++Vampirism is a curse, not a blessing, and one must never forget it. Resist the temptation of power and immortality. Better to die a man than let yourself be remade a monster. Better for you, and better by far for all others.++

  Book 2: Chapter 8

  Ants did not enjoy being shot. Reggie had long held this hypothesis, and it was satisfying to see Ludvich elevate it into a theory.

  The lead ball splintered against the praetorian’s carapace, barely cracking it, but the sheer force sent the thing stumbling. Ludvich didn’t wait even an instant before dropping the gun’s butt hard against the ground and starting his reload.

  He wouldn’t finish in time, the ants were charging fast and Reggie could see at a glance that the slowest of them was still far faster than the Witchfinder. In fact, now that it was time to fight and Reggie’s blood was up, Ludvich appeared to be moving hands and fingers through water instead of air.

  The old man would really have been in trouble, had he been alone.

  Reggie let all the ants get past him except the last one, using the ones ahead of it and the blindspot they made to lunge out and lance all of his outstretched fingers into its torso.

  Every single one of them broke into splinters, like lances smashed against a breastplate. Fortunately, the talons tipping them were driven so deep by the impact that Reggie felt his bare skin touching mangled meat. More blood couldn’t have erupted from the praetorian if Reggie had set off a grenado in its lungs, and he didn’t even bother to confirm the kill as it fell twitching while he turned.

  His only concern, really, was that he’d killed it a bit too hard. It’d suck to miss out on the Attribute improvements from draining it.

  While his fingers were still healing, healing exponentially fast thanks to their relatively small size compared to all the ichor he was pumping into them, Reggie got a good look at the other praetorians finding Ludvich’s traps.

  Apparently, wolf spider traps were bad at hurting wolf spiders. Reggie deduced this fact from seeing the praetorians keep their limbs. Upon closing, the steel jaws of each trap impacted with such force as to actually bend and break their own teeth. The result of this was a single-use mechanism that wouldn’t be much good afterwards.

  And, just about, the cracking of carapace plates that would otherwise have been invulnerable. Reggie watched the praetorians stumble just long enough for Ludvich to finish reloading, then saw the old Witchfinder calmly level his mini-cannon at the nearest one and fire.

  This time the lead ball only had to move a few feet, not fifty paces, and apparently it had that much more energy as a result. Reggie saw blood spurt from the point of impact and watched the praetorian fall back, still moving and alive but immobilised for the time being as the traps remained clamped on its legs.

  With the others starting to recover, and Reggie’s fingers in more or less the correct shape again, he reckoned it was his cue to get stuck in himself. Like Ludvich, he selected the nearest target. Unlike Ludvich it was all hands with him.

  He knew by now exactly where the praetorians’ armour was thinnest, and Reggie bit down on this weak spot once to weaken it further before raking it. He didn’t need to break all his fingers this time around, the carapace gave and the blood started flowing. It also got the attention of his enemies.

  Ludvich was still about an ice age away from finishing his next reload, and unlike a normal fight switching to one of his spare guns now would be about as effective as throwing a log of his own shit at the enemy, so Reggie was on his own as the remaining two praetorians spun around for him.

  Two at once. Ha! Reggie was tough, strong and fast now, but he wouldn’t be managing that. So he started backing away.

  They moved on after him, slowed only as Reggie tore tendrils of blood from the nearby corpses to strike at them with the gory weapons. Blood. Liquid. Not great for hurting his enemy, it broke apart on impact and only reformed back into a usable weapon by an expenditure of will with his Blood Magic. It did, however, still have mass, and Reggie could send the stuff moving pretty damned fast. Simple science did the work for him in slowing and stunning the praetorians as they tried to close.

  It lasted long enough for Ludvich to step up behind one, plant his gun barrel barely an inch away from the back of its neck, and fire again. There was so much smoke that Reggie didn’t see the result of his shot, save that the praetorian went down and started moving a lot more slowly once it hit the ground. That left one.

  But one was still a lot.

  One was enough to spin faster than Ludvich’s sluggish human nerves could react, smashing a limb into his torso and just sending the old man back to disappear from sight. He must’ve flown a hundred paces before hitting the far wall, and hitting it hard enough to break it. To break something else, too.

  Ludvich was long past his prime. Could he have survived that even if he weren’t?

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Reggie’s vision became red and his hearing was a scream. He fell on the praetorian, biting and snarling and clawing, the most savage thing in the tunnels in the span of an instant. It tried to fight him, but surprise did most of his work in ruining its body and the advantage of power he enjoyed after gorging on its kin was doing the rest. In moments he’d cut and sliced around the carapace plates of its chest, in moments more he was ripping them free like a torturer taking fingernails to win a confession. Blood came with them, along with thick, stringy strips of torn flesh. Reggie hurled the plates aside and bit down on the skin below.

  He drank, Blood Magic sending the arterial nectar surging up into his mouth almost faster than he could take it in. He barely even noticed the sensations of actually drinking, just noted when the blood stopped moving and ignored the now-withered husk beneath him to find his next meal.

  Three next meals. Still alive, they were all still alive. Reggie ate like a starved man dropped into a banquet, because he was.

  Tier 3 creatures devoured.

  +4 Strength

  Error. Strength Attribute already at maximum.

  +3 Strength

  +4 Speed

  +4 Celerity

  +4 Toughness

  +4 Charisma

  Only +3 to Strength?

  Name: Reginald Smith

  Age: 21

  Race: Blood Courtier [Inheritor Race, Tier 2]

  Class: None

  Attributes:

  (S)Strength 49(+12)/49

  (P)Speed 49(+12)/52

  (P)Celerity 49(+12)/52

  (S)Toughness 49(+12)/49

  (P)Charisma 25(-12)/52

  Abilities:

  Blood Magic II

  Form of the Beast II

  Royal Presence I

  Traits:

  Enhanced Senses I

  Regeneration II

  Addictive Ichor

  Reggie didn’t pause even a moment to bask in his new stats. He could feel his speed as he turned and made for Ludvich, reaching the old man in three-quarters the time he would have just seconds earlier. He found the Witchfinder lying in a pool of his own blood.

  The reek hit Reggie like a sledgehammer—before he was durable enough for them to snap against him—and for more than one reason. It was a dangerous sign of how wounded the man was, but more than that…It was impossibly enticing. Reggie had just eaten, but with so much blood spilled so freshly it was momentarily hard for him to focus on anything other than the thought of drinking it.

  He stamped that thought out, and made himself concentrate.

  “You alive?” Reggie asked, stupidly. He could see Ludvich’s chest rising and falling, and to his enhanced ears the man’s every breath sounded like a shout.

  “Y…” Ludvich mumbled, apparently mustering most of his strength to do so. Reggie knelt down beside him.

  “I can heal you,” he growled, “my blood, it—”

  —”no,” the Witchfinder somehow managed to shake his head. Doing so shifted the clothing he wore, and let Reggie see the dent jutting downwards in his chest. It was wider than a splayed hand and easily inches deep. Then Reggie saw the man’s mouth, the crimson stains around his chin. All that blood, and it had been squeezed out of his throat? His insides must have been like mincemeat.

  “Yes!” Reggie spat, “Ludvich I can save you.”

  “Not again,” he croaked, “don’t want to…feel that…again.”

  Reggie was panicking. The old man was delirious, he thought, or…was he?

  It’s slavery. Reggie had resigned himself to using Addictive Ichor, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten what it meant. Didn’t mean he’d forgotten what it did to that man in Lorwick, or those guards. Didn’t mean he’d forgotten what going without the ichor when you’d grown used to it in your system could do to a person. He’d thought Ludvich looked haggared and worn thin from the road, maybe that’d been wishful thinking. He stepped back, staring helplessly.

  There is a way you can save him, Reggie. Sycily’s words were like those of an angel.

  “How?”

  You can Evolve now, if you please, and doing so will raise you to Tier 3. It will give you the power of the Crimson Cradle.

  “No,” Reggie spat. “No that’s…I’d be killing him myself.”

  He would still think, still live.

  “It’s just another kind of death.”

  She paused and took her time in answering.

  I’d rather you live as a vampire than be dead. I think Ludvich agreed.

  Reggie stared at the old man who’d sacrificed so much to help him, who’d fed him in his childhood, protected him from the townsfolk. Who’d ruined his life and lied about it, but who’d…tried, at least. Tried to do what he could.

  And then Reggie thought about what he could do himself, and suddenly his decision seemed to be making itself.

  Glutted on stolen power, he still remembered how he’d begun his Evolution last time. Reggie could only hope he didn’t get jumped while in the middle of it now.

  Evolution in progress…Good luck Reggie.

  Reggie knew he’d need it instantly. He could feel his body writhing and coiling, emptying its reserves of ichor out to fuel the process. Last time he’d needed a few animals, plus the dregs of his magical feedings. Now it felt as if all four of the praetorians still sloshing around in his veins would be gone before he finished.

  It didn’t matter, he just needed this process done fast so he could save Ludvich like he needed to.

  He could’ve spent the time slowly pulling out his own pubes and it wouldn’t have passed less pleasantly than it did. Reggie felt the dull agony of his body’s transformation spread through it even after it already forced him out of his Form of The Beast. If a single praetorian attacked now, he’d be fucked.

  It didn’t, though, and Reggie was left with nothing to dwell on but his own plight. That and Ludvich’s. The old man’s breathing was getting shallower and heartbeat slower while Reggie stood there and stared. He tried to remember how long his last Evolution had taken.

  Hours, right? One hour, at least, and here was Ludvich slowly wheezing out his last. Reggie couldn’t bear to watch and he couldn’t bring himself to look away. There was no speech, Ludvich didn’t even seem to know Reggie was still there. They both just stayed put, leaning against a tunnel wall and sharing their agony through gritted teeth and pained wheezes. Then a thought struck him. Could he even Evolve without a coffin?

  It isn’t ideal, but being underground in the land you were sired is sufficient. You’re growing closer to the end, Reggie, your Evolution is almost done.

  He looked at Ludvich again and saw the man as pale as a sheet. Was he breathing? Had he stopped entirely?

  Yes, he had.

  “How much longer?!” Reggie snarled.

  Evolution finalizing.