Chapter 3: Can a Monster Be Grateful?
– Blood (4 units)
The notification echoed one last time in Corven’s mind, faint and clinical, as he wiped the last traces of warmth from his lips. Blood-soaked and bare, he stood amidst the mangled corpses of the forest wolves.
Not a single piece of fabric covered him—no robes, no armor, not even a loincloth to hide his rebirth. Only skin, slick with blood, kissed by the cold silver glow of moonlight.
"I feel a lot better..." Corven murmured, a quiet chuckle rising from his throat as he rolled his shoulders. Joints cracked. Muscles flexed. His voice was clearer now—stronger. The savage thirst had been sated... for now.
"So this is no longer my world, then?" he asked no one in particular, looking up at the star-choked sky. The constellations were alien, ancient, and unblinking.
"Another world... as a vampire," he repeated, letting the word rest on his tongue like a fine wine.
"Vampire..."
He tested the syllables again, slower this time. A grin tugged at his lips.
"Sounds... fun."
He turned back to the dirt path, walking with a calm confidence that defied the blood caked to his body. He looked like a man chiseled by discipline—years at the gym, a perfect diet, and genetics carved by divine spite. But now his gains were wrapped in death’s embrace.
His gait was clean. Silent. He strode as though the forest belonged to him now.
"You’d think I’d be more surprised by all this," he mused aloud, lips curling in amusement.