Jett was still reeling from the creature's bizarre outburst. He wanted nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between himself and that strange encounter. He pedaled through the sparse night traffic, his mind was still racing.
And that atrocious headache returned. It was far worse now.
Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him. It started subtly, a faint boom in his chest. He initially dismissed it as adrenaline, or a lingering effect of the Goblin incident.
But the beating intensified, growing into a pounding that echoed in his ears.
His heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of his ribcage.
'Ugh..I feel like I gotta take a horrible dump.'
The city lights which had been a blur of color moments before, began to distort. His vision took on an icy, blue tint, as if he were looking through a frosted window. The vibrant hues of the streetlights faded into a cold monochrome.
At the same time, the sounds of the city—the distant sirens, the rumble of car engines, the faint chatter of nightlife—became muffled, as if he were plunging into a thick layer of cotton. He could barely hear the whir of his repaired wheeled bonus.
He gripped the handlebars tighter, his knuckles turned white. He felt disoriented, detached from his own body.
The world was tilting, swirling around him. He could no longer tell if he was controlling the bike or if the bike was controlling him.
'What..the hell..is happening to me..?'
Then, the world exploded into a cacophony of pain and darkness.
The last thing Jett registered was the rough bark of trees rushing towards him. Then, there was only the sickening crunch of metal and bone.
< Veschar transformation initiating. >
Then, there was only black.
Time became a meaningless concept. Jett drifted in a void, a place where sensations had no form.
There was no sound, no light, no touch. Only the echo of that announcement, repeating endlessly in the silence of his mind.
He was eventually then lost in a plethora of his fractured thoughts and disjointed memories. Some memories he didn't want to see.
Fragments of his life flickered like broken images: the glow of Pizza Inferno, the pale face of Renja, the grotesque snarl of the Gloomy Goblin. Marco, his boss—Mr.Pyre.
His consciousness struggled against the encroaching darkness, fighting to hold onto something, anything. But the darkness was a relentless tide, pulling him deeper and deeper into its embrace.
Then there was finally a spark.
A searing—agonizing explosion of energy ripped through his being. It felt like every nerve ending in his body had ignited simultaneously.
His muscles spasmed violently, his bones creaked and shifted with sickening cracks. It was as if his very DNA was being rewritten, each cell was being altered.
He couldn't even think or scream.
He could feel his body contorting and reforming. His skin stretched and tore, revealing glimpses of raw muscle and pulsing veins beneath.
His teeth elongated, sharpening into cruel ivory points. His fingernails twisted into wickedly curved claws, tearing through the earth beneath him.
Finally, a loud scream tore from his reinforced throat—a sound that was barely human. It was a cry of pain, rage, and transformation. Dark and thick blood oozed from every pore of his skin, matting his hair and staining the ground beneath him in a deep crimson pool.
His heart—or what was at least left of it, hammered against his ribs with a frantic rhythm, each beat was a life that was being violently ripped away from him.
The scent of iron filled the air, it was thick and cloying, mingling with the earthy smell of the forest floor.
The pain intensified, reaching a crescendo that threatened to shatter his mind. He felt his consciousness slipping away again, his sense of self dissolving into the chaos of his transformation.
Then there was silence once again.
The pain vanished as abruptly as it had arrived, leaving behind an eerie stillness.
Days bled into one another, marked only by the slow decay of the forest around him. Insects crawled over his still form, they were drawn to the scent of blood and decay.
Rain fell, washing away some of the grime, but also seeping into his wounds. The forest began to reclaim him, vines grew around his limbs, leaves settled on his face.
-
After several days of unanswered calls and a growing sense of dread, Marco and Pyre contacted the authorities and organized a search party.
They knew that Jett's last known location was on that delivery route, the one that led to the edge of the woods. The search focused on that area, a mix of police officers, concerned coworkers, and volunteers scouring the area.
A loud sound cuts through the quietness of the forest. A low buzzing at first, growing louder and louder. It was the distinct sound of a helicopter, descending into the woods.
The search party had found something.
Jett woke up with a startled expression. The sound of the helicopter's rotors was deafening, slicing through the stillness of the forest, he could especially hear the sound much clearer.
He sat up abruptly his body began moving with a speed and grace he'd never possessed before. The pain that had wracked him during the transformation was gone, replaced by a strange lightness.
'What in the hell happened to me?'
He looked down at his hands, his eyes widening in shock. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his fingernails were long and sharp. He could feel the elongated points of his teeth with his tongue.
He was no longer human.
'Oh shit!' he thought.
Panic flared in his chest. He couldn't be found like this. He didn't understand what had happened to him yet exactly, but he knew he couldn't let anyone see him in this state. They would think he was a monster. He also could not allow them to take him to a hospital.
Jett scrambled to his feet, his movements were surprisingly silent, he possessed a great degree of alacrity.
He felt stronger, faster, more agile than he had ever been.
He could hear the helicopter getting closer, its buzzing growing louder. He had to get away.
'The helicopter is getting closer, I don't want them to see me with these sharp fingernails and my teeth.'
He turned and fled into the deeper parts of the woods, his bare feet barely made a sound on the soft earth. He moved through the trees with incredible speed, dodging branches and leaping over fallen logs with ease.
The helicopter's searchlight cuts through the trees, its beam sweeped across the forest floor. Jett ducked behind a thick bush, his altered heart was pounding in his chest.
He could feel a burning sensation in his throat, a primal hunger he had never experienced before. It was an insistent, gnawing need that demanded to be satisfied.
A small animal rustled in the undergrowth nearby. It was a squirrel, its eyes were wide with fear, it darted past Jett's hiding place.
Without thinking, Jett lunged with the speed of a flying javelin. He was faster than a blur.
He caught the squirrel in mid air, his claws sank into its flesh.
'It's blood..has a deep, sweet taste to it.'
He drank deeply, the warm liquid was satisfying the burning thirst within him.
As he swallowed, a strange sensation washed over him. He felt a surge of energy, a tingling warmth permeates through his veins.
"Ah, man. That's much better."
Then something suddenly whispered into his mind.
< You have slain a Squirrel. >
Then, something was projected into reality in front of him—or within his eyes.
[ Vitriol: 1/1000 ]
Jett stared at the display, his mind reeling. What was this? What was happening to him?
A wave of nausea washed over him. He had killed. He had fed. The reality of his actions slammed into him with brutal force.
He had always considered himself a decent person. He wouldn't even step on a bug if he could avoid it.
But he had just torn apart a living creature and drank its blood. The memory of the warm liquid sliding down his throat made his stomach churn.
"What am I?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "I know that I'm a Vampire, but.."
He sank to his knees, his head in his hands. He felt like a monster. He had become the very thing of nightmares.
But then, a flicker of rationalization sparked in his mind. He thought of the endless stream of fast food he delivered. The processed meat, the greasy cheese, the countless animals killed to feed the world's hunger.
Was his feeding any different, in the grand scheme of things? Survival was survival, wasn't it?
The thought didn't entirely comfort him, but it gave him a sliver of distance from the immediate horror of his actions.
He pushed himself to his feet, his mind raced. He had to get out of the woods. He had to figure out what was happening to him.
He moved cautiously, using the shadows and the dense foliage to conceal himself. He avoided the helicopter's searchlight, his enhanced senses allowed him to hear its movements even when it was far away.
'Just where is the exit? I've never been good with directions.'
It took him hours, but he finally reached the edge of the woods. The city lights glowed in the distance.
'Finally, I made it to the entrance of the woods!'
He waited until the helicopter was far away before slipping into the edge of the city. He moved through the back alleys, sticking to the empty areas, his movements were cautious and quiet.
He finally reached his apartment building. He slipped inside, avoiding the security cameras. He moved with immaculate stealth.
'Was this exactly how Renja was able to get into my room that night?'
He reached his apartment door, his hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob.
Jett slipped inside his apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. The familiar scent of dust and stale takeout food was a stark contrast to the earthy smells of the forest.
He leaned against the door, his chest was heaving. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The events of the past few days had pushed him to his limits.
He needed to clean himself up. He needed to think.
He stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as he could bear.
The scalding water was strangely soothing, washing away the grime and the lingering scent of the forest.
He scrubbed his skin raw, trying to erase the memory of the blood on his hands. He washed his hair, trying to clear his head.
After what felt like an eternity, he turned off the water. He stepped out of the shower, his skin was still tingling from the heat. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into his bedroom.
His familiar room was refreshing.
Clothes were strewn across the floor, books were stacked haphazardly on his desk, and empty pizza boxes littered every surface. He wasn't sure about how his room had gotten dirty again..really, he didn't know.
He ignored the mess, his eyes fixed on the translucent display that still lingered in his vision.
[Vitriol: 1/1000]
"What is this?" he whispered to himself.
He tried to focus on it, to make sense of the strange numbers and the word Vitriol. It felt significant and important, but he had no context to understand it.