When a vampire is Turned, the Black Dragon Court should be providing enough fresh blood to help the vampire cleanse his heart and fill his veins.
It seemed the Court had neglected Vlad.
He would investigate that later.
For now, he'd have to cleanse his blood on his own.
Ist had mentioned someone would bring him some blood soon, so he wasn't too worried about filling his veins.
But without that blood, things would be more difficult.
And waiting would only make it more difficult, even if he did get the blood.
The heart is a muscle.
Ferenc's words still resonated in his ears today. They seemed simple and logical. But they carried a weight only a vampire could understand. As a muscle, it could be strengthened. Honed.
Developed.
With this in mind, he focused on increasing his pulse to start with.
This wasn't an easy task in his current condition. The blood was too thick and foul. His heart had already been working hard to push it through his system as it was.
Forcing it to work harder was like asking a running man to sprint.
There wasn't all that much difference and all it did was tire him out quicker.
"Hngh…"
He could feel the rushing in his ears and his chest burned.
But he held on.
Somewhere in that thick inky darkness flooding his veins was pure red blood. He needed to filter it out.
His heart thudded heavily, trying to keep the pace he was forcing. Sweat poured down his face and dripped off his chin as the minutes passed.
But he whipped the muscle like it was an old nag in a race. Whipped it.
Faster, he groaned. Faster!
Slowly, a few streaks of red, thin and weak, began to swirl inside his veins as his heart purified the sludge.
Nothing to be excited by, but definitely a bit of a relief.
He might just survive after all.
As he pushed his heart as fast as it would go, he remembered a technique called the Blood Ocean. There were many techniques used to refine a heart.
The most common was the Crimson Wave.
But where the Crimson Wave promised fast and hard power, the Blood Ocean technique had more depth. It was just more difficult to master. Few had walked its path.
Even fewer had the patience to master it.
And the technique of refining one's heart had to be done while one was still a fledgling. There could be no second chance later.
This technique would form the foundation for his power.
He needed to be more selective this time around.
A normal fledgling would select the Crimson Wave for its simplicity and quick results.
But Vlad was no longer normal.
He'd used the Crimson Wave technique for so long that he knew its flaws were greater than its strength in the long run.
This time, he would instead take advantage of the more superior Blood Ocean technique. Even if it meant his journey would be made more difficult.
The technique was something he'd studied, and he pulled from that knowledge to carefully begin the process of restructuring the muscle which pumped blood through his body.
First step?
Peel a layer of muscle from the surface. This was done by carefully focusing the blood energy he could harvest from the red blood in his veins. That blood energy would burn the surface of his heart.
The pain was intense.
Some fledglings were unable to refine their heart. They'd spend their lives as useless creatures avoiding the sun and haunting graveyards.
Their thirst would soon grow beyond their control and eventually someone would have to put them down.
For Vlad, pain was an old friend.
He invited it to grow, knowing that the more pain he suffered, the greater the reward.
His heart raced, even as its surface was slowly peeled away to reveal the raw meat beneath. Meat he injected more energy into, forcing it to grow. Depending on where he pushed his energy, the heart would deform.
This was dangerous.
Explaining this process to a fledgling was an arduous and often frustrating task for both parties. Especially when a fledgling was still trying to master the art of looking within and was unable to see their heart with the clarity Vlad could maintain.
Lucky for him, this clarity was one of focus and not strength or innate power of the flesh.
If it was, he had no doubt he would have been unable to get this far and his frail body would have died.
But there was no time to distract himself with such worries.
He probed the heart, widening the ventricles and expanding its chambers. Every new growth causing him to shudder and whine with agony. This weak body was being overwhelmed by the pain.
"Faster," he grunted, gripping his chest with both hands and squeezing tightly.
The sludge was moving faster now his heart was larger.
But it wasn't enough.
The Blood Ocean needed more room. The more room it had, the larger it would fill. And the larger it filled, the more energy it would supply his core.
And if there was one thing he'd learned in the war with the Pope, it was that he could never get enough energy.
More!
Fire burned through his body. It felt even hotter than the poison which had spread through it from the Pope's sword. Sharper than the ice from Tibor's fist.
He battered his heart with energy, working fast.
Unconsciously waving his hands like the spider's legs above as he knitted his own web within his heart.
A web of veins. A web of arteries.
A web of blood.
He felt the pressure rising.
Felt the heavy weight of it pushing him down.
And, just when he thought his body might explode from the burning energy boiling in his chest, he felt a massive release. As though a tap inside had opened to allow the energy to flow more easily.
He watched in fascination as his blood, once a thick river of black sludge, slowly thin and turn vibrant red.
"This…"
It was more intense than he'd expected.
In truth, he'd anticipated only a fraction of the filth would be cleansed from his veins. But it seemed the Blood Ocean technique was superb for cleansing impurities.
Perhaps, he mused, because it was so deep.
He watched for a few moments longer, letting his pulse settle to a slower rate.
Then he opened his eyes.
And looked down at his fists.
They were different.
He was different.
The power in his chest felt electric. Like there was a storm brewing inside his heart. Not a big storm. But a storm nonetheless.
It wasn't much power compared to what he'd had before. But it was a generous start and looked like it would form a formidable foundation for the future.
He blew a hard breath through his teeth.
It will do for now.
Feeling more comfortable with this body, he pressed his fingers to his face and started feeling around. As a vampire, he had no reflection so there was no way to confirm if what he was feeling was true. But he'd been alive for centuries and was fairly used to the contours of his face.
And this?
This was not his face.
His nose felt longer. His cheeks a little more pronounced.
And his jaw was so broad he thought he could deflect an axe with it.
It was odd.
Never in all his years had he heard of something like this. Some vampires had managed to recover from near death, for sure. There were also rumours of one or two who'd recovered after being turned to ash.
But to return suddenly in the body of another?
It was ridiculous.
His thoughts were interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door.
"Come."
The door opened and a small man entered with his head bowed slightly. Dressed in a nearly-familiar outfit of white tunic under a black coat, he held a tray in both gnarled hands.
He looked, Vlad thought, a lot like a turtle. He was even slightly hunched as though the weight of his shell was bearing down on him.
"Master," he greeted in a soft ghostly breath. "Master Istvan requested some fresh blood be provided for your service."
"Hmm." Vlad wasn't sure what to make of the man. "Are you a Renfield?"
He smiled slightly and nodded. "Yes, Master. My name is Martin."
"Can you answer some questions for me, Martin?"
"Yes, Master. I would be happy to assist any way I can."
"Let's start with the castle. Why is it so…" He waved a hand. "Broken?"
"Master?" Martin frowned, confused by the question. "I'm not sure…"
"Please answer freely," Vlad told him.
"The Court has seen… better days, Master," he said with an apologetic sigh. "Much of the treasures have been sold already. And we are in heavy debt."
"But why is the castle in ruin?"
He gave the vampire a puzzled look. "Well, of course that's from the war, Master."
"The war." Vlad repeated. "With the Pope?"
"Yes, Master."
"How long ago was that?"
The Renfield blinked. "How long?"
"Please just answer, Martin."
"Well, Master… It's perhaps two hundred years?"
Two hundred!
Vlad felt a shiver up his spine.
It couldn't be true!
"Two hundred years? You speak truly?"
"Yes, Master. I would never lie to you."
Vlad could only sit there, mouth open in shock, as the old Renfield lowered the tray so he could take the small goblet.
Hands trembling a little, he reached for it. Still reeling inside and trying to hide his emotions from the old man.
Lifting the goblet to his mouth, Vlad prepared to take a sip.
Then froze.
Looked from the blood within the goblet back to the Renfield.
Both paused as the air between them deepened with tension. A tension which grew more brittle as neither spoke.
It was Vlad who finally broke the silence with a snarl. "What the Hell is this? Are you trying to poison me?"