Delicia opened her mouth in protest before she realized what he was doing for her. She nodded gratefully. “Yes, Father, I think that would be a wonderful idea. Take him to the eastern cellars, where your wine is stored.”
Davius beamed at her. “Wonderful. My associate, Greyus, can speak with you regarding our interests in my absence.”
Lucius appeared in the seat next to Delicia, taking her hand in his. “It is wonderful to meet you, Madame.”
“Yes—more drink!” Nirus struggled to rise to his feet. “A tour we shall have!”
Davius bent to offer him balance, masking his revulsion at the putrid, slimy skin that rubbed against his own. The stench exuding off him was positively revolting, the scent of his blood similar to that of curdled milk.
Davius struggled to keep him upright as they left the dining room, entering the familiar household. He navigated effortlessly through the hallways towards the press room, where he knew beneath the cellars lie. Nirus did not question him, far too drunk to do anything but allow Davius to carry him down the hall. His besotted state prompted his credulity, easily convinced that Davius’s father was once one of his most trusted comrades, even referring to Davius as his brother while clapping his back with joyous intimacy.
Davius maintained the charade as he observed the villa, struck by how still it was, the bustle of slaves he had once lived amongst eerily absent from its halls. Torches still lined each wall, their flames now catching in the silver pottery Delicia had added intermittently below.
“This is not right,” Nirus protested suddenly, realizing where they were. “We are headed towards the wrong cellar.”
“Nonsense,” Davius assured him. “Right this way.” He ushered him faster, the man helpless against both Davius’s immortal strength and the vulnerability of his intoxication. Davius threw open the back door to reveal the neglected west yard, overgrown vines spiraling around the cracked and misplaced stones. The cylinder-shaped building that once served as a press room loomed before them.
“No, please! We cannot go in there!” Nirus began to panic.
Davius dragged him towards it, noticing the front door had been barricaded with chains. He tore through them easily, throwing open the door with such force that the wood slapped against the inner wall with an angry thud.
He immediately stopped in his tracks, the reveal of what was behind it taking him utterly by surprise.
Although the room hadn’t been used in years, the reek of fermentation still hung heavy in the air, now mixed with the tantalizing aroma of blood. He realized the room had been turned into a makeshift torture chamber, rusted chains hanging from the walls, the floors painted with viscera. There were tables laden with various tools and sharp instruments, and a dresser devoted entirely to knives positioned against the far wall.
Nirus found his footing at last, and began to pull away from him. “This is not my room!” he insisted. “I love a good tussle with a slave girl, but she is the one who cuts and drains them! She thinks their blood will preserve her youth and beauty—I tell her it is madness but she does not listen!”
Davius noticed that the giant iron vat once used for pressing grapes was as equally smeared in crimson as the floorboards, a metal slab suspended by two chains hanging above it. The previously established stairs that led up to its mouth now included a table on its landing where fresh towels had been recently stacked. “She bathes in it,” he deduced, incredulous at the thought.
His moment of clarity allowed Nirus the opportunity to wriggle out of his grasp. He slipped around the floors towards the entrance, his attempts to stand useless. Davius did not rush to retrieve him, assured he wouldn’t make it to the door. He continued to inspect his grotesque discovery, heading behind the repurposed pressing cauldron.
He noticed a figure hanging limply against the far wall, partially concealed in shadow. The memory of his captivity immediately resurfaced, shuddering as he recalled the agony of chains. Alarmed that he hadn’t been able to smell a human being in the room, he approached the figure carefully. As he grew closer, he could see the soft blonde hair of a woman and the angles of her emaciated frame. He was mere footsteps away before he realized that despite her protruding skeletal bones, her stomach swelled with child.
He rushed towards Gaia as her sweet face looked up to greet him with relieved elation. He took it in his hands, his body awash with emotion. She was as lovely as he remembered, her olive eyes swimming with adoration as her rose colored lips turned upwards into a smile.
Somewhere inside, he knew she was only a specter, but he embraced her regardless, his nose filling with the aroma of jasmine as her skin warmed his. He wanted to remain eternally in the moment, her fruitful curve pressing against his stomach as he smothered her face in unabating kisses.
“Davius…” her voice came out in a whisper but seemed to fill his head.
“No,” he murmured, his lips grazing her cheeks. “Please do not ask me to leave you.”
“Davius…”
“No…” He repeated, aware of the hollowness of the word as he reached up to rip down her chains.
Hands now free, she grabbed his face, forcing him to see the fire in her eyes. “Kill him, Davius!” she hissed.
The intensity behind her words broke him free of his astonished stupor. He whipped around and lunged at Nirus, who had no chance to register his attack. Davius twisted his head backwards and plunged his teeth deep in his neck, nidorous blood surging from the interrupted vein into his mouth. He slurped it down his throat feverishly, regardless of its putrid taste, as he was accosted by visions of the man’s vile life: the wails of women he’d beaten and raped, the image of Gaia’s face burning with hatred as he loomed above her, whip in hand.
When Davius could not bear to drink any longer, he threw him to the floor, smashing his hideous face with his fist over and over, until his eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw cracked away from his face, his voice gurgling as it tried to plead for mercy. He stopped only to position the mangled creature onto its back. He lifted his own wrist to his mouth, severing his radial artery and releasing black rivulets of immortal blood down his arms. He mounted the pulp that was Nirus’s body, positioning his dripping wrist directly over its gaping mouth.
Gaia appeared next to him as he allowed his blood to pour from him. Her hand on his shoulder signaled him to stop and he withdrew obediently, the two watching in silent satisfaction as Nirus writhed on the floor in agony.
“It is done,” her apparition said softly, when the body temporarily ceased its struggle.
Davius turned towards her, the sight of her beautiful, heart-shaped face with its garden of freckles flooding him with nostalgia. Regret twisted painfully his core as he wiped the taste of rancid blood from his lips. He knew remnants of the gore still streaked his face and neck as she gazed at him. “My love,” he whispered, full of shame. “I have become a monster.” He hung his head, unable to look into her eyes.
She tenderly lifted his face with her hands, the smell of jasmine so strong that it masked the horrors around them. “For now,” she whispered. “Stay the course, my sweet Davius. There is so much more that will be revealed to you.”
He felt tears fall from his eyes, horrified to think they would look as decayed as his blood. Yet Gaia was not affected, placing his hand where it could caress her belly while she pressed her lips once more against his.
And then, without another word, she dissipated, the vision of her trickling away like fragments of dust caught in rays of sunlight. He felt her warmth throughout his body as if her soul passed through him. He fought to keep the vision of her fresh in his mind, imagining her returning to the emerald grass of Gaul where she ran joyous and free, keeping pace with a sandy haired bairn who skipped alongside her.
The anguish of her departure settled over him, slowly bringing him back to the present. He looked down at the lifeless creature at his feet. He moved quickly, hoisting it up against the wall and clasping Gaia’s former chains around each wrist. He watched as Nirus’s soul returned to its new form, its beady eyes wrenching open in violent resurrection.
Davius stood back to observe him, satisfied that the transformation had not relieved him of his disfigurements. His eyes were masked by films of pus as they struggled to take in his surroundings, his jaw still broken and hanging slackly from his noseless face, its blackened tongue lolling pitiably with nothing to restrain it. His complexion had cleared and his leg seemed sturdy, but his shriveled scalp still boasted no hair and his skeletal frame was still contorted by his human deformity.
“Thirsty,” he slurred, his tongue trying unsuccessfully to reposition itself back into his mouth.
Davius smirked. “It is a thirst that will never be quenched for the rest of your miserable days.”
“Who are you?” the creature garbled.
“Surely you remember the slave boy who once stormed your feast.”
His clouded eyes widened in recognition. “What have you done to me?”
“You will live for endless days, hideous and thirsting, your eternal punishment for the murder of my wife and child,” Davius scathingly replied. “You will yearn for death, but it will never come to you for the rest of your wretched days as an immortal on this earth.”
