Blood Stained

Not a single casualty. Save for those of the Dojeks. With the absence of their master, the robed clan have sought to do their master proud, with dignity and honour. They have been dubbed “The Vir” by the remaining free people. The Vir meaning The Hero/Heroes in Latin.

Two more onslaughts have happened since then. Some people are outraged by the fact that they weren’t as efficient as protecting them in the first battle since they arrived. Others have sought their guidance. Wishing, to fight and be like them. Looking upon them with eyes of envy. And jealousy.
Each hopeful seeker has been turned down and the masters closest friend, Daniel is yet to wake from his slumber. They have begun to wonder if he even is still alive.
But in his mind rages a battle of knowledge and wits. He feels not at all betrayed by the master leaving him behind, knowing his intentions were pure of heart. Confusion and frustration are beginning to rain supreme over thoughts of equilibrium and concentration.

The last of The Vir to see the master stands before Daniel. Keeping guard and watch. The wooden door’s burst open and in charges five men carrying fire arms, with John leading them. His face engraved with a frown.
“He needs to wake up now.” John demands taking a step closer. A short, but intimidating growl comes from the petit, figure, and John steps back. “Listen. We can’t keep this up. We need guidance, counsel. Your clan needs help for goodness sake, and he is happily asleep!”
“The clan will hold strong as long as needed. And as for guidance and counsel, you have enough minds in this place that can help you with that. But he shall not wake until he is ready.” She replies. One of the bigger men steps forward, mistakenly un-intimidated by the small figure that stood in front of them.
“She just a little ‘fing she is. Why are you afraid of ‘er?” He boasts unwisely, as he towered above her. He makes a move to push her out of the way. John, knowing what they can do steps forward to stop but is too slow, and watches as a cold, pale hand grabs the giant, muscular wrist of the soldier. It is twisted sharply, and a loud crunch echoes through the room. The soldier falls to one knee, hovering his hand above hers, not sure whether to dare and remove it or let it be. “Alrigh’, alrigh’! I’m sorry! Let go of ma wrist please!” He moans.

The figure pauses. As if musing whether to drain the cowering behemoth or to release him. None of the others feared to even make a suggestion. Not even John.
“He does not wake!” She commanded. The soldier, fighting back the tears, nodded violently. She twisted it further, and he gave a cry. “I didn’t hear that” She said. “He does not wake!”
“Y-Yes! I’ll let him sleep!” He sobbed. The figure released him and he fell to the ground, clutching his wrist and doing his best to get away. The others helped him up and he shook them off. “C-Crazy bitch” He stuttered, turning away.
“What…” She whispered in a voice that made the soldier freeze in his heavy tracks, instantly regretting his words.
“Don’t do anything to him! Please, it was an accident!” Another soldier pleaded.
“In a war… There is no room for accidents…” She said, her voice becoming soft and ghostly. She lifted up an arm, facing her palm forwards and spreading her fingers out. The frozen soldier, instantly turned red, his veins becoming more visible as they pulsed. He slowly levitated off of the ground, and the others fell to the sides. His veins and arteries appearing as if they wanted to force their way out of his skin. Barely able to breathe, air caught in his throat, causing him to cough and choke painfully. He slowly turned to face the robed figure.
“I-I” He gagged “S-Sorry” he repeated, choking on the words as if they were solid.
“No room for accidents” She said in a monotone voice, and slowly started to curl her fingers inwards. The soldier screamed in agony, as droplets of blood pushed their way out of his skin as if fleeing his very being.

They floated out, pooling and swirling in mid-air. The more collected they became, the less it seemed like droplets and the more it seemed like a stream. His body twitched at the rejection of blood. Until finally, he fell to the ground. Tiny holes visible all over his body, and not a drop of blood to be found.
“Blood sorcerer” one of the cowering soldiers whispers in fear, now pushing himself into the wall, from the horror. Unexplainable fear had welled inside John. Although this was nothing to what he felt in the ruins, this was still enough to make him shake, and shiver. It was compelling him to look away. But he couldn’t. The fascination attracted him. The smell he relished.
“B-B-Blood sorcerer?” the others tremble, staring at the eight pints of blood floating effortlessly around the room.
“Anymore accidents?” The figure whispered. Hastily, all of them got up and fled the room, small pools of blood collecting in the creases of their clothes, and lacing into their hair.

The room had a red tinge, the blood was just swirling, creating patterns in the air. The enticing smell, and allurement of it made even the Vampires on the other side of the stronghold grow hungry.
All of a sudden, Daniel’s eyes snapped open. Black with a hunger waiting to be sated.