Bloodlust Legacy: The Curse Of Avarice

Chapter 1: The Slums

Ten years later...

The acrid odour of rotting meat permeated the atmosphere, drawing in miniscule scavengers from the nooks and crannies of the lesser settlements. Locals went about their arduous daily activities, pushing against inconsiderate odds to make a living within such harsh conditions.

Boisterous chatter traversed the fallen plains, robbing the dejected terrain of peace and tranquility. Within the Western region of the empire, in a minor town located around its centre, a young man strived daily to sustain himself.

Darkened garments adorned the sickly body of the youngster, his black hair hazy, infested with dirt. An older gentleman worked close to him, his clothes a similar sight. Sweat covered his wrinkled face as he worked tirelessly, moving his tools with the skill and diligence of a seasoned worker.

Ezeikel was an eighteen-year-old vampire with bothersome responsibilities. Stricken by poverty, he and his father worked tireless hours just to get by.

Kennedy worked as an employee in a local carpentry shop, Ezeikel serving as an underpaid apprentice.

Furniture was a highly sought-after commodity within the lesser settlements. This was due to the fact that fights would usually ensue amongst locals over petty matters, leading to the subsequent destruction of property.

Father and son had just finished a taxing day of labour, returning to the humble abode of a small enclosure surrounded by a long range of similar looking structures.

They pushed open the raggedy door, stepping into the enclosure. The lingering stench of infected meat hung in the air, though stirring no reaction from the ill-fated duo.

A creaking dinning table supported their low-end meal, their every movement swaying the rickety table from side to side.

They bit through rotting flesh and sipped from cups of pungent blood. The blue glowing liquid was a product obtained from bioluminescent creatures—highly sought-after animals greatly valued by the kingdom for their nutritional benefits.

Nefaria was an empire void of humans, so it was only natural they found an alternative to sustain themselves.

The atmosphere remained barren of spoken words, the noise of tearing flesh and flowing liquid substituting verbal exchanges.

"The Night Of Crimson is fast approaching," a single sentence dismantled the oppressive silence, drawing Ezeikel's attention.

His eyes shifted from his meal, staring back at his father.

"Those damned royals—only caring about themselves and their stupid tradition. None of them even bat an eye to how life is for us in the slums. While they live off their endless wealth, we're left to rummage for scraps, only to get targeted and killed by those stronger than us that desire to do so.

"Dad, why are you mentioning that celebration when you know it's of no concern to us?"

The older man's gaze moved to the cracked window a short distance away. His eyes appeared heavy, hollow—carrying weight far greater than his current capacity.

He heaved out a dejected sigh, shaking his head.

"This is simply the hand we have been dealt with, son. Nothing can be done to change faith," Kennedy responded, his attention coming back to his meal. "I'd focus more on what I can control if I were you. Holding a grudge against the favoured is only bound to cause you trouble."

Ezeikel's jaws tightened, veins protruding from his forehead. His eyeballs enlarged, vibrating under the influence of rebellious resentment.

"I don't care if it causes me trouble. If they want to come at me, then it's fine. I'll just put them in their place!" Ezeikel sneered, arms curled into tight fists.

A hoarse wave of laughter filled the miniature space, Kennedy wiping his eyes in amusement.

"And how do you plan on doing that? You can't even use blood magic properly, yet you plan on going against the higher echelons? Don't be foolish."

"I'm not being foolish, dad! I'm telling you. If not the stronger ones, I can at least pit up a fight against the weakest amongst them—make them pay for all the suffering we've been forced to endure!"

"You can't be serious. I'm not going to let you get yourself killed in the name of vengeance, you hear me?!"

Ezeikel pressed his hands against the table, the unstable contraption falling apart right after. The table was made of poor quality wood—something they had tried repairing countless times. Alas, skill could only take one so far. At such a time, the best choice would have been to simply purchase a new one.

All they lacked were the funds, of course.

"I'll kill them. Even if I end up loosing my own life, I'll make sure those bastards pay for leaving us all to suffer!" He drew rough breaths, his vision intensely focused on the shattered piecing of degenerate furniture.

Kennedy remained silent, his eyes partly covered by greyish black hair. He took a couple steps forward, his worn-out sandals pressing against the shattered pieces as he inched closer to his son.

The next moment, he pulled the young man into a tight embrace.

"I understand how you feel about them. Trust me, I feel the same. But vengeance isn't the answer. Even if, by some absurd miracle, you manage to exact your revenge, what good would that bring you in the end?

"Would it reverse all the pain you've already suffered? Would it fill you with the joy you're lacking? Would it bring back those you've lost?

"No, it won't, and it never will," Kennedy eventually muttered, slowly letting go of Ezeikel.

"Now, clean this mess up and go get some rest. We have work tomorrow," the older vampire turned around, choosing to retire to his cramped sleeping space to restore his lost energy.

His narrow back departed from Ezeikel's presence, leaving the haughty youngster to his spiraling imaginations.

"I'll kill them. I most certainly will," he whispered to himself, bending down to pick up the shattered pieces of furniture.

... The local carpentry shop radiated prickling noises as the underpaid helpers worked unfailingly on their tasks. Ezeikel and Kennedy utilized their tools to create necessary furnitures from decently polished wood. Everyone was consumed by their task—the oppressive desire to survive keeping them going despite the vacuum scarcity.

Ezeikel's hands shook as the words he uttered the previous day rang in his ears. His eyebrows knitted together as he struggled to concentrate.

'Kill them. I'll kill them all.'

He kept repeating to himself time and again, with every second that past by. Sturdy hatred latched onto his being, injecting him with an empowering sense of strength to push through the day, all of which was tied to a single obvious goal.

A middle-aged woman suddenly ran past the shop, fear-striking words escaping her shaky lips. Ezeikel twisted his head, heavy eyes following the receding figure of the panicking stranger.

"Don't," Kennedy suddenly said, his attention not straying from his work. "Get that curiosity of yours under control. You don't know what might be causing that woman to react that way. You never know, it might be one of those Abyssal Gang people causing trouble again."

The Abyssal Gang was a criminal organization that reigned over Fluxton. Due to the negligence the emperor and his immediate subordinates had towards the less fortunate, fierce individuals within the lower echelons were free to create their own agencies to subjugate those around them.

Other than payment of taxes, the authorities had no reason to be concerned about the slums.

"... Sure thing, dad," Ezeikel eventually responded.

In a different part of Fluxton...

In the midst of fearful folks, an ominous bunch of vampires laid against the dirt-stained, cobblestoned floor. Their bodies, once possessing some semblance of vigor, were now nothing but shrivelled remains of their former selves.

"What sort of evil is this?! How could such a thing even happen?!"

"Has the Supreme Sovereign decided to exact judgement upon us? But we didn't do anything to offend him!"

"Yes, if anyone should be punished, it should be those Abyssal Gang hooligans; we're already struggling enough to pay taxes to the Darkhavens, yet we still have to pay tribute to them? They ought to be struck down this very instant!"

The crowd remained skeptic, hesitant to move any closer to the unsightly view. Amongst them, some wept violently, knashing their teeth as they gazed helplessly at their relatives amongst the corpses.

"What's going on here?" A deep voice suddenly resounded within voluminous wailing, drawing everyone's attention to the stern figure.

"Darion? When did he arrive? I didn't even hear him move!"

"Don't be stupid! He's Raphael's right-hand. Have you forgotten the power he possesses? Now shush, before he turns his attention to us!"

The towering figure sauntered his way past the crowd, his short black hair and rage-filled crimson eyes communicating a single message—move aside, else whatever happens is your cross to bear.

Silence reigned upon the shifty crowd, all eyes focused on him.