The community of nightwalkers called vampires by mortal beings is threatened to be slaughtered. An old Evil has risen, a daywalker with extreme forces. Strange alliances have been formed to annihilate the enemy. Vampires, witches and werewolves fight together to stop this bloodthirsty murderer.



Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere






            He walked through a scenery he had changed himself. Obviously the truth hadn’t gotten to him at this moment. While he was looking around, the images flowed back into his consciousness. The color, however, trickled inside bit by bit, on the retina of his eyes. First, he thought they were black spots, maybe puddles of black oil or spatters of sable colored ink on the stones around him.

            This was the reason he wasn’t surprised to see that his hands, his arms up to his elbows had the same shade. Only then, he discovered the metallic smell that tickled his nostrils. He smelled his hands. The same smell draped his body as an invisible clothing. Metal, his synapses in his brain decided, you’re smelling the copper in the blood.

            Blood…? His heart accelerated in a higher gear. His breath, tried to imitate this physical condition and then all colors came back in his world.

            He stood in the middle of a pool of spilled and splashed blood. Both on the left and the right, even before or behind him, turning around his axis he saw ripped off body members. Arms, legs and pieces of torsos. The parts he hardly recognized, soaked under his feet.

            The rocks in his close by surroundings were blotched with scarlet smudges, strokes, and splashes. It was as if someone had written something about it in an incomprehensible language. A bloody story that talked about pain and torture, of unspeakable suffering. A trail which spread around him as a shell crater, a central point of destruction. And he was the midpoint of it.

            An indescribable panic filled his heart and the fluid that ran through his veins and had the same color of his neighborhood coagulated in the sight of this human offal. He felt the bitterness of the mounting bile in his throat. His first reaction was nausea, but not short after this he became aware of a feeling of self-satisfaction. Something in him adored this color, something had admiration for this chaos of spread lumps of meat which were still warm of life.

           Without realizing, he was licking off his lips. The taste was not to describe. A force flowed through him, feelings he had never felt. He tasted the sweetness and the strength of the fluid he had now in his body. His stomach didn’t protest anymore, a full and superb feeling glided as an inner warmth through his body. He could feel it and it grew from his belly to his arms and his legs. Finally also in his head and everything became clearer.

            He discovered colors and the secrets of their depths and dozens of shades he’d never see before. Everything was so bright and strongly delineated. When he heard the little dung beetle creeping between the blades of grass on the left of him and understand why the rats were nibbling in the sewer on his other side, he knew it.

            Never again, would he be the same. Never again, he would see or hear the things as they were before; gray and without life, boring and colorless. His body exposed a whole other world to him. His eyes were open now and at that moment he really saw what was happening around him.

            Therefore, he would fight every day of his further life, battle and kill if necessary. It was a call he heard in his heart, it was an urge he felt pulsing in his veins which ran as thick cords over his arms. It was the taste and the smell that above all made him wild, it was better than love, better than pure lust.

            This call he had to answer. It was the blood that summoned him and he shouted his accord with all his force he owned now. This scorching blood thirst, he had to nurture over and over again. Now and forever it was the only thing he would live for.

            Whom he had been, was of no importance. It didn’t matter because he was something else, somebody else. Stronger, faster, more beautiful and just better in everything he ever had done. He knew his name used to be Daniel Ainsworth. The sound alone made him puke. He would break away from everything that reminded him of his former existence. From today on he would enter the world as someone who rules through the blood. From this day his name was… Vladimir Sango!


© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere 15/12/2014





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