Prospero took in a breath. Every fiber of his being demanded that the man in front of him had to die as soon as possible, but he knew better than to seek Orlok’s death in a dream of all things. “...What does a monster know of peace?” he asked. “The Beastblood is not worth coveting - Vampirism is not worth coveting. I would not wish this fate on anyone. No amount of ‘peace’ is worth the trouble it brings, if there is indeed an ounce of truth to your words.”

  “Peace is rarely a bloodless thing, child. You would be horrified to learn of the lengths some men have gone to achieve it - your father least of all,” Orlok replied. “Your body is host now to the tumbling, chaotic essence of every creature you have felled. Would you not say that-”

  “No,” Prospero interrupted. “I will not be made the subject of some self-righteous villain’s tainted morals. I kill because of you - because you pursue me still! Because you have given me no other choice! For every soul sacrificed in the name of my ‘strength’, the Beastblood tugs at my identity. I do not want to lose myself! Can you not see that your pursuit is the reason for this!?”

  Orlok tilted his head. “You would blame me? You would trust the words of your father unconditionally; the man who revealed nothing of his origins to you, his only son?”

  “You taunt me,” Prospero turned his back. “-But it will not work. I know now that my father was a Vampire, and that regardless of his penance, he was once an unforgivable man. But his love for the world was genuine! He was a man who valued peace before anything else. If anything… that ‘love’, in spite of his Vampirism, has only deepened my respect for who he was.”

  Orlok stood, now less composed than before. “Gaspar was a coward,” he declared. “Strength is the only metric by which respect is earned in this world, you sheltered child! This is a lesson you will soon learn! Generosity and ‘love’ - as you so dearly call it - are dire weaknesses! I say this not because it is glamorous or honourable, but because it is the truth! You cannot flee, arms flailing and tears welling - like your father - into the darkness of the Incandescence, hoping all the while that ‘love’ will earn you peace! You must be powerful! It is not a path that can be avoided now that the Beastblood courses through your veins!”

  Whatever base truths laced his words, there was a seething hatred beneath them that forced Prospero to rebuke the Vampire’s beliefs. “...You are wrong,” he said.

  “It is kind of you to say so,” Orlok relaxed back into his chair. “But not realistic.”

  “You said so yourself that the Beastblood is a path towards peace,” Prospero continued. “I can only imagine the methods you would consider acceptable to achieve ‘peace’. But your eyes are set on the path of least resistance. The true way of peace is difficult to walk. It requires more than ‘strength’ and ‘power’. It requires… change. A change in heart, mind, and soul. A change in identity.”

  “Men change their minds from one hour to the next,” Orlok said. “That does not invite peace. On the contrary, it transforms them into volatile, dangerous creatures.”

  “But those who move flippantly from one ideal to the next are not set in their ways. It may very well be that they are confused before anything else,” Prospero paused. “...And, it is not wrong to be confused. A change in perspective is all that is needed to see beyond hatred… a change which can only be encouraged by those with the ‘strength’ to listen.”

  He turned, no longer flooded by the rage which stoked his outburst upon first sighting Orlok. “You are the same,” he concluded. “-But I cannot say that I have the ‘strength’ to face you yet. Not while I understand so little of myself, and of the kin I now possess. But perhaps, someday…”

  Orlok shook his head. “It is clear to me now that our goals could not be any less aligned,” he began. “Preach what you may, then, and if there is the slightest spark of truth in what you say, then know that I do not resent your beliefs. But the Beastblood must be mine, for there is no other man who can resist its power. Until next we meet, spawn of Gaspar.”

  The room, and Orlok himself, melted into the subconscious void beyond its confines. The two men hadn’t parted on amicable terms, but something akin to an understanding was pressing against the back of Prospero’s skull. There was a man beneath Orlok’s grim facade, he realised - a man whose actions and crimes were justified, however falsely, by ideals wholly unlike Prospero’s own.

  “Cyprian Orlok…” he muttered. “When we meet in the flesh… I will be ready to face you.”

  Then he awoke, startled as if from a nightmare, scaring Grimhilde into falling straight off his head and into his lap.

  “Oh,” Prospero sniffed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Sorry, Grimhilde.”

  She stretched her arms and yawned. The night was dead; a fresh day was filtering in through the cave entrance. Prospero hadn’t slept for nearly as long as he intended, and there was no chance of him getting another wink now that he’d been rudely awoken.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “What to do…” he wondered, “I’d prefer not to waste any waking hours if I can help it.”

  Beasthood - 0%

  He felt like a new man, free at last from the dark urges of the Beastblood. He knew better now than to tempt it. A glance down the illuminated cavern revealed much that he hadn’t explored. The amount of entrances bored into the cliffside had him wondering just how deep the caves went.

  [Reptile] Form Activated

  Finesse (+50%) / Beasthood (+15%)

  Compared to before, the rush of ferocity when he shapeshifted was pale and manageable. Spending so long in his human form exaggerated just how much faster he was in the guise of an overgrown lizard. He shook himself to dispel the last surge of drowsiness and readied himself for the day ahead. It’s time to hunt, he thought.

  Grimhilde rode on his back, seating herself atop the amethyst pillars as the two descended into the depths of the earth. Prospero spent a few cursory minutes chasing down the camps of bats clinging to the ceiling, killing only as many as the System demanded, as painlessly as he could manage.

  [Flying Mammal Proficiency] +15

  The proficiency requirements seem to increase drastically whenever I improve a Grade, he thought. I dread to think how many lives I must take to match Orlok’s strength.

  He could not blame himself. As he said, it was the fault of Orlok himself that he was forced to participate in such animalistic behaviour. He could not accept the blame himself, no matter how thorough or satisfying he found the experience to be. All of his hatred and stress deserved to rest on the shoulders of one man. He could alleviate at least a portion of the burden that way.

  Grimhilde, he addressed his thoughts to the fairy on their way down. I can’t help but wonder why you decided to follow me after we slew the Gorgon. I may have saved your life, but it seemed to me like you were well loved in the colony.

  He asked, but knew that she could not respond. In defiance of the barrier between them, she went on about her reasoning in that songbird voice of hers, never understandable but evidently quite passionate in her conviction. Prospero thought to himself that studying her language was the first thing he wanted to do when Victima reached civilization.

  Then a sound caught his attention, and, suddenly still, Grimhilde went silent. A pebble or two fell from the ceiling as something rumbled above them, tunnelling through the earth. It slithered deeper into the cavern, then the tunnel was silent again.

  Minutes ahead, the walls were studded with pores large enough to fit a man’s arm inside. Dust piled on the floor and along the curvature of the holes revealed them to be something unnatural. Hundreds of them lined the bumpy walls, only growing more frequent as Prospero toed deeper.

  Some nest of… burrowing creatures, he thought. The teeth they must possess to chip away at solid stone… if I’m seen as a threat, they’ll likely attack as a group.

  It was no time to act hastily. Returning to the start of the cavern, Prospero lifted the corpses of two bats in his mouth and looped back to the bowels. He placed the beasts a few paces apart, right next to the lowest of the small tunnels.

  Once one of them takes the bait, I’ll strike and get an idea of what I’m up against, he strategised. Living in a cave means these creatures must have poor eyesight. I should be fine as long as I don’t make any unnecessary noise.

  He waited there for a minute, then two. He froze when the rumbling returned, focusing his weak eyes on the bats in preparation to strike. A short dust cloud plumed from the pore closest to the ground, and a yawning mass of curved bone-razors slipped out from the borehole to lunge at a bat’s corpse.

  Prospero stepped forward, parted his gums, and clamped down on the serpent-thing’s head before it could react. The creature’s slimy tail thrashed as he yanked it free of the hole. The bumps of calcified flesh in Prospero’s throat prevented its teeth from becoming an issue on the way towards his guts. He resisted the urge to gag and tried to ignore the creature, still squirming, in the pit of his stomach.

  [Blind Tugworm] Defeated

  [Invertebrate Proficiency] + 3

  [Invertebrate] Form Unlocked! (Aptitude - Bloodthirst)

  Ugh… Not the most palatable meal, he exhaled.

  The commotion caused by his attack, or perhaps some sort of inaudible signal released by the Tugworm, awakened the nest to Prospero’s presence. Dozens of circular jaws studded with teeth poked out from the tunnels, launching out to gather into a single, wriggling mass of flesh.

  Move, Grimhilde!

  She took off from Prospero’s spine, allowing him to curl up and crash through the conjoined body. Tugworms flew, screeching, in every direction as his weight bowled into the mass. He took the time to land on his feet and lumbered up the incline, crushing worms underfoot whenever he could manage.

  [Invertebrate Proficiency] + 7

  A few of the creatures leapt up and attached themselves to his hide, their swirling, protruding jaws cracking straight through his pearlescent armour. Another roll-up protected him, but doing so on an incline sent Prospero on a one-way trip deeper into the cavern. He flattened a carpet of Tugworms which were now pouring from the walls on his way down, until the ground gave way to air and he landed, somewhat poorly, into a basin of stone decorated with tiny stalagmites. A faint, cerulean light continued to shine down from the way in.

  Grimhilde is still back there, he thought. I’m sure she’s sensible enough to retreat…

  Soon after, the horde arrived in his wake, descending like a tide from that high ledge and spreading across the cavern floor.

  Not good… far too many of them, he swivelled his head, searching for an exit. There!

  Another entrance, smaller than the last but still large enough to fit his frame. He didn’t have a moment to hesitate, tightening back into his ball and careening down the passage before the Tugworms could swarm. A second passed, and Grimhilde’s light faded altogether. The darkness deepened around him, until finally - dizzyingly - he collided with another stalagmite, bouncing into the air before landing on his back.

  Oh dear, he blinked to stop the world from spinning. How do these creatures do this all the time without vomiting?