Chapter 21 - Blood and Burial

Max leaned against a shattered tree trunk, his crimson eyes flickering in the dim light of the early dawn. His body ached from the battle, the severed stump of his arm still throbbing despite his regeneration's slow progress. His torn clothes clung to him, sticky with his own blood and that of his enemies. He ran a hand through his matted white hair, exhaling sharply.

'I should move. Get far away from here,' he thought. But then his gaze drifted to the bloodied battlefield, where the bodies of the adventurers lay. 'No, I can't leave this mess behind.'

Max's mind began to race, weighing his options. The first reason came to him immediately: the blood. He licked his lips, the metallic taste still fresh. His wounds had begun to close faster after drinking from the others. He thought back to the battle with Rael and Mira, to the euphoria of their blood coursing through him. Something had shifted within him, like a locked door creaking open for the first time.

"Their blood," he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. "It's like fuel. Each drop making me stronger."

He flexed his remaining hand, the claws extending slightly before retracting. A smirk tugged at his lips. 'If one taste did this, imagine what all of them could do.'

Max stepped closer to the bodies, his thoughts darkening. The second reason gnawed at him. 'Gorruk. That beast of a man still lived, albeit barely.' Max glanced toward the unconscious figure slumped against a tree, his breath ragged. Leaving him alive wasn't an option. 'No way I'm letting you off that easy.'

He approached Gorruk's unconscious form, his steps deliberate. The hulking warrior's chest rose and fell unevenly, his massive frame sprawled against the base of a tree. Blood caked his armor, and the once-fearsome axe lay discarded nearby. Max crouched beside him, tilting his head. "Time to wake up, big guy," he muttered, his voice laced with mock cheerfulness.

Grabbing a fistful of Gorruk's hair, Max yanked his head back. The orc's eyes fluttered open, his expression dazed. Before he could orient himself, Max slapped him—hard. The sound echoed through the clearing.

"Rise and shine! Or should I say, rise and suffer?" Max quipped, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. Gorruk groaned, his eyes focusing on the vampire boy. The moment recognition dawned, his face twisted into a mask of rage.

"You," Gorruk spat, his voice guttural and thick with hatred. "You killed them. All of them."

Max feigned surprise, placing a hand over his heart. "Me? Little ol' me? Oh, come on, Gorruk. Let's not act like your merry band of murderers was here handing out cupcakes."

Gorruk snarled and tried to lunge forward, but his injuries and Max's iron grip held him in place. The vampire smirked, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "Easy there, big guy. Save some energy—you're gonna need it."

Dragging Gorruk by the collar, Max threw him against a nearby boulder. The orc winced but didn't cry out, his glare unyielding. Max crouched in front of him, tapping a clawed finger against his chin. "Now, here's how this is going to work. You're going to answer my questions, and I'll consider letting you die quickly. Sound fair?"

Gorruk's only response was a glob of spit aimed at Max's face. Max sidestepped it with a theatrical gasp. "Rude! And here I thought we were bonding." His expression darkened as he leaned in close. "Let me make something very clear, Gorruk. You're alive because I want information. Don't make me regret that decision… or do. Honestly, I'm good either way."

Gorruk's lips curled into a defiant sneer. "I'll tell you nothing, bloodsucker."

Max sighed dramatically, standing up and dusting off his torn clothes. "Why do they always say that? Like it's some kind of badge of honor. Newsflash, Gorruk: stubbornness doesn't make you a hero. It makes you a corpse."

He turned and retrieved a blade from Dareth's lifeless body, the dagger's black, rune-etched surface glinting faintly. Returning to Gorruk, he knelt and held the weapon aloft. "This little beauty's got a bite to it. Let's see how tough you really are."

Max pressed the blade against Gorruk's forearm, applying just enough pressure to draw blood. The beastman gritted his teeth, refusing to give Max the satisfaction of a reaction. Max's smirk widened. "Oh, I like the strong, silent type. Makes breaking you all the more satisfying."

Over the next hour, Max's methods grew increasingly cruel. He carved shallow cuts along Gorruk's arms and chest, each one calculated to maximize pain without causing death. He twisted the blade into old wounds, taunting the former adventurer with every scream he refused to release.

"C'mon, Gorruk. You've got to have something to say by now," Max drawled, wiping the blade clean on Gorruk's tattered tunic. "How about a little chat about your boss, Dareth? Oh, wait…" He gestured theatrically to the bloodied corpse nearby. "Never mind. He's a little… tied up."

At the sight of Dareth's lifeless body, Gorruk's composure cracked. A guttural roar tore from his throat, his fury momentarily overriding his pain. He strained against his injuries, trying to reach Max. The vampire merely stepped back, twirling the dagger lazily.

"There it is! I knew you had some fight left in you," Max said with mock enthusiasm. "But all this bravado and still no answers? Disappointing."

Gorruk's voice was a hoarse whisper, thick with venom. "Do your worst. I'll never give you any information, not even the most useless."

Max tilted his head, his crimson eyes narrowing. "And what? I just need to suppress your bottom line. Newsflash, Gorruk: they're already dead. And you... you're about to join them in the worst possible way if you don't give me some useful information. But hey, you do you."

The beast's breathing grew labored, his body succumbing to the combined toll of his injuries and Max's torture. Even as his life ebbed away, his glare remained defiant. Max crouched beside him one last time, studying him with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"You're a stubborn bastard, I'll give you that," Max said quietly. "But was it worth it? Dying for information which you won't use?"

Gorruk's lips twitched, but no words came. With a final, shuddering breath, his body went still. Max rose to his feet, staring down at the lifeless form. For a moment, there was only silence.

"Guess not," Max muttered, tossing the dagger aside. He ran a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable. "Well, that was a colossal waste of time."

...

Finally, the third reason—the corpses. Even if he drank every last drop of blood, their bodies would still need dealing with. He couldn't risk anyone finding them. The thought of a patrol stumbling upon the carnage and tracking him down tightened his resolve. 'No evidence, no witnesses,' he decided.

Max crouched beside Dareth's body, his smirk returning. "Let's see what you left behind for me," he said, his voice tinged with dark humor. His claws raked through the man's armor, but something caught his eye—a faint glow coming from Dareth's belt. A small, intricately patterned pouch dangled there, its seams pulsing faintly with runic energy.

Max tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What's this?" He pulled the pouch free, and the instant his fingers touched it, a sensation washed over him. His mind instinctively understood its function: a spatial storage bag.

"Neat," Max muttered. He opened it with a thought, marveling at the array of items inside. Coins glittered in the faint moonlight, books with ornate bindings rested neatly in a corner, and weapons of various designs gleamed as if freshly polished.

His eyes caught on a huntsman knife, damascus steel like daylight, etched with silver runes. He pulled it free, the weapon feeling perfectly balanced in his hand. With a quick slash, he tested it against Dareth's arm, and the blade sliced through the flesh effortlessly.

"Now we're talking," Max said, his grin widening. One by one, he worked through the corpses, draining them completely of blood. Each sip sent a surge of vitality through him, his body knitting itself back together faster than before. His missing arm—still a stump—itched with the promise of regrowth.

"I was right," Max murmured, his voice tinged with awe. "The more blood, the stronger I get." His gaze drifted to Gorruk's still form. "Guess you're next, big guy or better call you my big fuel."

After finishing with the bodies, Max paused to examine himself. His wounds had fully healed, his strength returning tenfold. His claws retracted, their deadly sharpness hidden once more. For the first time in months, he felt… whole. But his thoughts lingered on his captivity.

'They kept me weak,' he realized, his jaw tightening. The injections, the controlled environment—it all made sense now. 'They fed me just enough to survive, but never enough to awaken this.'

He clenched his fists, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Those bastards knew what they were doing," he muttered. "But if this is just a fraction of my power…" He trailed off, his mind racing with the possibilities. A grin slowly spread across his face.

"This is only the beginning."

Max's moment of reflection ended abruptly as his gaze fell on the pile of dismembered bodies. Despite his newfound power, the sight brought him back to the grim task at hand. 'They're still here,' he thought. 'Time to finish this.'

He rummaged through the spatial bag again, eventually pulling out a sturdy, rune-etched shovel. He smirked. "Convenient."

The next few hours were grueling. Max worked tirelessly, digging a deep pit in the forest floor. The effort left his muscles aching, but his determination never wavered. Each shovel-full of dirt felt like another step toward erasing the night's events. The bodies, dismembered and drained, were unceremoniously dumped into the pit.

Sweat dripped down Max's face as he filled the hole, the fresh dirt blending with the blood-stained earth. The physical exertion was unlike anything he'd experienced in either of his lives. His hands blistered despite his supernatural strength, and his breathing came in short, sharp bursts.

As he worked, memories of his past life flickered through his mind. He recalled long nights playing games, losing himself in the thrill of digital battles. The irony wasn't lost on him now. 'This is the real thing,' he thought, shoveling another mound of dirt onto the pile. 'No respawns, no do-overs. Just blood, sweat, and survival.'

By the time he finished, the sky was beginning to lighten, faint hints of dawn peeking over the horizon. The grave was deep, the bodies buried beyond recognition, and the ground above packed tight. Max collapsed onto his knees beside the site, his chest rising and falling with exertion.

"What a night," he muttered, wiping dirt from his hands. A smirk tugged at his lips. "Not even the wildest parties back home compare to this." He chuckled darkly. "Five bodies, gallons of blood, and a grave… who needs Vegas?"

His gaze turned inward, reflecting on the power coursing through him. For the first time in his two lives, he felt truly alive. The weight of his captivity and the experiments they had subjected him to seemed to melt away. In its place was a hunger—not just for blood, but for understanding his own potential.

"They tried to control me," he murmured. "To keep me weak. But they failed. This… this is just the start."

As the first rays of sunlight pierced through the trees, Max rose to his feet, his crimson eyes glinting with resolve. He cast one final glance at the grave before turning away, his steps deliberate and unhurried.

"Let's see what the world has to offer," he said, his voice low and confident. "Because I'm ready."