He woke up hungry, again, but being hungry really wasn't the worst part. One of his arms was still chained to the wall, but that was hardly the worst part either. In fact, that was coming close to normal.
He stretched for a minute, working imaginary kinks out of dead muscles before the fact that they had frozen solid forced him to once again realize that he was not a living thing. That was horrifying in a deep and existential way, but really not the worst part. I mean, yes, the sad truth is that while he was asleep he had kind of forgotten some of the highlights of the nightmare his life had become, and to have that carpet ripped out from under you on waking and forcing stolen blood into frozen muscles can sure be a kick in the teeth, but it wasn't the worst part.
Practice time. He peeled back the shirt sleeve of his right arm, which really fucking hurt because it had gotten stuck to the dried blood there, but that was way not the worst part. That was just like ripping off a band-aid, easier even than ripping off a band-aid because it wasn't totally stuck on it was just, like, sticky. He was right handed so his efforts tended to work best with the right hand, and he began waggling his fingers in a series of arcane gestures. None of them were backed up by the magic blood, so nothing happened. Just practice. Stupid, monotonous practice. Annoying, but not the worst part.
Time to up the game, so he split open a vein in his palm. That part always sucked. Still not the worst, but full of suck. You assume that being a corpse means the pain goes away. I mean, in the movies the undead just shrug off bullet after bullet. And scientifically, should those nerve endings really be working the way they used to before death? Everything else needs the magic blood to power it, but those things still fire off like they used to? Really not even fair. More than that, it wasn't the "paper cut on steroids" feeling of opening skin with a knife. That cut that feels like you bumped into something but then suddenly erupts in pain. It would make no damn sense for him to be allowed a knife anyway. Nah, with no knife he had to tear at the palm until it was an open, ugly wound that oozed blood. Dull pain with a sharp twist at the end. And yet still, not the worst part.
This time he made the finger-waggle and said an ancient word from a dead tongue under his breath, as the blood ran down his palm and he begged the fire spirit to do him a solid. Working with fire spirits is annoying as piss. They want nothing better than to make vampires go up like flash paper, and they aren't shy about saying so. 'Bout the only thing they actually like better is blood, but all spirits like that. So spend a little vitae, it's not hard to get them to do what you need. Not the worst part by even a little. In fact, probably second easiest after the stretching.
It all went wrong, of course, but that wasn't the worst either. Wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last, that's why they call it practice. The fireball formed in his hand but he couldn't get it to go anywhere. With a split second of indecision, it was out of his control. What should've blasted away from his outstretched hand and left an ugly scorch mark on the cavern wall across from him instead creeped slowly up his arm and set the arm on fire. And that hurt. That burned. Well, obviously. He flailed around wildly, panicking, trying not to lose it to the beast. He managed to hold on and stop flailing long enough to get control of himself, and dunk his arm into the nearby rock pool of spring water. That was one of the worst sensations ever. Fire burning his skin, icy cold on the charred flesh, little flakes of skin flapping around under the water and each somehow finding a nerve. That was just about as close to the worst as it could be without actually being the worst. But don't worry, the worst was right around the corner. Almost there.
He pulled his arm out of the water and surveyed the damage. Not terrible. Definitely not good, but not terrible. The fire hadn't been on him long enough to give a human more than a bad first degree, but to vampire flesh it was clear down to the bone. It hurt more than he could have even believed it could. And then he realized the worst part, and that's what finally set him crying. This was way back when, mind, in a time that he hadn't suffered badly enough for the tears to be dried up forever. Nah, they still came now and then. Usually when he reached whatever was the new worst part.
It's not enough, he realized, It didn't work. I didn't do it right.
A tear. I have to do it all again.
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