The moon vanished behind clouds, cloaking the forest in impenetrable darkness. I walked slowly, like the mammoths now extinct, listening to the night's sounds. Somewhere in the thicket, branches snapped under hurried, clumsy steps. A human. He'd been fleeing me for an hour, thinking he could hide in this dark. Fool.
He'd boasted of being a brave priest. I'd seen him by the fire with others—an old man in a coarse robe, clutching a staff adorned with symbols he called sacred. He spoke of the Eternals, how they protected the faithful from monsters. How great they were, and so on. Empty words, but they ignited my curiosity. Where were they? What were they? Time to find out, I decided, after slaughtering everyone at the fire.
I smiled, feeling my fangs lengthen. Time to play.
"One…" I said aloud, letting my voice carry through the forest. A gasping breath came from ahead. He heard. "Two… three…"
Branches cracked louder—he ran faster, stumbling in the dark. I followed leisurely, counting steps, savoring his panic. His sweat's scent mingled with fear, making the air thick and sweet.
"Four… five… six…"
His breathing grew ragged. He stopped, looked around, trying to pinpoint my voice, but it echoed off the trees, surrounding him. To him, I was everywhere and nowhere.
I stood by the trees, watching.
"Seven… eight… nine…"
He fell, tripping over a root. I heard him claw the earth, struggling to rise. His prayers dissolved into incoherent mumbles. "Eternals, protect me… Ajak, hear my prayer…" Names. He knew their names.
"Ten… eleven… twelve…"
I quickened, gliding between trees like a shadow. My feet made no sound, but he sensed me—prey's instinct, innate in every mortal. He ran again, his robe catching on bushes, tearing.
"Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…"
I was close now. I saw his silhouette between trees—hunched, trembling, seeking refuge. But no one here could save him. Only me, the dark, and his fear.
"Sixteen… seventeen… eighteen…"
He stopped at a great oak, pressing his back to the trunk. His eyes frantically searched the dark but saw only shadows. I stood steps away, watching his chest heave with rapid breaths.
"Nineteen…" I paused, letting him taste hope. Maybe I'd changed my mind? Maybe the game was over?
Hope lasted a moment.
"Twenty."
I stepped from the shadows, letting moonlight through the leaves illuminate my face. My eyes burned red, fangs gleamed like daggers. He saw me and screamed—shrill, desperate, like a cornered beast.
"Quiet, old man," I said, approaching. My voice was soft, almost tender. "You don't want to wake the forest, do you? We have things to discuss."
He tried to run, but I was there. My hand clamped his shoulder, squeezing until he howled in pain. Bones creaked but didn't break—not yet.
"The Eternals," I said, leaning to his ear. "You spoke of them. Long, detailed, interesting. So tell me… where are they?"
"I… I don't know…" he rasped, struggling to break free.
I squeezed harder. Something crunched in his shoulder.
"Don't lie, priest. Your blood reeks of it." I turned him to face me, my eyes boring into his. A trick honed over centuries. "Where. Are. They. Now?"
He trembled like a leaf in the wind. Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with dirt. But his words were true. He couldn't lie—not when I compelled truth.
"In… Babylon…" he gasped. "They came to the great city… building a temple… teaching people…"
Babylon. I'd heard of it. Of course—how didn't I guess? The great city where trade routes converged, where power and wealth flowed like rivers. Perfect for those seeking to control humans and become gods.
"How many?" I pressed, easing my grip slightly.
"Ten… maybe more… They're strong… like gods…" He choked out words, ready to spill everything to be spared.
I nodded, memorizing each word. Valuable information, but the game wasn't over.
"Thank you, old man," I said, releasing his shoulder. "You've been very helpful."
Hope flickered in his eyes. He thought I'd let him go.
I raised my hand, not touching him, and focused on his blood. Hot, fast, alive. My will touched it, like an invisible hand.
"What are you…" he began, but his words stopped.
I clenched my fingers, and his blood responded. It flowed faster, driven by my will. Then hotter. And hotter. Vessels dilated, his heart pounded like a drum, struggling with the heat I sent into his blood.
Damn magic that resisted me.
The priest screamed, clutching his chest. His skin reddened, then paled. Sweat beaded on his brow, evaporating from the inner fire. I felt every drop of his blood boiling in his veins, turning his body into a cauldron.
"Please…" he rasped, falling to his knees. "Forgive me…"
I didn't stop. His blood surged, and I watched life leave his eyes. It was beautiful—death not from blood loss but from its transformation into boiling poison. This power intoxicated me, making me feel like a god.
His heart gave out. He collapsed face-down, blood trickling from his mouth—cooling, lifeless. I crouched, touching his neck. No pulse. Perfect. Another experiment succeeded.
"Babylon," I whispered, rising. "So that's where you hide."
The forest fell silent again. Only my steps disturbed the night, echoing among trees. Ah, it'd been a while since I drank a maiden's blood. Should I visit a few villages? Tempting. I'll do it. The road to the great city is long; there's time to savor tender, innocent blood.
The road to Babylon stretched before me like an endless river through deserts, mountains, and plains. A month's journey, merchants said, whose caravans I bypassed as they slept by their fires. A month. Long for mortals, but for me—a moment, a game full of possibilities. A whole month to reach the great city where the mysterious Eternals hid. I didn't rush—time flowed differently for me. Centuries taught me patience, but curiosity burned like hunger.
The first days were dull. Desert trails where only wind stirred dust, and rare caravans creaked with wheels. I left them alone—for now. I liked watching. Merchants, their servants, even pack animals—all carried fragile, enticing life. I could kill them all in an instant, drain every drop, but where's the fun? No, I wanted to know them. Understand what drove them to move, laugh, cry. They were a puzzle, and I, like a child tearing apart a doll to see inside, craved to dissect them.
On the third day, I saw a human settlement. A small village, smoke rising in thin columns from hearths. I stopped on a hill, observing their routine lives. Like ants, they toiled—herding cattle, working fields, repairing roofs. Simple, predictable.
Yet something in their movements captivated me. The way a mother hugged her stumbling, crying child. How an old man patiently taught a youth to weave baskets, repeating motions endlessly. I didn't understand—why waste time on the weak? Those who couldn't protect themselves? But watching was… interesting.
I crept closer, hiding in the village's shadows. My presence went unnoticed—humans didn't sense danger when I didn't want them to. Their lives flowed, full of small joys and cares that seemed pointless but intriguing.
A young woman sang, hanging laundry. Her voice was clear as spring water, her song of love, loss, and hope. Her emotions were raw, almost tangible. I stood in the shadows, trying to grasp why she sang of sorrow yet smiled. Didn't pain bring only suffering?
For two days, I watched without hunting or harming—just studying. Like a child with a new toy, I examined every detail of their existence. I saw them rejoice over harvests, worry for the sick, argue, and reconcile. It was a new language I tried to understand.
The old blacksmith intrigued me most. His hands, scarred from sparks and burns, his back bent from years at the anvil. Yet when he forged metal, his eyes glowed—not from the forge's heat but something else. Pleasure? Pride? I couldn't tell, but his work meant more than survival.
"Metal," he muttered, "it's alive. You must feel it, understand its mood."
Mood in metal? Nonsense. But watching him turn shapeless iron into tools, weapons, ornaments—it was almost magic. His magic lay in understanding, patience, sensing what others overlooked.
Night. I slipped into the village, silent as a shadow. Doors weren't locked—mortals' foolish trust. In the first house, I found her. A girl, about sixteen, sleeping on a straw mattress. Her chest rose and fell with her breaths, her skin smelling of milk and flowers. Innocence. I loved its taste.
I crouched, touching her neck. She stirred but didn't wake. My will slowed her blood, her heart beating softer. She sighed, her face wrinkling like a child about to cry. I leaned in, fangs piercing her neck. Blood flooded my mouth—sweet, warm, alive. I drank slowly, savoring each sip, feeling her memories, fears, dreams flow through me. She dreamed of marriage, children, a life she'd never have. I smiled, pulling back. Her eyes opened briefly, filled with horror, before life left them.
But I didn't stop there. Blood wasn't just food—it was a tool. I lifted her lifeless body, focusing on the blood still in her veins. My will pulled it like puppet strings. Blood stirred, moving her fingers, then arm, leg. Her body jerked, rising like a doll. I laughed, clapping like a child at a trick. She moved, swaying, her dead eyes staring into nothing. I made her take a step, then another. Her blood obeyed me like a loyal servant.
"Dance," I whispered, and her body spun in a jerky, broken dance. Amusing, but it bored me quickly. I released control, and she collapsed like a broken toy. The experiment worked, but I wanted more. What else could blood do? How far could I go?
Centuries of experiments never tired me.
On the fourth day, I continued. I needed blood—not for killing, but for life. My goal wasn't death but existence. Hunting was fun, but I craved variety. I found a lone traveler, a merchant heading to distant lands. I approached silently, lulling him to sleep with a touch to his neck. I made a small cut, drank just enough, and healed the wound. He woke an hour later, feeling slight weakness he blamed on the long road.
This was my new game—taking only what I needed. Not out of pity, but curiosity. What happens if I don't kill? How would it change my abilities? An experiment for its own sake.
Blood from a living source tasted different. Not rich with terror and despair, but… pure. Like the difference between a muddy puddle and a mountain spring. An intriguing discovery.
Each night brought new findings. I learned to slow blood, making people sleep without waking. I could speed it, causing fever, like with the priest, or stop it, turning a person to stone. Once, I found a hunter trying to shoot me with a bow. I made his blood leak from his eyes like tears until he went blind. He screamed, begged, but I only watched, admiring the red trails on his face, like a painting.
I experimented with myself too. My own blood obeyed me better than human blood. I could make it flow faster, boosting strength and speed. Once, I leaped from a cliff, letting blood reinforce my bones, coating them to prevent breaking. I laughed, tumbling down the slope, feeling invincible. I was a child playing with the world, and the world was mine.
But humans… they remained a mystery. I saw their love, fear, hatred. I saw them cling to life, even when it made no sense. An old man in a hut prayed before death, knowing it was coming. Why? I didn't understand but wanted to. I cut open his chest, watching blood flow, his heart beat, until it stopped. I held his warm heart, wondering: what makes them this way? What drives their fight?
Days turned to weeks. I crossed high mountains where air was thin, mortals gasping, but I didn't care. I descended to valleys where rivers flowed to great seas. I saw cities and settlements, each with its traditions, gods, fears.
In one city, I watched a festival. People danced around a massive fire, faces glowing with joy and wine. They sang songs passed down generations, told tales of heroes and gods. Again, I saw what made them human—not just survival instinct, but something more. A need to share, create, remember.
An old man told children a tale of a dragon stealing the sun. The kids listened, eyes wide, cheering when the hero won, as if they fought themselves.
"Why do they react like that?" I wondered, watching from the shadows. "It's just words. Fiction. Not real."
But their emotions were real. Fear for the hero, joy at his victory, relief when the sun returned. They knew it wasn't true, yet felt it as if it were. A riddle of human nature I tried to solve.
In another city, I saw a young mother mourn her child, dead from illness. Her grief consumed her—she screamed, beat the ground, cursed gods and fate. Yet other women stood by her, embracing, crying with her. They couldn't bring back her child or ease her pain, but they stayed.
Why? What was the point? They spent energy, time, on another's sorrow. Yet somehow, it made them stronger, not weaker. A paradox I couldn't grasp but watched closer.
I experimented with my abilities. I learned to sense blood from afar—not just its presence but the emotions it carried. Anger made it hotter, fear colder, joy gave it a rhythm. I could gauge a person's mood without seeing their face, just feeling their blood's pulse.
This opened a new world. I saw people not just with eyes but from within. A merchant smiling at customers, his blood reeking of greed and disdain. A beggar, humble in appearance, but seething with rage at passersby. Lovers whose hearts beat in unison, their blood singing the same song.
Children surprised me most. Their blood was pure as a mountain stream. No lies, envy, or malice—just curiosity, joy, sometimes fear. They saw the world as it was, unfiltered by adult biases. Some sensed my presence when adults didn't.
In a riverside village, a little girl looked right at me, though I stood in a tree's shadow. Her eyes held no fear, only curiosity.
"You're not like the others," she said softly, unnoticed by adults.
I froze. Children sometimes saw more than they should, rarely speaking of it.
"What are the others like?" I asked, staying in the shadows.
"They're warm inside," she placed a hand on her chest. "But you… you're cool. Like the night."
Cool as the night. An interesting comparison. I pondered it as I continued. Perhaps she was right. I was part of the night, the darkness, forces that existed before humans and their gods.
Weeks of travel taught me much. I realized humans didn't just survive—they lived. They created meaning where none existed, found beauty in simple things, loved and hated with equal passion. Physically weak, their lives brief, yet they had something I lacked. Something that made them… interesting.
I was bored.
I began to see why the Eternals chose humans. Not for their strength—quite the opposite. Their weakness made them appealing. They needed protection, guidance, someone stronger. In return, they offered what no one else could—faith, worship, love.
Was that faith?
But was it love for the Eternals or what they represented? The safety they promised? The meaning they gave their lives? Questions multiplied with each day.
On the third week, I met pilgrims heading to Babylon. They moved slowly, stopping at holy sites, praying, offering sacrifices. Their faces glowed with faith—the faith I tried to understand.
I followed at a distance, listening. They spoke of miracles—sick healed, dead revived, wisdom shared by the Eternals.
"They're building a new temple in Babylon," said a gray-bearded man with kind eyes. "They say it'll touch the heavens. The Eternals will teach anyone who listens."
"Is it true they can grant immortality?" asked a young woman, holding her son's hand.
"I don't know," the old man replied honestly. "But they give something greater—hope. Meaning. Knowing we're not alone."
Hope. Meaning. Understanding. That's what humans sought. Not strength or wealth—though those too. They sought answers to questions that plagued them since they learned to think. Where did they come from? Why live? What awaits after death?
The Eternals provided answers. Or pretended to.
I recalled the priest's words in the forest. "They're strong… like gods…" Gods. Humans wanted gods close enough to hear prayers, distant enough to inspire awe.
Did humans need gods? Ones who herded them like sheep?
Intriguing.
On the fourth week, the landscape changed. Deserts gave way to fertile plains crisscrossed by canals and rivers. The air grew humid, vegetation richer. These were the lands of Mesopotamia, the cradle of civilization, where humans first built cities and worshipped gods.
Settlements grew larger, wealthier. Roads widened, improved. Merchants carried goods from the world's ends—silk from the east, spices from southern islands, metals from northern mountains. All paths led to Babylon.
I saw humans change as they neared the city. They grew nervous, excited. Their blood pulsed with anticipation. Some came to trade, others to learn, others to worship the Eternals. All felt they approached something grand.
I felt it too. My abilities sharpened. I sensed not just individual blood but the region's pulse. Millions of hearts beat in unison, a symphony of life growing louder daily.
In the final days, I barely rested—not from fatigue, which I didn't know, but because the air thickened with anticipation. Something awaited in Babylon. Something vital.
I reflected on the month's journey. On the people I met, the things I saw, the questions in my mind. A month ago, I was a predator hunting in forests. Now… I didn't know what I was. Explorer? Scientist? Philosopher?
Perhaps just a child with a new toy, trying to understand its workings. Humanity was my toy, their emotions, beliefs, dreams the mechanisms I studied with endless curiosity.
At dawn on the thirty-first day, I saw it.
Babylon.
The great city rose on the horizon, a mirage made real. Its walls seemed to touch the clouds, towers lost in morning mist. Smoke from thousands of hearths veiled the sky, making the city dreamlike.
But the most striking thing wasn't its size or beauty. It was what I felt, standing on the hill, gazing at it. Power. Ancient, mighty power radiating from Babylon's heart.
The Eternals were there. I felt their presence, like electricity before a storm. They were stronger than I'd expected—far stronger than Deviants or the mage.
But I sensed no blood in them.
How? Did gods have no blood? Were they lying? Or was it…
Enough. The endless stream of thoughts stopped. Time to move.
I descended the hill toward Babylon's gates. The month's journey ended, but my quest was just beginning. Ahead lay answers to questions I didn't yet know how to ask.
My blood sang with anticipation. The Eternals were in that city, and I'd find them. I'd learn what made them gods. And perhaps I'd become one. Or take their power.
I smiled, baring fangs. Hunting gods—how intriguing.