Before – Homeworld, Millennia Ago, After the Burn #3
But as the slashed edges of her windpipe began to knit together, putrid lips clung to the ruin of her neck.
Then something harder—longer than any tongue had a right to be—slipped into the wound.
It pushed deeper, not probing but claiming, moving past bone and muscle until it brushed the base of her skull.
Rynna jerked, or tried to, but her limbs no longer listened.
The violation spread through her in a single, devastating sweep. Worse than…before. It broke past flesh, tunneled into thought, and shattered the quiet core where her will had once held firm.
Strength collapsed. Thought fractured. The world tilted. The creature drained her.
Her knees buckled first, then her spine as she hit the ground, the sky peeling back above her like something unreachable.
Numbness spread, seeping through her legs, her ribs, her jaw—the “little death,” creeping in with the hush of a lover. She only needed to lie still and let it happen to make the monster believe it had won.
As if sensing her thoughts, the slurping died, and a different sound skittered around her.
Laughter—high and manic. Female.
A shadow fell over her face.
“You probably think it’s over, slave,” the voice cooed. “But it’s not. You’ll be mine soon. Forever.”
Great. The thought came sluggish, half-formed. Rain began to fall, or so she thought, soft drops pattering against her skin and cheeks. Then a few landed against the back of her mouth—too thick. Too viscous. A metallic tang followed.
Blood.
She tried to cough, to spit, to move, but nothing responded. Her body refused to even panic as she drifted in that in-between, both helpless and aware.
Witches. Vorian had told her about them once. Old ones, powerful and deformed, they used blood to bind and enthrall their victims. Was that what this was? Did she care?
The pressure shifted. The woman, or whatever passed for one, straddled her head, one knee on either side. It was hard and cold, not skin, but stone?
Drips came faster now as the creature leaned closer. And when their noses nearly touched, she brought her wrist directly against Rynna’s mouth.
Blood flooded her throat.
She coughed once, choking, but it only made more rush in. Her lungs seized, mouth wide and gasping through the torrent. The taste burned. She swallowed and gagged, body jerking.
Her vision pulsed as limbs flailed, then stiffened. Her spine arched once, then collapsed.
And then everything went still. Except for the blood that wriggled and wormed, leaving no part of her untouched as it came alive within her.
When awareness returned, everything felt wrong.
Her skin burned with sensation, and the breeze scratched across her body like sandpaper.
She could hear everything—everything—from bugs crawling in the dirt to the heartbeat of every person tucked behind closed doors.
It thundered in her skull, a riot of noise.
Desperate to shut it out, she lifted her hands to her ears, but the sound didn’t stop. It pressed in, a tidal wave of life she couldn’t bear. Gasping, she tried to yell, but even the act of breathing scorched her lungs, branching out into her chest.
And somewhere through it all came a soft purr, almost a hum, laced with brittle, unhinged laughter. The sound skipped and cracked, a joy too jagged to be real.
It was her. The woman. The creature. Her attacker.
And she was pleased with her work.
Rynna forced her eyes open, lids heavy as stone. At first, she only managed the barest slit, and even that was too much. The world exploded into focus, not with light, but with an impossible clarity. It was pitch dark around her, but she saw everything.
She could make out every tiny ridge and depression in the wind-carved sand beneath her fingertips, each grain distinct and sharp in its placement.
Far ahead, at the top of a distant hill, a window caught the faintest glint of light—glass reflecting some unseen source.
A boy stood behind it, barely more than a silhouette at this distance.
Yet she saw him clearly. He was half a mile away, and still she could count the lines etched around his mouth.
And that wasn’t the strangest part.
Three flies nestled in the tangled strands of black, lifeless hair on the woman crouched to her right, their compound eyes dancing with alien complexity.
The creature didn’t move. One hand braced the earth, the other cradled her chin, a mockery of thoughtfulness, thumb and forefinger sculpting the edge of her face.
Her gaze held Rynna in place, not through force, but gravity.
A singularity, dark and absolute. Everything about the woman’s body was stillness personified—perfection, control, and the quiet of a predator before the pounce.
Only the woman’s eyes moved, or perhaps it was more accurate to say, they existed. Bottomless voids, each one an invitation into oblivion. No shine. No color. Just the infinite stretch of starless night.
Rynna’s stomach turned. She felt herself slipping, as if that gaze had unmoored her from reality.
The dark welcomed her like a grave. But before it could claim her, something ignited.
The blaze started low, a hint of heat burning deep in her belly. Then it surged upward through her lungs, her neck, her head. She doubled over with a strangled sound, clutching her abdomen as she could hold the inferno in. Pain lanced through her, but it wasn’t just pain. It was hunger. Want.
The woman rose, her head tilting to the other side, perhaps curious about an unexpected reaction.
What is this! Rynna couldn’t speak, but the thought raged through her. She had believed she knew fire, knew its hunger and rage. One had lived within her for as long as she could remember, after all.
But this was different. It would leave more than ruin behind, do more than consume or destroy. It would take. Everything. And now it was expanding under her skin, pulsing, trying to break free, craving more than air or wood.
Heartbeat after heartbeat filled her head, their rhythms crashing into one another until she couldn’t tell where hers ended and theirs began. Dozens of pulses. Hundreds. Each one a drumbeat in the night, thundering louder than her thoughts.
She knew what the fire wanted. It wanted blood. Life.
Horror gripped her. She shoved herself upright, legs scrambling against the earth as she scuttled backward on hands and heels.
Her chest heaved, breath tearing in and out as if it might force the truth away.
Dirt clung to her palms, but she barely noticed.
All she could feel was the Hunger surging inside her, and the thing it wanted her to become.
“No. No. No.” The words fell from her trembling lips, then again, louder, as if repetition might undo the truth. As if denial could rewrite the body already betraying her.
She had been changed, twisted into something she didn’t recognize, into something that fed.
“Yes, child,” the other hissed back. “You comprehend what I have given you. Be grateful I selected you.”
The other raised her arms skyward, head thrown back, tangled mane whipping in the wind as her laughter rang through the night.
“I have chosen ‘vampire’ as the name for our new race, and we will rule this world from blood and darkness.”
No! The cry was small, a final plea to what little humanity she had left after millennia of pain.
Then something snapped. The rage she had spent years forcing down broke free, uncoiling from the depths of her gut.
It collided with the rising hunger, the two snaking together into a single, unstoppable force.
Violence rose in her like a tempest, and even if she had wanted to stop it, she couldn’t.
There was no space left for control. Only purpose—singular, blinding, and precise. Destroy the other. Devour her.
One second, Rynna sat ten feet away, the next, she was on the supposed Queen. There was no blur of movement, no rush of speed. She simply wasn’t there, and then she was.
The vampire’s expression never even had the chance to change. There was no surprise or spark of defense. She was already dead; she just didn’t know it yet.
Rynna’s fist drove straight through the other’s chest. Bone cracked under the force, and she gripped the left rib cage, yanking it free with a wet snap.
Gore, blood, and splintered bone sprayed behind her as she reached again, her other hand tearing through the right side, revealing a wide, hollow wound where the vampire’s sternum used to be.
And before the monster’s knees could buckle, before death could finish her, Rynna reached into that oozing cavity and wrapped her hands around the heart.
It wriggled once in her palms, the surface puckering like skin stretched over crawling things as if something beneath it wanted out.
Time stretched as Rynna traced the slick, muscular lines of it, marveling at how something so small could hold such endless, writhing power.
The creature’s eyes widened, and Rynna looked from her to the heart, then back again.
A grin pulled at her mouth, strange and too wide. Her tongue slid along her teeth, anticipating the taste, and caught on something sharp. She paused, eyes narrowing.
The monster’s posture stiffened, shoulders drawing back as her gaze locked fully onto Rynna. Confusion collapsed into realization, as the whites of her eyes expanded until only a sliver of iris remained.
Rynna didn’t wait.
With both hands, she raised the heart to her mouth and bit down.
The muscle burst beneath her teeth, flushing blood into her mouth and down her throat, thick and scorching.
It drenched her face and soaked her arms, flooding every inch of her with molten ecstasy.
It was a violent, euphoric conflagration of flavor, obscene and decadent beyond reason.
Honey and salt. Cream and copper. Life and death layered together in every swallow.
She devoured it—one bite, then another, then a third—until nothing remained.