[ He's trying to speak. He's trying, but whatever it is it comes out as a gurgle. The vampire tugs at his throat and- he's so far beyond pain now, but he can feel something tearing. Distantly, he finds himself aware that his lungs are still desperately trying to pull in air but that he can't feel it coming and leaving through his lips.
(Ten seconds. His father had told him, years ago. Ten seconds of consciousness, with a slit throat. Thirty to sixty seconds before bleeding out. Ten seconds of the vampire being close enough to stake, and no Belmont should need even half that long. But his arms won't move as he wants them to. They feel cold already, hanging uselessly by his sides.)
Ice crashes against the wall behind them. Sypha must be there. And then there is fire again, enough in Sypha's hands to briefly illuminate a torch on one wall, immediately sent to light it so that she can see.
There is liquid in the vampire's mouth, and- that seems wrong. The vampire oughtn't be feeding from him, not in the middle of this. He shouldn't be that desperate after only a week without blood. This is putting himself in danger, and by all accounts their target was a man who went to great lengths to remain safe. He pulls his mouth from Trevor's throat once his mouth is empty and- that's the wrong order, too. Vampires don't bite people's throats with a mouth full of blood and then release them with none. That's entirely the wrong way around.
Behind them, visible now in the light of the torch, is a coffin. Vertical against the wall, it contains the body of Walter Bernhard, not present in his own body, wearing and sustained by the crimson stone even as he is run through at every possible angle by long nails. ]
Ah. The Son. [ Jules says, still holding Trevor up by the hair, not quite a human shield, more- something interesting that he's trying to get a better look at. Distantly, Trevor recalls hearing this voice before. One of the ones who had called him the 'pet Belmont'. ] You had your chance, I am afraid. We have chosen a new leader.
no subject
(Ten seconds. His father had told him, years ago. Ten seconds of consciousness, with a slit throat. Thirty to sixty seconds before bleeding out. Ten seconds of the vampire being close enough to stake, and no Belmont should need even half that long. But his arms won't move as he wants them to. They feel cold already, hanging uselessly by his sides.)
Ice crashes against the wall behind them. Sypha must be there. And then there is fire again, enough in Sypha's hands to briefly illuminate a torch on one wall, immediately sent to light it so that she can see.
There is liquid in the vampire's mouth, and- that seems wrong. The vampire oughtn't be feeding from him, not in the middle of this. He shouldn't be that desperate after only a week without blood. This is putting himself in danger, and by all accounts their target was a man who went to great lengths to remain safe. He pulls his mouth from Trevor's throat once his mouth is empty and- that's the wrong order, too. Vampires don't bite people's throats with a mouth full of blood and then release them with none. That's entirely the wrong way around.
Behind them, visible now in the light of the torch, is a coffin. Vertical against the wall, it contains the body of Walter Bernhard, not present in his own body, wearing and sustained by the crimson stone even as he is run through at every possible angle by long nails. ]
Ah. The Son. [ Jules says, still holding Trevor up by the hair, not quite a human shield, more- something interesting that he's trying to get a better look at. Distantly, Trevor recalls hearing this voice before. One of the ones who had called him the 'pet Belmont'. ] You had your chance, I am afraid. We have chosen a new leader.