Civil Beasts

Nights will fall and the dark will rise, when a good man goes to war. Friendship will die along with true love after the demons run wild when a good man goes to war.

Whatever happened to the good of man? Why does this war take place between the same country, to kill the men of the same nation? What wretched creatures men can be. I've been alive for too long now and I've never despised anything more than I do humans, though I too am a monster. Killing for immortality and to live an eternity of which only brings pain and loneliness.

As I lay here at the centre of the battle front surrounded by corpses, the overpowering scent of gunpowder pervades the mist air of the dawn. Wild, ear-piercing sounds of weaponry firing crowds my senses. To the right of me, I witness a man, covered from head to toe in his torn, faded blue woollen confederate uniform carrying the blood of a man whose bravery honours the same country as I. This man is going to die in vain. I sense his petrified emotion and listen to his desperate wheezes for air while his heart beats for the final time.

Without hesitation I carry him and within the blink of an eye disappear from the brutal battlefront into a secluded area of forest. Laying the man down, he weakly coughs and whispers to relieve his pain. Granting the man's wishes and without considering the consequences that come when darkness takes over. I lean down toward him, the blood rushing through his veins fill my ears and my intensified senses take over as the monster within comes forth. Instead of murdering the innocent man, I spare his life. Gently my piercing teeth sink into his neck and I drink until my thirst has once been recovered; I place his head back onto the damp ground and wait patiently for him to awaken once more.

The mist fades away and the brighter sun begins its rise above the forest. The man awakens but in the loudest of gasps.

"You're awake. What is your name, good man?" I enquire, in a quiet but composed tone.

"Haythem." He balks whilst in pain and panic.

His eyes transition into the familiar deep red colour with veins beginning to manifest underneath the whites. Crouching, he glances up at me with a sort of keenness although with hurt. It is an expression that no other man had when he first awakes from death. His startled and panicked emotion suddenly reminds me of when I was first transitioned, when all senses were heightened, the sounds, the smells, the cravings and the emotions. The constant sound of people conversing from a distance and the sounds of their hearts pumping furiously and the smell of blood even from 50 feet away would bother me immensely; all until I fed.

"I am Marcellus," I respond unruffled. "What you believe, what you love, it changes in as many lifetimes and you will not be the same man you once were."

"I changed when I saw you on the battlefront. Why help me?" he asks with a light demanding manner.

"I was once like you, courageous, brave, noble, and honourable. I can sense that about you, too." I again reply with composure.

A silence breaks between us, guns continuing to blast in the distance, the sounds of screams from innocent men who do not desire to join the violent combat between power-craving government degenerates.

"What monster have I become?" he questions hesitantly.

"Welcome to the supernatural, young one," I smirk with eagerness.

In a flash, I vanish, then again quickly return, this time with another man, weak, with a deep navy union uniform. He is one who appears to be weak, unworthy, another keen follower for the feel of blood from another man on his hands. I place the man gently down on the damp, muddy ground and return my gaze to Haythem who appears to be wide-eyed, staring with repulsion.

"He's not going to live, either way, you need to feast," I say not surprised by his reaction to the dying man.

"I...I cannot." He replies eagerly to avoid the task.

"Death will become you if you refuse, "I warn him sternly.