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1830- London, Britain
A heavy wooden door slammed shut, jerking the young man out of his slumber.
“Put him on the table, he will suffer greatly in that position,” a gravelly voice said, sounding not too far away. It sounded familiar, but his mind was too scrambled to deceiver. His eyes shot open, as two rough hands grabbed his left arm, hauling him off the floor. Trying to lash out, he realized his hands were chained behind him
They dragged him into the middle of the room, dropping his lanky frame onto the wooden table. He let out a roar of pain, and tried to lash out and scream. Every inch of skin the surface touched set fire to it. The temperature inside him seemed to boil over, quickly creating a blanket of sweat over his whole body. His legs and arms were shackled to the table, keeping his thrashing limbs from escaping the room.
His screams of agony echoed off the brick walls, injuring his now sensitive ears. A new pair of hands held his neck down, dripping some kind of warm liquid into his mouth. His senses enlightened. He licked his lips, smelling the air for more of the delicious liquid, as a calming sensation spread through his body.
His head went back on the table gently, his mind in a trance.
“Should the blood last only a few moments in his system, it will surely give us enough time to spare,” a different voice had said. The sound of metal scraping against metal made the man on the table cringe, and growl at the noise.
“Muzzle him,” the gravelly voice from next to him commanded to the slaves. As he tried to make out the figure, a black, heavy, steal contraption was placed around his head, covering his mouth, nose and his eyes. The uncomfortable feeling of being suffocated flared his nostrils, and tensed his body. He let out another muffled roar, pulling weakly on his restraints.
The time was coming.
His heart began to race. His pupils dilated, and his veins began to throb. His back arched, with the feeling of knives scraping down his spine. The thin muscles on his legs and arms burst at the hems, popping with his joints. Every fiber of his being screamed for someone to end his life, save him from the pain he was going through. The restraints on his hands and legs loosened. He stayed on the table, knowing not to move. His emerald eyes stayed closed, his jaw clenched.
“Awaken, Dimitri,” the rough voice demanded, his voice snapping his eyes open once again to meet a pair of black ones.
His Father.
The liquid from before poured down his throat once gain. He took the liquid greedily, taking large gulps. His head thrashed to the side again, spilling the blood on his cheeks. Long moments passed as he stared at his Father, until his heartbeat was the only sound in the room. His breathing slowed, as the sweat poured down his face and his now chiseled features. The lanky body he once had transformed into a large, bulkier, leaner version; a predator.
He sat up from the table gingerly, slowly swinging his legs off the table. The slaves helped him stand on his new legs, until his balance returned. His vision adjusted to the dark lights, until everything in the room lit up. The two slaves who had helped him stared wide eyed at the beast in front of them.
He felt an unexpected hand go onto his shoulder, making him turn to face the person. The son had grown a good four inches taller than his father. “Dimitri, you know what you have to do.”
The green eyed man switched his cold glare to the slaves, and then back at his Father as if to ask for approval. He nodded his head slowly.
Dimitri stood up alert, listening to the slaves’ heartbeat. Before they could take another breath in, he snapped both of their necks easily with his each bare hand. The beast within him made him slice into the ones neck with his fangs. He drank the slave dry, gaining his own strength in return.
“Dimitri.” The voice was stern, making his head lift from the lifeless body. He stood up to his full height once again, to listen to his Father. “You have proven yourself well," he stated, with a small smile. It quickly dropped, into a cold mask. "Do you promise to honor our race, and protect it?”
“Yes.” A slow grin spread across Dimitri’s bloodied face, as he took in his Father’s eyes that for a moment flashed with approval. “Until the end,” he spoke quietly, not recognizing his own deep voice. The King’s son retracted his fangs, and knelt on one knee, his head bowed.
“Then finally you are one of us, my son,” King Brutus said, his black eyes sparkling with love. “It is truly as if I am gazing into a mirror.”