As above 


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 Vðr ßlððÐ

Ðððlß ɹð†¢ïΛ



"Chaos is a necessary piece of order."

Victor Volodimire Bluht Blood

26 | Scorpio ☼ | Witch/Vampire | CEO of Blood Corp | New York | Bisexual | Single 

 ✫ ✫ ✫


Can someone have a crippling hero and God complex while still being a self loathing depressive? Victor will make you ask all those questions and more. He can be cold, dismissive and rude, but he cares almost too much about the people around him. He often goes far out of his way for supernatural folk generally, even more so if he cares, but he prefers to keep sentimentality to a minimum and often treats life as if it is a business transaction. He is incredibly intelligent and masterful in many arts but his self doubt and loathing often holds him back. Victor is desperate to be seen and make a connection, but nearly incapable of reaching that state of trust with the people around him- in his eyes people use you or they leave. Usually both.






Obscene wealth: more money than any god would know what to do with

Shadow manipulation: manifestations through dark matter

Incantation Magic: learned spells of many varieties, limited only by knowledge and learnedness 

Apparition: teleporting short distances 

Angurvadal: 'sword of anguish' is inscribed with Runic letters which blaze in times of war, but only gleames with a dim light in times of peace. Summoned by magic at will. 

Vampirism: Victor does not see himself as a vampire and dedicates quite a few of his resources to attempt to 'cure' his 'condition'. The current suppression pills he is testing on himself limit his needs for blood, as well as any healing or strength derived from the vampirism. He does need blood, but not nearly as often and avoids feeding from people all together, seeing it as a intimate and frightful act. 




Victor was born into blood, taking his mothers life with the start of his own on a chilly November evening. His father, a German immigrant and cold hearted businessman, never let him live this down, blaming his son for the loss of the woman he loved, he swore her sacrifice would not be in vain- Victor would be useful. Victor was raised by nannies and tutors the finest money could afford. 

After all, the Bluht name came with wealth of its own, but upon leaving the failing German empire Stefen Hans Bluht wanted to better fit in and succeed in the American market, he had hidden away his lineage in favor of what he felt was a much more eye catching english word: Blood
A new empire, in his mind, and an empire he did build with a ferocity which earned its name- one he intended wholeheartedly for Victor to take over. He ‘prepared’ his son mercilessly, forcing schooling far beyond his grade, studying most of his childhood away. 

Victor avoided him, and avoided angering him by any means possible, but the anger his father felt for him was unrelenting and often crossed the line into horrific abuse of unspeakable varieties, actions Stefen excused under the guise of building a warrior, a machine of impervious callus.

Perhaps he would have succeeded in building his monster if Victor had not found magick. 

He was eight the first time he tried to make contact with his deceased mother, and though he was not allowed many hobbies and spent some of his later years in boarding schools he managed to hide the new world from his father. He managed to not only grow in it, but flourish. By sixteen he had made a provisional deal with a daemon Agremon. He would serve as a vessel for nearly three years, reaping the benefit of demonic power while paying its steep price. 

He graduated with his first bachelor's degree in biomedical engineering, not even this bringing pride to his fathers eyes despite Victor’s obvious genius. 

When Victor was sure he had secured his stakes in his fathers company he killed him, only a few months after his eighteenth birthday- becoming the youngest, wealthiest, CEO in history, overnight. 


The board of directors nearly revolted, the investors pulled out in mass, but before his twentieth birthday he had doubled profit margins, developing multiple patents of his own design which restored interest from investors. 

He became a celebrity, but he felt just as alone as ever. 

So he ran away, the only way he had ever known how to in the past, Magick. 


He experimented with drugs and drank himself into blackouts, but eventually Victor found community in a space beyond the realms of time, in a pocket dimension full of misfits like him. He joined a cultish military order, built around a egregore being, which helped free him of his demonic contract in trade of a new one. With this one he was given responsibility and power which he did not want to fumble, his desire to impress overwhelming.
But a young man of little wisdom and love, and far too much knowledge and power, he fell victim to manipulation, fell in love with an older man, Mick- a superior officer. 


He lost his position, and the only family he had ever known- nursing those wounds he returned to New York in order to run his own neglected empire in earnest. 

A few months upon returning Victor discovered two things: new love for an exceptionally normal man of his own age, Maxwell; and a brother, Jonathan. 

His father had a second family, one he had apparently quite cherished- but after the untimely death of the boy's mother his only blood relative was Victor… much to the young witches surprise. 

For a few years things were good. 

Victor played family and business man by day, and Master of the Dark Arts by night. 

He opened the Covenstead Cabaret, a magical lounge, in the undergrounds of his newly erected Serenity Tower- a beacon of green energy and mind bending architecture built around the concept of bringing nature to the city. He started the Major Arcana, a group of young supernatural being whose primary mission was to help displaced youth of their kind and fight off those who wished to cause harm.
He built his empire of magic attop his fathers own empire of blood, he used the darkness of his past to fuel new initiatives, first in New York, then beyond.
But things are rarely good for long, an attempt on Victor’s life left him so close to death that his partner begged one of the Vampires they knew to change him, sure the only recourse for his state was such a drastic measure. 

Vampirism was not an affliction which Victor took to with any joy, and it put a horrific strain on his relationship with his partner.

As they danced closer to their wedding date, Victor found more and more that he felt like an imposter- pretending to be a hero, a leader. He had a family, he was to have a husband, he led a team of supernatural beings who trusted him and his company practically ran itself at this point. And yet he felt Max only cared for the hero he expected Victor to be, an image he could never uphold.

Victor was already unsure and isolating when his old superior officer resurfaced, he accepted his offer for drinks-  part of Victor wonders still if he knew what it would lead to..

How one drink would lead to two, how he would be encouraged to vent, told he was right, Max took advantage of him, Max wanted him to be something he wasn’t…

But being with Mick didn’t quell those doubts and fears, only sowed them.

With the sanctity of trust lost his partner left him, something which drove an inevitable wedge between Victor and his brother, who had taken to the much more motherly and nurturing Maxwell. 

In the aftermath Victor dedicated to his mission of building his empire, in the way he knew was best, and curing himself of what he felt like was a disease. 




 Victor lives in New York, in a penthouse in Serenity Tower, he runs his Biomedical Engineering company, and the Major Arcana; a group of otherbeings who help Victor to run his missions and reach his visions. 

Victor wants to unite the human and supernatural world, but realizes such a lofty goal can not be reached until there is structure to Otherbeing societies. Victor hopes by replicating Serenity in major cities across the world he can begin to build some foundations to a global community for Non-human kind, in the hopes of bringing them from the broom closet. 

This manifests in a lot of charity work on Victor's part, he seems to adore collecting strays and giving them homes in his tower. He rarely expects return, often he sets up Otherbeings for free, helping them to intigrated into human society better so they feel less of a need to harm people or themselves. 

Some are offered jobs with him, others are set up for success and end up leaving, some of those that he becomes closest with become inducted into the Major Arcana.




 The Fool


New Beginnings | Innocense | Free Spirit 


~4(years of physical manifestations) | Elemental Winds of the Southwest | No Occupation (close associate of Victor Blood) | New York (No home location) | Nonbinary | Demisexual | Single 


High Priestess


Intuition | Unconscious | Inner Voice 

Sapana Bunati 

21 | Cancer | Boski (Witch/Healer)| Employed by Victor Blood | New York (Originally Nepal) | Bisexual | Single


The Empress


Motherhood | Fertility | Nature 


600 | Dryad | Employed by Victor Blood (Project Changeling)  | New York (Original Grove: Allouville- Bellefosse, France) | Lesbian | Single



The Emperor 


Authority | Structure | Control | 

Neal Jared Jefferies 

45 | Taurus  | Alchemist | Former SAS, Freelance | New York (Originally London) | Homosexual | Widowed (not looking)



The Hanged Man 


Sacrifice | Release | Martyrdom 

Iain Neiall Stroud 

536 | Leo | Incubus | Freelance Photographer | New York (Originally Glasgow) | Pansexual | Poly (single)





The Middle Path | Patience | Finding Meaning 

Blath Uisce 

24 | Aquarius | Selkie | Employed by Victor Blood (Project Changeling) | New York (Originally Lough Neagh) | Bisexual | Single



The Devil 


Excess | Materialism | Playfulness 


22 | Capricorn | Cursed (Demon) | Employed by Victor Blood | New York (Originally Vatican Rome) | Biromantic Asexual | Single 


The Star 


Hope | Faith | Rejuvenation 

Wyatt Arnold Cooper 

23 | Virgo | Human (Enhanced) |COO of Blood Corp | New York (Originally Boston) | Homosexual | Married 



The Moon


Unconscious | Illusions | Intuition


24 | Virgo | Servant of Loki: Chaos Witch | Employed by Victor Blood | New York (Originally Vanrdyrr) | Lesbian | Single 



The Sun 


Joy | Celebration | Positivity 

Ellula Ingwaz

26 | Libra | Akashik Librarian (Owl Shifter) | Sociologist Student | Atlanta (Originally Nigeria) | Homosexual | Taken 




Reflection | Reckoning | Inner Voice 

Jebediah Buck Kezar 

24 | Leo | Lycanthrope | Psychology Student | Atlanta (Originally Covington Georgia) | Homosexual | Taken 



The World 


Fulfillment | Harmony | Completion 


~900 | Imp | Hive Mind: Leader of Mimics | New York | Pansexual | Poly (single) 








Roleplay status:

Accepting New Roleplays



January 17

I am open to new roleplay threads

Threads are Open

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Character Gender


Writer's Writing Style (OOC)

Paragraph, Multi-Para

Writer's Favored Genres (OOC)

Fantasy, Romance, Violence, Realistic, Rated R, 18+, Gore, Action, Adventure

About the Writer (OOC)

Name: Raven

Age: 24

Rp history: Nearly twelve years, on many different sites and forums with ocs and non-ocs including but not limited to: Hannibal Lecter, Sherlock Holmes, Harley Quinn, Joker, Poison Ivy, Jason Todd, Matthew Murdock, Zebedia Killgrave, Castiel, The Tenth and Eleventh Doctor, Jack Frost, and likely more that I can't remember!

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  • "That'd be correct~! First time I did it though, I- accidentally peeked into the girl's bathroom from above not knowing what part of the building it was, and nearly got my ass whipped, but you didn't hear that!"

  • (I don't think I replied I cannot remember, if my chance I didn't I apologize for the long silence from me here..... I don't have much of an idea, unless  you think Vic might be interested in Hope for being the Tribrid and her Father's Daughter if he knew or knew of Klaus. - @Hope M.)

  • (oh I'm so sorry, I'm behind in thanking you for accepting. If you open, I hope we might be able to plot something? - @Helena K.)

  • Victor is right, the wallpaper is ugly. Too many geometric shapes and intense colors. While an interesting piece in a hotel bar, it’d scream poor taste in a modern home. Not that it is important; Zach has no interest in changing up his apartment. It’s fine as is. Still, he beams a smile at Victor’s recommendation and nods like it really means something to him. “Yeah? You do seem like someone who knows something about design.” It’s a compliment, sure, but it falls dead on delivery. More cheeky than sincere as if he were making a subtle jab.

    His hand falls off the other man’s shoulder and he takes another sip of his beer. Shifts himself to lean upon the wall, body turned towards Victor and very obviously blocking the looming shadow out of their conversation. The shadow doesn’t respond, it simply remains hunched over facing Zach’s back.

    At Victor’s introduction, Zach’s eyes widen a fraction. Then, he whistles low and presses his lips to the rim of his beer; his lips curling into a smile as he gazes forward. “You must be smart, huh? I heard New York is crazy competitive.”

    "… See if there is anyone worth spending time on.”

    “Find anyone?” Zach asks.

    "But I have to admit this one hasn't been doing it for me. You just…caught my eye, looking lonely over here.”

    Zach chokes out a laugh, almost choking on his drink even as he swallows. He touches his face without thinking, briefly hopes the heat he feels isn’t a blush, and laughs again. “Do I really look that depressed?” It reminds him that he needs to get it together. Hiding in the corner is out of character for him. A dead giveaway that something is wrong. The last thing he needs is people asking him too many questions. After all, nobody is going to think he’s sane the moment he tells them about his looming shadow.

    “Then, will you keep me company with another drink? I’m running low.” He waves his glass in the space between them.

  • "Oi! Aren't you the bloke from Sanctum?!" 

  • As if caught red-handed doing something he should not, Zach fumbles his phone. He leans forward and thanks God for his quick reflexes as he manages to catch his phone before it hits the floor. Then, he glances at Victor. Half opens his mouth, then shuts it and puffs out his cheeks with a frown when words fail to come to him. "Um," he chokes out, amused and unsure by how flustered he suddenly. "No, I- uh, I'm just admiring this lovely wallpaper." Zach pockets the phone smoothly, then pats the wall behind him for emphasis. It has a simple geometric design with light and dark colors. He stares at the wallpaper for a moment and gathers his thoughts before looking at Victor.

    "I'm Zach," he offers a hand to shake. There's nothing particularly special about Zach that sets him apart from the other footballers. He's built more-or-less the same; tall, broad shoulders and all. Zach is dressed in black slacks that cost more than he thinks they should, and a white shirt he's rolled at the sleeves to fight off how stuffy he feels. In comparison, Victor is all straight lines and intentional shapes.

    "Are you a promotor?" Victor can't be. He looks too expensive and hasn't thrust a business card at Zach. Usually, promotors make deals with the team's most recognizable face quickly. He's the most recognizable not necessarily for his prowess on the football field - but for his shock of red hair and public likability. Even so, he asks. It's like ripping off a band-aid knowing whether an interaction is friendly or fueled by monetary intentions.

    Meanwhile, Zach's shadowy companion sways from its position with inky limbs. It steps to a space between them, head bobbing back and forth. A loud static grumbling emits from the being. Difficult to discern whether it could be a greeting or a warning. Then it falls silent and the bobbing of it's head stills. It leans toward Victor and almost presses it's inky featureless face against the man's cheek. Suddenly, Zach barks a laugh and drops his hand on Victor's shoulder. Gives it a tug to draw the man slightly forward. "What do you think of this wallpaper? I was thinking about changing up my place."

  • Another notable contrast was the pairs’ hands. Callouses crested at the base of her fingers and palms, rough from years of farm work, yet his hands were softer than the finest grains of desert sand. Despite the difference, she couldn’t help but feel comfortable at his careful touch, the tension building within unwinding at each kind word and look he gave her. 

    Saphir also wasn’t expecting to melt at this much genuine compassion from such a wealthy businessman. Those incredibly rich or in power were often depicted as above all, even above others and their suffering. Yet, his amazing content of character was written in the gentle manner he spoke, and powerful way he held himself. The more and more he answered, the more eager Saphir became to listen. Victor came off to be at heart to be a philanthropist, and it took her aback a bit, threw her more off guard than before. Every kind word made her a little bashful, a little more soft.

    However? She wasn’t the only one thrown off guard, and she could see it in the uneasy glances that Victor had  tossed behind her. While the deeper in conversation they went and her walls went down, his slowly came up, evident in his distracted speech pattern. His sudden alertness at their environment sounded off some alarm in her head. Initially she was mistaken and thought she might have something on her face, “you seem distracted, chocolate or something on my chin?” and she wiped away. 

    Then she’d start to notice how he glanced over her shoulder and turned her head to follow that sharp gaze of his. Instantaneously, Saphir made eye contact with one of the men watching them and almost froze up, body tense, until Victor brought up moving location. “Yes, that would be nice, Serenity sounds… peaceful. Something you don’t find often in a city like this!”

     Then she thought back to what he said. “Hurt me?” Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, creasing her forehead in worry. “Why would someone want to hurt me?”

     A waitress came by, smiling wide for a tip, cutting whatever Saphir would say next. “Will that be all for today? All on one tab, right?” The waitress asked clear and concise. 

    The men noticed how they were getting ready to leave, and the one who made eye contact with Saphir and was the one who didn’t even bother playing with his food to trick Victor, swiftly made his way over with an urgent smile.

    “Excuse me gorgeous, and sir, I hope I’m not causing too much discourse as you make your way to leave the public eye,” he pulled out a business card, his fingers coiling around Saphir’s wrist as soon as the waitress tried grabbing Victors attention, and shoved it in her palm before Saphor jerked back, away from the stranger and backing up into Victor. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, breath quick with adrenaline. 

    He held his hands up, going “ah ah ah! Don’t worry, I wouldn’t hurt you.” 

    The mans eyes look over to Victor, as if assessing him, then his attention back to Saphir. His eyes seemed almost hungry and most definitely predatory as they combed her over. 

    “I just couldn’t help but notice this young beautiful thing here, and I know a new New Yorker when I see one,” he smiled, teeth on display and pearly white as a sharks. “I’m Michael Vegara, local photographer, and I also just know undiscovered talent when I see it.” He spoke fast, leaving no room for response. “Darling, you’re it.” His slick tongued words earned a skeptical look that made him frown a bit. 

    “I get it, you’re in a rush, I am too, so I’d just look me up and give me a call when you want to meet up… miss…” His eyes flickered to the poster, then to Saphir. “I’m assuming Collosae? I’ll look you up first if you don’t reach back.” He gave a dark chuckle, trying to make it sound like a joke, then turned on his heel, grabbing his much slower colleague.

    Saphir looked up at Victor, her eyes wide almost a bit distraught, and truly at a loss of words. Her lips parted open like a fish out of water due to surprise and clamped shut as soon as the man was out of sight. The business card was offered up to Victor, and her eyes fluttered a bit as she tried to process what had just happened. Saphir then rubbed a bit at where her wrist was grabbed, then quickly put away her posters. 

    “That was uncomfortable… that can’t be normal here?” Her voice wavered in uneasiness as she tried to gather her thoughts. “Strangers just grabbing others?” 


  • Celebratory parties call for an open bar and inconspicuous group meetings in the bathroom. Zach hardly bats an eye when a teammate returns sniffling and with his pupils blown wide. When the man slaps Zach's shoulder in greeting, Zach has to focus on not spilling his beer. He frowns at the liquid as it sloshes the sides of the glass. Undeterred, the teammate directs Zach across the room with a guiding hand splayed on his upper back. He goes quickly but is still frowning.

    "Zachie, Zach-Zach-Zach, you know I love you, right?" Zach's frown deepens at the obnoxious nickname. "You're my soul-brother," the man chirps in Zach's ear. The concept makes the redhead cringe. "You're high," he replies flatly, an unamused but gentle stare pinning on the other. After a quick sigh, the teammate stops and grips Zach by the shoulders. Menouvers him until they stand face-to-face. "The drugs give me the strength to be honest. I fucking love you." And Zach can't help but laugh.

    Moments like these are when he almost forgets all about the looming shadow. If only it wouldn't practically breathe down Zach's neck. The imposing figure is a thin humanoid shadow seemingly made of black wisps of smoke. It towers over Zach - a tall man in his own right - forcing it to hunch forward to remain at eye level with others. Wherever Zach goes, it follows; never moving before Zach does and never allowing any breathing space between them. It is not a ghost nor a demon.

    Fuck, he thinks, I need to drink more if Alex is going to cling to me all night.

    Eventaully, Zach is given a moment of reprieve. He's a few beers deep and standing in the far corner of the hotel bar. All the chairs are unoccupied as attendees of the celebratory party preferred to loiter near the center of the room. He tucks his back against the wall and retrieves his phone from his back pocket. Scrolls through it as he taps his fingers on his glass then glances back at the people at the party. He does not know everyone here. There are promoters, investors, party girls for hire, and other mingling individuals. He could really use a distraction from the entity.

  • The Alantic ocean breeze blew in over New York, carrying the smog of the city with it. Moss struggled to grow inbetween cracked pavement, and people trampled over eachother on cement sidewalk, yapping away on their phones or looking straight ahead, never at eachother. The tar of the hot road, carbon deposit left by traffic and sirens wailing wasn't particulary appeasing to the average person, but it all was something someone could adjust to when dazzled by the artificial lights everywhere. Walking down the street was someone who had clearly not been to a city this large, a young pretty thing with dark blonde hair and dark, wide eyes. She looked lost, until she looked down at a journal she held open, then up at the doors of a cafe, entering with short lived gusto. 

    It was a little cafe she had researched up on the interent, with out door seating perfect to watch bussers play music on their buckets and makeshift guitars. Saphir wasn't here for the street music or culture, sadly, made apparent by the far away look in her eyes. When she entered, she didn't dart to a table or make her way to the counter. The very first thing Saphir did was hang up a poster in the back, near the bathroom. It had a man's picture on it - he had features similar to her, like the big dark eyes and waves in her blonde hair. If she genuinely smiled, it'd be wide like his smile. Underneath was his name, (Joshua Phillip Soteria) and the date of his dissapearance (July 4rth), was a single plea. "Please contact 206 - xxx -xxxx. It's his daughter, she desperately wants him back." She had more posters in the bag that hung off her shoulder, but didn't bother pulling them all out. Just that one stood out with the bright red ink that spelled out Missing. When she tore herself away from the pin board of posters and business cards, that far away look in her eyes didn't go away.

    Even with food set infront of her by a cafe worker, she didn't eat, but rather looked all around her, chest rising with deep breaths. Her legs crossed, a dainty golden chain hanging off her ankle. Saphir's whole outfit had been carefully chosen when she did her research on the company who was on the other side of her email coorespondences. It seemed large and proffessional, nothing she had ever seen in the outskirts of Reno. It left an impression on her that she intended to return. Saphir's efforts to match a more business casual fashion had paid off - she wore black flats, a business skirt, a spagetti strap top that was some sort of silk and thin gold jewelry, hair up and out of her face. While her outfit seemed effortless, her face was tired, circles under her eyes that concealer couldnt hide, and nails bitten out of an anxious habit. Those same fingernails tapped on her knees in anxiety, as she glanced at the clock. 

    Saphir had gotten there early, so instead of waiting around with her stomach in knots, she set up the table a bit, leaving space for food and drink. She pulled out the emails her father had sent, the ones she couldn't decode that spoke about her, and his photo. Her motions seemed frantic and disorganzied. In the process of trying to make it more organized, she managed to knock over the coffee she had ordered everywhere. "Oh, oh no," she reached over to grab the cup off the floor, coffee spilling over onto her bag, and pulling onto the edge of the table. Cheeks turned red with embaressment as she turned to spot the time, realizing whoever she'd meet would be there any moment. 

  • (I beg your pardon that it is so delayed. Hopefully, you can work with this. If not, I can make another, and send this to someone else. Recycling. Hehe)

    Beyond the horizon, a falling sun gives leftover light to the shimmering haze of man’s putrid pollution, and, in the far-off distance, the silhouette of a metropolitan skyline pierces through the warm glow of an overdue evening like a jagged mountain ridge; an incredible, breathtaking view, in its own right. But the young wolf Oliver had never been one to stop and take in the scenery. An everlasting fire was light underneath the lad’s feet as well as his brain, driving him forwards and keeping him in a constant state of turbulent thinking, his synapses firing like it was bloody New Year's Eve.
    And so that is why he didn’t really notice at first, standing in the alleyway, how the thing he had waited for all day was finally happening, how the transition started. Didn’t see the sky as it was struck with the painter's swift brush, ensuing brilliant hues of overlapping reds, oranges and pink. He looks up only when the sun takes its final dip and sees the empty canvas left behind. A starless void. Because the little dots of lights, so visible in nature or even back in his Richmond, were being cancelled out by the millions of light-up homes, which, put together, causes the dense mass of jumbled-together skyscrapers to now glitter like a pirate’s treasure trove. This effectively turns the sky finally into a dull, ashen grey. Oliver sighs; night had come; time to get to work again.

    The young wolf is sniffing, beginning immediately to dig through the dejected scum of humanity down in the gutters. The ones who come scampering from their hidey holes after dark for the sake of their livelihood. They’re the individuals that ‘upstanding’ citizens would shun, deem dangerous, scandalous, and worthy of distrust without even having met one face to face. Now being one himself, he could attest that fact being partly true, yet still very much a falsehood. Some of the best people he knew were among this rabble of society’s outcasts. Anyway, he hopes that being one in the crowd will prove to be in his favour, that he can gain some kind of inside knowledge, however small. Yet he is doubtful. This is not his first night doing this, after all. In fact, it is night number…well, he had lost count. Let’s just say, basically every free night, that he is not selling his own body for some cold hard dosh.
    He shifts between people, talking to some, skipping over others that he knew would lead to a heated confrontation, and it is well into the night, inching well past midnight. Oliver closes his eyes, a long-winded breath escaping. Would he ever find something or someone as a link to the supernatural community? He was a werewolf! Surely that should help?
    Suddenly, as if answering the lad’s thoughts, Oliver hears something when he rounds the corner of a supposedly desolate alleyway. His ears perk up, and he concentrates, utilising his superior sense of hearing to pick up on a faraway conversation. By the sound of things, they are relaying the words of a Vampire Lord. Intrigued, he follows once they start moving, trying to stay well clear of them in case they hear him sneaking behind them. Big mistake. He hears someone land behind him.
    Before he can turn, there’s a sharp unimaginable pain, a penetrative sensation at the small of his back. A gasp of air presses from his lips. He feels a hand turning violently inside of his flesh like it is kneading dough, sharp fingers moving wet organs around. He cannot scream; a lack of air in his punctured lungs, and only a whimper is emptied into the air.
    His body is lifted off of the ground, his feet dangling like a puppet. Then, with a crash, his face makes hard contact with the concrete floor. His blood intermingles with soggy puddles in potholes, and a rugged boot is pressed over his face. A harsh, wet cough sputters from Harker’s mouth; Oliver is choking on his own blood. “I do not appreciate having my Lord’s business interrupted, wolf pup”, a voice coos. “Please, do not follow us again. This is your only warning. The consequence for failing to comply, well, I assure you; it will be dire.”
    The boot is removed, and the boy convulses, coughing, trying to breathe.
    He does not see his aggressors nor hear them anymore. They’d vanished, leaving him to welt in agony, turning blue from lack of oxygen.

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