TIMESTAMP: 8th of Sun’s Zenith year 118
NOTES: For Vitalis request; part 3 of 4.
NOTES: For Vitalis request; part 3 of 4.
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After that tumultuous process, Hector lay in a pool of his own rotting vitality, viscera splayed across the floor, skin stained and slick with a sickly shade of dark, purplish red. Over the course of next several hours, the older mage converted some of his own blood to Vitale then used it to help reinvigorate Hector's ruined body and draw his dead organs together into a congealed mass within, slowly dragging the tissue of his newly forming stomach and upper intestines around the waste. At the same time, the spilled blood gradually began to regain its color as Vergil used his aether to breathe life back into the wilting cells, dissolving away the rune's corruption. In addition to setting Hector up for an easier expulsion of his old systems, the color of the elf's spilt blood was once more saturated and fresh. The repulsive scent of decay had been almost dispersed from the cellar in favor of something metallic, familiar and delicious.
Twenty hours had elapsed up until this point and through it all, Vergil had never left, maintaining the effects of his Pheromancy the whole time. Leaving one hand still on Hector's neck, the vampyre dragged the other from the elf's cheek down to his chest and then drew it back, now coated in revitalized life essence. By now, he was beginning to feel…hungry. With a subtle part to his lips, he stared at his hand. So much blood had been spilled, the scent had become overwhelming. After a second's hesitation, he brought his hand to his mouth and licked it. He'd always found the flavor Hytori to possess sweeter notes than that of others, but this was…ambrosial.
The pleasure he got from feeding was only amplified by the elf's taste. Given the circumstances, Vergil was filled with a twisting combination of embarrassment and shame…but he couldn't will himself to abstain. He'd been in a rush and made the mistake of forgetting to feed before starting…and now? This was too hard to resist. Sitting up, the vampyre used his aether to collect Hector's spilt blood. Tendrils of vitality flowed into an orb he levitated in front of him. Not wanting the other to see, he turned away from his struggling protege.
Hector, being weak and unable to move much, shuddered at the dull ache caused by the other's touch. Lavender eyes followed Vergil's hand when it drew back to his mentor's lips, watching the expression on his face when his blood was tasted. His eyes lit up at the sight, though he was quickly disappointed when the other turned away. Snapshots of being fed upon by the older vampyre briefly flashed through his head; it was something the elf had thought about and dreamed of for a long time. This was…close…but not quite– he couldn't even see the other enjoy himself.
The blood floated around Vergil in a long, flowing red ribbon; he then drew it to his mouth and began to feed. Hector stared at his back from the floor, eyes glassy and unfocused as slow waves of heavy internal pressure continued to radiate through his torso, nausea welling up within. He cursed internally, partially because of the discomfort, but also because he wished he could see the other's face– alas, the man was modest.
Vergil exhaled once the blood was consumed, satiated. Turning back around, he saw Hector's face twist to a grimace as a sick, sinking feeling began to overtake him. The initiate had felt sick for the past several hours while his mentor had slowly worked magic from his own rune on him. Through this, the elf would periodically be stricken with cramping or tremors from the corrupted rot that remained within him. Vergil looked like he wanted to say something, but then–
Still laying on his side, Hector abruptly grabbed at his throat with one hand, propped himself up with the other and gagged, shifting into ragged dry heaving shortly thereafter. The elf could barely support himself like this– he was trembling and so very weak, his head spinning alongside vision blurred. Covered in a thin film of sweat, he felt his mouth begin to water as his body prepared itself to vomit. With breaths deep and slow through his mouth, he suppressed his immediate instinct to try not to throw up. In this situation, though, he knew he actually needed to purge, lest he rot from within…again, and this time he would not be able to escape the reaper’s grasp.
Now that both of Hector's trembling hands now rested on the cool stone of the floor, fingers digging into the rock as he struggled to stabilize himself. An expression of empathy drew itself upon the features of the older vampyre as he remembered going through this himself all those years ago. Lifting a hand of his own, Vergil gently ran it down the other's upper back. The elf flinched at his touch, instinctively pulling away.
When the vampyre withdrew it, Hector tried to speak, "No–..."
The movement of his mouth and throat from trying to speak kicked everything forward. All of the muscles in his core seized at once and several masses of putrefied, utterly disgusting flesh, bile and blackened blood slid from his throat and fell from the boy's lips. The mixture was unbearable– it was probably the worst thing Hector had ever tasted. This fit didn't last that long objectively, but to both parties present it felt like ages. The continuous seizure of his musculature was exhausting on top of it being involuntary. By the time this wave of painfully strong nausea rolled over and was done for this particular moment, he quickly collapsed back into a slumped pile on the floor, rolling away from his expulsion– the taste left lingering in his mouth was vile.
Struggling to breathe, he lay there making vain attempts to stabilize his pulse.
"No, I-..." he gasped; speaking was rather difficult for him at the moment. "...you just surprised me…your touch is, ah, it's…welcomed and…you…you make me feel safe," it took him a while, but Hector finally managed to get all of the words out– each part of that sentiment was a struggle to express from trembling, bluish lips.
What he said, though, was true. Vergil's touch was soothing because it helped to quell his fear; knowing he wasn't alone, and that the person present was who he was, actually helped with the scattered tumult of his mental state quite a lot. Plus, it made the young man feel cared for, even as he lay there filled with his own rot.
Wordless, the vampyre exhaled a sigh through his nose and smiled in tandem with closing his eyes– at least he could continue to be helpful, even if not everything he did was super impactful. Knowing this brought the older man some modicum of peace; as much as he was accustomed to the spilt blood and viscera, it was Hector's suffering that bothered him.
"Just…let me know if I hurt you any further, okay?" With a voice possessing a soft sort of tenderness, Vergil spoke those words while he gently lifted the younger one into his arms and slid a few inches back, carefully dragging Hector along with him.
Resting his back against the wall now, he pulled the elf into an embrace with the other’s back leaning against his chest. After giving him a soft squeeze, the vampyre withdrew his arms from around the other’s chest and rested both of his hands on Hector’s shoulders, thumbs digging into tense flesh. The trembling elf responded to the other’s movements positively, leaning into his touch despite how sore his body was from being essentially remade. When Vergil finished repositioning the two of them, he leaned his own head back and looked toward the ceiling, letting his thoughts drift for as long as he could– he couldn’t predict how long it would be until his protege had another fit.
The relative quiet provided by these few moments of solace was precious but, unfortunately, they were short lived. Hector shuddered and leaned further forward, dropping his hands to the floor between his legs to support himself, fingers splayed with knuckles twitching and white. The cooler air of the basement made his sweat slickened body shiver despite him feeling that, internally, he was the temperature of a thousand suns. Sighing, he closed his eyes– the crest of his nausea’s wave came round again, causing him to heave, spine rolling upwards as the muscles composing his core once again violently seized. While he was clearly straining to get anything out, there was nothing. Trembling with mouth agape, Hector took a few shaky, deep inhalations each followed by shallow exhalations. Then, he bent his legs to sit on his knees, still leaning forward onto his palms.
All Hector could hear was the pound of his heart thrumming in his ears while blood rushed like rapids through his veins. His head swam and his vision was hazy, dark, unfocused– the only thing he could manage to focus on right now was his own breathing. Closing his mouth to attempt to swallow, his breath caught, making him gasp. Not given even a second to recover, his core painfully seized again to try and force something, anything, out. And this time? Nothing. Again. While it was clearly a struggle, he managed to swallow again, eyes drifting nearly closed. This repeated over and over again, and eventually, the elf became so weak his arms couldn’t hold him up anymore. Each bout was as dry as the next, but each time he felt worse and worse. All the while, Vergil had been supporting him, having wrapped arms around his torso, palms held against the other’s chest to help hold him up.
Continue Reading: The Color of Rebirth IV
Twenty hours had elapsed up until this point and through it all, Vergil had never left, maintaining the effects of his Pheromancy the whole time. Leaving one hand still on Hector's neck, the vampyre dragged the other from the elf's cheek down to his chest and then drew it back, now coated in revitalized life essence. By now, he was beginning to feel…hungry. With a subtle part to his lips, he stared at his hand. So much blood had been spilled, the scent had become overwhelming. After a second's hesitation, he brought his hand to his mouth and licked it. He'd always found the flavor Hytori to possess sweeter notes than that of others, but this was…ambrosial.
The pleasure he got from feeding was only amplified by the elf's taste. Given the circumstances, Vergil was filled with a twisting combination of embarrassment and shame…but he couldn't will himself to abstain. He'd been in a rush and made the mistake of forgetting to feed before starting…and now? This was too hard to resist. Sitting up, the vampyre used his aether to collect Hector's spilt blood. Tendrils of vitality flowed into an orb he levitated in front of him. Not wanting the other to see, he turned away from his struggling protege.
Hector, being weak and unable to move much, shuddered at the dull ache caused by the other's touch. Lavender eyes followed Vergil's hand when it drew back to his mentor's lips, watching the expression on his face when his blood was tasted. His eyes lit up at the sight, though he was quickly disappointed when the other turned away. Snapshots of being fed upon by the older vampyre briefly flashed through his head; it was something the elf had thought about and dreamed of for a long time. This was…close…but not quite– he couldn't even see the other enjoy himself.
The blood floated around Vergil in a long, flowing red ribbon; he then drew it to his mouth and began to feed. Hector stared at his back from the floor, eyes glassy and unfocused as slow waves of heavy internal pressure continued to radiate through his torso, nausea welling up within. He cursed internally, partially because of the discomfort, but also because he wished he could see the other's face– alas, the man was modest.
Vergil exhaled once the blood was consumed, satiated. Turning back around, he saw Hector's face twist to a grimace as a sick, sinking feeling began to overtake him. The initiate had felt sick for the past several hours while his mentor had slowly worked magic from his own rune on him. Through this, the elf would periodically be stricken with cramping or tremors from the corrupted rot that remained within him. Vergil looked like he wanted to say something, but then–
Still laying on his side, Hector abruptly grabbed at his throat with one hand, propped himself up with the other and gagged, shifting into ragged dry heaving shortly thereafter. The elf could barely support himself like this– he was trembling and so very weak, his head spinning alongside vision blurred. Covered in a thin film of sweat, he felt his mouth begin to water as his body prepared itself to vomit. With breaths deep and slow through his mouth, he suppressed his immediate instinct to try not to throw up. In this situation, though, he knew he actually needed to purge, lest he rot from within…again, and this time he would not be able to escape the reaper’s grasp.
Now that both of Hector's trembling hands now rested on the cool stone of the floor, fingers digging into the rock as he struggled to stabilize himself. An expression of empathy drew itself upon the features of the older vampyre as he remembered going through this himself all those years ago. Lifting a hand of his own, Vergil gently ran it down the other's upper back. The elf flinched at his touch, instinctively pulling away.
When the vampyre withdrew it, Hector tried to speak, "No–..."
The movement of his mouth and throat from trying to speak kicked everything forward. All of the muscles in his core seized at once and several masses of putrefied, utterly disgusting flesh, bile and blackened blood slid from his throat and fell from the boy's lips. The mixture was unbearable– it was probably the worst thing Hector had ever tasted. This fit didn't last that long objectively, but to both parties present it felt like ages. The continuous seizure of his musculature was exhausting on top of it being involuntary. By the time this wave of painfully strong nausea rolled over and was done for this particular moment, he quickly collapsed back into a slumped pile on the floor, rolling away from his expulsion– the taste left lingering in his mouth was vile.
Struggling to breathe, he lay there making vain attempts to stabilize his pulse.
"No, I-..." he gasped; speaking was rather difficult for him at the moment. "...you just surprised me…your touch is, ah, it's…welcomed and…you…you make me feel safe," it took him a while, but Hector finally managed to get all of the words out– each part of that sentiment was a struggle to express from trembling, bluish lips.
What he said, though, was true. Vergil's touch was soothing because it helped to quell his fear; knowing he wasn't alone, and that the person present was who he was, actually helped with the scattered tumult of his mental state quite a lot. Plus, it made the young man feel cared for, even as he lay there filled with his own rot.
Wordless, the vampyre exhaled a sigh through his nose and smiled in tandem with closing his eyes– at least he could continue to be helpful, even if not everything he did was super impactful. Knowing this brought the older man some modicum of peace; as much as he was accustomed to the spilt blood and viscera, it was Hector's suffering that bothered him.
"Just…let me know if I hurt you any further, okay?" With a voice possessing a soft sort of tenderness, Vergil spoke those words while he gently lifted the younger one into his arms and slid a few inches back, carefully dragging Hector along with him.
Resting his back against the wall now, he pulled the elf into an embrace with the other’s back leaning against his chest. After giving him a soft squeeze, the vampyre withdrew his arms from around the other’s chest and rested both of his hands on Hector’s shoulders, thumbs digging into tense flesh. The trembling elf responded to the other’s movements positively, leaning into his touch despite how sore his body was from being essentially remade. When Vergil finished repositioning the two of them, he leaned his own head back and looked toward the ceiling, letting his thoughts drift for as long as he could– he couldn’t predict how long it would be until his protege had another fit.
The relative quiet provided by these few moments of solace was precious but, unfortunately, they were short lived. Hector shuddered and leaned further forward, dropping his hands to the floor between his legs to support himself, fingers splayed with knuckles twitching and white. The cooler air of the basement made his sweat slickened body shiver despite him feeling that, internally, he was the temperature of a thousand suns. Sighing, he closed his eyes– the crest of his nausea’s wave came round again, causing him to heave, spine rolling upwards as the muscles composing his core once again violently seized. While he was clearly straining to get anything out, there was nothing. Trembling with mouth agape, Hector took a few shaky, deep inhalations each followed by shallow exhalations. Then, he bent his legs to sit on his knees, still leaning forward onto his palms.
All Hector could hear was the pound of his heart thrumming in his ears while blood rushed like rapids through his veins. His head swam and his vision was hazy, dark, unfocused– the only thing he could manage to focus on right now was his own breathing. Closing his mouth to attempt to swallow, his breath caught, making him gasp. Not given even a second to recover, his core painfully seized again to try and force something, anything, out. And this time? Nothing. Again. While it was clearly a struggle, he managed to swallow again, eyes drifting nearly closed. This repeated over and over again, and eventually, the elf became so weak his arms couldn’t hold him up anymore. Each bout was as dry as the next, but each time he felt worse and worse. All the while, Vergil had been supporting him, having wrapped arms around his torso, palms held against the other’s chest to help hold him up.
Continue Reading: The Color of Rebirth IV
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'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
