Would you love a Monsterman? (Avdol x Polnareff)

The Knight and The Magician

Blood.
The path was covered in blood. It oozed into the soil, blending into the mud being made by the rain, bucketing down like the tears of a grieving mother. A beastly man with two right hands crouched over the once-proud knight in shining armour, feeding from his jugular. The vampire- the filthy revenant, the cursed undead- drank his fill of Polnareff's blood, gulping it down in the manner that a leech feeds off a weary traveller who stumbles into a bog. Polnareff twitched, occasionally letting out a soft scream, but he was powerless. Although the vampire looked thin and emancipated he had a grip like iron, and he had clamped firmly onto his neck.

Polnareff's eyes slid to the side, where he could see the lifeless body of his sister. The vampire had made an advance towards her, and when she had fought back- luckily before the bloodsucker could do what he was originally planning- he had grown enraged and simply broke her neck. Sherry lay in a crumpled heap like a discarded doll as the vampire continued his unholy feast. At long last, once there was no more blood in Polnareff's veins, he pulled loose. The knight had gone incredibly pale, and his eyes were hazy and unfocused.
"Look at yourself, Jean Pierre." The vampire spat, holding the knight's head over a muddy puddle. In the moonlight he saw his face- pale as the moon overhead, with two puncture wounds in his throat.
"That's the face of a man who'll never get to heaven. You're a vampire too, just like me. A bloodsucker. A..."
That was as far as the man with two right hands got, as with the last of his strength, Polnareff had gripped his sword. With the taunts ringing in his ears, he decapitated the beast who had bitten him with his silver sword. Thick blood spouted from the stump of where the vampire's head once was, and he crumbled to dust.
"For Sherry..." Polnareff gasped, before collapsing. He rolled into a ditch, his once-bright armour stained and sullied with mud. The knight sank into the mud of the drainage ditch, and promptly passed out.

"Do you think he's alive?"
"Don't touch him, what if he's got the pox? Or the plague?"
"He wouldn't get it, he's a knight. They fight for God, and the preacher said that only sinners get sick."
"Didn't you get sick last summer?"
"Enough of th.... hey, he's moving!"
Polnareff grunted, his eyes opening slowly. He'd been entirely covered in mud, with only his armour-clad legs sticking out of the dirt he'd fallen into. Even then, they felt sore, as if he'd been sunburnt. His mind drifted back to the scary stories told around campfires with his friends, and he sighed in misery. The sun killed vampires- and they had to feed off the blood of living things. Polnareff was distracted by a scraping noise, as the two peasants who'd found him dug away at the soil. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to face them in his current state.
"Holy shit, he's so pale!" One said.
"Check for a heartbeat, that means he's alive." The other replied. The first one (Polnareff mentally dubbed the men as "Un" and "Deux") stuck his fingers on Polnareff's temple, then put his ear to his chest.
"No sign of a heartbeat and he's as cold as ice." Un said with a sad sigh.
"Let's drag him back to the village and throw him into the plague pit then." Deux replied. Polnareff flinched at the idea of being stuffed into a pit full of rotting corpses, and his eyes flew open.
"Don't do that!" He gasped, before wrenching himself out of the mud and crawling up onto the path. He looked at the spot where Sherry once was, and gasped at her absence.
"Where is she? Where's my sister?!" He demanded. Un and Deux glanced at each other, before Deux spoke up.
"You mean the brunette maiden? She was taken up to the churchyard and buried."
Polnareff thanked Deux, then ran towards the tiny Brittany village where he and his sister had lived their entire lives.

The sun had just set, and the priest lifted the final spadeful of cold, dead earth onto Sherry's grave. The young girl lay under the soil, lifeless as the stone that marked the place of her burial.
"Ah, Jean-Pierre!" The old man smiled at the sight of Polnareff running up to the church gate. "I'm so sorry, my child. There was nothing we could do to save her, she was dead on arrival. We... we had to bury her as soon as possible, and I meant to send a messenger but nobody could bear to break the news to you!" The priest choked back tears at this, and Polnareff was struck by another cold bolt of sadness. He went to comfort the weeping old man, yet the minute he stepped onto the consecrated ground he let out a loud hiss. It burnt- it was as if he'd stepped into a vat of boiling hot oil, rather than onto a patch of grass.
"What on earth?!" The priest gasped, stepping back. Polnareff tried to take another step, in order to pay his respects to his poor, dead sister- but the result was the same. He let out a shriek, revealing his sharp white fangs to the preacher.