Chapter Eleven: Synthesis
Disease and Emetophobia TW's for this chapter.
For the disease trigger, that takes up a large chunk of the chapter; you can skip from “...before Leon, too, begins to fade” to “When Leon next awakens, he finds himself to feel far better, far more well rested...”.
If you'd like to skip the emetophobia trigger, skip from “...caving to his exhaustion yet again” to “Leon awakens to the ache in his head easing...”
Eight Months Prior
Leon prepares to bed down for the night, donning his nightclothes, blowing out the candles which light his darkened bedchambers. He smiles softly, but brightly, thinking of Sara, of their meeting upon the previous day, of their impending wedding upon the morrow.
He sits upon his bed, thinking of her, and believes he hears a noise from without.
No, he thinks. It is more than like merely the wind.
He settles upon his bedding, and lays himself to rest.
There comes yet another sound.
And another.
“Is someone there?”
There comes no response.
Of course, he is simply imagining things. Perhaps 'tis only the creak of the wood.
He makes to blow out the only remaining candle lighting the room, preparing to sleep.
A curt knock comes at the door.
Who might send for him at such an hour? The sun has long since set, and all his daily duties have concluded.
“Hello? Who goes there? What do you here so late?”
“Might you be… Baron Leon Belmont?”
Leon hesitates. “Yes. That is I. What… what business have you with me?”
“I was sent by Lord Cronqvist. I am afraid it’s urgent.”
Leon gives an exhausted sigh, and answers the door. Without waits an imposing man of pale complexion and fiery hair.
Leon steps aside, gesturing for the man to enter.
“Come. We’ll speak within; should this be of import I should like to write him as soon as possible, and barring that, I am to bed soon.”
Leon leads them through the small house, seating himself on the chair which accompanies his writing desk.
“What is it you wished to—”
“Sleep.”
Leon suddenly feels a bone deep exhaustion, and wants nothing more than to rest, yet… no! He will not give in to such treacherous tricks.
“You—you are a vampire.”
The man tilts his head, a cruel smile plastered across his face.
“And who are you to know of such things with such surety? Well, never you mind that; are you as quick witted in battle as you are strong of will?”
And just so quick as the man was there, he has vanished, as Leon suddenly feels his throat seized by hands not his own, and Leon claws at the hands, kicking out in attempt to hit the vampire, and after this fails, bashes his head against the head of the vampire, who drops him, seemingly not in pain, but surprise, as Leon wrenches his sword from where he hides it ‘neath his bed.
The man deflects him, blow after blow, backing into the wall—Leon hardly noticing that the man is allowing himself to be shepherded until his fingers pinch the wick of the candle, extinguishing its flame.
A dark eeriness settles about the room as Leon’s eyes do not take well to the pitch dark of night. He tries to listen for the vampire; Leon has always been skilled at detecting opponents in darkened environments even when he himself can hardly see. There are sounds abound the room, and he cannot track the vampire—that is, until it has come to face him, swiftly bringing a knee to Leon’s torso, as Leon gasps for breath, hardly aware as he drops his sword, clutching his chest as he attempts to regain himself.
The vampire uses Leon’s state of shock to kick his sword far from Leon’s grasp, Leon himself hardly able to prevent this.
As Leon regains his breath, he reaches out for something he may use as a weapon, finding a chair, and shatters it against the head of the vampire, who staggers back, if only slight, and reaches his hand toward his bed-stand, feeling blindly in the dark for his rosary.
He succeeds, and waves it afront the vampire, who hisses in response, but bears the pain and wrenches the rosary from Leon’s hand, near breaking bone. Leon inhales sharply in pain, making effort not to cry out, as the vampire uses this opportunity to attempt a swipe at Leon, nearly clawing his face, though Leon dodges, his eyes beginning to adjust to the dark night, if but only a bit.
Leon finds his weapons are dwindling—and so too, his chances at living past this encounter. He rears back and punches the mirror, and, with bloodied knuckles, lunges for a glass shard, cutting himself upon it slightly, and makes a slash toward the vampire.
It appears this was a mistake, as the vampire now expresses a dog-hunger at the scent of Leon’s blood—yet still holding himself present of mind—and as such fights all the harder.
The vampire makes it toward Leon, and seized him by the hair, smashing his face against the floor, again and again and again and again, and, dazed and dizzied, just as Leon thinks he is finished, but as the vampire Leon back again, a strike intended to be heavier, he says, mockingly, “sleep”.
And all goes black.
———
Leon awakens being dragged by both arms, feet trailing behind him, inside some manner of hold or keep, or perhaps a castle, though he is dazed and disoriented, unable to move.
He makes to speak, but as dazed as his mind is, it seems his tongue ties itself in knots in his attempts to question his captor.
He finds himself numbly aware of being dragged through a shallow water, his head just so that he does not drown.
As he comes to, jostled about as he is, he manages to ask.
“Wh-who—”
His voice slurs as he asks it, hardly so loud for a human to hear, yet a response is heard.
The voice comes, and it is different from that of the man—the creature—who fought him at last clear memory. “My name matters not. You’ve been taken at the behest of Lord Walter Bernhard.”
Leon is silent for a time, as his mind spins itself like a broken wheel trying to form coherent thought.
“Th… vam'ire…”
“The vampire indeed.”
“Why.”
“Vocal for one so hurt, are you not?” The person asks him curiously. She chuckles, a slight melancholy note tinging her voice. “I’ve no clue what you’ve done to earn the wroth of the lord, but I do know he mentioned a traitor… something about removing a pawn from the game, and watching as the betrayer squirms.”
Betrayer…?
“I don’t—” Leon tries to speak as he finds his speech slurs, hardly to be intelligable.
“I know ‘ve no b’tray’r.”
The person chuckles a bit at that. “You would not know, would you? This be why they are so called, yeah?”
Leon hardly takes the words this... being speaks to mind, as he is too busy using what little thinking ability he retains to contemplate who such a ‘betrayer’ could possibly be.
He knows of no person who might collude with a vampire.
———
After a time which feels far too long and yet far too short, Leon finds himself shepherded to a dark and dank room of a long brigde, and the person sighs.
“Well, we’ve arrived.”
“Wh-where—”
“I suppose it can hardly be helped, can it? I hardly envy you, though I do pity you.”
And before Leon can make so much as a sound, the person whom had dragged him so far drops him, and, after he hears some manner of switch flip, she tells him simply.
“Apologies for this.”
And he feels himself thrown—perhaps with less force than he would expect—through a downpour of water, within an empty, lightless room.
Leon scrambles to his feet, head pounding as he near collapses, and his world sways about him.
He hears an incredulous snort. A snort which quickly devolves into a dark laughter.
Perhaps not quite so empty as Leon had suspected.
“So this is the game Walter plays now, is it? Perhaps some new form of torment? Or would he have me dispose of his human prisoners?”
This is all the warning Leon is given before he is ambushed by a foe he struggles to see, eyes aglow in the darkness.
Leon does not find these continued fights in dank and dark against vampiric opponents to be amusing.
He is exhausted, confused, addled, and has hardly the energy for yet another fight.
Leon dodges the vampire, who summons blades from the aether—magic blades, they seem to be—and once again, Leon is left without weapon, with only his fist and wits to aid in his survival.
He dodges the blades as they are flung toward him, leaping out of their path, and dashing to attempt to land a blow upon this vampire—only to meet with solid barrier.
He seeks a way to damage him, though it seems as though to be impossible, specially so given the low light that pervades this room, but he must try. He cannot die here. He cannot!
The vampire surrounds Leon with a wheel of swords, each making their own attempt to stab and poke at Leon, as Leon, dizzied and addled as he is, only just squirms without their path, searching the room for something, anything, he may yet use as a weapon.
The creature continues his barrage, golden slits in the ground lighting, sending swords poking through the ground in Leon’s path, as Leon moves to dodge again, and again, and again.
He is losing hope, he must find some way to harm this vampire, or there will be no hope for him.
His prayers are answered with a rusted piece of iron-wrought fencing which has crumbled from a gate flush against the wall, which he grabs ahold of, and uses to bash Joachim’s swords out of his path.
No. Not iron-wrought. Silver-wrought.
Leon searches the vampire’s barriers, his armor, for a weakness, though he does not find it.
What he does find, however, is small, ever-so-faint lights in the corners of the room.
He approaches them, investigating them, reaching for them, attempting to find any way to utilize this discovery, though the lights slip through his fingers as though they were not there—though he notices a flicker. Perhaps—perhaps—he begins slicing at them, and finds he can faintly see the vampire’s barrier flicker as he slashes, and so he makes another attack, and another, and another.
The vampire takes notice of this, and, with haste, speeds to halt Leon’s progress, refusing to allow Leon an easy time of it. Pillars of flame fire from the ground, as the vampire approaches, only hardly missing Leon as he feels the flickering heat warm his gaze and light the room, if only momentarily.
The glow seems almost to shatter, the integrity of the vampire’s shield appearing to flicker with it, and Leon makes a mad dash to the next, swords afire at him from all directions, one nicking his cheek, another, his arm, though Leon continues swiping upon the second beacon of light, which now shatters.
Only one remains, but the vampire can see that just as well as he sees it. Leon manages to reach it first, and slashes, but the vampire, growing desperate, catches Leon off balance with a well placed sword strike.
“A skilled fighter indeed. A shame you shall not live to see another such fight.”
And the vampire bites deeply into Leon’s neck.
The sharp sting interrupts his chance at fight, before a new pain, burning, throbbing, makes itself known, searing through his already-addled mind, stealing away his ability to act of his own will, to even think.
Leon cries out, thrashing, attempting to reach behind to grasp at, to maim the creature, yet he finds he grows weaker and weaker, and more and more full of exhaustion, and his head fills with cotton as his heart and his breathing slow.
He wishes only for rest, just a moment of rest, he is so very tired.
He thinks to see a phantom fade away, before Leon, too, begins to fade.
———
Leon awakens to a pitch darkness, and it takes him a moment to recall his surroundings.
As his memory returns, he thinks it all a dream, as surely by all rights he should be a dead man, and he reaches up to his neck.
He finds his flesh raised in two areas, side-by-side, along the crook of his neck, yet the wound itself, while tender, has healed over, new flesh over the place he found himself bitten.
If that is to be the case… if truly this has all happened, all of this is truly real… then how is it he yet lives?
He wonders idly, as the chill of the cavern sends a shiver down his spine.
He remains as quiet as he is able, fearing that the smallest sound will draw the attention of the creature he shares this cave with, and Leon has not the strength for yet another fight such as the last.
He curls in upon himself, hoping to shield himself from the chill of the cavern. He has no escape, and he fears he will not wake again if he sleeps, yet he is so very tired, he is so—
———
Leon awakens in a cold sweat, nauseous, struggling to gain his balance.
“Ah. So it has begun,” he hears from across the cell. And so the vampire knows he lives.
Yet he does nothing.
“W-what has begun?” Leon asks, though the vampire answers not, only a mere quiet chuckle.
The dizziness, at the least, begins to subside.
“Hello?” No answer.
Leon sighs, and lay himself back down, caving to his exhaustion yet again.
———
Leon awakens again with an aching head and jaw, covered in his own sweat, and entirely too dazed.
He attempts to sleep again, but his aching head prevents this, and his stomach churns.
He does not enjoy this feeling.
It could be minutes or hours later, when his stomach empties its contents upon the cold earth.
Leon does not sleep again this night.
———
Leon finds himself shivering, curled in upon himself, unable to warm. His head yet still aches, the world still spins, and his stomach still churns. He attempts to stand, though he finds he cannot, as the world spins far too much, and he feels far too weak.
His stomach begins churning harshly, alerting that it will empty its contents again.
Yet when it does, he swears he can smell the metallic scent of blood.
Blood… and… those could not be… teeth?
He cannot confirm this, however, as he swoons immediately after.
———
Leon awakens with the ache in his head easing, however slight, though the exhaustion, the nausea, and the cold yet continue, and slowly pulls himself to a sitting position.
He finds a newfound gap in his teeth, yet… he finds this does not worry him. He feels… better, in a way he cannot describe. Joyous, nearly. As though all will be well.
It may do him good to speak to someone.
“If we are to share space I would know your name.”
There is silence, then the vampire answers “I am Joachim Armster.”
“I see. I am… called…” he pauses a moment, dizziness overtaking him.
“Excuse me… for a moment…”
Leon attempts to take a moment to recover, though he does not, and he begins to feel a strange tingling in his limbs.
And at the next Leon lies on the floor, his head pounding yet again, and he knows not how he found himself here. He has only just been upright, and felt fine, how is it…
He finds he is too weak to move, though he also knows not why this is.
“I apologize. I—I cannot recall—”
Joachim laughs. “You appear to have been afflicted with the falling sickness.”
Leon’s thoughts grind to a halt. “I… what?”
“The falling sickness? Surely you have heard of it.”
“I do not understand. I have no such sickness.”
Joachim hums mirthfully. “No, but it matters not.”
“What? Why?”
“It is part of the transformation, for some.”
“I… transformation? What?”
Joachim chuckles. “I will explain when your daze dissipates.”
Leon hums, then lays his head back, falling asleep yet again.
———
Leon had had another falling fit minutes… an hour even? Prior, and now lies weak yet again, hardly able to move.
He lies, still with a horrid chill down to his bones, and his breath coming labored, still unable to orient himself.
He lies, still aching, with a sharp, strong pain in his gum.
He idly wonders what it is that afflicts him, for it to affect him so, and wonders as well if the waterfall which guards the prison they find themselves in has always been so loud as this.
He has since completed introductions with Joachim, who seems strangely amused by Leon’s current state.
“The falling fits are growing fewer it would seem. A good sign,” Joachim comments.
“Yes, I should hope so. I do not enjoy them,” Leon sighs. “Strange such an affliction should take me so suddenly. I know not what manner of affliction this is, but I should surely hope it will fade as surely as it came.”
Joachim starts chuckling, and chuckling turns to laughing, and laughing turns to guffaws.
“Truly, you have not yet puzzled out the source of your affliction?”
“…What?”
“You do not wonder how you survived my bite? Why I would let you live?”
This puzzles Leon for but a moment, as… what bearing should the vampire—Joachim’s—decision to spare him have on his affliction? Before Leon comes to a realization he hopes by all means, by God and all His saints, is wrong. “No. No, it cannot be, you did not—”
He is interrupted by Joachim’s laughter. “If you have survived this long, you have made it through the worst of the transformation. I will tell you plainly; in but a few days’ time, you will be a creature of the night.”
———
Leon awakens again, staring upon the wall, gasping for breath, world aspin. He can see far better in the dark now, and he can hear the creatures which prowl about without their prison, he swears it.
The pain within his gums has only grows, and he runs his tongue along the area only to find the skin broken, with slight, sharp, teeth growing through.
He cuts his tongue upon one, and tastes his own blood, and he knows not how he knows, only that the scent, the… taste… of his own blood, it has changed.
Deny it as he should wish to, within the depths of his heart he knows the vampire does not lie. He can feel the venom, the corruption course throughout his body.
He should be alarmed, but in truth, he is far too exhausted for such anxieties to take hold of him.
He curls in upon himself, unable to warm. He only wishes to sleep, he only wishes to sleep.
———
When Leon next awakens, he finds himself to feel far better, far more rested, capable of thinking far clearer. He knows the worst has subsided, and he knows himself to be different now. His teeth and ears brought to a point, the world sharper, louder, brighter, and he knows that were he capable of seeing his own reflection at this point, he would see eyes the crimson of blood staring back at him.
He gasps for breath, for but a moment, but finds he needs none.
He can hear the beat of his own heart no longer.
It is done. He knows what it is he has become; he is a creature of the night, forever damned. He is a vampire.
And he hungers.