Chapter Text
He couldn’t breathe. It was a deeply unfamiliar feeling. As a vampire, he didn’t need to breathe, per se, so he never really felt the desperate need for oxygen. Now, though – now he did. He felt the burning in his lungs, the pressure pushing at his ribs demanding air and sustenance. It was so jarring that for a moment, he was completely lost, frozen with no idea of what to do about it.
Then, something in his hind-brain kicked in, and he began digging. He clawed at the soft dirt above him, uncaring of how it crumbled over him, getting into his mouth and eyes and nostrils. Some strange buzzing beneath his skin made him frantic, plowing over any sensible thought he had as he just dug. He needed to breathe. He needed to be out, to not feel the heavy weight of the Earth pressing in on him from all sides, needed to go go go.
His fingers became scraped raw and his nails cracked and bleeding by the time he saw light. An animalistic noise escaped his mouth as he dug with more gusto. It was a true second wind, adrenaline driving away the way his vision had begun to go fuzzy and spotty from lack of oxygen. Moments later, the sky opened up above him, and he could finally – finally – breathe in a fresh gulp of air.
Said inhale was immediately followed by him hacking and coughing up all the dirt and soot that had entered his body, over and over in a coughing fit that nearly made it impossible for him to climb out of the hole he was in. Yet he managed to do just that, scrambling for purchase to pull himself out as his lungs forcibly cleansed themselves from debris. Something shifted in his body, and suddenly the coughing became vomiting. He upended his stomach on the dull grass, throwing up nothing more than bile and more dirt. It burned as it came up, splattering on the ground around him and coming up out through his nose as he still found himself coughing between heaves.
When his body finally finished ejecting all it had, he half-rolled over half-collapsed onto his side, only barely missing the puddle he’d created. He panted heavily, staggering wheezes that burned and ached with every inhale. His vision was blurry from the tears his fits had sent rolling down his cheeks, but he was too out of it to wipe them away just yet. He didn’t have the wherewithal to do… much of anything just yet. Vaguely, he noted he was staring down at a forest, the sun beaming down at him, but he couldn’t make out many details. Something about it was sickeningly familiar, though.
Where… was he? What on Earth was he doing? Why was he…
The last thing he remembered was Him. His eyes had been bright with tears, staring down at him in – what had it even been? Disappointment, pity? Owen didn’t know. It had been so long since he’d last seen His face. Even then, it had been at a distance – He had been framed by the light of the Holy Gates much like the angel Owen always knew he was.
Shadowy claws of monstrous sinews had stabbed into him, their sharp appendages digging into his skin and bone to drag him down into the depths he’d come to deserve. It had burned so, so much. It burnt worse than silver, worse than the sun, worse than holy water. He always thought he knew what pain was, but it had hurt too much for him to even scream. All he could do was stare back at Him, savor His image, take in all that was Him Him Him.
Darkness covered his vision as a fiery inferno licked at his skin. He wondered, is this what He had felt when the townsolk burnt him to death? Had Owen, too, been doomed to feel the hurt that Oakhurst had done unto Him? Maybe that was okay, he had thought. Owen had been His teeth and claws, and now he could take His pain, too. Maybe that was simply how things were meant to be.
Then, he was here. And… where was here, exactly?
It took longer than he was proud to say for him to get his bearings. He felt… weak. Weaker than he had been in a long, long time (but never quite forgotten.) It was obvious enough that something was wrong with him. He hadn’t needed to breathe in actual air in two hundred years. Digging out of the dirt had been – shockingly difficult, and a weak check revealed that the scrapes and cuts on his hands had still yet to heal despite being so minor. And then, there was that infernal sound in his ears. It was buzzing and thumping, nearly drowning out all else. He could feel it beneath his skin, concentrated in his ears and chest. Almost like a… like a…
…a heartbeat?
Owen shot up with a choked gasp. No, no, that couldn’t be possible! He was – he was dead, he chose death. He chose to rest. He saw Him – Him! It was either death or vampirism, and it always had been. Those were the only choices Owen could bear to consider. He could either live with His gift or not live at all, no other options.
Why – why did he feel so fragile, then? He shivered and felt chilly as if the temperature actually mattered. His hands ached and bled sluggishly, caked in dirt. His stomach rolled, a stone sitting heavy and nauseous within him. His lungs still burned and greedily took in air. Why, why, why did the air feel so sweet to breathe? So relieving?
He pushed himself up on his elbows and rubbed at his eyes with his filthy sleeve. Now cleared of tears and leftover dirt, he could finally get a clear view of his surroundings, and they made him stop cold.
It was… his original waking place. The tomb he’d dug for himself after avenging Him. Behind him, the beacon stood tall and wholly untouched. There wasn’t a hint of otherworldly magics in the air, or even a trace that Abolish had been through. In fact, it looked like no one had been there in… quite some time. Two hundred years, one might hazard a guess.
With great effort, Owen got to his feet. His limbs were unsteady, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him with every other step. He felt – off-kilter. Discombobulated in a way he rarely, rarely felt. He couldn’t have… imagined all that, surely? These past few weeks – or was it months? – couldn’t have just been a… a too-vivid dream? A creation of his troubled mind to prevent him from peaceful slumber?
…No, no. He was not nearly creative or smart enough to come up with such… colorful personalities. Something else was afoot. He needed to figure it out, needed to investigate. But where to start?
Oakhurst, his mind supplied. He could see what the townsfolk were up to. Clearly, something had gone wrong with that so-called cure that Abolish performed for him. Something deep inside him that had long-since been shattered yet still found ways to break ached at the thought. He had put his trust in Abolish, and… now look at him. Fucking idiot, just why did he keep giving out chances to other people? Why was he so stupid? Why were other people so – so monstrous? First they wouldn’t let him live in peace, now they wouldn’t let him die? After so long of trying to kill him? What the hell did he ever do to them?
That was it, then. He would show up at town and demand an audience. If they killed him on sight, then so be it. He couldn’t find it within himself to care anymore. Whatever happens, happens. He was just so tired. Even if he returned to that Hell that He had seen him off to –
An involuntary shudder went down his spine.
No matter. It wasn’t like a tormented existence was anything new to him.
It took a great deal more effort than he was used to exerting just to walk. At least, more than he was used to since receiving his gift. The constant aches and pains of his leprosy as a human had all but become a memory once he’d been turned, but it now came back with a vengeance. The twinge in his knees and calf muscles were like old friends to him, returned once more to nip at his heels. Though it rankled him terribly, he ended up using the axe he found in the ruined tower as a makeshift walking stick. Even with that assistance, though, he found himself more shuffling down the mountain than properly walking.
He cursed up a storm under his breath as he carefully picked his way down the underbrush and stone, hating how often he needed to pause to catch his breath or massage feeling into his legs. Eventually, he came to a familiar break in the trees that revealed the lake. He scowled at the sight, holding more bitter memories than pleasant ones of that place. Just looking at it made the doctor’s voice ring in his ears.
Death was too good for that beast… but if I am here, then was death too good for me, as well? He thought with a huff. He shook his head free of the thoughts. It was better not to waste time or energy thinking of that poor excuse of a man and his paper-thin morals. Owen would just start seething again.
Movement down below caught his attention. He squinted, following the smudges that had to be people as they crossed the water, but he couldn’t make out who they were. In truth, he’d noticed quite quickly how dogshit his vision now was. He hadn’t known until he became a vampire how much his disease had eaten away at his eyes, but his sight was just yet another casualty claimed by it. Here and now, his vision was once more returned to a mess of colorful smudges out in the distance, lines blurred out until it was difficult to make out heads from tails.
Should he go down to see who was at the lake? He didn’t think he saw white hair, so they were more than likely humans, unless the doctor had gone on a rampage. Not entirely impossible. If one of them was Abolish, he figured he would get answers. If not, he might get staked on sight. Or…
He reached up a slightly shaky hand to twirl a lock of his hair around a finger – hair that was his natural chestnut brown, no longer white.
Maybe he… wouldn’t be murdered immediately?
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Well, either way, he had to finish making his way down the mountain, so he might as well check out who the wanderers were. Whether they attacked him or not, he was simply too tired to care. He wanted answers, yes, but if he were felled before he got them – well, by that point, it wouldn’t matter now, would it?
He sighed as he made up his mind, already fed up but too stubborn to admit it even to himself. Slowly, he began to pick his way down, gritting his teeth at every step that shot stabs of pain up through his nerves. It took far longer than he would have liked; Long enough that the people who went up to the beacon had already came out and crossed the lake once more, putting them almost directly in front of him. They didn’t seem to have noticed him, though he had been told that he had a rather unfortunate ability to sneak up on people when he didn’t intend to. By that point, he could hear their voices – and what he heard was… confusing, to say the least.
“ – this place is kinda creepy, don’t you think? Like… the air is so still.” That was… Pyro’s voice, wasn’t it?
“I know, I was just thinking that. It’s so quiet. Forests aren’t supposed to be this quiet. There’s supposed to be some kind of sound of wildlife.” That was Pearl.
“There’s something strange afoot, though I’ll admit that building was rather interesting. I’d like to spend more time poking around in it once I’m settled in town,” Pyro continued. He and Pearl strolled along the bank of the lake, their voices oddly congenial and light-hearted.
What was going on? Why were they acting so buddy-buddy, without even an ounce of tension? Why wasn’t Pyro’s hair white? They were speaking as if… as if they had never seen this place before. It was eerily similar to the conversations the townsfolk had had during the early days of rebuilding Oakhurst. But – why? It made no sense.
He stared blankly at the two’s silhouettes, unable to wrap his mind around it. Their conversation became a little more hushed as their figures grew more and more detailed, and it was with a start that he realized it was only because they were coming closer that he could see them more clearly. He took a step back, his confusion pushing him to want to run away, but by them it was too late. He had already caught their attention.
“Hello? Is someone there?” Pearl called out. She raised an arm up high and waved it. “Hello~? We see you, there near the trees!”
Pyro waved, too. “Hello! Fancy seeing someone else around here!”
They were treating him as a stranger. Maybe they didn’t recognize him -? But no, no, that was stupid. They were too familiar with him by this point. What were they playing at here?
He did not raise his hand to wave, nor did he shout out at them the way they were him. He could make out them pausing and looking at each other, muttering to each other quietly enough that his painfully un-vampiric hearing could not make it out. They approached him some more, though it was noticeably more slowly now. Cautious. As if they shouldn’t have been cautious of him before?
Finally, he could actually see their faces. They appeared… normal. Pearl’s face was void of scrapes and still-healing claw marks, her hair clean and tidy. Pyro’s skin was warm and red and full of life and his eyes were plain brown. Their clothes, too, were neatly pressed and void of blood stains and hastily hemmed tears. They were just – normal.
As normal as they day they arrived in Oakhurst, like copies borne from Owen’s memory.
“Hello there!” Pyro greeted once they were in a decent enough range. Owen saw the both of them look him up and down, no doubt taking in his ragged appearance and the way he leaned heavily on his axe. Subconsciously he straightened back up and pulled his shoulders back, though it was a fruitless attempt to make himself seem taller. He was sure he looked awful…there wasn’t any vomit on his clothes, was there? Oh, God, there better not be.
“…hello,” Owen replied cautiously. His voice was hoarse. A dull sting in the back of his throat was easily ignored. “What brings you two… here?” Here could mean Oakhurst or the lake, specifically. Owen wasn’t entirely sure which one he meant. Nothing about his made sense.
“Ah, well – we’re both on our way to Oakhurst. We were just passing by this lake here, and was curious about this ruin, is all,” Pyro explained, gesturing towards themself and Pearl. “I’m Jack von Pyroscythe, but you can just call me Pyro.”
“I’m Pearl. Might we know your name? What brings you here, hm?”
Owen blinked slowly at them, considering. He shifted his weight, hand clenching and unclenching the handle of his axe. “My name is Owen. I’m from here.”
The two of them perked up. “You’re from Oakhurst?” Pearl crossed her arms and tilted her head, the rose in the hair shifting with the movement. “I thought the town was abandoned?”
“It was,” Owen said dully. Then, “You should leave.”
Pearl dropped her arms, now squinting at him. Pyro scratched their head. “Uh…pardon?”
Owen hefted his axe up and onto his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, leveling them both with a severe glare. “Leave. This place is cursed,” he said. “Get lost if you know what’s good for you.”
He didn’t know what was going on, really, and it pissed him off. They were acting so strange, so – so dstant in a way that had nothing to do with distaste for him and everything to do with unfamiliarity. There was no recognition in their eyes, no overt distrust or anger. There was curiosity and apprehension, yes, but nothing hostile. There was nothing that spoke to the history they’ve shared over the past months.
Pearl didn’t scoff, but it was a near thing. “Excuse me? I don’t understand. What curse?” She looked to Pyro, but he shook his head, equally off-footed.
“There’s a curse on these lands. Anyone who settles here for too long dies a painful death. If you stay here, you’ll die, too.” Their expressions tightened, tension settling over their demeanors. Owen could see the questions in their eyes – more curious than cowed, which – was disgusting, even now. He sharply added on, “So fuck off, why don’t you?”
Whatever further prying Pearl and Pyro had been about to attempt was cut off by that. Their expressions scrunched up in equal parts irritation and discomfort. This time, Pearl did scoff.
“Oh, whatever. You…” She trailed off, shaking her head. She looked him up and down and huffed. “Come on, Pyro. This guy’s a creep.”
Ouch.
Owen held back a flinch, but couldn’t quite disguise his grimace. All he’s doing is telling them to leave. What part of that constituted being a creep? He’s – he’s just met them. Or something. He still was having trouble wrapping his head around it, unable to fully process whatever was going on, but from their behaviors, at least, it seemed that – seemed that there’s been some kind of… reset, of sorts.
Telling them to leave was a kindness, really. Oakhurst was a graveyard, a gaping pit that dragged in any and all who enter to their agonizing demise. Yes, Pyro would receive the gift of vampirism, but the humans would torment the vampires nonstop over and over again. So much new blood would come to soak into the dirt of this accursed place. So many monsters would be prevented from being created if only they would just stay away from this hellhole.
“I only give you this warning for your own sake,” Owen growls through gritted teeth. “If you want to throw your lives away, be my guest! It’s of no concern to me.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed off. He allowed his anger and hurt to carry him past the treeline, out of the sight of Pearl and Pyro. He eventually had to give into the pain of his joints and muscles, though, and lean against a tree for support. He wheezed, gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes against the onslaught of pain that racked his being, his body protesting standing and walking without support when he was still so sore and ill. His stomach twisted, nausea clawing at his throat once more, but it was different from when he’d woken up. Now, the nausea was a lesser issue that was simply accommodating a larger, more sharp pang in his stomach.
He was hungry.
His knuckled clenched the handle of his axe hard enough to turn white. Some things stayed the same, though, no matter how furious and confused and scared and exhausted he was.
It was time to hunt.