The story so far:
Dennis was relieved to be back home, but it was short lived. The walls felt confining, hopeless, pitiful.
He retrieved a can of Coca-cola from his refrigerator, fell back into the welcoming cushions of his couch, and turned on his television. He sipped on the cool sugary cola and tried to let the flickering images of the television calm his irate mind. He used a stack of unpaid bills as his drink coaster.
For awhile it worked. The darkness in his mind was held at bay. The television was good at that. Pushing away the thoughts of finances, of pain, of loss. It soothed him, swaddled his soul in meaningless images.
And then the clear plastic coating applied across his couch began to squeak.
Dennis looked down to find his pants darkened with moisture. His arms were beginning to glisten as well as the first beads of plasma began to ooze from his skin.
Dennis groaned, partially in disbelief, but mostly in aggravation as he got up. He made his way to his bathroom and stood for a moment in the doorway, thinking. He had already blood-let once. But he could already feel the pressure building within him again.
It was getting worse.
You look piqued, Denicius.
Dennis ignored the small blue Demon curled up in the sink. It was the size of a newborn puppy, with shiny blue skin that looked darker in the florescent lighting of the bathroom. A long tail waved lazily in the air, protruding fom the tailbone of the small humanoid. Its face was human, if ugly, with sharp cheekbones, pointed ears, two small horns protruding from its bald pate, and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth that shone pure white.
Dennis peeled his wet clothes off, tossed them into a soggy heap on the floor, and looked at himself in the mirror. His gaunt face was flushed, turgid, the veins throbbing on the temples, and his skin glistened wetly as plasma oozed from the pores in his face.
A laugh tinged with the sound of dying kittens, filled the bathroom, and the demon rolled around in the sink, its eyes two orbs of solid jet as they followed Dennis's movements. You never cease to amuse me, bloodslave. All of your foolish attempts to be human. But you will never succeed, you know.
Dennis leveled his gaze at the Demon. "How many times do I have to banish you, Emoch? Why do you persist in tormenting me?"
Emoch floated up into the air, a feather on a breeze, and landed lightly on the sill of the bathroom's one small window. I find you fascinating, and this world is not as entertaining as it once was. Bloodshed is all about money now. No real passion in it. Besides, after you slew our master, I have noone else upon this plane I can call friend.
Dennis turned on the sink and tried to wash the plasma from his face. The water felt cool on his hot skin. "He was not my master," Dennis mumbled as he washed his face. "Just another **** vampire. And my name is Dennis now."
Emoch laughed heartily and spun around in the middle of the air, his tail wrapping about his body. Okay... Dennis. He was just another vampire! Delightful. I would find a sheep murdering its shepherd only half as interesting as you, my friend.
Dennis ignored Emoch. He looked into the mirror and watched tiredly as red lines traced their way across the whites of his eyes, the veins beginning to burst and leak, as his body consumed itself to produce blood, more than any man could ever need. Enough blood to satisfy a vampire's lust and yet leave Dennis alive.
The words of his mother haunted him... You cannot fight your destiny, my son... we are bloodslave. We are sanguinus servus.
Why the struggle after all? He would never fit in with the humans. They wouldn't even accept his blood at the blood bank. Dennis snorted in disgust, just thinking about it. And were the foolish humans really so much better than the vampires, or the werewolves, or the shades? All their wars and madness. It was nothing like he had imagined. Nothing ever was it seemed.
The veins stretched and pulsed at Dennis's temples as an anger began to build within him. Blood began to leak from his gums and tearducts as his body betrayed him, filling him past the point of madness, with blood he did not need, did not want, could not use. A thing no man could do. A cursed reminder of what he he truly was.
Emoch flew through the air and landed upon Dennis's right shoulder. His forked tongue whispered into Dennis's ear, teasing the skin, flickering about the lobe and rim seductively. Go back to them Denicius... they will take you back... you belong there... your family is there...
Dennis squeezed his eyes shut and felt rivulets of blood run down his face, carving red trails into his soul. He had wanted to succeed so bad. To prove them all wrong. That he was more than just a bag of blood, a pawn, a delusioned fool that had listened to their lies his entire life.
Dennis felt Emoch's little clawed feet lightly touch his shoulder and the demon's voice was impossibly heavy and deep in his ear, filling Dennis's mind, Do you remember the pleasure of blood letting? It is what you were born to do... It is what you were created for Denicius... end this game.... why do you persist in denying yourself?
Dennis remembered... he remembered the exquisite feeling of fangs penetrating his neck, Azmandius's strong fingers gripping his neck as the orgasmic heat spread from his penetrated flesh, filling his body, making him clench his jaw and gasp in pleasure. He could remember everything... the dark caves echoing with the lusty cries as the other blood slaves were blood let, the thick smell of the dank air, the rocky walls glistening and shifting in the red torchlight...
And always, the promise after the bloodletting. Azmandius's eyes, swollen orbs of glinting green that pulled you in, seduced your soul, as his silken voice enveloped you... always with the same promise... "One day, Denicius, you will be free. You and your family will be elevated. You will be made Nosferatu."
Always the promise...
Always the lie...
Dennis's eyes sprang open, filled with a mad fury, blotted the magenta red of thick blood, and blood sprayed from his mouth onto the mirror as his hatred spewed out, "I hate them! I hate them, Emoch! Can you not understand how they betrayed us? They lied to us! All of us, it was all for nothing. There is no damned elevation! Only death!" Dennis slapped a hand against the mirror and let it slide down in a trail of blood, as sorrow mixed with the vitrous hatred in his soul. His voice became a sob, "It was all a lie... my whole life... everything... we were all doomed... just cattle..."
Emoch laughed and flitted up into the air, making lazy circles around Dennis's head. Oh Denicius, I knew I could count on you... You are truly unique. Such hatred sings to my soul. Ah, you are such a delight Denicius. Such a warrior. The only bloodslave to slay a Nosferatu! he crowed.
Dennis's eyes turned to the tub in the bathroom. Soon he would have to blood let again. His vision was already growing red, and his heart was working too hard in his chest as his blood pressure soared to heights that would have killed a normal man outright.
But was it worth it? For what? He was alone in the world. A bloodslave attempting to be human. No woman would ever understand him, no man would ever truly be his friend. Any human walking into his plastic-coated home, filled with razors and blood, demonic script written on the walls, would instantly think him mad. So why persist? How much longer did he have anyway? He was approaching thirty now, the age which no bloodslave was allowed to surpass.
Dennis remembered when his mother had been led away. Her time had come at last- she was being bloodlet three times a day. Dennis rememberd all the pomp and ceremony, the celebration in the slave quarters, Azmandius smiling down benevolently as he had led her away, to turn her into a Nosferatu. Dennis had been young, but he still remembered her... his mother's red hair, the color of blushing cheeks, her soft scent and warm hugs... Dennis had been filled with such joy as he had watched his mother be led away...
...to her death.
Dennis stepped into the bathtub and stood there, nude. He chose his instrument, picking up a razor blade. The razor's edge glinted in the light. It was hungry., but its bite held no pleasure, only pain. Yet Dennis knew, if he just cut deep enough... the pain would go away...
Emoch made lazy figure eights in the air. Oh come on Dennis... you know you won't do that. Its not in you. You are a fighter, a warrior. Don't mess up my fine entertainment with such a childish act.
"What will happen to me Emoch?" Dennis asked softly. "I know that you know. So tell me, will my heart explode in my chest? Or will my brain burst, a series of endless strokes. Or maybe I will just starve to death, as my dumb body uses every last bit of itself to produce blood. Endless, stinking, useless blood." Dennis held the razor to his skin. "How will it end?"
Emoch laughed. You know I will not tell. How many times have you banished me because I would not relenquish my delightful secrets? Please Dennis, not again.
Dennis felt the first pangs of nausea appear in his gut. He was bleeding out in his stomach now. If he did not blood-let, the vomiting would begin. Dennis pressed the razor against his arm.
But sorrow stayed his hand. The razor was denied as Dennis's bloody tears dripped down onto the porcelain of the tub. All of the hatred, all of the sorrow, all of the loss, all of the pain, swelled up within him, filling him more than all of his perverted blood.
Dennis found himself walking down into his basement, still nude, blood running down his body in rivulets. He gagged slightly, even as his feet gingerly made their way down the darkened stairs into the shadowed depths. He tugged on the light switch, sending the single light bulb swinging crazily as it flickered on, shadows and light twirling across the walls of the empty basement.
Dennis knocked cobwebs from his path as he stumbled down the last two steps, vertigo and nausea assailing him as he entered the main chamber.
Emoch was waiting for him there, floating in the middle of the empty, dirt-floored basement, his legs and tail folded under him in the lotus position. Dennis... whatever on Earth are you doing?
Dennis ignored him as he smeared his hand across his chest, gathering a good coating of blood, now oozing from his very pores. He calmly began writing demonic script on the wall, his eyes somehow focused through their veil of red.
Emoch's tiny black eyes glittered in the darkness. Dennis, what are you doing?
Dennis stalked around the chamber, humming an old Rolling Stones song to himself, "...can you guess my name...," grinning madly, as he wrote the demonic script across the walls in blood.
The darkness gathered in the corners of the chamber, thickening, the air growing heavy and charged. Dennis's hum sounded flat in the basement.
Emoch's tiny head darted around, his eyes watching the gathering blackness. The little demon's fear was palpable now. Denicius, are you summoning an Old One? Are you mad!"
Dennis laughed in the darkness, his finger seeming to trace of its volition on the wall now, sometimes signs and symbols that he had never learned. But they were hard, angular, full of his hate, reflecting his need. "I have no choice Emoch. I suppose you were right. I was a fool to think that I could live with the humans. I am not of their world. I suppose in a way, I made this decision long ago. I just hate the vampires too much."
But Emoch was gone. Only the darkness remained, watching him, breathing in the corners of the basement. Dennis finished writing and walked to the middle of the chamber.
Dennis laughed and raised the razor in his left hand to his throat. All of the hatred, loss, and suffering swelled within him so that his blood would have been black if there had been any justice in the world.
But there wasn't.
Screaming, Dennis pushed the razor into his jugular, and for a moment it felt good as the horrible pressure was released... and then more blood sprayed into the darkness, and he slumped to the ground. It was happening so quickly... his heart managed one last pump...
...and he died.
Dennis felt his eyes open of their own volition.
His corpse stood up, a puppet, his mind a disembodied, powerless passenger. The demon script on the walls smoldered with the fires of Hell, filling the chamber with a dark red light.
The Old One stood in front of Dennis, if standing was the right word for such a gruesome thing. It was too horrible to look upon, too horrible to comprehend, but Dennis had no choice, his eyes forced to gaze upon the thing. Its voice filled his soul, tearing at it like thorns, each syllable the death of a thousand stars, a million worlds.
You have offered your soul, mortal... what are the conditions?
Only his hatred lent Dennis the strength to maintiain purpose, to maintain his mind, as his soul sceamed back in torment, "Give me the power to kill all of the Nosferatu!"
Then you would be a cursed thing? A thing as blighted as a Nosferatu or Shade?
"I do not care what I am, as long as I may hunt the vampires!" Dennis was nothing now, save a dark kernel of hatred, that had once been a blood slave of the Nosferatu- playing at being human, now coiled upon itself in madness.
The Old One was pleased. It has been so long since We have been give such an opportunity. Only one filled with such true hatred as you, as Vlad was, as all of the progenitors of curses have been, can be molded into a new creation, perverted beyond the limits of Jahovah's mortal man. So We will grant you this thing, and We will curse you, but you will find it a blessing, for We all grow weary of vampires, for their time has ended.
The Old One swirled around Dennis's suspended corspe... and his soul was enveloped in madness. He screamed as pain engulfed him, a pain fuller than the pain a mortal man could know; The despair of infinite loss and eternal toment, stretching past the horizons of the universe into the depths of perversion and foulness, of all things rotted and ruined... he looked upon the mind of Satan and knew him... and was him... and laughed...
...and was reborn.