It was cold, as if the sweltering heat of summer collapsed into autumn chill overnight, his tattered tunic useless against it. He was unaffected, however, the smoldering embers of hatred keeping him warm. His grief was overpowered by the rawness of his fury, pushing his battered body onwards. The borrowed strength from earlier had left him, his limbs now sore and muscles aching. The magic he had worked was not enough to finish his task, and he knew he needed more to carry on.
He moved back through the city, observing the remains of the storm, fallen branches and shards of broken sculptures cluttering the roads. An overturned water fountain gushed out its contents. The citizens of Rome were still welled up in their homes, quiet in the late hour.
The abandoned temple that Lucius called home resurfaced ahead. He barely reached the entrance when its owner appeared in the doorway. His eyes were brightly burning saucers. “Did you find her?”
Davius couldn’t respond. He suddenly felt exhausted beyond restoration.
“Come, come,” Lucius took him by the shoulder, guiding him inside.
He had cleaned up the shattered vestiges of Davius’s tempest, the miniscule atrium now oddly barren. Lucius pulled him to one of his couches, forcing him gently into its folds. He seated himself directly across from him, his smooth, unblemished face marked with concern. Davius realized how beautiful a creature he was exposed under direct lamplight, a man frozen in time.
“Is she dead?” he asked.
Davius nodded, his voice wavering as he spoke. “And I am physically powerless to avenge her.”
“What happened?”
Davius wearily disclosed the evening’s events. “I could not get to the loathsome rodent in time. He ran away, a true coward.”
Lucius, who had been listening to his story with rapt attention, finally moved to cross his legs and lean back into his seat. “You cannot go for him tonight, Davius. If you murdered that many soldiers, you are now being hunted. And once they learn of Eridus’s murder… Nirus’s dwelling will be swarming with guards. Besides, you are far too weak to do anything now.”
“I will empower myself once more,” Davius argued, indignant.
“It is true, I have never seen magic worked that impressively before. You were absolutely prodigious. But I fear it will not work so perfectly again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Magic in this realm works for a price, Davius. It cannot be used lightly. While you are obviously an extremely adept sorcerer, which I would assume was inherited from your father, you cannot borrow from a well that has run dry. To demand the powers that be to vitalize you twice so quickly is simply unreasonable.” He rose to his feet. “In fact, I am not even certain who or what you invoked this evening.”
“The gods, of course,” Davius retorted.
Lucius sighed. “Davius, gods are only given power through worship, through the masses that have faith in them. The Tuatha De Danann inhabit the Otherworld in Gaul and the other Celtic lands. While there were plenty of Celtic slaves who brought their gods to Rome, the majority of them adjusted to life here, eventually absorbing the Greek religion as their own. And without being worshiped, what is the point of staying in a foreign land? So, the gods move on, back from whence they came.”
Davius frowned, absorbing his words. “When I came to Rome as a slave boy, I was protected by the Morrigan. She stayed in human form throughout my long voyage here, presenting herself as a woman from my clan. She protected me, cared for me. Then she transformed when we arrived, massacring the entire Roman harbor in a swarm of carrion crows.”
Lucius was mystified. “Amazing,” he breathed. “Have you seen any signs of her since?”
“No,” he admitted. “She left as quickly as she came.”
Lucius nodded. “That does reflect her temperament. I am astonished she chose to protect you, revealing her powers in such a way. I have tried to communicate with her before on this land, but could never reach her.”
Davius sat quietly, his brow furrowed in contemplation. Finally, he spoke, his words careful and composed. “Lucius, I have made my decision. I want to be as you are.”
Lucius stared at him, trying to contain the elation bubbling beneath his composed exterior. “Do you mean this? Truly?”
Davius felt a sudden wave of calm, as if by speaking the words out loud, the fates aligned with his choice and offered him their blessing. His haunting visions felt like a distant memory, a new sense of determination and finality settled over him. His rage was transformed into purpose, his lust now only for vengeance. He realized he was willing to do whatever was required of him to accomplish it. He stood, firmly replying, “Yes.”
Lucius did not waste another moment. He flew up to him in an instant, a serpent striking its prey, sinking his teeth deep down into the flesh of his neck. Davius instinctively tried to resist, but a strange euphoria crept over him, rendering him useless. His knees weakened as his body was drained of life, yet his sire held him tightly, even as darkness swam over his eyes, threatening to collapse him. The pain in his throat was both excruciating and orgasmic, a dichotomous paradox, as his body fought to live with involuntary spasms.
His mind raced with images, memories of his past, nightmares of lives lived before this one. He saw his father’s face flushed with religious ecstasy, smelled the sweetness of his mother’s skin. Everything seemed to make sense, yet was frustratingly incomprehensible. He was dying, and the realms between his and the next swirled with maddening disarray. His soul was drifting, his mind in panic as his body realized how wonderful it was to be released of mortal bondage.
And then, as the antilogy his consciousness was experiencing grew unbearable, Lucius dropped him. Davius writhed on the floor, unable to do anything else.
Lucius gasped, apparent that he too felt the intensity of what transpired. Blood ran down his chin as he spoke. “I fed you my blood at our feast, and now I have drunk yours. This is how you become like me—an exchange of vital essence. You will feel your body perish, but your soul will remain constant, though it is now altered forever.”
Davius didn’t need his warning. He knew his body was dying, his thoughts consumed by the agony of his muscles collapsing, the frightening spasms of his organs ceasing their tedious exertion and the horrific sensation of his wastes letting themselves go. His soul floated above his motionless body as unearthly cries surrounded him, beckoning him to follow them. He looked down to see the crimson that ran from his gaping neck wound turn an inky black. The wound then closed itself, the skin fastening together seamlessly, ending the flow of liquid with a halt. Suddenly, he was struck with the sensation of falling, pummeling actually, until he landed with a painful jolt. He was whole.
And then he stood.
Energy pulsed through him, alien and new. His nose was overwhelmed with scent, realizing he could smell everything from the young slave girl Lucius had stashed away in the house to a couple who hurried down the street blocks away. He smelled the woman’s excitement, the drops of perspiration running down her back, the man’s intoxication and the heated pheromones of his lust.
His eyes darted across the room as he tried to absorb surroundings that were familiar, but now seemed new. Colors were blindingly vivid, the paintings on the walls pulsating with pigment. He moved to touch them, to inspect his dried paint with new fingers, when he realized he had moved with such speed that he upset the few tapestries that still hung on the wall. He stared at them in amazement, for he could see every intricate detail of every waxen strand from where he stood, several feet away. Every shadow that cast itself upon the floor seemed like sunbeams, and he could count the hairs upon the spider that scuttled up the wall.
“What…am I?” His voice was barely a murmur.
Lucius stood before him, and Davius looked upon him for what seemed to be the first time. He was a vision to behold, his skin aglow, his eyes burning golden fire. He smiled adoringly at his new creation, his teeth blindingly bright and severe. “You are an immortal!” he exalted.
Davius looked down at his hands. His skin was so transparent that he could make out maps of veins pulsating black blood, coursing up and down his fingers. His nails were now sharp, almost like claws, and they glinted in the candlelight. He moved his arms, feeling a fluid sort of power in them, effortless in their movement. He looked at Lucius again in wonder before a deep hunger pain jolted his stomach, as if he hadn’t eaten nor drank in days.
“The hunger you feel is natural,” Lucius responded to his silent amazement. “It has now become a part of you, the price you pay for perfect strength and immortality.”
Suddenly, Davius vomited, violently dispelling the last remnants of humanity from his body. He wiped his mouth, staring at his maker. “I am so thirsty,” he moaned.
“You will drink. But first, I must teach you. Moira, come to me,” Lucius called. His voice seemed to dance in Davius’s head, a medley of beautiful tones and pitches. He again became so entranced by the vibrancy of his world that he was able to put aside the hunger gnawing at his stomach.
Moira appeared, yet this time Davius felt no sorrow for her. He sensed she was like they were, but her eyes did not glisten like Lucius’s. She appeared weak, as if the last scraps of humanity still clung to her like the rotten bark of a dying tree.
“She is also like us, just a lower form,” Lucius explained. “She is stronger than a human and can hunt for herself, but her mind is mush, malleable and compliant like a service animal.”
