Born Free | EVENT, OPEN

It seemed that everything around Logan was hell-bent on making him angrier and angrier. First there was the vampire girl's unwarranted brutalizing of the yuki-onna, and the pinkette's condition in itself. Koyuki was in excruciating pain, visibly and audibly, and it was all Logan could to keep his clench fists with trembling from the suppressed urge to use them. He was only partly held back by the fact Koyuki's tormentor was wearing the disguise of a ten year-old child; aside from that, he simply knew it would only do more harm than good. But when the guy who'd managed to save his own ass by offering the vampire free premium blood packs spoke up and spilled out a scheme to combine his connections with the pig-man's capital, Logan nearly lost control.

In the middle of all this shit, the son of a bitch wasn't just paying lip service to this monster, he was doing his damndest to snatch himself a hefty slice of the cake, too. A blackly vicious thought flashed through Logan's mind - once he'd been turned into a vampire, Mister Moneybags might well meet with an unfortunate accident. The kind of unfortunate accident that left you lying in an alley with about as much blood in your body as a banana. The passing of the thought left Logan feeling more than a little disgusted with himself, but it was still there, niggling at the back of his mind.

Logan wasn't allowed to ponder this sudden urge for too long. Their host was suddenly enveloped in a pyre of black and red mist-like flame, vanishing into a whisp of smoke, only to be replaced by a woman identical to her childish form in everything but her age. Her blonde hair and golden eyes now adorned a face and frame belonging to a girl who was probably in her late teens. It would be a lie to claim Logan wasn't taken aback by this sudden transformation - but then again, weren't vampires supposed to be able to change their form at will? Dracula himself had transformed from a grey elder to a dark-haired, virile man over the course of Bram Stoker's book. Of course, that was only a book, but who the hell knew what was fact and what was fiction anymore?

But when the vampire explained that her prior stature wouldn't have allowed her to reach his neck, Logan simply responded with an annoyed twitch of his mouth. "What an inconvenience for you," he muttered, his tone carrying a thick layer of venomous sarcasm. He watched as the woman ran a sharp claw across her wrist, drawing blood, before swearing that the ice girl would be free to leave once he'd been turned. Once again, Logan bridled. "Leave? In that condition? No. We're havin' a fuckin' ambulance down here once this is over." Then his brain caught up with what his mouth was saying, and his lips tightened. "No... That's not gonna work, is it? If... this leaves me in any condition to do it, I'll carry her out myself."

If. He had no way of knowing what state he'd be in once this process was complete. Would he even be able to stand up to help the girl? If he could, would he even care to help her? What was going to happen to him? How much was he going to change, inside, where it counted? Was he going to walk out of this warehouse a completely different creature, all traces of his humanity stripped from him like dead skin? Logan swallowed, and clenched his teeth grimly before glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the assembly. "Failin' that... One of youse better see she gets medical attention." His eyes rested briefly on the albino girl, then on the hog-man and the bright-spark with the keys to the blood pack fridges.

With a drawn-out sigh, Logan turned back towards the vampire, a steely glare in his eyes. "Let's get this over with." No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than he felt the cool touch of the vampire's hand on his cheek, and his vision was suddenly filled by her face - but she wasn't coming in for a make-out session. When the bite came, he couldn't help but let out a voiceless gasp. It was like two thick needles breaking through the skin of his neck, through the walls of his blood vessels.

Logan could feel the vampire's lips puckering wetly as she slurped the blood from his wound. The pain had gone, too. The feeling of it, of having the blood sucked out through the holes in his neck, it ought to have been horrible, gut-wrenchingly so, but... It wasn't. Aside from the black lights erupting across his vision and the feeling that his knees were turning to water, it was almost pleasant.

And then it was over, before Logan had a chance to grow weak and anaemic. But as soon as the vampire withdrew her fangs from his flesh, the pain slammed right back into place. Logan groaned, and slapped a hand to the side of his neck, squinting one eye shut. "Uuugh... That's gonna leave one bastard of a hickey." There wasn't a trace of humour in his tone, except of the most bitter sort, matching his expression when the vampire opened a cut in her own throat and invited him to drink from wherever he preferred.

"I'll stick with the arm, thanks. I ain't your fuckin' boy-toy," Logan growled, but for several seconds, he didn't make a move. He just stood there, staring at the bloody gash in the woman's pale arm. This was the moment, wasn't it. This was the point where if he took the step, there'd be no turning back. Logan screwed his eyes shut for a moment. You've already played out this fuckin' debate. Get a move on. Slowly, hesitantly, he opened his mouth, pressed his lips to the wound, and began to drink.

For a few seconds he experienced nothing more distressing than the tangy taste of the vampire's blood against his tongue, filling his mouth, trickling down his throat. Then, with a forceful jerk and a cry, Logan tore away, clutching at his neck, his eyes bulging. His throat was on fire. How could he only just be realizing this now? It was like he'd been drinking acid, it was going to burn a hole right through the skin, it was agony...

And the blood was trailing fire all the way down to his stomach.

With a strangled bellow like that of a wounded animal, Logan dropped to his knees. His fight to remain upright was quickly lost, and he keeled over onto his side, smacking the side of his head hard against the cold floor. But any pain in his skull was drowned out by the agony that was quickly spreading throughout his entire body. Within seconds, Logan wasn't even able to scream. The pain held him in a lock, his torso clamped into an almost fetal position, limbs jerking and twitching sickeningly. His wide eyes locked for a moment on those of the ice girl, but he couldn't see her. His mouth was open in a silent scream, thick ropes of saliva and blood gluing his cheek to the floor.

At this point, it might be helpful to assume an omniscient standpoint in order to examine exactly what was happening to Logan. In most cases, the process of vampirification involves the transformation of the subject into a true revenant, a walking corpse. Simply put, they have to die. Their organs, which up until now would have been necessary to sustain their continued survival, are killed off. After all, they're no longer necessary. In some cases they're expelled from the body entirely, which is never a pretty sight to see. But none of this was happening to Logan. He wasn't being turned into a corpse. His organs weren't dying.

They were shrinking.

His heart had to become two-thirds of its former size, but in order to become smaller, first it had to stop. Logan was having a heart attack. But all the internal organs had to be smaller, so he was having liver and kidney failure, too. And the pain wasn't going to dull for an instant. The only reason Logan wasn't screaming was because his vocal chords were unable to articulate sound anymore. By now the pituitary gland ought to have been working overtime to flood his body with endorphins and easy the unbearable agony, but that was shutting down. By now Logan ought to be dead of shock - but that was the wonderful thing about vampirism, wasn't it?

It literally wouldn't let him die.

There was blood spurting from his nostrils, his ears, the corners of his eyes, trickling freely down his face to join the growing puddle on the floor. Then suddenly it wasn't just blood that was seeping out of Logan's orifices - something black, ink-black, entered the stream, mingling with it and thickening until Logan's face was all but bleeding pure darkness. It swallowed the whites of his eyes, leaving the spasming irises awash in a sea of black, as their hue darkened to a violent red and the pupils narrowed into slits.

And somewhere in the back of Logan's head, a voice spoke, thick with soil and gore, a growl not unlike the one that had inspired the primal screams of ancient men, as they made their hunting pictures in the darkness of the cave.

It snarled his name.

I see you're finally waking up, Logan.

black. black. black. it filled his eyes, his ears, his mouth, his nostrils, it clotted to his fingertips and cleaved to his skin. it filled his mind, choked it, pressed against its walls, pressed against him, forced its way down his throat and into his belly, feeding him and then vacating him, leaving him hungrier than ever

you are awake, Logan, your blood is awake

in the world outside his head his twitching had stopped. his teeth lay in a black pool by his gaping mouth, not just the four white spikes of his incisors but every single one of his teeth, violently expelled from his gums as new, wolfish fangs burst forth in their place. he knew this dimly, distantly, just as he knew that his fingernails had been torn out by the black claws now glistening at the end of his digits, he'd watched them snarl and sprout from his flesh with his own unseeing eyes

blood is life. the blood is life and history. past and present and future come together, the endless knot of the endless spiral, the intestinal tract of the universe

a low, garbled growl issued from the very depths of his throat, the sound distorted, its reverb inhuman. he watched and listened and smelt as the agony of the albino girl washed over him and another monster was born as she slowly collapsed on the floor by him, white by black, like a twisted ying-yang symbol

when blood touches blood it begets monsters, the afterbirths of the darkequation, the currency and barter of souls. when the blood touches someone new from someplace new, it begets something new. but when it touches someone new from someplace old, it begets something old something long forgotten

there was something with him in the darkness, something massive and hairy, its pelt stinking of moss and rotting meat. he felt its breath tickling his skin and the burning ache of its gaze, felt a rumble shake his being with every step it took because it was padding around him, endlessly, unceasingly, like a wolf circling its pray, and when he couldn't take it anymore he screamed from the depths of his soul, but the sound never made it out of his head

who are you, what are you?

the thing in the darkness, the thing that was the darkness, opened the twisted slit of its mouth and laughed, baring white needle teeth that skewered the shadows with every jerk of its monstrous jaws

I am I and I is I, and also you. I am you, you are I, and we are one I am your past and your present and your future, Logan, the beginning and the end of you

it leaned closer to him until he was level with its eye, an eye that was so much bigger than him was dwarfed even by the black pupil. then he realized that the pupil wasn't a pupil at all but a spiral, hard and jagged, drilling endlessly into some deep point he couldn't fathom. it filled his being, and the creature's sneer widened

there is darkness in the blood you cannot see you cannot imagine. I you we we were the voices in the night when the land was covered in forests. men cut down the trees and ushered in the light even to the darkest corners of the earth but they could not wipe the darkness from their blood

the darkness parted before Logan's eyes and images fled across his vision like an accelerating film reel, bringing with them snatches of sound and scent and texture. there were men, painting walls deep in the gut of the earth, painting each other in strange clannish designs, carving the spiral into stones rising out of the earth like accusing fingers to tear down God from his throne, murmuring songs and curses around fires in gnarled forest glades

we are the secret children of the cave and the claw, spawned in the shadow of the forest when the winter wind filled the earth with its seed

there were claws in the midnight forest, fangs dripping with saliva and other rich juices, spines curving wickedly around stomachs taut with animal hunger

when the steel eagle of Rome spread its claw to grasp the frozen north do you think it was only painted, howling tribesmen that answered Calgacus and his call to battle? what do you think spilled from the darkness of the forest and the shadows between the standing stones to tear out the beating heart of the legion

the same stones, the same spirals, but this time the spirals dripped with blood and the stones were crowned with skulls. he saw black-clawed hands holding down squirming soldiers, saw rocks brought down to smash their heads, saw hungry fanged mouths pressing to the wounds to suck out the brains like yolk from a cracked egg, and the creature that was the darkness was laughing again, its voice booming so loud it made his skull ache like one of those dead soldiers

the earth's children, the sons of the kings of Faerie, the ancient spirits of Mist and Oak and Hillside and more. and we, you, I, we stood by them, hunted for them, vanished the invader from the face of the earth. the warriors, the carrion, the eaters of the dead. the empire that knew no boundaries raised a wall to mark the line across which it dared not advance for fear of us, for fear of me, for fear of you

his vision was clear, the darkness was gone but for a shadow in the corner of his eyes, his white-less eyes, red pupils on black sclera. another growl burst from his throat and he braced clawed hands against the slick wet stone beneath him, pushed himself up. he felt the new, hard muscles knotting his body, ran his tongue over the pointed tips of his teeth, and realized there was a burning at the back of his throat that only more blood could quench

we are royalty, the bastard seed of Odin's blood brother. the night contains many dark and terrible things and we I you you are one of them

he had to drink. he had to feed. he sniffed the air, his mouth contorting under the black fur that covered his face, his arms, his body. the female by his side was spoiled for him now, she was just another breed of monster. yet there were others in this room, yes, the man who had secured the safety of his own skin and was even now making his way out, and his accomplice the pig, all marbled fat and thick juicy meat. but it was the ice girl his narrowed eyes swerved towards and the blood spilling freely from her arm, the one who was still in the grip of his sire, his creator, his enemy, and the creature was growling in his head again

think nothing of the wretch who sired you. she has had her fill and one day it will come back to bite her throat. but now it is your turn. eat your fill. drink and be merry

he rose up on his feed and padded over to her, growling at the back of his throat. he reached out a clawed hand to grasp what she would have so freely offered him in the hopes it would dull his pain, had her captor not stopped her. so sweet. so sweet. it would dull his pain indeed - the hunger pain, until it returned later and he had to feed again. he tightened his grip and bared his new fangs, drawing her flesh closer and closer, eager to taste, eager to lap up, eager to drink her dry

no

he stopped, and the beast's bafflement wrote itself across his expression

you cannot hope to disobey yourself

I won't

his grip slackened, tightened, slackened again, his mouth closed and his shoulders began to shake as the battle inside of him raged harder and harder

you must feed

no

you must! the beast must have its fill!

GODDAMN YOU, I'M NOT A BEAST! I NEVER THREW MY HUMANITY ASIDE!

the roar of his voice rattled the walls of his mind and for a few moments there was only silence, the breathing of the beast shallow and disbelieving. then its grin and its laugh were back

no, you never did, did you

it regarded him once more with the full burning focus of its gaze, like some entomologist peering at an interesting new species which he knows full well he will soon be sticking with a pin

you let yourself be turned to save someone else. you never sought power for yourself. you did not trade your humanity to become something deeper and greater. certain actions at certain times and at certain places have a power of their own and this holds true even in this far corner of the world. there are older forces even than I at work here, the will of the chthonic gods

it flicked its tail, laughed again in its horrible way, and dismissed him

do as you please this once, Logan. but the beast will have its fill, one way or another

he let the ice girl's arm drop as the fur shrank from his hands and arms and chest and face, shooting back into his skin, the blackness bleeding away from his eyes until only the red irises and their slitted pupils were left against the white sclera, claws shrinking back into nails as black as if they'd been painted, and the voice of the beast that was the darkness, that was him, trailing away into nothingness

one way... or another

Logan took a shaky step backwards, pressing the heels of his hands against his brow, feeling the drumming thump behind his skull intensify. His teeth hurt, hurt to scrape and tear and taste the yuki-onna's sweet blood, and he knew there would be no getting away from this hunger now, not ever. But he wouldn't give into it, not here, no matter how much it hurt. He knew now she'd been willing to let him drink from her wound if it would help his pain but he didn't trust himself not to sink his teeth into her flesh and drink and drink until there was no more left, no more even for her.

Slowly, shakily, he lowered his hands, taking deep breaths through his nostrils, exhaling them gratingly through his mouth. He tried not to smell the mess around him, the mess of bile and gore his and the albino's transformations had left behind, but it was an impossible task. He'd never seen or heard or smelt so clearly before, and there had never been a time where he needed to less. Logan forced his hands down to waist-level, digging his black nails into the palms of his hands to keep the fingers from snatching out again. When he thought he could manage it, he forced himself to look at Koyuki's face, then up at Arcadia's, eyes narrowed into thin bestial slits.

"You made an oath, sire. It's time you kept it."