Author's Note: It occurred to me after reading the Queen of the Night arc, how did Seth maintain her Crusnik powers? After all, Abel consumed blood from a few Methusalah, and in the fight with Dietrich, he didn't have enough power to reach 80% release; and yet, Seth managed to not only beat Dietrich at 40%, but one would assume that since she rules over an Empire full of Methusalah citizens, she can't just go around biting necks…
So I cobbled together this story to address this issue.
It also features cameos from Abel and Tres, and well as an OC I created. I considered using Ion, then realized that the character needed to have gone through a similar experience, but not been able to recognize Seth for who she is.
Enjoy! ~ W.J.
Nosferu Sanguis Vitae
[I]
As he entered the room, a soft chime sounded and a woman's automated voice said from some hidden speaker:
"Welcome to our facility. Thank you for volunteering to help improve our medical resources. Please make yourself comfortable. One of our highly-trained nurses will attend you shortly."
He did as he was told, sitting in the large, leather-upholstered chair that dominated the small space. It was far more comfortable than it looked. He had expected some sort of clinical surrounds, or even something resembling a torture chamber. Then again, he hadn't been at all certain what to expect. It wasn't as though he had ever been to a medical centre before.
After all, he was a Methusalah.
He had just settled on the chair's plush cushions when the curtains at the back of the room parted with a soft swish. He looked up as he heard a slipper's tread on the tiled floor.
"Good afternoon."
A young woman in a pale blue nurse's uniform emerged from behind the partition. "I'll be your attending nurse this afternoon. My name is Seth."
She looked to be hardly a woman at all; more like a mere slip of a girl. Her dark bobbed hair curved up at the ends at an impish angle, and her eyes were a sparkling green which recalled for him the leaves of an oak tree gleaming beneath the light of a full moon. Or perhaps the pennants that flew over the Empress' palace. This girl's eyes were the same hue, though there was hardly anything 'queenly' about her. She looked more like a waifish young urchin than a hospital matron.
"Seth?" he repeated, somewhat bemused.
She gave him a lopsided smile. "I know. An unusual name for a nurse."
"Actually, I was thinking that it's unusual for a girl."
Her grin widened a little. "I get that a lot."
She was carrying a black clipboard with her; she consulted some papers on it. He recognized them as the forms he had filled in at the reception desk.
"Nadir Valari, Viscount of Basra. Age, 154 years. This is your first time giving blood?"
"Correct."
"May I ask why you chose to donate today?"
He looked slightly affronted. "Is that question a requirement of the donation process?"
She blinked at him, not expecting his response. "Not at all. It is simply part of a survey that is kept on our records. Unfortunately, donations of Methusalah blood are still quite uncommon, so when we do get willing participants, we like to monitor trends so that we can find ways to encourage further donations. That's all."
He shrugged, looking nonchalant again. "I read about it in one of the journals, and it seemed like a good idea, I suppose."
"That's the standard answer."
"Is giving blood still so rare?" he asked purely out of curiosity.
"I suppose so. It is fairly common among humans, of course. However, it's not something that many Methusalah take part in. Methusalan medicine is still very much in its pioneering stages, and it is not at all widely practiced. However, it most definitely has its uses, especially in emergency situations."
He nodded gravely. "A worthy cause."
"We'd like to think so. Of course, proper research requires the use of blood samples, and though a donation program has been running for several centuries now, it still isn't proving at all popular. If you'll excuse my saying so, quite a few Methusalah are misguided in thinking that donating blood is beneath them, since it is a practice that has been so long associated with Terrans. I suppose even though we live in the same city side by side, Terrans and Methusalah still have quite a broad cultural and social divide between them, and they live very separate lives."
"Not all Methusalah live separate from humans by their own choosing."
Nadir's comment cut abruptly through the still air of the tiny clinic. He stared at the floor broodingly, his voice filled with a sudden bitterness that sounded almost weary; as though his grievances had been tempered by time, yet still persisted. "I have a cousin who once had a forbidden romance with a human. Of course the pair tried to keep it a secret, but eventually the truth came out. They were targeted by a gang of anti-Terran extremists, and subjected to drawn-out hours of torture." He subconsciously touched one hand to his throat as he spoke. "At the end of it, the thugs slit his jugular and left them trapped together in a closed room… the outcome was seemingly inevitable, and yet…"
He trailed off for a few moments; he seemed to suddenly remember where he was. "If they had been rescued in time, and supplies of Methusalah blood had been on hand," he continued in a more natural tone of voice, "both their lives might have been spared, since a direct infusion of Methusalah blood can restore one far quicker than pure Terran blood can."
Seth regarded him silently for a moment, a touch of sadness in her jade-green eyes. "Your secret is safe with me, Viscount."
He turned to look at her sharply; an outright denial was on the tip of his tongue, but the gentle smile she gave him seemed to so perceptively glean the truth of his story and so eloquently communicated her own sympathy to him that instead he merely nodded and replied: "Thank you."
"Well then, shall we start the donation process?" she continued in a business-like tone. "We will be taking 2000 mL of blood today, over a period of 20 minutes. This should not produce any side effects or instances of fatigue in an average Methusalah who has consumed the Water of Life in the past twelve hours. During the donation process and afterwards, you will be given as much Water of Life as you wish. It is recommended that you drink at least 100 mL to help your body replace what it has lost."
"Understood."
"If you could remove your outer layer of clothing, we'll begin."
He obediently removed his coat from over his sleeveless tunic, passing it to her outstretched hand. It was when she crossed the room to hang it on a peg on the wall that it happened; her foot caught in the cord of a large free-standing lamp, its strong light usually used to help the medical staff find a vein beneath the skin. The lamp toppled over and its bulb broke over the back of the chair, showering him with glass.
"Oh-! I'm terribly sorry, Viscount!" she said in a flurry of nervous apology, tentatively brushing small fragments of glass from his shoulder.
He was unperturbed by it all. For him, a few cuts like this were as harmless as a mosquito bite. "That's quite alright; it was just an accident. Don't touch the glass, you'll just get cut."
He gently pushed her hand aside, then stopped. Her nails were suddenly elongated, as though they had spontaneously grown into claws. The veins were visible on the back of her hand, which was tightly clenched, quivering slightly. He gasped and looked at her more closely, fearing that she had harmed herself. She was staring fixedly at him; it took him a few moments to realize that her gaze was riveted upon his throat. He curiously raised his hand to it, and winced as his fingertips were cut. Several large shards of broken glass protruded from his neck, the blood soaking into the collar of his tunic.
"Damn," he muttered to himself. "I suppose I'll have to pull those out so it'll stop bleeding and heel ov-"
He started in surprise. In the midst of suiting the action to the word, her hand had clutched onto his. If he didn't know any better, he'd think that she was trying to prevent him…
Her other hand reached out towards the glass shards embedded in his flesh. "Please don't," he told her again. "It's not serious, and you'll only hurt yourself…"
She didn't seem to hear him. He felt a twinge of pain as the first piece of glass was plucked out of the wound; it was dropped to the floor with a tinkle.
"Stop it! You ca-"
He faltered in mid-sentence. Had he really seen correctly…? For a moment, he could have sworn that instead of their previous shade of dazzling green, the eyes that had glowered at him from beneath her dark bangs had glowed faintly red…
A second later, he gasped as he felt teeth graze his already torn throat; then a pair of tender lips fastened on the wound, and a tongue lapped at the warm blood coursing down his neck in gentle, miniscule caresses. It took him several moments to fathom just what was happening. A hoarse gasp escaped him; he was too thoroughly shocked by this sudden development to immediately react to it. In all the centuries he had lived, in all he knew of Terran social relations, he had never known a human to do this-
A clawed hand pressed itself against the side of his face, stopping him from pulling away and forcing him harder against that suckling mouth. He actually felt a wave of distress pass over him; in its wake, however, another emotion quickly followed… i-it was almost like…
…enjoyment…
He closed his eyes, feeling the tickling of her breath against his skin, the pleasurable feeling of it mingling with the pain. A wound like this would've ordinarily healed by now; however, though the wound itself was superficial, it was constantly kept open by the passing of the blood through the skin, being drawn into the delicate little mouth that was so hungrily devouring… rather like a…
Like a vampire…
It was a novel experience. Of course it was ordained by the Empress that all Terrans were her property, and so to feed on one was to knowingly disobey her will, a crime of the utmost severity. Most Methusalah in the Empire had only ever consumed the Water of Life in its harvested form, obtained from the donor banks in the Terran districts of the city. Only once had Nadir experienced the flow of 'living' blood over his tongue, and it had haunted him for decades since, though the incident had been unwillingly inflicted upon both him and his beloved victim… however, this time he was experiencing it from the opposite point of view… in this instance, he was taking the part of the human, and she of the vampire…
The wound throbbed gently with each pull of her mouth. It seemed to echo in every part of him, as though a single thread in the fabric of his being was connected to the tapestry of veins that ran through his entire body. Though it hurt, it was an exquisite sort of pain… a bizarre, perverse pleasure which his brain told him should not be, and yet every other bit of him assured him was most certainly so. He wondered it Terran victims also felt like this… if she had felt like this when he had lost control and forced himself upon her…
No, it couldn't have been. There couldn't have been any pleasure felt from the taking of one's life…
Right here and now, he trusted her, though why he did, he himself wasn't sure. It was just some sort of blind instinct. Perhaps it was the way she held him, her thin arms wrapped around him, cradling him against her. He felt like an indulgent lover, but also like a child, clinging on to a mother whilst being clung to, needed and needing in return, prepared to give her what she asked for with an absolute, selfless devotion…
Everything seemed to slow. The rhythm of his pulse was gradually slackening, every pause between beats stretching a little bit further towards infinity. His arms felt heavy as he reached up, burying his fingers in her hair…
He felt her shiver under his hands, and her mouth abruptly pulled away. Her arms let go of him; his head fell back upon the arm of the chair. The pain in his throat prickled weakly once again, then faded away; he knew that the wound had finally healed. He felt pleasantly drowsy, lying draped over the leather seat, his thoughts in a permeating haze. He opened his eyes for the barest moment, and thought he saw a pair of red lights, glowing faintly through a thick white fog…
Then they faded from view, and his eyes fell closed.
[II]
"Viscount…?"
The single word jolted him awake; he sat bolt-upright in his seat. The nurse standing beside him started, hastily pulling her hand away from his arm.
"What…?"
The young woman smiled reassuringly. It wasn't the same girl as before; this nurse was older, with auburn hair and kind blue eyes.
"The donation process is over," she said brightly. "The site of the needle has successfully healed over. Thank you very much for your contribution to our research. If you proceed to the recovery room, you will be given refreshments."
He stared at her, only semi-comprehending. He looked at his own arm, the skin pale and flawless as ever. He didn't remember the needle ever being put in…
He hesitantly touched his throat. The skin there was whole as well. "I… I thought I…" He stopped, uncertain, doubting his own senses. How could he tell this girl about that… about something so unheard-of, so perverse…?
"Did you enjoy our new multimedia features?" she asked, seeming to reinterpret his words. "We only just started offering new video presentations, designed to enhance the blood-taking process. Similar to the video libraries available at the reproduction clinics, I suppose. Have you considered donating there as well?"
"N-n-not really…" he stuttered out, actually blushing despite his anaemia. He was embarrassed not so much by her implications themselves, but by how well they correlated with what had just happened…
But had it happened? It's not like he had any proof… had it all just been some video he had watched whilst the needle had gone in? But why should he remember it so vividly, and not the actually donation itself?...
"Your coat, Viscount." The nurse pressed it into his hands. "The recovery room is down the hall, to your left."
"Thank you." He slid the coat on, at the same time attempting to pull himself together. He took one last look over his shoulder. No lamp stood beside the chair. He obediently went out of the room and turned to his left. Of course it hadn't been real… when he had arrived, the opening of the door and the voice that had spoken to him had all been automated… he must've been alone all that time, whilst the video played… it had to have been fantasy, since no Terran could possibly have been able to do that…
Well, the experience hadn't been half as bad as he had expected… Perhaps he would even give blood again in future…
Neither he nor the nurse seemed to have noticed that the black collar of his shirt had dried stiff, a faint mark still visible on the darker cloth, and on the white edging of the tunic, there was a brilliant drop of red…
[III]
Back in the clinic, the nurse tidied up after the latest donor. Something crunched under her slipper. She reached for a dustpan, then stooped and swept up the tiny sliver of glass.
"Sorry, Nurse Amalia. It seems I broke the lamp."
The woman merely smiled at the young intern. "That's alright. It was your first day and you were nervous. Nothing to worry about, the bulb is easily replaced. You turned off the video display already?"
"Yes."
"Good. Why don't you go home, Seth? Your shift is over, and the sun is almost down. You must be tired."
Actually, she didn't look that tired at all, though just what she did look like, Amalia wasn't sure. The girl before her somehow didn't look right… almost as though she was hiding something else behind her usual bright smile…
But then, new trainees were like that sometimes – squeamish at the sight of blood. And even some of the more experienced nurses were uncomfortable at the prospect of handling Methusalah blood…
Seth nodded politely. "Thanks. I'll do that."
[IV]
A boy with platinum-blonde hair and vivid violet eyes turned the corner of the building. His eyes swept the laneway methodically. He saw a side door open, his hand automatically going to the hilt of the sword at his hip; then a diminutive figure emerge, dressed in a pink skirt and stripy socks. He relaxed a little.
"There you are at last! Emp-"
"Shush, Ion!" She raised a warning finger. "Didn't I already tell you? You are to only ever call me Seth; but especially so when we are in the city."
"Sorry Em- er, I mean Seth," he hastily corrected himself.
"You're just lucky Astha wasn't here to witness that slip-up. She is…?"
"Patrolling the perimeter. She'll be watching the street from the rooftops as we walk back. Are you ready to return?"
"Yes, I suppose. Here, you can carry this for me."
She passed him a nondescript white box. It was heavier than it looked; he heard something inside clink gently as he took it. It sounded like glass.
"Be careful. They're breakable."
"A-alright." He shifted his grip, carrying the box almost reverently. For the hundredth time that evening, he questioned why he was out so early, accompanying the Empress to a medical facility. Perhaps back then, when he had first met her and she had claimed to be a medical student, she hadn't been joking…
His mind returned to the task at hand. "Let's head back then. Keep close to me, we'll avoid the districts on the outer-"
"Don't be silly. I walk these streets all the time, and nothing ever happens to me. You need to lighten up."
She coquettishly poked her tongue out at him and turned on her heel. He had to hurry after her as she strode off through the streets of her Empire, the light overhead fading from a blue dusk into the darker hues of the encroaching night.
[V]
"Delivery for you, Father Nightroad."
"Ah-! Thank you."
"Take care you don't drop this lot."
"You're so distrustful-! I guess I'm just not as strong as you, Tres."
"It came from Cardinal Sforza, with a message."
"Hmm, yes?"
"'Make sure you actually use this batch. The Vatican acquires this for you at great expense. Do not squander the funds which have been used to buy this specially for you. Otherwise, your future travel expenses will be halved.' Message terminated."
Abel sighed. "What a heartless boss! She complains about having to spend money on this, then cuts my food bill from my travelling expenses every time I go anywhere! It's not like I buy expensive food! I don't have extravagant tastes! It is too much to ask to be able to go to a foreign city and have enough money just to buy a simple-"
"Her request is affirmative," Tres interrupted. "These supplies have to be shipped in from the Empire. Given the Vatican's relations with the Empire, it is both difficult and expensive to acquire. You should not waste vital resources so wantonly."
Abel gave him a pained look. "You don't quite understand. It's not like this is vital. I don't really survive on just this stuff. I can stay live just fine on the same nutrients as everyone else. There's no need-"
"Fuel consumption directly influences output performance. This substance generates adequate power for you to perform your duties at optimum level. Your reasons for refusing to refuel are illogical."
He considered, wondering how he could put it in a way that Tres could understand. "It's just not ethical. What if you knew that the oil you were given had been harvested from other cyborgs?"
"Oil is a stable commodity. And a vital commodity retains its value despite its source."
"But wouldn't it seem wrong for you to take it, knowing where it had come from?"
Tres paused, looking at him blankly. Abel patiently waited, knowing his data centre was still processing. Tres always had trouble with hypotheticals.
"Such things are not your concern. Your highest priority is to serve those above you to the best of your ability. Such an objective includes the maintenance of your own wellbeing. In order to remain useful, a tool must be kept in perfect working order. To knowingly neglect your physical condition is irresponsible and reckless, and may result in subsequent damage."
"I see." Abel merely smiled. "Thanks, Tres. Tell the cardinal that I am grateful."
He closed the door to his living quarters and carefully deposited the box on a low table. He opened it. Inside, a set of bottles gleamed. They were about the size and shape of medicine bottles, except that their contents seemed to glow dark-red in the lamplight. Their labels were marked with the stamp of the Empire, along with the words: 'Nosferu Sanguis Vitae'. He glanced at them silently, idly fiddling with a bottle cap. Softly, he recited to himself:
"For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes…" *
'Water of Life', is it? More like 'Water of Death'…
He glanced out the window, watching the moon shine down, its elliptical shape pock-marked with craters. As though it bore the scars of old memories.
Seth, it's thanks to you that I have this… but I wonder how you feel about having to do this too? Given your situation, it can't be any easier…
[VI]
As Seth approached the inner sanctum of the palace, a figure swathed in flowing veils came to meet her.
"Welcome back, Your Majesty."
"Thank you, Mirka. How were things while I was away?"
"Much the same as usual. You were gone for a long time today. Some of the nobles were getting suspicious. They see me now, and know I am here because you are not."
"I'm sorry. I make things difficult for you."
"Not at all. It is my pleasure to serve you. But… are you alright?"
"Hmm?"
"On your collar…"
Seth looked. There was a smear of red, like old lipstick, on the neckline of her dress.
"Oh, it's fine. I cut my finger on the edge of a piece of paper; I must have touched the cloth and not realized it was bleeding."
"You're sure that's all it is?"
Mirka's usual gentle gaze had turned suddenly piercing. Seth smiled, realizing that she had been caught unawares. She had forgotten how perceptive Mirka was underneath her unassuming façade. And she had forgotten just how well she knew her; at one time, Mirka had been the only one who had known the Empress' true identity. It was impossible for Mirka to act as her duplicate, and not know anything of the woman she was replicating. The Duchess of Moldova knew her better than anyone… well, almost everyone else…
"Yes, I'm okay. It's just been a long day. You must be tired too. Your grandson is waiting for you. Go home and get some rest."
"Yes, your Majesty. Good night."
"Good night, Mirka."
After the duchess had gone, Seth flopped down exhaustedly on the throne upon which she spent so little of her actual time. She distractedly fingered her stained collar, inwardly scolding herself for her carelessness.
It must've been on my cheek when I changed… and I walked all the way back from the clinic with this… how shameful… and I passed by so many of my Methusalah children…
It was as though the mark of her sins had been made plain for all to see. For the first time in all the years that she had wandered the streets of the Empire incognito, she felt as though she had exposed herself.
And yet, should she deny an aspect that was so integral to her survival, and that of the Empire itself? she reasoned to herself. It had been necessary.
She had started the donation clinic centuries ago, not long after the founding years of the Empire. Understandably, donations weren't exactly bountiful, and never had been. Numerous nobles questioned their necessity; never to her face, though in her ordinary guise, she had overhead them. She couldn't really blame them, as it really did seem ridiculous. Methusalah were unconquerable to all diseases, impervious to most injuries. To them, all forms of medicine were superfluous, and completely purposeless. The average Methusalah knew how to change a wet compress for a sufferer of heat stroke (summer in the Empire always had a few rare cases), but Terran needs were completely foreign, and any self-respecting vampire would never deign to allow a physician to touch them. It was beneath them, a show of weakness; a sign of having a Terran-like constitution. Which for the 'Long-Lived Race' was almost the ultimate insult.
The Long-Lived Race… they don't know how fortunate they are that the name doesn't suit them as well as they think…
The Count of Tigris' loyalty had crumpled under the weight of several centuries, steadily undermined by his own encroaching sense of doubt. Such a thing had ultimately cost him his life. It seemed the psychological rigorous of old age were a malady that had only one, final cure… the older one grew, the more disgustingly self-righteous one became…and his affliction had been nothing compared to hers…
Nine hundred years. Nine centuries, during which a steady trickle of donations had come through. Perhaps one every few months or so. That was just above the barest minimum that she required. For brief periods, donation would become almost fashionable. It was the will of the Empress; and so they did it, for the sake of the Empress. For the sake of furthering the Methusalah line…
How true was that? Indirectly, perhaps, it held its integrity, and yet…
It was the bleeding of the few, for the sake of preventing the wounds of an Empire…
And she was the Empire. How eloquently dear little Esther had put it; she was the pillar of the Empire, like the trunk of a tree growing upwards, shielding her roots from the sun. But how dark and twisted it was down amongst those roots, no one knew… no one knew that they were nurtured by blood…
She opened the box Ion had carried in for her. In it were several bottles, glinting under the lanterns like coveted rubies, their centres filled with dark red fire. Yes, they were precious… a substance infinitely difficult to obtain… at least, difficult without incurring injury…
What had Nadir said, after she had explained the fictional research that the blood was supposed to contribute to...? 'For a worthy cause...'
If only she could know for sure that that were true...
She had to take this medicine. Not to preserve her life; she could subsist indefinitely on normal food like a Terran, albeit much longer, and as most Methusalah did, she enjoyed food, though it wasn't her sole form of nutrition. It was for the sake of the Empire that she took this draught. The pillar of the Empire had to be strong in order to support such a precarious balance. At all times, she needed all her available strength…
It had been a long time since she had had to use that cursed strength. Her encounter with Dietrich von Lohengrin had taken a greater toll on the Crusnik than she had expected. And she had left it too long before taking another dose. To the point where at the first sight of blood, the Crusnik had asserted themselves, taking over…
Today, that had been… stupid. Utterly disgraceful. Dangerous.
She self-consciously raised her fingers to her lips. She remembered poor Nadir's pale, clammy skin under her hands… the faint shadows that had formed under his eyes, the hollows that had indented his cheeks… the sweet, trusting way his hands had coiled themselves into her hair…
Even as she had relentlessly lapped at his life's blood…
She had heard reports that pirates on the Adriatic Sea had been attacking Terran vessels, forcefully harvesting the passengers' blood to make black-market blood tablets. It was the most despicable crime imaginable…
She allowed herself a single ironic chuckle. What made her any better than them?
She glanced up through the heavy drapes that bordered her chambers, pulled back to allow a gentle breeze to waft in from over the pond. Every trace of sickly blue sunlight had disappeared from the sky; as though instead intensified by the atmospheric particles overhead that filtered out UV light during the day, the moon stared down, round and white as a single pearl lying upon a bolt of black velvet.
Something skittered up one of the curtains, squeaking softly. A pair of eyes peered out of the safety of the cloth's folds.
Seth smiled, though the sight almost hurt her. "Hello, Abel. I suppose you still won't come near me." The squirrel sniffed delicately in her direction, then, as though detecting the scent of blood on her, vanished with a flash of his silver tail. Seth merely sighed tiredly, leaning back on her cushions.
Brother, with the work you do, you must be forced to consume this, too… but I wonder if you have ever felt as horrible, as freakish… as monstrous as this…?
*1 Corinthians 11:26
The phrase 'Nosferu Sanguis Vitae' is not a real Latin phrase; the 'nosferu' is taken from Noferatu, an alternative name for a vampire, and 'sanguis vitae' is Latin for 'life blood'.