The pain couldn’t have been worse if he had ripped his own heart out with his talons. His altar… what had they done to his altar?! The altar he had so painstakingly put together and poured so much of himself into?! The altar he had sacrificed his entire childhood home to! All for the Graveyard King. The first vampire. He had nourished it and in return it had nourished him.

And now it was gone!

Burned to nothing just like the rest of Cobbler’s Hold! Old Badger… Little Ant… those sows would never again be safe from him! He would find them and rip them apart! The wrinkly goblin would watch while he tore that little girl’s throat open! He would teach them the price for getting uppity! He would…!

Another wave of pain washed over him, and he was brought back to his soldiering day.

Few things had terrified him more than the sick tent where the doctors had been working from dusk till dawn to save the sick and wounded. Failing more often than not and even their victories had been cripples. His single stay there for dysentery still haunted him.

All those men with their hacked off limbs…

Eyes lost to shrapnel…

Skin burned to nothing by fire…

That one fool who had seen cannonball rolling towards him and he had tried to stop it with his hands, not realizing that they were far heavier and far faster than he knew. Heavy and fast enough to rip a man’s arms off. The boy’s stupidity still made him roll his eyes.

Once the dysentery had passed, he had promised to himself that he would never let himself end up like that. Broken and crippled. No matter what it took, he would make it through the war even if it meant fighting like a demon or fleeing like a coward. His commanding officers hadn’t made it easy, and they had seemed to enjoy killing off their own soldiers. Feeding him and others like him to the meatgrinder. Denying him the promotion that had been rightfully his. He should have made it to corporal by the final battle, but he had been spited at every turn for being a commoner.

It had been a pleasure to hunt down the uppity officers as a vampire after the war.

But despite the fools he had been forced to suffer, he had kept his promise to survive until the final battle… after which he had risen above pain.

And now those harlots had dragged him back down!

Gods weren’t supposed to feel pain. Pain was something they caused. Those goblins would pay for making him feel like a man again!

“… father?”

While he was writhing in pain, Elysa was just standing by the door like the useless cow she was.

A cow full of warm blood…

The blood of family members was the most appetizing and he could see it flowing under her skin. The map of blood vessels… Coursing with life… Life that was calling to him… making his fangs grow… what did it matter if she had a few more scars?

For a moment he considered feeding off her but for the first time in his unlife he was too sick to even drink. Just the thought of blood made his stomach turn.

He needed to sleep.

He needed to sleep in his native soil.

He pushed Elysa out of his way and dragged himself to the mansion’s wine cellar. A wine cellar with a dirt floor and cold air.

Cold…

The cold preserved. Heat only rotted. One of the first things he had learned after becoming a vampire. The cool earth of his home country would restore him.

Pietro removed his clothing and started digging into the earth. He burrowed into it, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the night he had become a vampire. When the whole world had become new, and his eyes had been opened to the wonders of the night. Like then he had been wounded and dying but the blood of a ghoul and Garuccian soil had brought him back. Stronger than ever.

The cold earth welcomed him and embraced him. Not even a child resting in its mother’s arms could have been more content. The cold earth drove away the pain and he knew he would be strong enough to feed again when he woke up.

But one thought kept gnawing at him.

He had lost his altar…

All that work and sacrifices reduced to nothing…

A lesser man would have been broken by such a loss, but he was no man. He was a vampire. Master of his kind. King of the Dark. Immortal. He had time.

Time…

Time was the only luxury that mattered, and he had enough of it to build a new altar. A better one. A bigger one. One that would elevate him to godhood.

Centuries ago, baron Stradheim had built the greatest altar a vampire could ask for. Right at the heart of his stronghold and he hadn’t fed it villages. The baron had sacrificed it armies. Every battle he had fought in his war against the Wyrd King had been dedicated to the Graveyard King and it had been enough to elevate him into godhood.

What would it be like?

Having the power of a high god…

Stradheim had been a fool who’d known nothing about true conquest but even he’d had one good idea. A good idea he would improve on. Once he had the king of Garuccia dancing at the palm of his hand he would build a new altar in the royal palace. And when another war with Osetaria broke out…

All Osetaria would be offered as blood sacrifice. Blood would run deep enough to paint cities red and drown kings!

And it would not be just Osetaria.

Every Garuccian soldier that fell in battle would go to feeding his new altar. Feeding him. Honoring the Graveyard King. It would be the greatest blood sacrifice in history, and he would sail the rivers of blood into glory eternal. Hundred years from now when people spoke in hushed tones about the god-emperor of all vampires, no one would even remember baron Stradheim.

With that thought, Pietro fell asleep smiling.