The Lineage

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.


The Lineage
By 11


Chapter 05
The Vampire’s Assistant: Turning

Drifting in the darkness. Endlessly drifting, no direction just floating in a free-fall in the never-ending dark. But then there’s a dim light as I surface to consciousness. It seems to be consciousness anyway; I hurt all over, so it can’t be a dream or death. It hurts too much for that; all along my jaw a throbbing pain; it’s in my veins too… I’m so hungry right now.

“Welcome to life.”

“Life?” my voice sounds weird when it answers the old man. He’s now standing in the way on the singular dim light in this place, room, whatever. “I thought I died.” My voice is all husky and low; I probably need some water.

“No,” he answers, “I just made you one of my kind.”

Wow, that’s so very explanatory. Now I know all there is to know about ‘life the universe and everything’. Wanna speak ‘English’ instead of ‘freak speak’ old geezer?

“I assume you know what a vampire is.” Oh not again with this stuff, just because he’s a freak doesn’t mean he has to project it onto me too; come on! Thanks for saving my life from bleeding to death, but that doesn’t mean you can suddenly say ‘oh you’re a vampire now.’ Yeah, like he’d change me now when he wouldn’t before. He’s a freaking psycho, how do you reason with a psychotic?

“You’re probably feeling the hunger set in about now, you need to feed.” He states as he draws back; and I realize that the dim light was the moon outside my window. I’m back in my room. Yeah, when did I start calling my jail in this manor ‘my room’? I dunno it sticks, it’s where I live now oddly enough. “I won’t expect you to make a kill on your first time, and I dislike bringing corpses upstairs so I brought you a supplemental meal.”

I think that’s the most I’ve heard him speak before, possibly. I don’t even look at the ‘meal’ he gestured at, but he’s leaving so that’s good. When the door clicks shut, almost inaudibly I sit up, and am surprised to note that I have to stiffness anywhere on me from my previous beating.

Stupid Shui and his guys, at least I didn’t retain any damage since I managed to live. I can’t even tell where I was bleeding from now; there’s no scars or healing spots on me; I’m in really good condition it’s scary. Well then again it’s dark and I don’t have a light or mirror to examine myself with.

I glance over at the dresser… the supplemental meal he talked about was a bag of blood; like the kind you see them transfer at the blood bank. I feel my gut coil in response, it’s cords tightening and loosening again and repeating in something like exhilaration and anticipation. But I don’t know why, I’m not going to drink it… unless it smells like punch or some other beverage dyed red with food coloring.

That psycho! It’s actual blood; I can smell the coppery stuff the moment I’m standing in front of it. My gut’s going wild though; and I retreat back to my bed. I’m not injured but I feel pretty tired, and my legs don’t seem want to stay up very long. Well I’ve had a long day; I suppose that’s natural.

I’m really hungry though. Maybe pancakes, yeah pancakes would be good about now, bacon too; or ham, or steak… any meat really would be perfect right now.

I venture a trip to the window cautiously, and check my reflection. I don’t look all that different, though my face seems undamaged as well. Even in this next-to-no lighting I can tell my eyes are still blue. I open my mouth to check, for the heck of it, and I confirm that I have had no abnormal growth in my canines or any other teeth. Vampire my slug-toting polygon weasel.

The old man may have red eyes, but he doesn’t have any abnormal canines from just looking at him. Although he has something in his mouth that breaks skin when he tries… my neck can vouch for that.

My legs start to shake again and I head back to the bed to sit down. In the morning I’ll go and look for a kitchen. There’s gotta be some food in there, how else would he have gotten me the food before. I’ll find it in the morning… I’m so hungry; but I’m also really tired. Begs to question why I woke up at all but still… sleep now, I’ll find food, real food, when I wake up.

When I do wake the hunger is stronger, it's started a very unpleasant gnawing all through my belly; and my throat aches as well. I could use a glass of water. It's pretty early in the morning, still dark outside.

It's too early, and my body protests when I force it up to stand and walk down the hall heading for the lower floor of the house to check for a kitcheny type place. I'll feel better once I eat; I know I will.

The thing is all through the bottom floor; it looks like this guy doesn't even have a kitchen. He has a shelf though; and there's an old loaf of bread but it's stale. The sinks at least have water; I can't find a cup so I drink it with my hands.

I drink until I can't drink anymore; but the problem is; my throat still aches; and that hungry feeling is not going away even though I know I have something in my stomach.

If I wait a while maybe it'll start to digest and the hunger will weaken. But in the meantime it still hurts. I don't know how long I sat there on the floor; crouching rocking my body slightly to try to detract my attention from the growing pain; but it must have been some time before the freak appeared in the doorway to the next room silent and unannounced as usual.

"You are planning to attend the manor today, aren't you?"

I stare at him like he's the crazy thing he is; but he's unperturbed. Stupid sadistic whacko; thinks I should do my regular chores with a stomach ache like this. Wonder if there's any medicine I can take; I swear it's hunger but the food didn't do anything to alleviate it - or maybe I didn't eat enough?

"Aren't you?" he questions again, crimson eyes darkening.

"What about school?" I ask, my voice sounds hoarse.

"I've already spoken with your school; you are no longer enrolled there." he explains calmly, never moving, gaze never wavering.

So the old freak took that liberty; made himself my psycho guardian or whatever and has stolen my life. It's my fault I guess; I let it happen. I could always kill myself but I don't want to; there's no point. I already just managed to live after massive blood loss - maybe that's why I hurt, but I wouldn't think it'd hurt like hunger and dry throat.

Oddly, the fact that he's taken me out of school doesn't bother me, not as much as it should. It should bother me but it doesn't; why is that I wonder? Obviously I'm going crazy too.

At leas the house has been less dusty than it was when I first got here. There wasn't a lot I could do about the old smell and the stains on carpets and walls from age. But at least you can walk through the rooms without sneezing or walking through a cobweb.

The spiders migrated to the ceiling corners; I don’t even care about reaching them anymore; the old man doesn't really care he just wants things; 'tidy'. That means dusting, mopping, sweeping, organizing, and of course cleaning carcass out of the blood room and the cellar in the ground with all those whips and chains and other torture toys.

The day and my routine of dusting, mopping, sweeping, organizing, and cleaning the carcasses out of the blood room and cellar goes by really quickly. The pain is ever present but with my mind on the work I can mostly ignore it.

My body feels a lot lighter than before but maybe that's the blood loss still regenerating. It makes it easier to move and I like feeling agile even if my mind is just tricking itself.

In the evening as the sun starts to go down behind the houses I glance outside to the street; someone's walking home on the sidewalk the other side of the street. Looking closer I can see its Shikamaru. He's far away and he doesn't even glance at the house as he walks by. I guess we don't mean much to each other right now; not anymore, if we ever did. I hope he stays happy in his wonderful life.

I turn away from the window and nearly lurch forward as the pain in my stomach gurgles through me again, stronger like jabs of ice picks or knives shoving through my gut. I am so hungry; I need food, or medicine, or something. Geez!

"You haven't fed."

The creep's back. Gee, no kidding, you think? He has no food in his house, and I'm not eating that blood just because your fantasy says I'm a vampire like your fantasy says you are. He seriously looks concerned though; just a bit.

"You really should feed, or you'll get weaker."

"I'll 'feed' when I can get food thanks." I answer plainly. There is no way I'm drinking blood. I don't care if I'm in a desert dying of thirst; I'll drink my urine first.

"You are a vampire, 'food' won't do you any good." he stares at me coldly. Obstinate psycho isn't he? I shake my head and turn away; I'll just have to wait until I can go outside next and then I'll go to the grocery or something; I'm pretty sure I have a few dollars in the pockets of one of my pants in my room.

"Regardless if you feed or not, you will continue your attendance of the manor." he maintains before vanishing off to who knows where. So he's still putting me to work; that's stupid.

Despite the fact that he knows I haven't 'fed' he still comes in the evening to bite my neck to draw blood. Stupid faker.

The next morning however I do notice I'm even weaker, at least I still feel light and can move around. However half way through my routine the psycho shows up; and he is very angry. I'm only half-way done with the second hallway too.

"Do you call that clean?"

At first I don't know what he's talking about; is he just here to pick a fight? "What are you talking abo-?!"

His face contorts in anger as he grabs my arm harshly and yanks me back a few steps. He never cuts his nails so it really hurts. Looking over my work I realize that in fact he's right.

I left grease stains over the window and left the dead flies on the sill. On the carpet I only cleared up the large blotches the smaller ones are still there; three tables haven't been dusted off either. How could I have missed so much? Am I sick? Maybe, I haven't felt good since the day before yesterday even.

"I am so sorry." I whisper but even my voice seems to lack conviction; it sounds distant and far away.

"Perhaps you need to learn that shoddiness will not be tolerated." he hisses at me dragging me down through the house. I think I know where he's taking me, he took me there before when I thought he'd kill me.

It doesn't occur to me right now that he might kill me this time; since everything still seems too far away and out of focus. Even when my shirt is ripped off my back and my pants are shredded and I'm tied to the plank and hear him select his punishing weapon it doesn't really occur to me until the whip lashes into me.

There is nothing distant or far away about the pain that lances through my back. New scars are drawn across my flesh. My screams are clearer than my whispering voice before. My throat protests the harsh voice being forced through with every bloody blow.

Every inch of skin burnt raw with strikes or sound. It’s a world of pain again and I pray for darkness; or numbness - a return to my detached unfeeling.

It is short this time, and the blows are actually much weaker. It seems my old scars already healed up; there seems to be no conflict of new scar tissue combined with old.

"From now on, concentrate on the task at hand. You will not complete a task twice ton get it right; you will be concise the first time." his silver voice the only real clarity beyond the throbbing pain in my belly and my back and the fuzzy detached fog in my head.

The rest of the day is almost as blurry as my mind, I spent the rest of the day struggling to make sure I didn't miss cleaning something before moving on to the next part. The freak sat by for the first two hours to watch me before retreating. Though I suspect if I had managed to forget something in his absence he'd have immediately appeared to punish me again. At least the pain in my back kept me from thinking about this grueling hungry feeling too much.

That evening, he bites me again; and I sleep afterward. He had a new packet of blood but I refused to drink it. In the morning it's as if overnight my body has entirely atrophied. Every muscle moves easily but after the movement is completely my body is ready to collapse and never move again.

The marks from yesterday's whip lashes have completely healed; I don't know how that happened but I don't particularly care, for all I know I was actually asleep an entire week. I feel weak enough.

In the evening again he drinks, then tries to make me drink the new packet of blood he brought. He just doesn't get it does he? Does he get off on drinking blood and seeing other people drink blood?

"Drink."

I manage to shake my head, lying back on my bed since he dropped me back after feeding himself. "No."

At least he doesn't make me. But every time he gets even more annoyed; I don't care, let him be annoyed. He tries to force-feed me I'll try to fight back; though in this state there's probably not a lot I can do.

The old man heads for the door, but he does tell me; "You will drink when the hunger grows strong enough."

Yeah right.

The next evening, he doesn't bit me; but he brought me something that I could have actually kissed the psycho for. A cheezeburger and a soda.

I love you so much right now; psycho-man! Gimme! Gimme!

He hands it to me, "It won't satisfy your hunger." he tells me, almost sadly as I devour the meal.

Oh good clean bread! It's still warm too; and cow meat! Delicious; cooked thoroughly and greased with just the right amount of salt and frying. The tomatoes are ripe and the pickles salty and nearly sweet. The cheese is the best I've had in a while and the soda has that wonderful tasty fizzy burn.

It was wonderful; now if I could only get him to bring me meals like this all the time; I wouldn't mind being a house maid!

The thing is, he is right. That hungry feeling is still there gnawing angrily at the pit of my belly; and my throat still aches horribly. Even the burger and soda didn't make me feel any stronger or more energized; not at all. Why am I still so 'hungry'?

I won't meet his eyes, he's smiling slightly; since he knows he's right based on my own crestfallen expression when I realized that while the meal was enjoyable my hunger didn't vanish.

But blood... it can't be the answer.

"Perhaps now you will feed." he murmurs slightly, probably more to himself than to me. I ignore him though.
I'll never drink the stuff. It would be wrong, and it probably tastes awful anyway. Besides that it came from a human once.

'A human'? Not, 'another human'? I chuckle to myself lying back on my bed again. There must be something seriously wrong with me, I've been infected with psychosis. I no longer identify myself as a human. I must be going insane.
I just don't know anymore.

`

I don't know how many more nights it's been; earlier today I nearly collapsed in the hallway while I was sweeping out the dust and dead flies. The old man was there and caught me though; now I'm in my room. The hunger nearly consumes me, it's like I'm the walking dead; a zombie now.

At this point my stomach and guts have vanished and there's just this great big empty hole where my belly ought to be but isn't. My body's still whole; I'm not mutilated, but the feeling of a black hole in me in unbearable. I feel like any day now I'll be sucked into it too.

The old man has said he won't drink from me anymore until I've replenished my blood by drinking the stuff he brings me. But I'll never drink it. I can't.

"Then you will die here. It'll only be a matter of days now."

That is what he told me; I'm starting to think he's completely right about that. If this pain keeps up along with this growing weakness I think I really will die. What a waste that would be.

It's already nighttime; maybe 11:30, or midnight possibly. I can see the moon outside my window; it's open to let in some fresh air; but it also brings in the smell of the night and the moon. It makes that dark center that hungers stir horribly.

Not only that it makes that second voice within my gut stir as well. Nights like this it would stir normally; on nights like this I'd go through the collection of things with blood on them. I'd stay up late and just let my mind run wherever it wanted to, wherever my guts wanted to.

I can't let it; because when I do, to try and escape what is my reality right now, my mind turns to blood and I realize I can smell it sitting on the dresser just a short ways away. I keep thinking how easy it would be to just tear off the top and let the red stuff drain down my throat.

The thing coils at that thought and makes it seem like ecstasy but I know its psychosis. I can't trust my guts anymore; it leads me astray.

I realize that I've already sat up and my hand has reached toward the bag of red; just another finger length and I can grab it.

I yank the appendage back against me and try to calm the cold sweat running over me, and the hurried anxious beating of my heart that began ever since the moon rose into the sky.

I don't want to drink it. I refuse. I can't! I won't!!

A screeching sound reaches my ears and I start as I look toward the window where a dark winged form falls through the open frame and onto the floor. When it strikes the wood floor a cloud of mist pools out and grows wide in the space of a few seconds. Then a curled form of a young man unfurls to a stand.

He is tall, and pale; ghostly pale like alabaster. Dark jet black hair that grows out in spikes and dark eyes that show no light; like the black hole that sucks in everything around it, even light.

He rises from the smoke and he's wearing nothing but black too, but it looks like just a regular pair of jean pants and a simple loose sweater. Oh and shoes, he's not barefoot, thought I don't doubt his feet would be as pale as his neck and face.

Perfect curved ears, a thin nose, pink lips, high cheekbones and a broad forehead; he's slim but his shoulders are fairly wide. If he worked out or went to bodybuilder he could really buff out if he wanted to; he really is very slim, almost feminine.

A friend of the freak?

I realize I'm staring only when it finally clicks that he's staring at me too. I think I must have fallen asleep; this doesn't seem real. My psychosis acts up and asks if perhaps this guy is a vampire for real. I could almost believe that claim, except that vampires just don't exist.

But then, I really don't know anymore.

Fine pink lips curl upwards in a smirk as his eyes thin slightly, almost mocking; but it doesn't seem to strike me that he's mocking me. I'm so out of it right now; I nearly don't catch what he says as he stalks towards me.

"That old man is so thoughtful," His voice purrs, like a mixture of satin wove with silk into sound, "leaving me some food for when I arrive."

What?

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