Chapter 694

The sun, once a life-giver, had become a muted memory. It wasn't gone, not entirely, but its intensity, its comforting warmth, felt distant, as if veiled by a perpetual, thin cloud cover, even on days when the sky should have been brilliantly blue. For eighteen-year-old Tendai, who had known the Malawian sun like a constant companion, this subtle dimming was the first whisper of unease.

He lived in a small village nestled near the edge of Lake Malawi. Life was predictable. Wake with the dawn, work in the fields, fish if the nets were kind, return home as the sun dipped below the horizon.

But lately, the rhythms were off. The birds were quieter, the fish scarcer, and an unnatural stillness often settled over the village long before nightfall.

The elders spoke of changes in the spirit world, of ancestors restless in their graves. Tendai, though respectful, attributed it to the changing weather patterns, the erratic rains that had plagued them for seasons.

He was a young man of practical mind, yet even he couldn't deny the growing sense of foreboding.

It started with the extended twilight. Days bled into nights without the sharp division he was accustomed to. The sunset lingered, painting the sky in hues of blood orange and deep violet for what seemed like hours, and the dawn arrived hesitant and weak.

Then came the stories from travelers, whispers carried on the wind like dust devils. Stories of entire villages falling silent, of roads abandoned, and a strange, pervasive emptiness settling over the land.

One evening, old man Jabari, his eyes usually twinkling with stories of the past, sat by the communal fire, his face etched with a worry that mirrored Tendai's own unease. "The world feels… thinner, Tendai," he said, his voice low. "Like a cloth worn too thin, ready to tear."

Tendai nodded slowly, stirring the embers with a stick. He felt it too, this thinning, this sense of something vital draining away. "Perhaps it is just the dry season lasting longer than usual, Grandfather."

Jabari shook his head. "No, child. This is not the land. This is… different." He looked up at the sky, now a bruised purple, stars barely visible through the unnatural haze. "Have you noticed the moon?"

Tendai had. The moon, once a silver disc in the inky sky, now hung heavy and swollen, a pallid orb that cast long, distorted shadows. It felt too close, too watchful. "It is… brighter," Tendai admitted.

"Brighter, yes," Jabari murmured. "But also… cold."

The next sign was the silence of the night. Usually, the night was alive with the chirping of crickets, the rustling of nocturnal creatures, the distant howl of a hyena. Now, there was nothing. Just an oppressive, heavy silence that pressed down on the village. It was in this silence that fear began to truly take root, a cold vine wrapping around their hearts.

Then came the screams.

They started faint, carried on the night wind, almost like the cries of distant animals. But they grew louder, closer, filled with a raw terror that was unmistakably human.

The village stirred. Men grabbed their spears, women huddled their children close, fear tightening its grip.

Tendai stood with his father at the edge of their compound, peering into the darkness. The screams continued, punctuated by sharp, sickening sounds, like bones snapping, flesh tearing. Whatever was happening out there, it was horrific.

Suddenly, a figure stumbled out of the darkness and into the firelight. It was a young woman from the neighboring village, her clothes ripped, her face streaked with blood. She collapsed at their feet, gasping, her eyes wide with unspeakable terror.

"They… they came…" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "From the dark… monsters…"

Before she could say more, her body convulsed, and she fell still. Tendai's father knelt beside her, checking for a pulse, but her eyes were already glazed over, empty.

"Monsters?" Tendai whispered, his voice trembling despite himself.

That night, sleep was impossible. The screams had stopped, replaced by an even more unnerving silence. The village huddled together, fear a tangible presence in the smoky air. As the unnatural dawn finally crept over the horizon, painting the sky in sickly shades of grey and purple, they ventured out cautiously.

What they found was carnage. Not just in their village, but everywhere they looked. Homes were wrecked, doors splintered, and bodies… bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls. Not just human bodies, but animals too, cattle, goats, even dogs, all drained of blood, their skin pale and waxy.

It was as if some unseen plague had swept through the land, leaving death and emptiness in its wake. But this was no plague they knew. This was something else, something far more sinister.

Then they saw them.

They were tall, pale figures, moving with an unnatural grace through the ravaged village. They wore dark clothing that seemed to absorb the dim light, their faces sharp and angular, their eyes burning with a cold, red light that was not human. They moved with an effortless authority, surveying the destruction they had wrought.

At first, the villagers could only stare, paralyzed by fear. These were not monsters from their stories, not spirits from the bush. These were something else entirely, something… new.

One of the pale figures turned, his red eyes focusing on Tendai and his father. He smiled, a slow, chilling movement of his lips that revealed teeth far too long and sharp. He spoke, his voice smooth and resonant, yet laced with an undercurrent of coldness that made Tendai's blood run cold.

"Greetings," the figure said, his words in perfect Chichewa, yet with an accent that was utterly foreign, utterly ancient. "We have arrived."

Tendai's father, a man who had faced down lions and laughed in the face of drought, found his voice caught in his throat. He could only stare, his spear hanging uselessly in his hand.

Tendai, though terrified, found a spark of defiance flicker within him. "Who… who are you?" he managed to stammer out.

The pale figure chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "We are the masters now," he said, gesturing around at the devastation. "And you… you are ours."

More of the pale figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding the villagers. They were everywhere, an army of elegant predators, their eyes glinting in the dim light. There was no mistaking it now. This was not some nightmare. This was real.

One of the figures, a woman with eyes like burning coals, stepped forward. "Do not be afraid," she said, her voice like velvet, yet sharp as glass. "Fear is… wasteful. Acceptance is much more… practical."

Practical? Tendai thought, his mind reeling. They had butchered his village, slaughtered his neighbors, and they spoke of practicality?

"What do you want?" Tendai's father finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse with fear and anger.

The first figure smiled again, that chilling, predatory smile. "We want what is rightfully ours," he said. "This world. And you… its inhabitants." He paused, letting his words sink in. "We are not cruel by nature. We are… efficient. Cooperate, and your suffering will be… minimized."

Minimized? Tendai looked around at the carnage, at the bodies of his friends and family, and a bitter laugh escaped his lips. Minimized suffering? What more suffering could there be?

"You are monsters," he spat out, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.

The woman's eyes narrowed, her velvet voice hardening. "Impudence. Unwise." She gestured to one of her companions. "Show him… wisdom."

The companion, a hulking figure with arms like tree trunks, moved forward with impossible speed. Before Tendai could even blink, the figure had grabbed his father, lifting him off the ground like a child. Tendai's father struggled, kicking and clawing, but it was useless.

The figure's grip tightened. Tendai heard a sickening crack, and his father's body went limp. The figure dropped him to the ground like a sack of grain.

Tendai stared, his world collapsing around him. His father… dead. Just like that. These creatures… they were unstoppable. Gods, almost. And they were here to rule.

"Do you understand now?" the woman asked, her voice devoid of emotion. "Cooperation. Efficiency. These are the new laws."

Tendai could only nod, tears streaming down his face, his defiance crushed under the weight of his grief and terror. He understood. Resistance was futile. They were gods now, and humanity… humanity was their prey.

Days turned into weeks under the new rule. The vampires, for that is what they were, did not hide in the shadows. They walked in the dim sunlight as if it were moonlight. Silver, crosses, garlic – nothing harmed them. They were, as they had declared, masters.

They established their dominion quickly and ruthlessly. Governments fell, armies crumbled, nations surrendered. Humanity, weakened and terrified, offered no real resistance. The vampires, organized and utterly powerful, simply took over.

They did not need armies or weapons. They needed only their presence, their cold authority, and their insatiable hunger. They fed selectively, efficiently, like farmers tending to a herd. Humans were livestock now, no more, no less.

Tendai was spared, for reasons he couldn't understand. He was kept alive, along with the other villagers who had survived. They were forced to work, to serve, to exist under the constant gaze of their new masters.

He saw his village transformed. The vampires built elegant structures of dark stone amidst the mud huts, their unnatural architecture a stark contrast to the familiar landscape. They brought their own kind of life – or rather, unlife – to the village. Nights were no longer silent but filled with the soft rustling of their movements, the low murmur of their voices, the chilling glint of their red eyes in the perpetual twilight.

Tendai learned their ways, their cold, detached manner, their utter indifference to human suffering.

He saw them feed, the casual cruelty in their eyes as they drank from terrified humans, leaving them alive but weakened, ready for the next feeding.

He saw them interact with each other, their conversations filled with ancient histories, cold calculations, and a profound boredom with the world they had conquered.

One day, the woman who had ordered his father's death, her name was never spoken, but he knew her as "Master," summoned him. He approached her with his head bowed, his heart pounding in his chest.

"You," she said, her voice as cold as ever, yet with a hint of something… different. Curiosity? Perhaps. "You are… resilient."

Tendai remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. Resilient? He felt broken, hollowed out, a shell of his former self.

"You have seen much," she continued. "Death. Loss. Yet you have not… succumbed entirely."

He still did not speak. What was there to say? Thank you for noticing my suffering?

"We need… assistance," she said, the word sounding strange, alien on her lips. "With… adaptation."

Adaptation? To what? Their reign of terror?

"Humans," she explained, as if reading his thoughts. "You understand them. Their… frailties. Their… motivations. We require… insight."

She wanted him to help them understand humans? To help them rule more effectively? The irony was almost unbearable.

"You will observe," she instructed. "You will learn. You will advise. You will become… useful."

Useful. That was all he was now. Useful to the monsters who had destroyed his world. He was to be their pet human, their advisor on human affairs. A collaborator in his own enslavement.

He was given a new dwelling, not one of the dark stone structures, but a slightly larger hut, still under constant surveillance. He was given food, not the scraps the other villagers received, but edible rations, enough to keep him alive, to keep him… useful.

He began to observe. He watched the vampires, their interactions, their desires, their cold, alien minds. He learned their language, a tongue as ancient and sharp as their teeth. He learned their history, stretching back centuries, millennia, a history of shadow and blood and endless hunger.

He became, in a way, an anthropologist of his own subjugation. He studied his captors, trying to understand them, to find some weakness, some vulnerability. But there was none.

They were gods, in every sense of the word. Immune to everything that could harm a mortal, driven by a hunger that could never be sated, and now, rulers of the world.

One night, under the swollen, cold moon, he found himself standing by the lake, the water reflecting the pallid light. He looked up at the sky, at the muted stars, and a wave of despair washed over him so profound it almost drowned him.

He was alone. Truly alone. His family was gone, his village destroyed, his world enslaved. He was a prisoner in his own life, forced to serve the monsters who had taken everything from him.

And then, he realized the cruelest irony of all. He was useful. He was valuable. As long as humans existed, as long as they were a resource to be exploited, he had a purpose. His life, though meaningless and miserable, had… value.

But what would happen when humans were no longer useful? When the vampires had taken everything they could, when the world was bled dry, when there was nothing left but emptiness?

Then, Tendai knew, he would be truly worthless. Then, he would be discarded. Then, his existence, already a living death, would finally end.

And in that ending, there would be no release, no peace, only the final, brutal confirmation that his life, and the lives of all humanity, had become utterly, irrevocably meaningless. He was not just enslaved.

He was a placeholder, waiting for the day he would no longer be needed, when even his suffering would cease to have value. And that, he understood with a chilling certainty, was the cruellest fate of all.