23rd September, 1941
A young soldier stumbled through the mist, his tired eye wide with fright as he staggered clumsily over the piles of rotting corpses that littered the forest floor, the bones crunching beneath his boots. Every sense was on high alert, more vibrant, more intense than he had ever felt it before. He could distinguish each individual scream, how far away it was, how pained and anguished it was. He could hear every gunshot; hear each blade of grass rustle in the breeze. The smell, so intoxicating was the putrid smell of rotting flesh, yet he could smell the fear and despair of other young soldiers like himself, lost in the night, clinging to the lasting remains of their doomed, dismal existence. But there was one thing, that over rode all his senses. He had picked up the scent, the taste, even the sound, and he searched endlessly through the masses of vegetation and hidden burial grounds too find it. It screamed at him, made every fiber in his body ache with lust. Blood. He could smell the metal in it, he could taste the iron in the air, red mists of so much of it newly spilt, and he picked it up with his newly sharpened vision.
He was starved. So very hungry. It was such an intense, twisting, manipulating hunger, it frightened him. He had never felt such pain before. His cat like vision spotted a flicker of movement, about 100 yards away, hidden by mist, sheltered by darkness. For a heartbeat, he felt cautious, his mind debating whether it would be a foolish decision too move towards an unknown, moving object in such circumstances. But the hunger drove him forward, clouding his judgments, silencing his doubts. He stepped forwards weightlessly, not making a sound as he focused on the target of his attention. He knew what it was, without even seeing it. He could feel the rasping breathes punch through the air, he could hear the heartbeat racing, pumping the thick, metallic liquid through his veins. The soldier licked his dry, cracked lips, as he stopped, looking down at a mass of shredded green clothes and a heap of quivering flesh. Blood oozed from tiny bullet holes down the bare back of the man on the ground. The wounded soldier was a rank above him, he could tell by the number of stripes left on the shredded uniform, the way he lay there silently, refusing to cry, perhaps assuming a somewhat dignified death. He knelt down next the sergeant; gently resting his finger tips on the dying mans neck. Blue eyes opened, rolling up too meet green, a look of acceptance in his eyes, as he knew he was drifting away, into a new life. The soldier could feel the pulse slowing; feel the heart beat struggle to pump the blood through this mans body. He could feel his gums begin too burn, it was happening again. He didn't know what it was, or why it happened, even how it happened, but it was happening again. His gums burned, searing hot, causing him to cry out in pain as they split, new, long, white fangs pushing, tearing their way down. And in a moment of blind, dazed confusion he lunged forwards, attaching himself too the dying mans neck, sinking those fangs into the pulsating flesh. Instantly, the blood poured into his mouth, caressing his tongue, enticing each sense, teasing him. It intoxicated him, sending his ever growing hunger into frenzy. He fed faster and more violently, as his hunger stung him, the dying soldier in his grasp moaning in the un dignified manor in which he had desired not to be his last moments on earth. He sucked harder, gulping the blood down faster and faster, his movements becoming more erratic, his heart racing, his mind clouding as it brewed and built up inside him, climaxing in such an intense, explosive fashion he literally gasped, as his hunger died, and he dropped the body too the floor. That intense feeling of satisfaction rocked through him, setting every nerve alight, like an orgasm, only a lot better.
He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand, his emerald green eyes glittering in the silvery light of the full moon as he looked down at what he had done. The sergeant lay still, terror still etched across his aged face, his hands balled into fists. The soldier wept silently, not taking his eyes of the face of the human being he had just thoughtlessly murdered. He was a predator now, all hunger and instinct, passion and lust. What had he done too deserve this? This was a punishment beyond what even the most open of minds could begin too grasp. He lived too kill, he killed too live, in a vicious circle of fear, curiosity and cold blooded sin. He closed his eyes, shaking uncontrollably as he woefully accepted his new fate of eternal life, ignoring the footsteps behind him, and falling to the ground, the world turning black as gunshots echoed around the trees.