It was here that Godric asked to die.
Standing just outside the Fellowship of the Sun church grounds, in plain view of a sign proclaiming this to be the threshold of the Light of Day Institute, he volunteered to be the fuel for the congregation's much anticipated holy bonfire. Mr. Newlin was extremely incredulous of him, and even more so of his suicidal offering. But he was not skeptical enough to deny Godric the fate he'd chosen.
It had been easy then- to slip away from the nest nary a question as to where or why. He would often stray two, occasionally three times a night to be by himself. The only thing unusual about his leaving that specific evening was he did not plan to come back; a fact universally unknown by everyone outside his own head.
He didn't think slipping away would be quite so effortless anymore, if what he'd gone through tonight could be used as any indication of the future. Lying was his only hope of escaping his nestmates' tireless company.
He told them he was going to meet an AB negative blood donor who preferred to be fed on in the comfort of their own home. Only Isabel had been in his presence enough recently to suspect foul play, and Godric pretended to admit to her that he was really going to see Eric.
But, of course, there was no truth value to that either.
The rustle of footsteps on the freshly mowed lawn alerted him to the Reverend's approach.
Usually, Godric would wait for the human party to verbally announce their proximity before reacting to it. Doing so put them more at ease; gave them a false sense of normalcy to build off of. In this instance, however, it would serve the desired end result best to catch him off guard. And the end result was all that mattered, after all.
"Mr. Newlin," Godric said, "You are alone, I assume."
His gaze panned across the open grass, taking in the nearing form without the pretense of blinking.
This Mr. Newlin was a different breed of man than the white-suited bigot he remembered. This was a man soured by humiliation, and hardened by an overwhelming resentment that was no longer merely directed at Godric for what he was. From the moment Godric dropped him on the floor of the church and walked out, to the moment the Reverend stepped outside to meet him on this very night, the resentment had become personal.
Mr. Newlin froze unwillingly, and then scowled.
"I'll never be alone in the Light of the Lord."
As he came to stand before Godric, he placed his hands in the pockets of his (black) suit jacket. His weight was distributed equally between his feet; his stance reeking of a desperate sort of pride. A tightly clenched jaw highlighted the tendons in what was visible of his neck, and, once the scowl had been planted, it put down roots and settled obstinately on his face.
The Tru Blood he consumed the previous night made the ancient boy alert enough to realize all of these details. He also registered a trace of distaste casting over his unending indifference. He did not like Mr. Newlin very much.
Godric inclined his chin slightly, "One of your soldiers made an attempt to slay my nest. Did you know of it?"
"Slay?" the Reverend gave a breathy chuckle, "Now, I don't know about you, but I don't believe you can kill somethin' that's already dead."
"I didn't ask what you believed. I asked what you knew."
The material of the suit jacket ruffled, betraying the motion of the hands inside. Godric wondered if there was silver hidden in those pockets, or perhaps even a miniature stake. He wondered if this man would try to end him. He wondered if he would bother to stop him if he tried.
"You want to know what I know?" Mr. Newlin echoed, "You want to know what I know?"
His eyes sparked like matches set aflame, "I know who you are. I know what you do when the media is lookin' the other way. I know the screams of terror that've rang in your deaf ears every night for 2,000 years. I know every gallon of blood that has been stolen to sustain your damned hide. And I am going to annihilate every last one of you until there aren't any left to defile the face of God's good Earth!"
The Reverend was flushed red. His hands left his pockets in the excitement of his speech and were trembling spasmodically. They reached for Godric, grappling at the innocent air when they could not have him.
The same words that awakened such energy in the preacher drained the ancient boy past the point of exhaustion. The synthetic sustenance he forced upon himself seemed to vaporize into useless gas in his faulty bloodstream. He felt like he had been starving since the day he was born.
Terror, and blood, and annihilation, and eternity.
Terror, and blood, and annihilation for eternity.
Terror, and blood, and annihilation were eternity.
He drooped, lifeless, "Why does it never stop?"
The Reverend went on speaking; every note a pitch of an old tune that began playing at the dawn of mankind and carried on still. The ancient boy could not stand to hear it anymore.
Instead, Godric inspected the ground beneath his feet. The moon was a little less than full, and it both illuminated and dulled the hue of the individual blades sprouting up from the dirt. The leaflets folded so considerately around the shape of his shoes. He could imagine exactly how they would feel under the sole of his bare foot- forever smooth and un-calloused in spite of eons of abuse.
He didn't want to be here any longer. He lifted his head.
"Steve. Look at me, Steve."
The Reverend's eyes snapped to Godric's, halting the feverous vibrations of his overused vocal cords. Contact was established. Godric took advantage of it, and ensnared Mr. Newlin's thought processes in a web of his construction. The man was informed enough to fight the capture.
"Don't resist," Godric impelled, "Everything is fine. I only need you to answer my questions, and then I will give your mind back to you. Will you answer my questions, Steve?"
"Y-yes…"
"That's good, Steve. Do you know who invaded my nest?"
"Yes."
"What was his name?"
"Luke McDonald."
"Did you send Luke?"
"No. He went on his own. He wanted to prove his loyalty."
"His loyalty to your God?"
"To me."
"You were aware that he intended to destroy us, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"Yet you sent no warning?"
"I prayed he'd finish you all."
Godric paused, "I want you to think about when I came to you, offering myself for your ceremony… Did you tell anyone what was said between us?"
"My wife."
"Only your wife?"
"I lied to everyone else."
"What did you tell them? That you took me by force?"
"That I shot you with silver bullets."
"How many times?"
"Four."
"I think you shot me more than that, Steve."
"…Five times?"
"Eight. Twice in the right leg, five times in the back, and once through the neck."
"Wow," the Reverend grinned.
The ancient boy beamed, "You were pleased with yourself when I hit the ground. There was very little blood spatter. You wanted to take me then, but you were out of bullets, and you didn't have anymore silver on you. You couldn't risk my healing and attacking you on the way to the basement, could you, Steve?"
"No way. We get shipments of silver chains that we handout anonymously to vamp drainers. Did I get some of those?"
"You did. But by the time you came back, my body pushed half of the bullets out. That's when you decided to say you shot me four times instead of eight, because you didn't want it to sound like overkill. Does your wife like you using a gun?"
"No."
"It's a good thing you lied to her, then."
"I lie to her all the time," Mr. Newlin assured him…
Godric left the Fellowship of the Sun with all of the information he needed. None of what the Reverend had to say was exactly surprising to him, but it was possible the King of Texas would see it differently. The ancient boy's perception of the world and the events that unfolded within it rarely dovetailed with anyone else's these days.
He moved at a careless pace down one of the city's many sidewalks. The passage of the regularly placed streetlights and the occasional straggling vehicle were the only signs of that motion, really. The pendulum swinging of his legs wasn't something he truly felt. It was just happening.
Habitually, predictably, continually happening… Like the elusive day, and its' overprotective sibling, the night. And the night's many twin brothers of darkness. Godric thought he'd mingled with them all.
At one point, this level of removal from his physical self might have worried him. It seemed natural now- to inhabit without presence. Who would have thought?
There was a paperclip on the cement. It was wedged into a crack, standing straight up as if to make a statement. Chewing gum that had been gnawed and spat out was re-solidified into amorphous glue around the wire fastener. The gum most probably began its' journey a light pink, but it appeared brownish from exposure.
Godric knelt, pulling the paperclip up from its' entrapment. The gum held on to it by thin strings that reminded him of his flesh against silver. He bent his head and took the rotten strands between his teeth, biting to sever them.
They were dry and flavorless. Of course they would be to him.
Once freed, he examined the paperclip in his hand. He started to apply pressure to one end of it; watching it slowly respond and uncoil from its' bent shape.
And then-
Eric.
Godric quickly undid any change he'd made to the little object before plunging it back into the gum. He got to his feet, wondering if anyone would ever pick it up after him. The pendulum swinging of his legs recommenced.
He upped his pace; acted like there was a destination in front of him he actually wanted to reach. The act was more difficult to put on than it was the last time he'd done it. Faking was only achieved convincingly so long as the reality still lingered somewhere for you to look back on. And his memory of purpose was getting ever more distant and unimaginable.
How he would love to give up the entire institution of acting- to deteriorate to pieces and scatter on the ground. To be weak, and uncertain, and always assumed to be wrong. Or, infinitely more appealing, to be completely overlooked altogether, and responsible for nothing and nobody.
Not even himself.
But that was nonsensical.
However, just because he could never give it up did not mean his acting was flawless. He'd been subject to more sidelong glances and furrowed brows at the nest than he was even aware of. Not that any of that bothered him.
But he could not have his child look at him that way.
He didn't know why it mattered when nothing else did. Still, Godric straightened and tried to fill a fraction of the mold that was expected of him.
Footsteps began to mirror the beat of his.
He knew a lot about those footsteps. They were the faithful undercurrent of his life for a very long time.
Awareness passed through. A mutual acknowledgement between them that had nothing to do with spoken greetings or what the eyes could see.
Godric kept traveling wordlessly.
"Do you mind if I walk with you?" Eric finally voiced.
He sounded strangely insecure in the question. Perhaps even afraid of what the answer would be. Well, as close to afraid as Eric ever got, anyway. He had so much courage. He always did.
"I don't mind."
The Viking sped up slightly, and Godric moved over to accommodate him. The sidewalk wasn't designed for people roaming about in pairs. The scanty width of the path made the space separating them thinner than he'd estimated, causing the hair on Eric's forearm to rub against him every so often.
Godric watched a traffic light alternate color in the distance as the minutes passed.
Red…
Yellow…
Green…
"You went to the Fellowship," Eric said after awhile.
He wasn't particularly thrilled about it.
Godric nodded, "He said they didn't send him."
"And you believe him?"
"He was-" he broke off, searching for the right word in the current language, day, and age, "…glamoured at the time."
They came to a turn in the sidewalk. The pavement began to veer off in a direction separate from the one that would take them to Godric's home. As the ancient boy stepped down from the curb on to the asphalt, he remembered when roads were crafted with bricks, and dirt, and times in places that hadn't ever known roads at all.
Eric joined him on the street. There was room to put between them now, but his child either didn't notice or didn't care. If anything, he seemed to be standing closer. Their arms pressed in on each other almost constantly.
"I never thought you would live in a nest with twenty other vampires," the Viking said.
Red…
Yellow…
Green…
He could feel Eric looking at his face.
"They treat me well."
His arm pushed against Godric's with more weight, "They'd better."
Something in Eric's tone of voice told Godric he wanted to touch him more at that moment. To maybe nudge his shoulder or ruffle his hair. But Godric had made a very deliberate choice not to look at him all throughout their walk, and so Eric was not permitted to do any of those things.
And Godric was pathetically grateful for that.
It had been years since he'd been able to be with anyone. Monitoring the passage of time was one of the most miserable pastimes a vampire his age could possibly partake in, so he had no idea how many, but he knew it was years.
A dull ache shot through him when Eric came to him the night before, pleading for something Godric no longer had to give. And Godric had tried, had even wanted, to kiss him back- to enjoy the feel of his hands- to touch Eric just once more before he became untouchable.
But he lacked both the will to make him stop, and the strength to keep him going. So Godric couldn't even have that.
The ancient boy thought of the utter confusion on his child's face when he'd realized how far to nowhere he was getting, and stepped away from him. There was no reason to walk so near to each other with the entire road to themselves.
He felt Eric's stare, but offered no explanation. He focused on the traffic light again.
Red…
Yellow…
Green…
Eric looked away, "Do you…have a car?"
Godric practically snorted.
"No, Eric, I do not have a car. Nor do I want one."
His tone was sharp enough to cause Eric to lower his head. Godric saw him gazing at the ground out of the corner of his eye. He was too irritable at that precise second to feel bad about it. But it wasn't long before the flare of aggravation passed, and he sighed.
He quizzed himself for something to say. It was extraordinarily hard to think of anything he had a desire to know. He already said everything when he was saying goodbye.
He settled on, "When are you leaving?"
It was the only thing that mattered. The only thing left between them to discuss: Parting.
There was no response.
"Eric?"
"I don't know, Godric."
An erratic tearing sensation scraped sluggishly across Godric's chest. It didn't hurt badly; the pain was probably the equivalent of a scratch from a human fingernail. But it was a feeling of some kind, and that made it notable to the ancient boy.
He couldn't figure out where it came from. He'd felt it in his own body, but it didn't seem to be stemming from there. It was more like the second image in a mirror, or the aftereffects of a tidal wave. A pain which belonged to him, but was somehow not completely his. A shared pain…
Godric halted, slowly rotating his head toward Eric.
"Child," he said, and the Viking stopped too, "Have I hurt you?"
Their eyes met.
Godric attempted to evaluate the conditions of the sea hidden beneath the identical sheets of ice encasing Eric's irises. The ice had thickened a great deal since they were last together, and he feared the night would soon come when he would look at his child and see his own deadened bergs reflected back at him.
But that hadn't happened yet, and, though Eric was profusely skilled in concealing weakness, Godric was even more practiced at finding it. He could see that Eric was crushed; that he had decimated him in some display of carelessness he couldn't put a name to or fully understand.
Still, Eric watched his assessment without once backing down from it. He stood before him with all the majesty of a great mountain- awe inspiring and undeniably daunting. And then he who was so grotesquely wounded, looked at the ancient boy wielding the bloody sword, and said:
"No, Godric."
And Godric loved him so absolutely that he almost wanted to live.
He smiled, one of his hands reaching out to rest on the side of Eric's neck. Eric bent in anticipation of the customary gesture. His skin was warm to Godric's fingers, and he traced the line of his jaw attentively with the edge of his thumb.
Godric watched as Eric's eyes squeezed shut. His head drooped, making Godric's hand slide partially on to his face. His cheek pressed into his palm so roughly, Godric found himself slightly frightened by the amount of influence he held over him. He didn't have a clue as to what he'd done in the last thousand years to earn such raw devotion.
He traced his jaw again, "What do you want?"
"To talk to you," Eric breathed without opening his eyes.
Gently, Godric withdrew his hand. Eric's arm rose an inch into the air, the lengthy digits on his own extremity twitching in protest. If he were anyone else, Godric was sure the Viking would have grabbed his wrist to prohibit the loss of contact.
He waited for Eric to compose himself (blinking and squaring his shoulders) before he spoke.
"I'm listening."
Then they were interrupted by the roar of a black vehicle coming at them from down the road. There was lighting of some type installed underneath it so the street glowed green between its' tries. The driver was obviously speeding, and the flashy headlights burst into Godric's vision- temporarily blinding him.
So bright…
He winced as he and Eric maneuvered out of the way into a ditch. Whoever was behind the wheel also had a strong affection for music, and was blasting something spectacularly awful out of the car's sound system. Godric could feel the thudding of the bass quaking against his eardrums in piercing intervals. The vibrations lasted long after the tires squealed agonizingly out of sight.
Eric sneered in disgust, "Humans."
"I have known vampires that were worse drivers," Godric corrected, "What was it you wanted to talk about?"
Eric looked at him first, then around himself at their surroundings.
"Not on the side of the road."
Godric didn't see what difference the location of the conversation made, but he decided he could afford to be indulgent.
"Where, then?"
The Viking looked about again. The ancient boy struggled to follow the rapid flickering of his searching glances. At last, he seemed to ferret out someplace to his satisfaction. He grinned, and it was the expression of a rogue.
"Away from society," he took a few steps backward, "Come with me."
Godric watched Eric's retreat into the grass warily. He was certain he'd spent enough time outside of society, and had no desire to return there now. Honestly, he yearned for nothing more than to get back to his nest and surrender to oblivion. Mr. Newlin had taken a serious toll on whatever meager vapors he was running off of, and Eric had him working in the negatives. But it was his choice to be indulgent, so he may as well follow through.
He moved one foot after Eric, indicating that he was indeed going to go with him, and his child truly did seem youthful in his enthusiasm as he turned to lead the way…
The fire in the middle of nowhere was bizarre.
Godric had barely begun to follow Eric into the patch of trees he'd so joyously discovered when the Viking stopped. He caught up and went around his eclipsing backside to see what had caused the pause, and there in front of them laid a smoldering pit of embers.
It was circular; framed by an imperfect border of unshapely stones. The rocks were all a dusty brown that blended with the shade of the exposed earth- pieces of nature which were derived from the source, and not man's polished imitation. The ancient boy scanned the perimeter for a tent, or a thermos, or any telltale device marking the presence of eccentric campers.
There weren't any.
Eric had made similar observations, "It's abandoned."
"It hasn't been for long," Godric said, gaze lingering on the simmering pit.
"Luckily for us."
Godric watched on as Eric paced to the skinny trunk beside him and dismembered it of its' scrawny branches. He wrapped the bundle in the coils of his inescapable grip before snapping it into halves. He kept downsizing until he was carrying suitable firewood, then unloaded it on to the luminous bed of orange. A leftover stick served the purpose of stoking the dormant flames.
His labor complete, Eric pivoted back toward the ancient boy with a spark of pridefulness seasoning his features.
Look, it called out, look what I've done for you.
Godric nodded his approval before making his advance toward the pit. He moved to the side opposite of where Eric was standing, and then lowered himself to sit cautiously on the soil. It was only after he was seated that the Viking responded in kind.
The disjointed soundtrack of fuel being converted to ash, and the chorus of insects singing their timeless hymns, wavered through intermittently spaced beats of silence to create an illustration of their previous eternity.
"He is an old companion, the fire," Godric said, because this felt like a time when his thoughts belonged as much to him as they did to Eric, "The one thing left from my beginning that continues to burn."
"Do you see him often?" Eric asked.
"I used to. But we've grown apart."
Eyes overflowing with questions sought him out through the fire. Godric stared back into the flames blankly. There were no answers he could give.
"I can't feel you anymore," Eric stated flatly.
Godric cocked his head, confused, "What do you mean?"
"I was standing right outside that church with Isabel, and I couldn't feel you inside," he exhaled harshly, frustrated and angry, "When she told me you were missing, I thought there had to be a mistake. If you were taken, you would have called me. But then I tried to find you through the bond, and I…"
He got to his feet, walking halfway around the fire in a visible surge of agitation. Then he struck the trunk of a lone tree when the motion did not help. He pounded against it once with the side of his fist before whirling around to face the ancient boy again.
"There was nothing there, Godric," he said, and he looked so ashamed- like he'd committed an unpardonable sin, "I can't even tell you when it happened. If you hadn't gone missing, I probably still wouldn't know."
That admission seemed to be the worst for him, and he began to pace around the fire again. On the around trip, he punched the tree a second time; doing serious damage to the bark. Godric waited patiently for him to get a handle on himself.
"Eric, it's alright," he soothed once the Viking had gone motionless.
"It's not."
"It doesn't matter."
"It does."
"It's not your fault."
"It is."
Godric was too worn and tired to keep arguing. He gazed at the fire's dance- possibly more grateful than any other person on the planet that its' swaying movements were never exactly the same twice. Unpredictability, even a small instance such as that, was a gift to be treasured.
Eric's words were tight, controlled, "Can you still feel me?"
A gust of wind sped up the tempo of the dance. The wood crackled as the heat sashayed overtop of it.
"You will always be a part of me," Godric said, choosing his reply carefully, "I made you."
"I didn't realize that doesn't work both ways."
He clearly wanted a further explanation, but Godric couldn't explain this to Eric in a way he would accept. How could he even begin to tell his child that the loss of connection he was sensing had nothing to do with their bond? That he could not find him because Godric did not want to be found? That he was not picking up on any feelings from Godric's end because there truly was nothing there to feel?
Impossible.
The fire took up the brunt of the conversation as Eric waited for Godric to speak and Godric waited for Eric to tire of waiting. They sat together in a gauzy sort of suspension; the old challenge of mentor and apprentice like airy static jumping out of one and into the other.
At last, Godric saw a change in Eric. His face relaxed from its' state of expectance, and the gateway of his mouth parted in preparation to form a word-
But before the word could escape, a wild babbling of alien voices rose out over the landscape.
Godric's head snapped to the left. The racket of feet trampling hectically over the uneven floor of the woods made it perfectly clear: Something was coming. Something was close.
The ancient boy was standing in an instant, Eric already tensed in alert. They blurred in synchronization to the edge of the trees. They were positioned side by side- moving far enough forward that they would not be hindered by the obstruction of the fire should they need to reach each other. They were unified; a front that continued to thrive even in the face of Godric's all-encompassing fatigue.
Nothing will touch you. If it dares to try, it will answer to me. I will fight tooth and nail with you, for you, beside you. Just as you will fight for me. And I know beyond a doubt, I have this of you. Until true death. Even after.
The figures of three women stumbled into Godric's line of sight. Their clothes were torn and dirty, and one of them was entirely nude from the waist up. Their hair was in tangles; the locks congealed together by dried mud. They were blundering about hopelessly, incapacitated by hysterical fits of laughter (and, Godric suspected, superfluous amounts of alcohol).
The topless one was carrying a knife in her left hand. The point was sharp, and dripping with fresh blood, but that seemed to be the most troubling thing they had to offer. That is, until they looked at him.
Their eyes were black.
Their eyes were completely black.
Godric exchanged peripheral glances with Eric. He noticed the eyes too.
"Hey!" the woman slightly ahead of the other two shouted, "You guys stole our fire!"
"Sorry," Eric said, smiling.
The topless one smiled back, "That's okay..."
She put the blade of the knife to her lips. Her tongue darted out to touch the base of it, then drug suggestively up to the tip- licking the blood off. She wiped a droplet of residue off of the corner of her mouth and suckled the ruby substance from the pad of her finger.
"You're yummy."
"Let's eat 'em!" the third squealed.
They let loose a chorus of high pitched shrieks in agreement. And then they threw themselves into the arms of Death.
Godric wished he hadn't gone with Eric.
The first woman leapt at the Viking, her topless friend and the knife following a second later. The last member of the group, the one who'd had the bright idea of dabbling in the practice of cannibalism, took hold of Godric's shirt in fistfuls and tried to use the fabric as leverage to reel him into her.
The ancient boy wrapped a hand around her neck. He did not hold tight enough to crush her windpipe, or even interfere with her breathing, but she was not taking a bite out of him anytime soon. In response, she placed her palm almost lovingly on top of the hand around her throat.
She giggled, "I like you."
Godric regarded her for a brief, uncomprehending moment. Then he turned his attention to Eric.
The girl with no shirt didn't have the knife anymore, and, from where he was standing, it didn't appear as if the other one had it either. Eric was on the ground with his fangs sunken deep into the chest of the topless woman, who was moaning in loud streams of French for him to kill her faster.
He'd rendered what would be his second victim immobile by pinning her down with his free hand. She was thrashing back and forth in anger. But, even in the throws of savage rage, she was hardly able to move at all. His fingers clutched her arm; encircling it. She made a howling sound that was incredibly inhuman, and turned her head to the side to fill her mouth with grass and dirt.
That was when Eric pulled away from the woman's flesh. He gazed over at Godric with hot blood pouring out of his mouth and seeping down his chin. Their eyes met. And then his child grinned- his fangs glazed in red and painfully obvious.
Look, they called out, look what I've become for you.
"Let go of me!"
Godric glanced back at the woman in his hands. She'd decided she was no longer pleased with her current position, and was yanking futilely at his grasp. It was nearly impossible to judge given the pigment of her eyes, but she seemed to be fixated on Eric's gory antics as well.
"Let go," she hollered, "I wanna get bit too!"
She looked back at him, and it felt like staring into a vacuum. A place totally void of anything except unending emptiness. It was as if everything in the compact space had been eroded away; as if he was peering into eyes that had dilated beyond capacity in their quest to seek out the light.
All he could think was, after 2,000 years in the dark, these were what his eyes should look like. And peering into the vacuum was suddenly not so different from peering into a mirror.
"I'm gonna beat you when I get free," the reflection threatened, "I'm gonna beat you till you're deader 'n a corpse. And I'll suck your brains outta your nostrils with a straw, and hang your head from the ceilin' on my chandelier so you can watch while I ride whatever's left of you."
Godric's hand slid limply from the woman's throat- releasing her entirely. It fell uselessly to his side without his conscious permission, as if abruptly struck with paralysis. His whole body seemed to cave in around him like a giant mob of employees who were fed up with him sleeping on the job. There was not a single muscle responding to his orders.
The woman's leg flailed through the air and collided with his.
After two hits, his frigid form was rendered unstable enough to topple to the ground.
He landed on his side, his shoulder taking the majority of the impact. Then she was kicking his back. Out of the three women, she was the only one who wasn't barefoot. Her shoe slammed into him repeatedly. He mentally counted each strike.
Once…Twice…A third time… A fourth… A fifth…
And then the force was enough to roll him on to his stomach.
Her maniacal laughter exploded in his ears. She was clearly enjoying herself. Godric discovered he was strangely happy for her.
A second passed, and her footsteps pranced away.
The ancient boy wondered how long it would be until he could move; wondered whether or not he would ever be able to move again.
Then she returned.
And stabbed the knife straight through his neck.
Godric heard his own scream.
It was a reflux reaction. He wasn't really aware of the pain. What bit he did register reminded him of hunger pangs, and he was quite used to those. But the spray of blood was impressive, leaving him wet and sticky. The material of his shirt clung to the flesh of his upper arm in a way which he found most irritating.
There was a roar of earth shattering fury that he identified immediately as Eric's. Suddenly, the woman was gone; the blade of the knife pulled cleanly from the back of his neck. He heard the beginnings of a feminine cry, but it cut off in a gurgle. There was nothing after that.
Godric was sure she was dead.
He used the next few moments to take stock of his injuries. She'd hit him twice in the right leg, five times in the back, and stabbed him once in the neck. Eight times total… Godric thought of what he'd told Mr. Newlin earlier, and allowed himself to be amused.
Large hands, strong but exceedingly gentle, wrapped around and flipped him on to his back. The process didn't hurt very much. He must already be recuperating. Eric leaned overtop of him, his eyes intent on the mess of blood courtesy of the neck wound. The Viking looked to be quite a disaster too after feeding, but none of the splatters decorating him originated from his own veins.
"I'll heal," Godric reminded him hoarsely, "Get off of me."
"I am not-"
"Get off."
Eric pushed himself upright. The ancient boy found the ability to sit up once the space in front of him was cleared, and took advantage of it. His child tried to assist him, but he brushed his arms away. He could take care of himself.
Godric rested his elbows on his knees. His hunched posture triggered a long forgotten coughing reflex, and he gagged and sputtered for a very brief while. It didn't concern him. He knew his age would have him repaired in a matter of minutes.
"Why did you let her attack you?"
He shrugged an unaffected shoulder, "Why not?"
"She stabbed you."
Eric was staring at his face again. Godric could not return his attention. He did not want to know what expression he would meet if he did.
He changed the subject, "They were possessed."
There was a beat of quiet. He was almost able to hear the gears in Eric's head screeching unwillingly on to a different track. Eric was not the least bit satisfied with Godric's put on nonchalance. However, the off-topic statement he'd dropped between them did capture his interest.
He finally surrendered, "By what?"
"An energy. An evil energy."
Godric stood. He was fine now, and he hefted Eric up with him to prove it. He walked to the cold, mangled remains of the women; taking hold of the one who'd beaten him. She was lighter in his grasp than a particle of dust.
"Now, put out the fire, and let's go," he instructed.
"Yes, Godric."
Once the pit had been extinguished, they wandered off to dispose of the bodies. A sense of déjà vu remained with Godric throughout the entire process.