PHIDIAS Picture, Prelude: Hunt at dusk and I: The maker and the modeller

 

 

Phidias is a collection of episodes about the 'lives' of several vampires. The setting is my favourite role playing game, Vampire: The Masquerade. If you are familiar with the game, I hope everything will make sense. I recommend a look at the books if you're a bloodsucker fan. It was published by White Wolf in 1991 and based on many famous stories like  Drácula by Bram Stoker, The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice, The Hunger by Whitley Strieber... It's a great background for our dear undead.

If you don't know Worl of Darkness, well, maybe it's too long to explain here. In a world were factions of vampires with their own agendas compete with each other, with humans, and with other supernatural beings, for power, supremacy or merely for survival, I chose my main characters from a vampiric sect, the Sabbat, famous for its depravity. However, what kind of depravity? Ah, you may want to check...

 

 

 

Prelude: Hunt at dusk

The young vampire pushed the rusted fence, whose creaking was drowned out by the roaring storm. If he hadn't misinterpreted the indications, that was the appointment place. The rambling old house wasn't as bad looking as he expected, although its outline only became intermittently visible by the ephemeral clarity of lightning. Darkness, resonant thunder, creaking metal, started to bite on his nerves; nothing new for him, since they had been running very high for the last three nights. Cautiously, he approached the wooden porch, over which rain was drumming, and tried to open the main door. Surprisingly, it opened soft and silently. After some hesitation he crossed the threshold, and darkness swallowed him as he closed it behind him.

The vampire was young, but not his external appearance. He seemed forty years old, and some silver threads started to appear among his blond hair. But his face, with a few care lines, was very attractive, illuminated by his clear hazel eyes. Tension made his veins to stand out on his pale temples as he walked, almost groping, along the corridors of the unknown building, guided by nothing but a glimpse of light coming from the upper floor. He heard the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, and the sound of thunders, louder and louder, closer and closer; he heard the disturbing creaks of the old wooden stairs: he smelled the stale air, and his nerves ran even higher. He would have noticed for sure the hammering of his wild heartbeats... if his heart still had a beating.

Was the light stronger in that room at the end of the corridor? Yes, I am sure my eyes are not deceived, he told to himself, and towards the source of clarity he advanced, with more decision, but trying to step as quietly as possible. The door was ajar, so he spied through the opening before he dared to enter. He made out a wick on fire, drinking from a paraffin lamp, enough to light up the table on which it stood, a dark three seater sofa, a couple of chairs, some thick curtains and a backwards figure whose attention seemed drawn by the slice of landscape visible through the window. The flickering light made the long, shiny and familiar black hair sparkle; that small detail only relaxed him and made up his mind to enter. The figure turned around calmly; he kept his face in semi-darkness, but it was him, no doubt. The young vampire released the equivalent to a sigh of relief, closed the door behind him and approached his host.

Not even ten days had passed since his maker, a curly-haired vampire who had spent the last twenty years appearing to be seventeen, had bled him almost to death and right away had forced him to drink his blood. He remembered cursing himself for becoming infatuated with the young boy's small and attractive body, when it should had been himself, with his Casanova smile and his inciter husky voice that he used to seduce his 'victims' in bars, the one to conquer yet another inexpert youngster. Well, that time the victim was him... And in a way he never believed to be possible.

After the terrible first impact, acceptation arrived. He understood he wasn't dreaming, nor in hell, nor in a parallel dimension, and the new world of sensations he was starting to experience was very real and very pleasant. The need of blood, the hunt... But, wasn't he a predator already? Didn't he spend his whole adult life stalking victims? Certainly, his hunting grounds had been night clubs as well; his preys, attractive men. The search for sex, his creator had told him, wasn't so different from the need of blood. The act of obtaining what you wanted from your partner could provide, if that was your wish, pleasure to both of you. You just need to learn self-control. Rocked by his slim and flexible, but strong as steel, mentor's arms, he started to realise what he knew as ecstasy wasn't but a shadow of the things that awaited him in his new existence.

And amid the drunkenness of learning, another terrible impact: the brutal murder of his creator, three nights ago. The shocking surprise he lived the first time he tried blood proved to be insignificant, compared to the blow of watching the torn corpse of the one he clung to during the last nights. He felt desperate, twice orphan, since he had lost his lover and his master.

He could barely remember how he managed to force himself to run away from there. He spent that night, and the next one, trembling with fear in his haven. Finally hunger pushed him out for hunting, as young vampires aren't able to control the impulse to search for blood. And then, lo and behold, during that desperate hunt, he found him.

He kept himself in the dark, as he was doing now, but didn't take long in revealing him they were of the same nature. He wasn't too amazed, since his maker told him there were many others like them, and soon he would meet them. The stranger took some interest in him; after listening to his confusing story, he asked him to be cautious, to avoid his mentor's fate, and offered him his guide and advice, since a neophyte vampire, according to his words, was his creator's responsibility, and the lack of one used to end, often, in disaster. He was now, he said, like a newborn baby deprived of his mother. Finally, the stranger arranged them to meet in a safe place, after feeding himself.

And now, that unknown vampire pointed at the sofa, on which our young undead took a seat. He was observed by his companion for a moment that felt like eternal, but he didn't dare to say a word. Finally his host decided to join him and sat besides him, exposing his face to the light.

The blond vampire's jaw dropped as he stared at him. If breathing had still been a need, he would have certainly forgotten how to do it. He could only set his eyes on that face that was turned to him, with the shadow of a smile in the corner of his mouth. His skin, impossibly white, so smooth and uniform, gave him the semblance of being sculpt out of marble or alabaster. His eyes were such a pale grey that his pupils could barely be distinguished from the white around them. One could think such eyes would deprive a gaze of its liveliness... Yet they were so bright as two silver rings, at both sides of a perfectly chiselled nose. His lips, barely coloured, were partially open to show a glimpse of the two rows of uniform teeth, like mother-of-pearl beadings. And, in contrast with that paleness, such long eyelashes, delicately curved eyebrows and silky hair, all of them jet black. That young and androgynous face had such a beauty as he never saw before; and as a result, it was obviously inhuman. The felt his body shaking, torn between the impulse of running away and the desire of reaching and caressing that creature, feeling his textures under his fingertips.

'You are soaking-wet'

With those simple words, the stranger broke the spell, as he reached and slid his fingers along his astonished companion' s wet hair. Tiny water drops fell on the old black leather sofa; the marble-skinned vampire followed them with his eyes and smiled openly. Then the newly arrived one realised that, unlike his creator and him, that vampire didn't seem to have the proverbial prominent fangs. He couldn't dig into the thought, because that supernatural being approached him, only a few centimetres away, and he became unable of thinking about anything but getting lost into the inciting softness of his long hair; slowly unbuttoning the white shirt he was wearing and uncovering further portions of his anatomy; tilting, if just a little, his own head and having that hand, now entangled into his mane, sliding over his forehead, for him to experience the touch of his slender fingers, which he didn't dare to touch directly...

As if he was reading his desire, the stranger lowered his hand and caressed his face. It was such an unusual feeling, the strokes of that cold flesh, hard as polished stone, and yet flexible and smooth. The hand kept descending to the buttons of his shirt, methodically unfastening them, finishing with his cuffs; shirt and jacket were removed together, down his arms. He continued stripping him, repeating the operation with his shoes and socks, trousers and boxer briefs; once he was done, he pushed him down gently over the sofa and simply stood there, staring at his nakedness from above. His black hair partially covered his features, like a silk curtain, casting shadows over his grey eyes. Finally, he leaned over him, his mouth approaching him little by little, until his lips seized his companion's pink-coloured ones. He slipped his tongue between them and the young vampire felt something similar to goosebumps, because that muscle he had savoured so many times before was not elastic and wet, but hard and dry as granite that could miraculously take shape and adapt to the inner edges of his mouth. He opened his eyes at once and found that being's amused gaze fixed on them, and noticed the fast biting of two sharp fangs (if he had considered it, he would have wondered where they had come from). He tasted his own blood, filling his mouth, and drowned in pleasure when those pale lips deeply sucked on his wound.

Ah... That feeling, better than any sex he had enjoyed before... Sometimes, when he was still alive, he had tried some erotic games, like being strangled right before climax; although he swore to anyone willing to listen that was the very best of physical pleasure, the truth is that it couldn't compare to this: having your breath, your life, taken away with every gush of blood, with a giddy explosion into your chest and your temples throbbing violently; and, despite the pain, having you wishing for more, dragging you to the limit...

His lips stopped sucking for a while; his tongue, now slippery and warm with blood, teased and played with his partner's one.

'Much better like this, isn't it?', asked the stranger, in a festive tone. 'Shall we continue?'

And in the next figurative breath he tilted his head to gain access to his neck, again biting his flesh. The neophyte vampire released a sigh of pleasure and finally adventured his hands over the alabaster skin. He felt the urge of sinking his teeth into it and drinking in turn, to duplicate his delight until his senses went numb... His maker had warned him: you shouldn't drink from another vampire if you don't wish to create a bond of affection and dependence; he had, in fact, forbidden him from sharing blood with anyone but him. All right, now his maker was dead; but he still existed, and his naked body was laying under the most surprising creature he ever saw, and he was enjoying an exquisite pleasure... Without a thought, he placed his sharp fangs on the base of that white neck and started to press them down.

The stranger's reaction was quick and unexpected: quitting on his feast, he pushed the other one away and pinned him against the seat, clasping his neck with an iron fist.

'I cannot allow you to do that; it would be a waste for me', he said, with soft voice, to his stunned and mute partner. 'And it would be extremely painful for you. Don't you know? Not many have the chance of gazing at my true form; it is a privilege you may not be able of appreciating in all its magnitude; a vision of one of the most brilliant artists ever's few remaining works. Consider it a farewell gift.' His prisoner stirred and tried to complain, but the iron hand over his neck prevented him of moving or making any sound. 'I thank you, in turn, for allowing me to share the gift of your beauty.'

The young vampire looked, with terrified eyes, at the face with slightly red lips that remained pallid despite the feasting on his blood. His eyes, two black dots in the middle of two pearl grey spheres, stared at him for an instant, almost tenderly... Later, while his vessels was emptied to the last drop of blood, he gradually lost his consciousness, and could help wondering why...

The stranger stood up, tidied his clothes and cast a last glance to his bloodless victim. Technically, he hadn't finished him, and if he abandoned him like that, protected from the sunlight, he would rise again sooner or later. But he didn't want to risk it. He gently brushed his cheek with his fingertips; then he used the paraffin lamp to set a pile of old newspapers under the sofa on fire, and added some extra fuel. He had to wait long enough besides the fire, longer than he desired, until it became strong enough to devour the vampire in torpor. He peeped from the door and made sure nothing identifiable was left behind; when he couldn't stand it anymore, he left with all speed.

With a little bit of luck, it would be long before anyone raised the alarm. Besides, he had different business to attend that night; much more important ones.

 

I: The maker and the modeller

'Hello, Elias. Please, come under the light; allow me to see you.'

The so called Elias obeyed, after some hesitation, and walked to the spot right under the huge Murano glass chandelier hanging down the ceiling. As there were no chairs, he had to stand, which didn't help him to relax: the chamber they were occupying was intimidating enough on its own. Four impressive stained glass windows, one on each wall, artificially illuminated, cast strange colourful shadows on the scarce furniture. He had been too nervous to study its designs, and right now he wanted to concentrate on the newcomer.

It was a man, or so it seemed after listening to his voice, deep, but with such a rare melodic quality that made him doubtful. He chose a seat in the dark, and Elias couldn't distinguish much of him, except he had long and slender limbs, and a long black mane. He refrained from turning his head, searching for his mentor's comforting eyes, and kept looking straight ahead.

'Elias... You are Greek, aren't you?'

'Yes, although we have some Slavic blood in the family, my great-grandmother on my father's side.' (Shut up, you fool, he thought to himself. Are you going to describe him your family tree? Answer his questions, as Kyrios said, and that's it; he is not going to eat you. Maybe...)

'I see', the voice simply commented. 'How old are you?'

'Twenty-three in two days, sir.' This time, he remembered how to address him. 'That's it... if possible... I won't get to the age, shall I?'

His voice sounded upset, and the stranger smiled, despite himself. A young man in his early twenties, Greek. The kind of choice that would have made him hesitate, though not surprising; he knew he should feel flattered. And the boy was beautiful, true: not very tall, but possessing a well proportioned and athletic body, slender hands and wrists, muscled but stylised neck on top of those nicely rounded shoulders, golden skin... And on his face, of regular features, dark eyes under thick sable eyebrows, matching his slightly messy mane. All meliorable, of course, but good raw material, he accepted.

'I am pleased with what I see, Elias. I would like you to show me the rest I cannot see.'

The young man swallowed. It wasn't usual for him stripping in front of an invisible unknown person, but he felt his mentor's eyes set on him and obeyed. He quickly removed his t-shirt, his shoes and his trousers (he wasn't wearing anything else) and stood tall, naked, ready for examination. He had nothing to be ashamed of: a firm, elastic, muscled frame, hairless except for his underarms and the thick dark pubes crowning his sex.

He was beheld for a long time, that seemed to take forever; he even had to turn around, raise his arms and spread his legs apart. Although his Kyrios has explained to him that was nothing but the artist's gaze, he couldn't help but feeling embarrassment. And, why should he deny it, expectation also...

'Beautiful,' said the stranger. 'Right, I am due to suppose your master already instructed you with everything you are meant to know, and still you want to continue, don't you?

'I couldn't bear to back down, sir,' said the boy with decision.

'Do you love Tosha?'

'... More than my own existence. I know it sounds melodramatic, but it's the truth.' The figure in the shadows smiled; there was sadness in the curve of his lips. The young man couldn't see it, but the other occupant in the room was well aware of it.

'Tell me, Elias, what do you know about me? What did your master... your Kyrios tell you?'

'Not much, sir,' he answered, flustered. 'Just two things: I must put my life in your hands with as much blind faith as I have in him, and you are the most talented artist he ever found.'

'That means your Kyrios never paid much attention to artists,' he snickered. 'Though I suppose he left you in the dark because he rather had me introducing myself. Let us stop being inconsiderate.' He stood up and walked to the light. 'My name is Phidias, and I was born, like you, in Greece, a long time ago.'

Young Elias stared, dazzled, at the tall, dark haired male figure standing in front of him, with marble skin and pale silvery grey eyes. He was overwhelmingly beautiful, and yet terrifying, since there was no humanhood in him. His Kyrios, whom he always regarded as the most attractive man he ever saw, turned pale compared to this creature; however, his human traits, the colour of his cheeks, his elastic skin, his smile, even when he was showing a glimpse of his pointy fangs... Those were the things that conferred him his particular beauty. This being had none of them.

The so called Phidias guessed what crossed the human's mind and smiled. Elias, overcoming his initial shock, bowed his head in respect, but kept inspecting his companion. Curiously, as he noticed, his fangs didn't stick out...

'So, your name is Phidias, like the Sculptor?'

'The very same one. The one that modelled me.'

'The one that...? But...' Elias was surprised, his eyes wide open. 'He lived thousands of years ago...' Phidias didn't answer; he just calmly observed the young man as he assimilated the information. 'And so, is your name Phidias to honour him?'

'No; I stole his name with no shame.'

'Don't you fear he might... come and ask you to justify yourself?'

'Honestly,' his voice sounded different, 'nothing in the world could please me more.'

'But...'

'Do not worry, Elias. I am sure Tosha will satisfy your curiosity later. Right now, I am going to give you a present I highly appreciate: I will show you my Master's work.'

This said, Phidias unfastened the buttons of his white shirt and dropped it on the floor, uncovering his chest, like sculpt out of stone, unusually uniform and perfect. His nipples, barely coloured, were visible because of the shadow they cast on that surface, that slender and perfectly proportioned body; definitely male, but vaguely ambiguous... The vampire moved his hands, with short nails, almost the same colour of his fingers, to his waist, and started to unfasten his trousers, an enigmatic smile spreading across his lips. Elias felt morbid curiosity and lowered his gaze to his loin; he perceived his bare feet from the corner of his eye.

However, once his trousers reached the floor, with a faint rustle, the boy couldn't help gasping: because, across the place where his sex should be, there was nothing but a white and smooth surface, slightly convex; like an undefiled piece of marble. Elias, oblivious of his own nudity so far, became self-conscious and felt compelled to cover his groin, yet keeping his hypnotised eyes on his companion's one. The latter smiled, barely lifting the right corner of his mouth, and moved closer.

It became obvious for the human how different from his that body was; so much that it seemed to belong to different species. A head taller, but narrower in proportion; longer limbs and well-defined but not so notorious muscles. It reminded him of the classic sculptures across his homeland, or the ones he could visit in Rome. He reached the conclusion it wasn't very different from a living statue; nevertheless, the realism in his proportions, the freshness and dynamism... Those were the things that gave him the breath of life.

Elias came back to his senses due to the creature's firm hand, taking his right one and guiding it to his pubis, forcing his palm on its surface. The young Greek froze for an instant, but the desire of touching that skin became stronger. He gently slid his fingers and checked the smoothness and homogeneity of the white, cold, hard flesh; so hard it wouldn't yield under the pressure. Daring, he continued his exploration across the perineum, and along the cleft between his buttocks. Surprisingly, he could find no opening. Flat like a statue, he marvelled.

He couldn't tell if that skin got warmer or it was his own temperature, but the sensation on his fingertips became like caressing young and elastic muscles, not stone any more. Embarrassed, he noticed he had an erection. Now it was those alabaster fingers' turn to fondle that newly aroused part of his anatomy... He was shaken by goosebumps when they landed, cold, on his rigid member, but it didn't take them long to steal some of the human's heat. The vampire slid them up and down, along the pink flesh, until a shiny drop of pre-seminal fluid formed on the top of his glans. His fingers lingered on the thick nectar and spread it along the crack; the boy moaned.

'Have you slept with women?', asked Phidias softly, still stroking him.

'Yes...'

'Have you penetrated them?'

'...Yes... Ah...'

'Have you penetrated men?'

'Ugh... Yes...'

'And have you been penetrated?'

Elias remained silent for a second and then shook his head, his cheeks slightly red. The fondling hands moved away from his excited member along his hips, down to his butt cheeks, grabbing them gently but firmly and spreading them, so that the young man became conscious of that other aperture exposed between them. Phidias stretched out his index finger and playfully traced the round outline; Elias moaned, catching hold of his partner's forearms.

'Then,' continued the vampire, 'tonight you will lose your last vestige of virginity, before your receive the Embrace. Our ancestors considered a sacrilege to deprive a virgin of her life; they had to violate her, before sending her to her death. We do not have the same motivation; but in your forthcoming years, if you are generous and decide to give pleasure, and not only take it, you should experience, even if just once, the feeling. And you should brand your mind with it, because, soon enough, your flesh will forget your experiences of today, and the only things that will remain will be desire, and taste, and delight of blood.'

This said, the vampire slipped his finger, wet with the boy's excitement fluids, into his tight rear opening. Elias jolted; his first reaction was contracting his muscle, causing himself pain. Then, almost instantly, two familiar hands materialised around his waist: his Kyrios' ones. The naked chest close to him relaxed the young man; the skilled fingers, continuing the strokes on his sex from where Phidias left, immersed him in a state of expectant tension. He didn't know how he found himself on a huge velvet diwan, walled-in between two alluring beings, aroused by four expert hands; he had to use all his willpower not to climax right away.

The long index explored again the virgin cavity; he forced himself to relax while it penetrated him steady yet unhurriedly. And since the vampire knew perfectly what he was looking for, the sensible area of his prostate was reached soon. Elias would have sworn he could almost feel the electric impulse of his awakened nerve endings, sending pleasurable sensations to his brain... As if that hand, instead of sunken into his rear, was busy providing the most amazing strokes to his penis.

'Aaaaah... Kyrios!'

As though answering to his call, Tosha, his Kyrios, bit the upper part of his neck, close to his ear, and avidly sucked; almost instantly, Elias quivered with one of the most violent orgasms he could remember. Panting, his heart hammering into his chest like a bomb close to exploding, a fine thread of sweat down his temple... The human opened his eyes and looked down to his mentor's hand, around his still rigid penis, moisten with his ejaculation. He released a deep sigh and leaned over his master, at his back; then he raised his gaze and met Phidias' distressing eyes, studying him with attention. He realised he was still grasping his forearms; he lustfully looked at him through his half-open eyes and spread his legs wider, challenging his asexual body to show him what it was capable of doing, his agitated breath pushing his chest up and down.

In a second he saw himself over the black-haired vampire, as Tosha's tongue came down his spinal cord, drawing a red line, until it sank between his buttocks. He felt it twisting and shaking around his entrance, exposed by Phidias, his hands still holding his haunches tight; he felt it entering him, so deep that it was unnatural; he felt the moisture inside and around (although he could not imagine it was his own blood), lubricating the conduct. He dropped his jaw, a thread of saliva running down his chin... And again Tosha's hands, resting the boy's arched back on his chest and stomach (Elias was aware of the vampire's genitals against his skin), and again fondling his excited shaft, now shiny and slippery by his own fluids.

The vampire named Phidias, calmed and firm, seized the young man by the lower part of his thighs, spread his legs as much as possible, to completely expose him, and moved between them. They intensely stared at each other and then...

Elias noticed it at first as something hard but flexible, thick as a finger, opening its way into him. He was aware of Phidias's hands, holding his legs; his Kyrios' ones, entwined around his sex... He stopped thinking when the vampire reached his magic spot again; he could only exhale pleasure sighs through his lips apart. And this time the sensation was so different, as he noticed that thing going in and out of his slick walls.

Soon enough the mysterious member grew; it expanded little by little, to the rhythm of his inner muscles; it increasingly filled him, until his only perception of the world was the pressure inside, the sensual probe travelling deeper and deeper. Each thrust sent him a wave of ecstasy. He barely noticed Tosha's hands releasing his member and embosoming his sides while his lips hunted again for his blood. And he couldn't tell what Phidias made out of his physique while possessing him.

In the way of a sculptor shaping his creation, so did the artist modelled Elias' frame, according to the sketch he created after setting his eyes on him. He was gifted with a good-looking build, but it could be improved as every creation... Well fed with the blood of the young vampire he had assassinated at dusk, his senses and abilities enhanced to the maximum, the sculptor used his supernatural power to shape his flesh. He stylised his limbs, modelled his genitals into perfection, carved his face traits, heightened and unified his skin colour, making it smooth and soft. As he heard him moaning, louder and louder, he waved his curly and silky hairs, extended his eyelashes, chiselled his nose and the curve of his eyebrows, erased any trace of beard on his cheeks and chin and polished his eyes, now as shiny as black amber. And when the young man climaxed again, his legs intertwined around his sides and his clenched fingers on his pale neck, the vampire muffled his cry by placing on his wet and warm lips his own stony ones, and modelled them according to his image. He felt like defiling his master's work with an ignoble plagiarism, but wasn't able to resist the impulse. Lips like mine that will keep tasting Tosha, he thought.

He also succumbed to the call of blood and grew his fangs, sinking them into his tongue, drinking of his blood and his panting, while his vampiric companion kept feeding on Elias' neck. And once they drove him to the edge of death, Phidias got out of him, closed his wounds and moved away. The rest was up to the maker only; he could just watch.

And so Tosha, with Elias' bloodless figure still into his arms, bit his tongue and stuck his mouth to the young Greek's one, pouring the mighty red elixir down his throat. Soon the boy drank with anxiety, holding his Kyrios' face tight, with their bodies entangled by the double kiss.

Phidias watched the long scene with melancholy. He even thought the Kiss was lasting too much and he would have to pull the newborn vampire out of Tosha's devoted arms, when their mouths separated on their own; yet not their embrace. He read adoration in Elias' eyes, before he started to experience the physical pain, harbinger of his loss of humanity. He remained with them while the Russian comforted his new progeny, until the arrival of dawn.

As he was leaving, Elias shyly held his arm; his eyes flew to his groin, to the ivory sexual organs the vampire had carved out of his flesh to possess him; he smiled and kissed his lips, running his tongue along the rows of perfect teeth, lingering under the pointy fangs that weren't there before...

Now it was Phidias' turn to smile. While doing so, his canines retracted; on his pubis, flesh seemed to open and reabsorb his genitals, remaining as smooth and immaculate as it had been before.

The vampire with the long, shiny black mane dressed and walked towards the entrance. Once there he turned around, just for an instant, and he and Tosha exchanged looks. In a fraction of a second, the latter moved towards him, held his cheeks with both hands and kissed him. This surprised Phidias, but he enjoyed it; they both kept the sticky moist of blood, and their hard tongues slipped, bumped and danced, sharing their scents.

Due to that surprise, the Greek vampire couldn't react in time when his partner pierced his flesh with his fangs, and his thick blood flooded the one and intimate cavity their joined mouths had become.

With a harsh push, Phidias made Tosha fly against the wall. He stared at him with angry yet worried eyes, and approached him. Barely managing not to scream, the blond vampire fell to the ground, shaking with pain: the flesh from the inner walls of his cheeks was melting. Long cracks formed around his lips. Elias, terrified, ran towards him, thinking he was under attack; his mentor kept enough presence of mind as to take hold of his arm and keep him away from them.

'Are you out of your mind?' Phidias scolded the wounded vampire, ignoring the young one.

He couldn't have answered even if he had wanted: the corrosion had extended to his vocal cords. Phidias' own voice sounded strange, with his tongue turned into shreds because his companion's teeth, deeply sunk into it, had torn it as he was being pushed away.

Soon, Tosha's powerful blood worked, healing his wounds. Apologetically, he smiled.

'I am very sorry... Elias, I regret startling you; it was only my fault, my own recklessness. I thought I could deal with Phidias' blood, but you see, it is too... potent for any of us. Don't worry, it's over now. Eli, come with me because the sun is about to rise. I apologise to you again, my friend,' he said, pressing the eldest vampire's arm. 'We will meet again at night.'

While they split up, a voice echoed into Phidias' head: I just wished to have you truly inside me, even if just for this last time.

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