Chapter 81: Bloodlust
The room was dark, not for lack of light, but because he hadn’t bothered to turn anything on. His body was sprawled haphazardly on the bed, covered in cold sweat, the sheets partially crumpled and pulled as if he’d spent the last few hours tossing and turning without realizing it. The air felt heavy inside, dense, almost suffocating, but this wasn’t coming from the environnt.
It was coming from him.
Victor’s teeth were clenched, his jaw locked with enough force to hurt, while his breathing was irregular, sotis too fast, sotis catching mid-breath as if his body had forgotten how to continue. His throat burned. It wasn’t a normal pain. It was worse.
It was dry and rough, as if sothing was scratching inside every ti he swallowed hard, and he swallowed all the ti.
It was no use, the sensation wouldn’t go away.
On the contrary—it only got worse.
His mouth itched.
It wasn’t exactly a superficial itch. It was deeper. In his teeth. In his gums. It was as if sothing inside was... asking. Reacting. Begging for sothing that hadn’t co in far too long.
Two months... he’d reached two months without blood.
The idea seed absurd when he first heard it. Now, lying there, his whole body on alert and his mind being pulled in directions he didn’t want to follow, it ceased to be theory.
It was a limit, and he was touching it.
His fingers clenched against the mattress, pulling the fabric forcefully without realizing it, while a slight tremor ran through his entire arm. It wasn’t physical weakness. His body still responded, still had strength, was still whole.
But this wasn’t physical, it was a primal instinct... one of the instincts that every living being feels, it’s biological... it’s... Hunger.
A hunger that had nothing to do with physical food, it was sothing that burned his throat, stronger this ti...
Victor let out a low, irritated sound, almost a growl trapped deep in his breath, and turned his face against the pillow, pressing hard as if that would solve anything.
It didn’t.
The sensation only shifted... His mind began to fill the void and images began to appear, that beautiful red on Carmilla’s neck, the sll of Scarlett’s blood...
The word ca even before the thought finished.
And along with it—
There was a voice within him, sothing from the primordial inner self of his existence... A voice...
"Blood..." Victor closed his eyes tightly, as if that would block it. "I want blood..."
The voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t aggressive. It didn’t shout... It was worse... It was insistent... Constant... Like a drop falling in the sa place repeatedly until it began to bother him.
His body reacted before his mind could organize any response. His stomach clenched, not from ordinary hunger, but from a deeper, more primal need. His breath faltered for a second, and his heart pounded harder, faster, pushing out sothing that wasn’t there.
Because there was no new blood.
No new blood entering his body. No replenishnt, no relief, just his organism spinning around what was left, reusing, pulling every tiny resource as if scraping the bottom of an empty container. And that hadn’t been enough for days. Maybe weeks. The point is, he had long since passed the comfortable limit.
Victor lay in bed, but not resting. His body wouldn’t shut down. His muscles still reacted on their own, contracting in small spasms, as if continuing to train even without command. His breathing was irregular, not from physical exertion at that mont, but from a constant tension that wouldn’t go away. His throat burned. It wasn’t ordinary thirst. It was sothing drier, more aggressive, as if it were scratching from the inside every ti he swallowed.
His mouth itched. It wasn’t pain. It was worse. It was willpower.
The thought ca effortlessly.
Carmilla.
Soon after, Scarlet.
Not as people. Not as a presence. Not as training partners.
As a solution.
Simple. Direct. Clean.
That froze him instantly.
His eyes suddenly opened, focusing on the ceiling as if that would prevent the thought from continuing. His body reacted before logic, tensing entirely, as if it were about to stand up. And he realized it. He realized it too quickly.
If he got up now, it wouldn’t be to talk.
If he left the room, it wouldn’t be conscious.
If he got close to them in that state, there was no guarantee he could stop.
The chance of losing control wasn’t small. It wasn’t an exaggeration. It was real.
His body started to move anyway. A slight adjustnt, his shoulder shifting, his torso trying to keep up. Instinct. Nothing rational. Just direction.
And he froze in the middle.
Literally.
His muscles stiffened, as if two different orders were clashing at the sa ti. One commanded him to get up. The other held him back.
"Blood..." The voice ca.
Not from outside. Not from the room. Not from soone.
It ca from inside.
Clearer than before.
Closer.
"I want blood..."
Victor clenched his teeth tightly. Tight enough to taste iron in his mouth. That wasn’t what he wanted. It didn’t help at all. It didn’t nourish, it didn’t solve, it didn’t replace. It was just a consequence.
But it served to irritate.
His arm moved quickly.
Without thinking.
His fist clenched and he struck his own face hard.
The sound was dry. No dramatization. Direct impact. His head turned slightly to the side with the blow, and for a second his whole body seed to reset. It wasn’t light. It wasn’t symbolic. It was ant to interrupt.
It worked.
His breath failed instantly, as if it had been cut off. His body froze completely. Silence.
His voice disappeared.
Not completely. It didn’t go away.
But it recoiled.
As if it had been forcibly pushed back.
Victor stood there as he was, his face turned and his fist still clenched, feeling the pain slowly rise up the side of his face. He understood this. It was simple. It was physical. It had cause and effect. Unlike the other thing.
He inhaled deeply, filling his chest as if he’d been holding his breath for too long. His throat still burned. Nothing had changed there. Not the hunger either. But his head was clearer.
For now.
His fingers slowly parted, releasing the sheet he hadn’t even realized he was gripping tightly. His body relaxed slightly against the bed, still tense, but without that imdiate urge to get up.
His gaze remained fixed, unfocused. It wasn’t distraction. It was an attempt to organize what was happening.
Serafall had explained.
This wasn’t just about resisting.
It wasn’t just about enduring.
It was about understanding.
The thirst wasn’t going to disappear just because he wanted it to. Ignoring it didn’t solve anything. Suppressing it only pushed the problem forward.
Overcoming it was different.
If every drop of blood he used to feed himself could beco energy, power, so kind of resource... then hunger would cease to be a constant need. It was becoming sothing controllable.
But to get to that point, he needed to go through this.
He needed to endure when his body demanded it.
He needed to hold back when instinct pulled.
He needed to remain conscious when the urge beca too easy.
Victor closed his eyes again, but this ti without forcing it. His breathing was still heavy, but more stable. The pain in his face helped him stay focused on the present. It was sothing concrete. It kept him there.
"I’ll endure it. Fuck it. I’ll be the fucking strongest." He said and forced himself to sleep.
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