Pale

Chapter Three: The Zoophagous

Note: Sorry once more for the delay! Life has been crazy. I pray that there won't be so long a gap between updates. I really like to try to have my chapters ready to go in a week or so. Anyway, enjoy, I am very happy with this!

"My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have to invent a new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous (life eating.) maniac; what he desires is to absorb as many lives as he can." – Dracula, Bram Stoker. Pg 61.

One Month Later

"I'll say it again, just to make sure that you are getting the message loud and clear Pretty Boy. What you did to that girl was damned….gaahhh!" the hoarse little voice was cut off by its own pained shriek as the sharpened point of a dagger plunged into its mouth.

D winced as the point of his own dagger jutted thorough his left hand, and faintly groaned as he pulled the knife from his palm. The appendage appeared to twitch in its own misery.

"I thought I told you, whatever it is that you're referring to I am sick and tried of hearing it. Do something useful and just shut up." D hissed glaring down at the miniature face within his palm.

Perhaps the symbiote was too wounded to attempt speech, but more than likely it was too shocked by its host's actions and it remained in this stunned silence. D pulled the worn scarf from around his neck and wrapped the fabric tightly about his bleeding palm. There was a noticeable and astonishing sluggishness to D's movements.

Indeed if any were to glance upon the Hunter at that moment they might have felt a queer sense of humiliation upon seeing him, as though they were looking at a masterful piece of art that had been vandalized. There were heavy dark circles beneath the Hunters pitiless black eyes which gave his face a sunken and worn appearance. The pencil fine lines about his brow that Asenath had witnessed in her obsession were now utterly obvious. His hair hung in limp drapes down his back and face, lacking any luster. Had she been there Asenath surely would have noticed that there appeared to be more silvery strands, especially about the temples. Even the jewels D wore failed to shimmer. The sleek cybernetic horse he road appeared to be shimmering far brighter than the once gorgeous Hunter. Any that witnessed D now and had no knowledge of the gleaming being he had once been would have seen only a weary, middle aged drifter.

A month had passed since D had found sleep, and the lack of it was clearly affecting him. His eyes glanced wearily across the twisted and gloomy forest that rose around him, at the overgrown path that he followed, and the crumbling stone ruins that seemed vaguely familiar but he failed to place them. He was certain he'd seen these landmarks several times before in his travels, but the name of this forest, the reason he had chose to follow this path was well beyond his grasp. He merely roamed about in a weary daze, wondering why he chose to ride a cybernetic horse when the other travelers he passed road in vehicles. He could not recall why he chose to wear such strange adornments; no other traveler wore jewels, armor or such a large black hat. All he was certain of was his blood curse and the fact that the creature that appeared to be living in his left hand of all places must have some purpose, even if it had yet to show it. All it currently did was tease him for his vulnerability and remind him constantly of a sin he'd committed and long forgotten regarding an obsessive girl.

The tenderness of his eyes was terribly excruciating, and his sight was constantly blurred with the fatigue he suffered. His limbs throbbed in weariness, and to his perception he moved as slowly as though he were constantly threading water. He could just recall that this was a dangerous predicament to be in and he knew what had caused such malaise.

D had been well aware that the plants, toxins and dangerous serums he'd been creating were highly addictive, and ran the risk of utter dependence, yet his haughty craving for divine guidance forced him to accept the risk. If any anything, vampires and dhampirs were more susceptible to chemical addictions in addition to their undying lust of lifeblood. It was his dependency upon his own creations that was now his undoing.

He could clearly recall his beloved's face yet her frail memory offered him no guidance. D had taken three syringes of his last concoction with him before leaving, yet had not used them. He had been hoping to overcome his addiction, hoping to hear or see a sign of were he was to go next without the use of drugs. Each time he lay down to sleep he felt only a yearning chasm of need that screamed for the enrapturing unconsciousness only his drug could provide. He refused it each night, and it fought him viciously in turn.

By now it was common occurrence for flashes of figures, distorted shapes, and colors to dance before D's weary eyes, as though trying to confuse him, but his steely will reminded him that they were merely hallucinations caused by his fatigue. He gave them no heed, not even to the constant vision he saw of livid red eyes that peered out from the shadows, sometimes he would see the terrible orb within the center of the pendant he wore, or in the palm of his left hand.

The creature that resided within his hand claimed that it could easily help him, but it chose instead to mock him and let D suffer the pain of withdrawal. "You brought this on yourself Pretty Boy; I told you it was a fuckin' stupid idea the whole time. Clean up your own godamn mess, I sick of being your slave!"

An ominous rumble rent the sky pulling D's thoughts from his weary misery. He pushed up the brim of his hat and was slightly shocked to see that the sky had darkened into a forbidding steel grey, heavy with the promise of day's worth of wind and rain. A moment later a bolt of lightening snaked across the dark clouds, an angry wind began to assault the trees. Already cool drops of rain began to fall onto the Hunter's face.

He could recall well enough that rainfall would serve to weaken him even worse than he already was, yet why that was so remained a mystery to him. Soon he was caught in a heavy downpour and he could feel the strength ebbing away from him, carried along with the water that poured down his clothing. He searched desperately about the path for something thing might provide him some sort of rudimentary protection from the oppressive water. All he could see were the crimson eyes glaring about the forest.

D had to pull the reins sharply and bring the cyborg horse to a hasty stop to avoid colliding with the figure that was crouched within the muddy pathway. So desperate and so unfocused had been D's search that he'd failed to see the man completely.

The figure rose. It wore a grey robe that was almost as badly frayed as D's own clothing. Eagerly the figure pushed back the cowl and meet D's eyes. The face it revealed was of a middle aged man with a grizzled, weather beaten face and graying auburn hair that fell in ragged waves about his face. The vivid blue orbs that glared out at D were feral in their appearance…yet not entirely hostile. They were the eyes of man suffering from some extreme bloodlust, yet the blood he craved was not of the dhampir he was standing before.

"Out of my way." D said firmly, hoping only his ability to intimate would be enough to frighten the man into submission as D had no desire for a fight in his present state.

At the man only smiled in an especially manic sort of way, "That is rather rude, even for a Frontier drifter like you." His voice was especially hoarse, much like the voice of the symbiote. "I merely wanted to offer you the shelter of my home, sir. You look worn ragged and this storm is likely to last for the better part of week. Come now, surely you don't want to be soaked for so long."

"I am used to it." D answered simply, eager to be onward.

"Come now, I loathe to take no for an answer. I promise you no malice, or ill will. I simply cannot stand to see another of my kind caught defenseless in the rain."

"You're a dhampir?" D inquired, a spark on consciousness returning to his mind. The situation was turning out to be more interesting than it first seemed, something already was queer about it, didn't dhampirs loath their own kind?

"Of sorts. This way, stranger." The man rasped with a wider, madder smile.

Utterly aware of the weakness in his limbs D climbed off the horse and tethered it to a tree; he made certain that his scabbard was secure across his back before he followed the shambling form of the strange man. At the very least the man had aroused D's curiosity and he could foresee no harm in investigating him. D had no destination to be at after all.

He followed the stranger to a very peculiar sort of dwelling in which a door was carved directly into a low hill that was overcrowded with wild tress and shrub, yet it looked as it someone had made a small effort to give beauty to the dwelling as lilacs and morning glories grew around the circular door. Seeing this strange dwelling filled D with an overpowering sense of vertigo, followed sharply by a sad nostalgia yet over what he could not fathom.

D had to stoop deeply to enter the dwelling and once inside he still had crouch to keep from touching the ceiling. The stench of the place was overpowering, a nauseating reek of animal waste and rotting carcasses. The dwelling was overcrowded with all manner of animals, and insects. Great spider webs hung in the corners, the air was thick with the buzzing of flies and wasps, and cats, dogs, deer, wolves, were-tigers alike all lounged lazily about the place. The only thing that outnumbered the animals themselves was the carcasses of those that came before them.

The man glanced back at D, certain to see disgust on the Hunters face but D was as expressionless as always. D followed the man deep into the miniature house, which was more like a furnished burrow than anything else, it had a tiny kitchen and living area but it was to a small bedroom that the man led him to. The bed room was a stark contrast to the rest of the place, it was immaculately clean and the ethereal scent of nag champia lingered in the air, drowning out the stench of animals. There was a small bed against the wall, and through the opened doors of the closet D could see that it was crammed with both silk suits and cloaks fitting for a Nobel man, and white, elaborate gowns fitting for his bride or else his favorite concubine. Coupled with the enchanting incense, and the soft patter of the rain against the window there was something almost serene about this room. Almost like home.

"This is where The Master and his slave sleep when they are kind enough to visit, but they are away for a few weeks. It's only fair of me to offer this room to my guest."

D only nodded faintly, "Your name?"

"Ah, forgive my rudeness. I have yet to even introduce myself, I am R.M. And your name stranger?"

D could just faintly grasp from his clouded senses that there was something deeply sinister about that name, something utterly familiar. It was certainly similar to a name he'd known before. "Call me D." was his automatic answer.

R.M led D over to where two overstuffed arm chairs sat beside a miniature fireplace; a small fire was licking up one or two flames within the hearth. He beckoned the Hunter to sit, and then momentarily R.M left the room only to return clutching two things in his hands. The first was a white, lop eared rabbit that he held by the scruff of the neck as it kicked about in wild fear, the second was a sparrow that was fluttering wildly in his thick hands. R.M sat down in the chair across from D and passed the frantic rabbit into his hands.

"Eat. I beg of you sir. It pains me beyond words to see one of my own kind in such a miserable state."

Ordinarily D would have refused such an obvious and gruesome offering, yet he knew well enough an infusion of fresh blood would help to mitigate his weary agony, and thus he accepted the animal with a nod. The rabbit let out a terrified shriek as it changed hands and D snapped its neck all too easily, and bit down hard into the furry flesh. A soft sigh of content escaped from D as the succulent liquid flowed past his tongue, and rushed through his ravaged body. The light in his eyes was almost blinding as he drained the creature.

R.M on the other hand did not choose to drain his prey; rather he took the poor bird right into his teeth and bit down on the neck. He looked obscenely like a cat caught guilty of eating a bird. The teeth R.M possessed were merely blunt, human teeth. No blood light flashed in his eyes as the crimson life-force ran down his lips and hands. He ate the sparrow much as a human would have done a roast chicken, but he showed not repulsion that the meat was raw.

When he was finished the man grinned as he neatly lay the bones aside and reached into the pocket of his robe, and brought forth a truly ghastly assortment of insects into his hand. Fat, glowing spiders, foot long wiggling maggots, even gold wasps whose wings had been cut off crawled about his palm. "Would you care for a dessert, Mr. D?"

D accepted one of the fat spiders and bit down into the thorax. The blood and venom was both highly flavorful and nutritious as well, spiders such as these could be found all over the world and where a valuable food source to the hungry vampire or dhampir.

"I thought that you said you were a dhampir." D questioned the man softly.

R.M smiled bitterly, "I said "of sorts." I could only dream of being like you, sir, of being a dhampir, and yet you and I not so different. I am born of Nobel blood and experimentation just as you, and like you I must have lifeblood in order to survive, I must consume life. That it is the purpose of my menagerie you found upon entering, I am fascinated with life and I need lives. Consuming life endows me with strength greater than any mans, yet it does not make me immortal. I shun the sunlight, yet it does not harm me. I am neither human, nor Nobel, nor dhampir."

At this D nodded with understanding, "You are zoophagous. A human experiment by the Nobility. They were often used as slaves to Nobles, promised to one day be given true immortality." The rich blood had unclouded D's thoughts enough for him to focus on the strange matter at hand. The stranger seemed harmless enough, while a zoophagous was capable of amazing strength and terrifying madness they were utterly powerless against those born of true Nobility.

D stared solemnly down at the corpse of the rabbit across his knees; a sad smile crossed his face. The sad sacrifice to his curse reminded him of the countless rabbits he'd killed and then hidden desperately from his mother. If she found out that he'd been satiating his blood curse than he'd had plenty of reason to feel fear. For some reason her blows had been the only ones that had hurt him, but her tears where twice as painful.

Something about this whole, quaint hovel reminded him of Mina.

The miserable corpse also served to remind him of Luna. He could not help but to stroke the beast's downy fur in homage of her, recalling how she'd wept when she'd killed a rabbit much like this one. Now that he could recall her face, he could almost see the disproval in her eyes if she were to know of R.M's diet.

Nymphs had been the natural caretakers and healers of the Earth, and were capable of consuming only the fruits of the Earth, but now even their loving presence has faded from the world and descended into the unforgiving darkness, along with the Nobility, along with D's distant beloved. Even D could not help but feel a pang of sadness when he entered forests gone wild without the care of the Nymphs, or rode past the decaying ruins of their earthen colonies.

R.M gathered the bones and the rabbit corpse into his arms and disposed of them outside the door, "The Master is especially sensitive to cleanliness, and his beautiful salve deserves only the finest as well." He explained.

D had leaned back into the armchair, his hat lay across the top, he appeared to be listening to the soft rain interspaced with the rumble of thunder, and his expression was contemplative as though listening to some sort of hidden message within the soft song.

"Why do I know this place?" he inquired softly.

"I don't know Mr. D. It has been here for thousands of years passed from one to another, and quite obviously is well protected from the weather. Mayhap you have been here before."

D said nothing, and merely tried to pull his way through the labyrinth tangle of his thoughts. It was a vain effort still…there was a memory here, and idea there, a thought, a hope, but his head remained a hopeless tangle box of weariness. He must sleep and he knew of only one way to guarantee that.

"Your master is gone for the moment you say?" D inquired.

"Yes, I don't expect him back for weeks."

"Than may I intrude upon your hospitality for a while longer? I am in desperate need of rest away from the rain."

"Of course my friend" Said the zoophagous. "My home is yours."

"Thank you for your hospitality." D answered and slowly unbuckled the scabbard of his sword from his back. R.M shuffled out of the room, and back into the reeking zoo that he apparently lived with.

D pulled off his cape and coat and laid them across one of the armchairs. The armor D wore on his chest, shoulder and legs was leather armed with titanium tipped spikes. It was nowhere near as practical as the titanium alloyed plates he'd once donned two thousand years past, but the Hunter had little need for such protection in a world near empty of Nobility with no need for Hunters. No need for protection in a world that bowed low before him. Therefore his armor was far more comfortable and he felt no need to remove it for sleep.

He paused momentarily at the closet and touched the white gowns that hung there, R.M had said that his master had a lovely slave, yet these clothes where far to elegant for a slave. They were clothes fit for a Nobel Queen. He let the matter pass and reached into a slender compartment of his utility belt, producing one of the three syringes filled with his addictive concoction.

His only hesitation was of the situation at hand. Of course it was beyond reckless to fall into such complete unconsciousness in the hands of a stranger, yet it was twice as unwise for D to proceed another step in his utter vulnerability. Besides, as gripping as the drug was in its power, D could still retain a sliver of his consciousness, if the zoophagous dared to attack him than the Nobel slave would not have a chance. He'd been fully aware of Asenath's silly obsession of him and her daring attempts to gain his affections yet her attempts had been harmless. If the zoophagous had malice on his mind than D had not doubt in his ability to crush him thoughtlessly.

With a slight defeated look D pressed the needle into his carotid and injected the whole of the liquid into his veins. He felt the frigidness as the substance rushed into his bloodstream, and instantly a gripping wave of intense relaxation rushed through his body. The syringe slipped though his fingers and shattered on the wooden floor below. As he lay down on the bed his senses where again flooded with a sense of nostalgia that possessed him ever bit as intensely as the drug had. It was triggered by the scent that lingered upon the pillow, the sheets and the blanket, a delicate perfume that was almost floral. It could only have been the scent of a woman. Something about it, about the whole of the house gave D the urge to reminisce about a childhood that had long faded into the oblivion of time, to simply lay within the strangely familiar bed, and to rest forever. Even the soft patter of the rain against the window was wholly familiar.

Soon after the nostalgia had run its course D's consciousness was drowned out in a welcome, domineering haze of blackness, the likes of which D had almost given up hope in knowing ever again. When the zoophagous later peeked inside to check up on his visitor he found the Hunter curled in a fetal position beneath the covers. From what he could see of the Hunters expression through the black veil of his hair it seemed vulnerable and utterly sorrowful.

For three days and nights D lay unmoving, and scarcely breathing in his slumber. Only the spasm like twitching of his eyes gave evidence to the dreams that filled the hazy blackness he'd been desperately seeking. Those dreams were disjointed as always, images interlaced with memories, until on the third day coherence returned to the images flashing before him, and the face he'd so sought after came forth and the memory of a moment he'd long ago forgotten invaded his restless slumber.

D stared hard at the creature that bore the unmistakable snout, glaring eyes and fur of a werewolf but D scrutinized it as if it were something more, something far more terrible. "What is it?" Luna asked after a time, fearing the answer.

"That wasn't just a werewolf, it was a true werewolf."

"That can't be, true werewolves died with the Nobels. They are extinct nowadays."

D's steely eyes remained fixated on the beast, "Not entirely, there are still a few Nobles alive that still keep them as body guards but this is more than that…" D's voice was so cold it sounded as though shards of ice where falling from his lips.

"Then what…"

D gripped the beasts jaw and roughly forced its head backward, the broken spinal column allowed the head to move far to easily and there, just on its neck, akin to where a Nobel might bite was a bare patch of fur. On this patch was a vivid red brand that seemed to be glowing in the darkness. It was shaped like a stylized Egyptian eye that glared crimson. Even the Nymph's heart seized with fear, "The Crimson Eye…" she breathed.

D's body was trembling, but not with fear. His own eyes were glowing red, brilliant with undulated hatred. " The Mark of Dracula." He hissed the words as though they were burning his tongue.

"Maybe it's not what you think…" Luna heard the hoarse little voice from his left hand pipe up hesitantly.

"No. It's exactly what I think." He answered and turned from the scene and back toward the house.

"His mark…." D murmured in a half waking state. Looking down at the werewolf he saw that it seemed to have faded from sight, that everything was gone. He was alone and suspended with a black oblivion. That was until a thousand gleaming red eyes opened against the blackness, each livid pupil was fixated upon him with hatred that looked as if all the violence, all the rage and suffering within the earth had been fixated into a singular point.

"Of course…" D hissed in the nothingness, "Why didn't I suspect you before? You've been watching me all this time."

A low, mocking laughter rumbled through the eye filled darkness.

Yet D's focus was pulled away from the frightful vacuum, into the awareness of a more corporal, more tangible danger. It was fainter, and whatever it was meant attack his unconscious body beyond the realm of dreams, therefore the attacker must have been very foolish indeed, but still it was not an enemy to be underestimated.

It was simple for D to leave the oblivion, all he has to do was to turn away and force his eyes open. His hands flew first for the dagger that was sheathed at his waist and then he locked eyes with this attacker. R.M was standing before him, the mad man's once twisted body was standing fully erect and a long bowie knife was glittering in his hand, his eyes were gleaming with the same crimson madness that had haunted D relentlessly.

D moved like an elegant blur of death as he unsheathed the knife and planted it brutally in R.M's solar plexus, long before the man had a chance to lower his own weapon. The man gasped in his agony and stumbled, D grasped the man by his throat, and pinned up against the wall.

"No! No Master, Please! I tried to, I tired!" the zoophagous cried to seemingly to nothing. Now that D's fatigue had been washed away all the pieces had all fallen into place, and the crazed words of the zoophagous, and the fading blood light in the mans eyes all made perfect sense.

D slammed the palm of his left hand down upon the man's forehead. "You have other names don't you, Renfield?"

"Y….yes!" the man sobbed against his will, quite powerless against the symbiote. "Only he calls me Renfield. To all others I am R.M, Renfield the Mortal, or R.H, Renfield the Humble.

"I thought as much." D answered softly, "Immortality is transitory for you, correct? Your master can grant it to you and take it from you at his will."

Renfield nodded near tears, "Yes, I am only a zoophagous, I am the uttermost and deepest devoted to my master. As R.M I am merely a mortal, and a prisoner for disappointing the master. As R.H I am a Nobel, and the masters most humble and loyal servant."

"It was I that took your immortality most recently." D challenged his voice as cold as the steel of his dagger. "What were you doing to serve him in the form of the Nobel, what were your orders?"

"He wanted the Pale One!" Renfield sobbed, all his other words where nothing more than fervent and senseless babbling.

"Why did you lead me here?"

"For the master! He wanted you to have the slave, and to take her as a plea for forgiveness."

It was only upon saying these words that D saw the glimmer of another form caught by the light of the hearth. He must have been especially concentrated on Renfield to have failed to notice her, or else perhaps it was because she carried such a low vibrational frequency that she'd failed detection even from D's acute scenes.

The woman was crouched in the corner of the room; her black, wavy hair partially veiled her face, yet the features that he could see were utterly beautiful. Her skin was nigh translucent in the soft glow of the fire, and she appeared to have an aged, matronly look about her. The eyes that stared disbelievingly back at him were as black and sorrowful as his own eyes. They were his eyes….

Slowly the woman stood. The white gown she wore seemed to glow in the firelight, her hair fell almost to her ankles, her lips trembled as though sobs were soon the escape them and they seemed to be struggling to form the simple syllable that was his name.

Hers was a face that had brought life, brought color, and meaning back to a thousand moments that time had robbed from D.

He let Renfield drop from his grasp, as he drank in the face that had been lost to him for over 11,000 years.

"Mother?" he rasped.