pain, despair, final pleas to gods blended into a bouquet I learned to discern, like a connoisseur of wine.
But simple human hunts grew dull. I turned to more dangerous prey.
In forests covering much of the world, creatures humans hadn't yet eradicated roamed. Sabre-toothed cats with fangs as long as a man's arm, cave bears the size of huts, giant wolves hunting in packs. Their blood was different—wild, untamed, full of primal fury. Each drop made me faster, stronger, closer to the beast I once was.
I recall a fight with a sabre-tooth in the Caucasus mountains. The beast was massive—its shoulders reached my chest, fangs gleaming in moonlight. It knew no fear, only hunger and territorial rage in its eyes. We clashed in a cave, our roars shaking the walls. Its claws tore my chest, but wounds healed in seconds. My fingers sank into its hide, ripping muscle, reaching pulsing arteries. Its blood was fire—burning my throat but filling me with power. When I finished, my fangs grew longer, sharper.
Cave bears taught me patience. Slow but immensely strong, a single swipe could shatter stone. I learned to dodge, use their mass against them, redirect their fury. In the Alps, I spent a winter hunting a bear family. Each fight was a lesson. The mother defended her cubs with fury surpassing human malice. Her blood, steeped in maternal instinct, gave me something new—kinship? Perhaps.
But the true discovery was blood control. What began as moving droplets became an art. I spent nights experimenting with blood pools left after hunts. I learned to shape weapons—daggers, spears, hard as metal. Blood obeyed my will, as if part of me.
The first breakthrough came in Anatolia. I hunted merchants crossing mountain passes. One was a warrior—muscles honed by years of combat, movements precise. When I lunged, he dodged and stabbed my side with a dagger. Pain flared, but more importantly, his blood touched mine. In that moment, I felt a connection.
I could control the blood in his body.
I raised my hand, and he froze, as if petrified. His own blood became my weapon. I made it flow faster—his heart raced, clutching his chest. Then slowed—he grew sluggish, listless. Then I tried something else. I focused, and his blood flowed backward. He screamed, eyes bleeding, but couldn't move. I held him like a marionette.
This changed everything. I could not only drink blood—I could wield it while it was still in a living body. Humans became my puppets, their life force my weapon.
The next four centuries, I honed this power. In Egypt, I learned to draw blood through skin, leaving no bite marks. Priests found bodies, dried like mummies, clueless. In India, I discovered I could sense emotions through blood—fear soured it, anger made it bitter, love added sweetness. I became a blood gourmet, discerning the finest flavors.
In Asian steppes, I met nomads worshipping blood spirits. Their shamans entered trances, offering blood to spirits for visions. I watched from tall grass. When they cut their veins, letting blood drip into clay bowls, I felt its call. Their blood was unique—laced with primitive but real magic. Drinking a shaman's blood brought dreams—visions of the future, echoes of the past, faces of people yet unmet.
This gave another ability. I could see a victim's past through their blood. Each drop held memories—fears, joys, secrets. I became a living archive of human history, absorbing thousands of lives' experiences. Their memories burned like embers in my mind, leaving traces.
But not only humans and beasts became my prey. Deviants—primitive creatures born for destruction—multiplied. I met them in deep forests, mountain caves, deserts where humans dared not tread. Each was unique—some like giant spiders with human faces, others like wolves with bat wings. All craved blood like me.
Early battles were tough. Deviants knew no fear, felt no pain like humans. They were built for hunting, instincts honed to perfection. But I had an edge—intelligence. I studied each foe, found weaknesses, used their strength against them.
In the Pyrenees, I fought a Deviant like a giant praying mantis. Its forelegs were swords, slicing air with a whistle. It was fast but predictable—each strike followed a rhythm. I waited for its final swing, ducked under, and sank claws into its chest. Its chitin was tougher than armor. So I used my new power. I focused on its blood—black, thick, smelling of sulfur. I made it surge, creating pressure within. Its chitin cracked like a nutshell, and I reached its heart.
Each slain Deviant strengthened me physically and magically. Their blood enhanced my blood control. After battling a serpent-like Deviant thirty meters long, I learned to craft not just weapons but shields, walls, even semblances of living beings from blood.
My power grew.
By the end of my second millennium of wandering, I discovered I could bind living beings through blood. Drinking a victim's blood and giving them mine, leaving them alive, created a link. I could sense their emotions from afar, know their location, even influence their actions.
Experiments with this power led to my first blood network. In the Caucasus, I turned a small tribe—not into beings like me, but something between human and me. They retained their minds but craved blood. I controlled them through the bond, using them as my eyes and hands where I couldn't be.
Through them, I learned of other tribes' movements, trade routes, places with prime prey. One servant, a former hunter named Argos, was especially useful. His bond with me was stronger—perhaps because he accepted my blood willingly, for a promise of eternal life.
It was amusing to watch them for the first decade, but then...
I killed them all, the entire tribe, because it grew dull. They became beasts, slaughtering mindlessly. No hunt, no art. Killing for killing's sake. Nothing interesting. Thus, the first tribe of Vampyr, as they called themselves, vanished. Burned in a great fire.
An enlightening experiment.