Cold. Starved. Parched. I sit, a lone form in the dark, barred from my home by a vast pool of shit and piss. I hear steps; shouts and grunts bounce off the walls near my place in the murk. Fear holds me like a roach trapped by glass. It is a weight. They are fierce and hunt me with a grim force of will. The night will end soon; I can tell by the burn of my eyes and the slow drain of strength from my small frame. I crave rest, but I know, if I stay, I will be found ... hurt, bruised, and left to bleed in the dank, wet, stench of this cave of man. Or worse, they could drag me up top, where they would hold me down and wait for the last rays of the moon to fade and die. They would kick, curse, and spit at me. In their minds, hot with fire and lust, there is no sin too great or wound too deep that they could place on my soul.

They grow close. Time to stand and and fight to live for one more night, or die with the sounds of rage and fear in my ears. A fate fit for me, most would say. At least ten of them hunt me and I am but one, though the odds, at least in the dark, are on my side.

They are here. I leap from my low perch in the muck, teeth bared and claws sharp. Blood drawn, fast and fierce, flows and slings through the air. Screams and shouts fill my ears. Blasts of gun and clang of knife roll through the cave. I feel the wisp of lead pass my cheek and hear the hiss of a blade near my ear. This is my dance, my song of death and blood. They fall one by one, and then we are two left to face each other in pools of red.

"But ... you are just a boy," he says.

I stand tall. I must be a sight -- small framed with pale skin that sends the beams of his light to bounce back at him, eyes of bright red like hot coals, and fangs of white blades that peek from lips of the hue and depth of blood.

"I am no boy!" I scream. "I am aged like the trees that sprout from the earth or the mounts that rise to the moon. I meant you and yours no harm. 'Till now I have hurt naught of you. Why must your kind chase me? All my life, you hound me."

"They said you were a beast, that you fed on blood. What else could we do, but hunt you and put you down?"

"You could have made me your friend. We could have lived in peace, but you need the beast. Your kind needs the hunt. I live off blood; you live off hate."

The sad chord of my words seem to strike him deep, but it is too late. That chance has passed. I've fed on their flesh for the first time. Now, it is my time to hunt. Run as fast as you can. I will prove you right. You have made me. You have freed me from my own chains. Thank you. Now the world will see the true beast. I have come to kill and feed on your blood and the blood of those you hold dear. We will start our new tale here.

"Run!" Through clenched fang I yell. "Ware the ire of Vamp!"