HUNGER OF THE WICKED

11.

Irkutsk, May 1st, 2011

Perched on the roof of a nearby building, Syssoi watched the surroundings of The Black Cat, a nightclub with a notorious reputation in the city centre. The indiscriminate and dirty walls, the heavy metal door without number or name of the owner, the absence of a sign: nothing showed what was going on inside. But the vampire knew exactly what to expect. He glanced at the moon, which lit the entire street with its soft white light, and then, supple as a cat, he jumped from his perch. Six floors down, he landed smoothly on the sidewalk and immediately headed for the entrance to The Black Cat. He reached the door and waited for a moment. On the other side, he heard music, laughter, cries of pleasure, the sound of broken glass... he concentrated more. He was looking for something very special. He discarded the most obvious sounds, ignored everything that bothered him, reached an exceptional level of hearing, sank into the building... and he heard it, this specific heartbeat, recognizable among a thousand. Bad luck, there was a problem, an unforeseen element. Without hesitation, Syssoi turned into a mist and slipped between the door frame and the door. On the other side, he began to run.

Kassian no longer felt his ribs. Lying on the ground, his lip bleeding, he folded upon himself. How long had the beating lasted? He didn’t know. Despite his position, a new kick hit him in the abdomen and he spat out a stream of viscous liquid. Another hit him in the back, off guard, and a flash of pain rushed up his spine. He was surrounded. Most people were content to watch, dancing to a techno rhythm, a drink in hand, hilarious. Others were kissing without shame, visibly excited by the suffering of the young man. Only two or three beat him. But among them, there was a vampire. In other words, his chances of survival were nil. However, he didn’t want to give up and the ridiculous idea of escape passed through his mind. He dragged himself towards the exit, trying to break the circle by passing between the legs of a couple. Kassian knew he couldn’t rely on their help, but he didn’t think he’d be stamped on like a miserable cockroach. A Stiletto pierced his right hand. He screamed, pushed away from the... the... person responsible and hurried to protect his limb. For what? He was lost. The woman poured her champagne glass on his face laughing like a hysteric, an odious smile of pleasure encrusted on her over-painted lips. She looked like she was offering him his last drink.

His main attacker grabbed him by the shirt, forced him to straighten himself, knelt before him and, taking his good time, raised a fist as wide as a sledgehammer. This was it. Kassian closed his eyes, anxious to finish. Suddenly, a wild cry rang out and a supernatural calm fell on the audience. The music, the laughter, the shouting... everything stopped right away. Even the dope sniffers suspended their actions, paralyzed. When Syssoi advanced among the humans, they parted and some fled without waiting for what would come next, frightened. The vampire came and stood in front of his counterpart.

“Let him go,” he ordered in a harsh voice.

“What do you care? You know what he is, he must die.”

Syssoi was not a great conversationalist, regardless of whom he spoke with. He gave a fantastic headbutt to his neighbour and threw himself on him. In front of the stunned audience, he bombarded him with punches. The few that missed their target hit the ground with such violence that the tiles cracked with a dry sound. The room quickly emptied of its last spectators. The other couldn’t react to this continuous surge, especially as his attacker didn’t skimp on the variations on the theme: stool, bottle...

In short, anything that came to hand and that could hurt a lot. To escape him, he turned into a mist, dispersed in the room and reconstituted himself more discreetly behind the bar. What a surprise it was to find Syssoi there, armed with an ice pick that he planted in his abdomen to the point of passing the tip through to the other side. He then seized him by the hair and bludgeoned his head on a metal sink until his bones gave way. Then finally, he blacked out.

Syssoi dragged his counterpart into the room where Kassian remained. The vampire looked at the astonished young man. Physically, he could easily pass for a kid barely out of adolescence. Fragile, whitish and livid skin, messy blond hair, eyes so pale blue that they could be thought dead. When you think about it, it was almost the case.

“Your name?” he asked gruffly.

“Kassian, Sir.”

“You’ll come with me. And never give me another title.”

“Yes, S...” he bit his lip in time.

His saviour lifted him like a rag doll and led him through the back door, and outside into a small alley. He made him sit on a trash can and chose another place, facing east, to secure the vampire, still unconscious, to a ventilation grid.

“Why are you doing this?” Kassian asked.

“Will you take a long time to heal?” retorted Syssoi, evading the question.

“A few hours. He hesitated a moment before resuming. “You know what I am, don’t you?”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

The vampire searched between the garbage cans, followed by the young man’s astonished eyes. He found a cast iron skillet covered with rust and, satisfied, came back to the other vampire and hit him several times on the skull.

“I wouldn’t want him to wake up before sunrise,” he said with a smile.

“But... you’re going to murder a vampire!”

“Do you have any other intelligent remarks like that?”

“I just want to understand...”

Kassian dared to study his saviour closely. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscular—and beautiful blue eyes that were very much alive... he winced. A living vampire, what a good joke! Yet he had to admit that there was more life in this giant than in him. He looked at his right hand. The skin, that of a walking corpse, was already growing around the damaged flesh.

“The cops confuse us with junkies, you know. We’re just barely counted among the scorned. And you routinely execute us.”

“Any regrets?”

“An observation.”

“I need you. I’m looking for a vampire, someone very special,” he moved closer, shading Kassian. “You help me, or I’ll kill you.”

“Insubmissive don’t grow on trees,” he ventured, just to give himself courage.

Syssoi had a deadly smile and leaned forward.

“I found you. I can look for more of your people, but I have no time to lose. So your answer, now.”

The young man glanced at the unconscious vampire, his skull smashed, attached to the air vent. He swallowed.

“It’ll be dangerous, won’t it? Even your friends will hunt you down?”

“I have no friends.”

A vague smile floated for a moment on Kassian’s lips. Then he looked his saviour in the eyes.

“Me neither.”

Syssoi gave him a light pat on the shoulder—he still felt his impressive strength—then settled down beside him to wait. In truth, Kassian hoped, thanks to him, to take revenge on those who had made him suffer so much. This was an unexpected opportunity.