Tired: Villains who hate heroes.
Wired: Villains who *respect* heroes!
During the last stream, a subscriber requested that we write a story where the villain respects the hero.
Chat came up with a bunch of great ideas, then voted on this one: A vampire who respects the mortal hunter who chases him for his dedication.
Here’s what we wrote:
The vampire lay inside the dark mouth of the stone tunnel, protected from the deadly rays of the sun outside. The entire structure was devoured by thick trees and vines, turning the vaporizing sunlight into little more than dim, sizzling sparkles. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances, and rested his eyes and unbeating heart in the cool, damp shadows.
Usually only the sounds of nature crept into the tunnel during his sleeping hours. Birds squawking, leaves bristling. Only when the creatures of the night started growling and chirping did the vampire open his eyes and begin his prowl.
Unless something else caught his attention. Like now.
A crunching sound came from outside the brightness of the tunnel, and the vampire opened a lazy eye to peek. Too loud to be a squirrel, a tasty sleepy morsel. Too unpracticed to be a wolf, a fellow respected predator.
Both eyes open, the vampire saw what it was. Ah, yes. Of course. A bipedal snack. A human.
“Come no further,” the vampire spoke in his voice low and dark. “Lest you tempt my hunger.”
The crunching stopped and so did the silhouette of the snack.
“I’m not scared of you,” the walking meal spoke, his voice shaking despite his words. The vampire chuckled.
“Is that so? Your tone beguiles your lies, tasty one.”
For a moment the juicy blood vessel didn’t say anything. It didn’t need to. The sweat dripping from its head, pushed out by every beat of its sweet-smelling heart, told the vampire everything he needed to know.
Every time it was like this. The mortal hunters would come to him, acting bravado. But they all ended the same. With teeth through their neck and crying for their milk mothers.
It may have been the middle of his sleep, but the vampire was ready to slurp the lifeblood from this poor braggart.
“I’ll have you know,” the meatsack spoke, “that… that….”
“Yes?” the vampire asked curiously.
“That I am scared,” it said, “but not of you. Of everything else.”
Now that was new. “Oh?” the vampire said. “Pray tell.”
“I have claustrophobia,” it said. “The fear of enclosed spaces. Underneath this bridge here, it’s like a nightmare for me.”
“Oh really?” the vampire said. “I suppose you’d hate my coffin then, but I find it quite cozy.”
The human shivered then spoke again. “I also have nyctophobia, the fear of the dark. Underneath this bridge here, it’s taking everything to not run away.”
The vampire sat up straight. This was getting more interesting by the moment.
“Also, I have arachnophobia,” it continued, stepping away from the cobwebs on the stone walls. “Underneath this bridge here, I can feel spiders crawling inside my skin no matter where I stand.”
“Ah, I may have that one too,” the vampire said, pushing himself up to stand. “I hate spiders as well. They eat my lovely little mosquitoes!”
“I also have hemophobia, the fear of blood,” it said. “And cleithrophobia, the fear of being trapped. And—”
The vampire swooped up to the blood bag and slapped his long, cold fingers over its flapping mouth, silencing it. Despite all the fears it had endlessly listed off, it stared at the vampire with eyes not of terror, but hatred.
The vampire leaned in close to its ear, and whispered.
“Brave of you to come here despite all those fears of yours. I’m impressed. But why are you here then?”
Slowly, the vampire released his hand from the human’s mouth, curled at him in anger.
“When I was a child, a vampire attacked my family. In the middle of the night. That’s why I’m here, to avenge them. By killing all vampires!”
“Honorable,” the vampire yawned, “but that’s not what I meant. I want to know, where did you get all those phobias from in the first place?”
The creature shook, clenching its fingers moist with sweat. “I couldn’t save my family. I was trapped inside a dark box. Filled with blood and spiders. By the time it was opened up, they were all… they were all….”
“Lying on their bed, dead, a bat painted in blood between them?”
The human’s eyes narrowed at the vampire’s grin. “It was you.”
“Indeed,” the vampire said lazily. “But your mother, father, sister, none of them will be as tasty as you. I’ve been marinating you in fear.”
Hearing that, the human faltered for a moment. Stepped back. The vampire loomed over him.
“Do you know why the workers at the slaughterhouse have the tunnel leading up to the killing room?” the vampire asked. “Why they don’t just put the poor beasts out of their misery while they’re munching away on hay or something, blissfully unaware?”
The human did not reply, merely sunk in the engulfing shadow of the vampire.
“It’s because fear makes the meat more tender. They want the creature to be aware of its fate. They want the creature to know there is no escape. They want it to be afraid.”
Now the human was little more than a cowering bug before the towering, salivating vampire.
“The average vampire hunter’s blood is goopy, overly sweet and sour. Tinged with heroism and virtue and all that other garbage that spoils the good stuff. They come to me unafraid, and die unafraid, thinking they’ve at least tried their best.
“But you. You’ve come to me unafraid, yes, but terrified of everything else. I can smell the richness of your smooth flowing blood, thick and viscous, more iron than a smith’s anvil pumping through it.
“I admire you for coming here, despite those fears of yours. And I thank you for the same.”
Usually only the sounds of nature crept out of the tunnel during daylight hours. Birds squawking, leaves bristling. Only when a member of the village dared to go visit alone did the stone mouth emit a horrible, vein-popping scream.
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Hope to see you next time, friend!
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