Feeds The Night

The walls twitched, malformed mouths hung open, voices crushed in strangled pleas. Limbs split open and fingers writhing, clutching blind on sanguine seas. The building throbbed, a pulsing idol, veins still fresh with stolen breath. A temple built on carmine offerings, not for worship—only death. The vampire stood, admiring his work, basking in all he had made. His form untouched, a cruel perfection, shaped to hunt and to invade. His voice unfurled in tongues long buried, words both ancient and malign. "For years uncounted, I lay waiting—and now, at last, the world is mine." "You brought me forth. I owe you much." "But, broken vows earns flesh retouched." "You sought to free yourself from fate." "Now, your ending, I shall dictate." Michael shuttered, breathing weak. The beast moved slow—no need to chase. A sculptor’s carving, a form unique. His body rippled—twisting into place. His spine elongated, ribs pulled wide. His veins coalesced, exposed outside. A chalice crowned atop the shrine. A goblet made for blood, not for wine. His arms were stone, his voice was still. His body reforged against its will. A vessel made for something great. A font of red, an abysmal fate. The vampire leaned, his face still pale. His lips drank deep—his voice exhaled. "A gift unearned. A lesson learned." "Blood remembers. Blood returned." The ceiling split, marrow opens, torrents poured from high above. A crimson rain baptized the room, drowning all, his perverse love. The vampire stood, his arms outstretched, basking in the garnet tide. Judith quivered, her blood phobia impassioned, a respite denied. The world was red. The walls exhaling. The ground was slick with Michael’s name. Her eyes erratic, her senses failing, She screamed, but silence rose the same. Her fingers shook, her stomach twisted. Her throat was drowned, her sight was blurred. No god, no light, no end, no mercy. Just whispered prayers, dying words.