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THE SCENT OF MAGICAL BLOOD.







CH. 1



In the beginning I was just a young boy, and saw many a thing I shouldn’t have seen at such a young age. But alas it made me into the man I am today, well if you can even classify me as a man anymore. It all started back when I when I was 16, I witnessed my mother being murdered by a man in a long black trench coat, long flowing white hair and glowing aqua eyes. After he finished sucking my mom’s neck dry he turned on me, he licked the air almost sensing my powers, having a moderate amount of magical blood coursing through my veins, I dropped into stance, fumbling with my wand as he flew toward me. Raising my wand only a moment to late, my spell went off behind his back, lucky break for him, a sharp sense of pain erupted from my neck as his fangs pierced my skin. I couldn’t move, speak, or think, so all defensive magic was out the window. After a few seconds I blacked out. The next thing I know I awakened in the street, he was gone and my thirst for blood took over. Five years later his image is still burned into my eyelids, and I still dream of him every night. I sit in a small town bar, a half empty bottle of southern comfort lies seamlessly in front of me, the reddish amber liquid almost begging me to drink. The bartender smiles at me and with an almost annoyed voice says, “If you don’t take that shot I will!” I look up at her with a smile and reply “you go right ahead beautiful” her name is “angel” but everyone calls her “BOB”. She smiles at me and downs the shot like its water. That’s what I love most about soco. It takes my mind off of feeding on the helpless masses, and being with angel helps me even more. After polishing off the rest of the bottle I stagger out into the moonlit streets of a small town. Out of nowhere three men, twice my size, in a fully restored GTO park not 100 yards behind me, the men all get out and start walking toward me. I hear the all-to-familiar clicking of several 9mm lugers clicking as they rack a shell into the chamber and the off pitch chuckles all gun users exclaim when they stumble upon what they believe to be an “easy kill”. “You’re outta luck!” the one says. The other two guffaw stupidly, I’ve always hated cronies. I turn ever so slowly, my trench coat and my long black hair blowing wildly behind me in the breeze. Three guns raise, I’m ready for them, I raise my wand and with a casual flick of my wand drop the two cronies to the ground writhing in pain. The leader, being thrown off due to what happened to his friends bends down to try to assist his buddies. I’m on top of him before he even bends over to check them out. I put my wand to his throat. I let my mind wander on killing this individual and suffering the aurors again, or letting him go. After I witness him piss himself I decide to let him go. No kills for tonight. My name is Miljardo Black and I am a vampiric mage.