Two: Bloodlust

The world was changed, so greatly changed that not even the air smelled the same. The world that he last remembered, the one of glass and steel and electricity, had passed away, regressing back to an era even earlier than when he'd been born.

He hadn't even gotten to go to Mars, God dammit.

Vlad kept his hood low to shield him from the returning sun. The great clouds of darkness and evil that had blanketed the land were rolling back, dissipating, revealing clear blue skies and normal storms. People were celebrating in the streets of the strange white city he'd finally come to rest in after seven years of running, but he could sense what the humans could not – the darkness was only defeated, not destroyed. It still rippled and festered in the secret places of the world.

The world was changed… and yet it was not. Three tiers down and four streets over, a man was being murdered over a handful of coin. One tier up and twelve streets over, four men were gang raping a woman in celebration of the Alliance's victory.

"Times and technology change, but people don't," Vlad muttered to himself, then stood up and left the tavern where he'd been lurking, waiting out high noon. He'd been lingering near the door, listening to the languages of the land, this "Middle-earth." The common tongue was very like English, but with strange new rules – masculine and feminine nouns, formal and informal pronouns… The script was strange, too; it flowed elegantly, but resembled nothing he'd ever seen before.

The vampire began making his way down to the main gate of the city. He had been on the run from the Enemy's forces for all seven years of the siege, feeding on the orcs sent after him even though their main fortress was under attack. While it had been nice to rest a few days in the city, he felt the need to move on – and maybe go looking for that elf who had been present when he was released. Even covered in the blood and grime of battle, he had been beautiful, unearthly. And his scent – a hundred times better than the silver and stone of his prison, a thousand times better than the beasts that freed him – he smelled of woods and winter and wine, smelled of home. He hadn't wanted to kill the elf, but even after draining the "orcs" he'd been too famished to bear his presence for long.

So he'd fled, and sought out the scent of more orcs and drunk his fill. The taste of it made him retch – like drinking straight sewage – but blood was blood.

And by then? By then the Men and Elves had been marching into the cold and blackened land where the orcs dwelled. He had fled again rather than risk getting caught up in a battle, especially when he had no idea what was going on, who was fighting and why. Now he knew enough to have sided with the Men and Elves, but then he knew less than nothing.

The sun began dipping nearer to the horizon. A surprising number of people had pressed coin into his hands as he walked, thinking him a beggar based on the state of the stolen robes and cloak he wore over his armor. He had taken it, of course, though he had been careful to never handle the silver barehanded. The blessed pendant he had received from the High Priestess of Amaterasu let him walk around in the sun without being burned, but it still left him vulnerable to a vampire's other weaknesses – stakes, silver, holy symbols.

Vlad was away from the city but they time the sun set. When he was sure he was alone, he took flight as a swarm of bats, vanishing into the night. He had run wildly and randomly all over the west, but now he allowed his flawless sense of direction to lead him home.

It was one thing to know that Wallachia was gone. It was another thing entirely to see it with his own eyes. The mountains in the north had been leveled. The thick forests had all turned to dirt and patchy grass. The only longtime residents were bugs and their predators; traders passing through never lingered longer than necessary, sensing that there was something off about the land.

Yet when he dug his fingers into the soil, Vlad knew that he was home. He let out a shuddering breath.

Then he became aware that he was not alone. His enhanced senses picked up the approach of men on horseback, his sonar mapping out their positions in the darkness. All but one were asleep in the saddle. He hunched down in a patch of long grass, drawing the night close around him to hide him from their sight as the horses plodded closer.

Bandits, vagabonds, servants of the Enemy. He saw them clear as day, their horses walking slowly eastward across the endless plain. His mouth watered even as his throat dried up. Fresh, human blood. In a split second, Vlad made a decision – and lunged.

When he came back to himself what seemed like seconds later, all the men were dead, completely drained of blood. Their horses were standing nearby, shivering and stinking of fear, but they hadn't bolted. The prince immediately moved to soothe them, stroking their noses and murmuring nonsense in a gentle tone. Bit by bit, they calmed, letting him look through their saddlebags. It was all the standard stuff: dried food, wineskin, change of clothes, tarp for a tent, tinderbox, sewing kit…

Some of the clothes looked like they would fit him. He tugged off his tattered robes and cloak, then began unbuckling his armor. Yet as he did so, something fell from between the plates and padding.

It was a cell phone, an old iPhone with a solar-charging case. The battery had run dry during his long imprisonment, but the phone itself was in the same condition it had been in when it had been slipped in with him.

By Mina.

Who knew how much time had passed, but the memories were still fresh as the day they were made: his wife luring him into a church, a dozen holy men wielding the Sign of the Cross, enemy soldiers lifting his weakened body into the coffin, Mina leaning over him and whispering apologies as she tucked something under his breastplate between armor and padding, the lid sliding home overhead and being chained down as he'd cringed away from the Cross and silver.

Vlad clenched his jaw. As much as he wanted to crush the phone and be done with it, Mina had done nothing without cause. Neither had any of his other partners throughout the years, for that matter. In a way, that was what had drawn him to them, and them to him; they wouldn't do something just to do it. There was always a reason behind it. Better to find what message she had left and knew for sure, than destroy it and spend the rest of his time wondering.

The vampire stripped off the rest of his armor and dressed in the supple linens and leathers of the bandits, then wrapped his armor up and stowed it in the saddlebags. The phone he kept on him as he searched the bodies. Their coin he took, and their weapons, poor though they were – even worse than when he was still human.

When he'd gathered all he could, he mounted up and turned the horses south, back towards the lands he'd come from. The war was over for now, but with all the animals lost in the fighting, the horses would be worth quite a bit. Perhaps enough for him to start rebuilding his wealth, and maybe go see the fate of the rest of the world.

"My lord Thranduil, there's something I think you should see."

The elf prince raised an eyebrow at the scout captain, but at the look on the other elf's face, he decided against any remarks he might have made. "Where?"

"Ahead. This way."

Thranduil spurred his horse into a canter, following the scout ahead of the train and a little to the right of their path through the Brown Lands. It wasn't long before he spotted another mounted scout waiting, and smelled the unfortunately familiar stench of rotting flesh.

The bloated corpses of six Easterlings lay half-hidden under the long grass. They had been stripped of their valuables and weapons, and some more generic clothing. There had been horses, too, taken by whomever had killed them.

Or whatever.

The elf prince swung down from his horse and approached the nearest of the bodies. Days of bloating and rot and discoloration still had not obscured the cause of death: a punctured throat, with a very visible bite around it. The others were the same, yet showed no sign of having fought back against their killer.

The vampire from the tomb had killed the orcs the same way. Could this be him, too?

Thranduil pulled back and examined the area. The vampire had arrived out of nowhere, it seemed, and knelt to dig his hands into the dirt. Then the Easterlings stumbled across him while ahorse. It tackled the first one to the ground and drained him before the others could react. Yet they were taken down with little resistance – had they been asleep? He had slaughtered them all, taken their horses, and then headed south toward Minas Anor, though it remained to be seen if that was his final destination.

"My lord, what would you have us do?" the scout captain asked.

What indeed. Whatever else the vampire may have been or claimed to be, he did not appear to be an ally of Sauron or Morgoth. His mind flew back to the invasion of Mordor – an entire battalion of orcs slaughtered to a one and impaled on spikes.

"My lord?"

"Leave it. The trail is days cold. Whatever this is, it may not be our ally, but it does not look to be our enemy, either."