Chapter 3 - Blood and Smoke [3/5]

He climbed out of his coffin, whereupon the torches on the walls of his tomb were lit as if by ghosts. He didn't need to change, why? Since his dead organism did not emit sweat, he did not start to stink like the dirty human rats. He only strapped his sword, even though he doubted that he would need it. There were other ways to kill people. Better ways and means.

On the way to his breakfast, Arken pondered incessantly about the many different methods of torture he had always wanted to try. How long had it been since he had tortured and murdered so extensively the last time? How long has it been since he last heard a man's cry of fear? He didn't know, and that alone was loud enough. It was way too long ago. His fear of another crusade against the vampires had made him cautious. He had perfected his extraction techniques so that his victims did not even realize that they had been drained of blood.

With the help of his bite, he was able to numb them, and when they woke up a few hours later, nothing indicated that he had ever been there. This method of getting blood was efficient because he didn't have to kill people. He could tap them like a farmer milking his cows. So he went unnoticed, but in the long run it was highly unsatisfactory. His black soul needed cries of pain, wanted to see the panic in the eyes of his victims, wanted to hurt, mutilate and kill slowly and agonizingly.

Now it was finally time to let the beast in him have a free hand again and give in to his instinct unhindered. With a smile, he entered his pantry, where many Carafes and vials full of dark life juice were stored. Far too many of them were already empty, which would change today. Arken took only a small vial from his remaining supply, so that he did not have to leave with empty veins for his revenge campaign.

Tonight he would get enough to drink. He grinned and let the delicious blood wet his tongue. He tasted every single drop gourmet. The vial emptied far too quickly. He threw them aside carelessly and wiped his mouth. Not much, really, but he resisted the desire for more. A little hunger would only spur his killing instinct later on. He put some of the empty vials in his pocket.

Arken left his tomb and made his way through the tree-lined path to the main building of his castle. The last rays of the sun faded on the horizon and, on their death, colored the rapidly darkening sky in rich red. What a fitting mood for tonight. He let the gate fall behind him into the castle. The main building was still as homely as he had taken it over. It did not bother him here, because he mostly only stayed in his tomb or his magic room.

Thick carpets dampened Arken's footsteps, armor and numerous bookcases stood on the walls. Torches gave light and some warmth, tapestries made sure that she was not immediately eaten by the cold stone walls. Arken didn't care, he didn't need any heat. On the contrary, since he could not sweat, she rather bothered him. But his gannet-like subordinates needed the light to work. At some point he would fulfill his dream of a reign of the vampires, then he could refrain from being served by lower skeletons and his hell bull.

Along the way, he met several of his skeletal servants who were busy cleaning and looking for the right one. When Arken passed them, they bowed so deeply that their eternally grinning skulls almost hit the ground. Articulated like a skeleton you had to be…

In the room in front of his favorite balcony was Ronak. The terrifying red eyes of the Hell Bull stared into the void. In his two paws, reminiscent of human hands, he held a broom. Slowly, a spit thread made its way from Ronak's snout to the ground.

Arken snapped in front of the bull's face, for which he had to stretch out his arm completely. Ronak surpassed him by three main lengths, even if one did not count the two huge horns on his head.

The bull of hell blinked irritated. When he realized who was standing in front of him, he made a move back and crashed against the castle wall behind him. The wall trembled under its massive weight. Dust trickled from the ceiling, several torches fell from their brackets and a shelf tipped over loudly. The vessels in it broke and the contents were distributed on the purple carpet.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" Ronak looked at Arken with horror-widened eyes.

"Master, please forgive me. I didn't want to, that was not intentional! Forgive me!"

Arken blinked the dust out of his eyes and drove through his gray hair, which he wore loosely tied to a braid in his neck. He felt dust, cobwebs and all kinds of vermin. The anger boiled up inside him. This incompetent cattle! Couldn't Ronak do something right once?

"Master, wait, I'll help you! Ronak lifted his broom and struck the ark, which could only be brought to safety from his servant by a courageous pike jump.

"Ronak! Leave that nonsense!" he gasped at the infernal bull, whose fearsome red eyes became dangerously damp.

"Please punish me, Master. I am such a useless servant, I..."

"Shut up!" Arken drove between them and knocked the dust off his body. Ronak could beg for forgiveness or punishment for hours, at least if he didn't forget what he was about to say in the middle. Annoyed, Arken pointed to the flames of the torches, which were already firing up on a tapestry.

"Extinguish the fire. I will spare you for the day's celebration, but when I come back, I want more than a pile of ashes left of my castle. Did you hear me?"