Forbidden Blood (Taehyung - BTS)

Chapter 1 : Death

Chapter 1: Death

A cloaked figure emerged from the darkness on a late winter evening, and peered at the gruesome sight in front of him. The artificial violet lights of the shallow city lit the right side of his face, revealing skin that appeared to be as smooth as marble except for the pale scar beside a blood-stained eye. The Lord lifted his head and sniffed the foul air in search of a deathly scent that was familiar to him. It had been a while since he had been forced to visit the world of the living and that was fine by him as he loathed the insincerity and artificialness of it all.

His fangs rested uncomfortably in his mouth, as his senses directed him towards the sickeningly familiar scent of blood. Taehyung had no desire to drink directly from a human's body; their bodies were filthy, full of sweat from a long day's labour. Seeing the body that fed him always had a way of killing his appetite because as soon as the blood escaped one's body, the ghastly air would spoil its enriching scent. There were those who knew what he was, and they would voluntarily offer him their necks lustfully. Yet he wanted none of them, appalled by their rotting hearts and their rancid blood.

He had no need to drink the blood straight from a human. None of the vampires did and for that he was thankful because it created more mess than it was worth. He acquired sustenance in the form of the forbidden fruit which hung from the lively tree of life. Each fruit connected to a branch, and each branch connected to a root which connected to the hearts of the living, holding their very life line by a silver thread, waiting to be plucked as they ripened. When the vampires were thirsty they would simply pluck a ripe apple from the tree and cut one's life line in the process. The fruit would only ripen when it was one's time to leave the world of the living.

No, he had no use for the Human world and he was certainly not there for food. He loathed the pitiful destruction which the humans had created and then complained about. In many ways he felt a hint of burning guilt, as if he had contributed to the destruction (and that was a thought which was better repressed.) Taehyung was there with a purpose, a purpose which was impossible for him to forget. He loosened his cloak and looked forward; his face was once again hidden as he passed the neon signs of nightclubs and businesses which had closed for the evening.

Taehyung walked down the dimly lit alley, whistling an unknown tune which had always felt so familiar. He juggled a blood red apple with his right hand, waiting patiently to collect the soul of the body which it represented. He was well regarded as the Reaper in the Underworld and was graciously tasked with collecting the souls of those who had been cut off from the tree. It was a tiring occupation, one which he would leave to someone else in a heartbeat (if he had one). It was a job which had to be done and as one of the three rulers of the Underworld, he had little choice in the matter.

He had been the Reaper for as long as he could remember. Although it had been easily over a century, he could not remember much before his life had been taken from him (other than an odd tune, a pretty face and a river of blood.) He had spent his years as a reaper lurking in the shadows, waiting patiently for the dead to come towards him looking for a peaceful afterlife. It was a pitiful belief which was nothing more than a fairytale and far from the reality which faced them. He would then escort them out of the decaying world which they had lived in and he would leave them with the ferryman, knowing that Yoongi would leave them where their souls belonged.

Taehyung's thoughts were interrupted by a growl, not from an animal but from a pale decrepit man who smelled of cheap liquor and looked as if he belonged in the Underworld himself. Taehyung scowled in disgust at the sight of the bodies which lay slumped on the pavement. Drunkards and drug addicts who were polluting their blood, the blood which was meant to feed a ravenous clan of vampires. He paced down the alleyway knowing that the death would occur in near time. He twisted the silver ring which rested on his left middle finger. He had always worn it. If his life as a vampire continued monotonously as it had for the past century then he would probably never remove it. The ring was sacred to him (a sort of relic from a forgotten past) as it contained a fragment of his heart from when he was still had one. Feeling the heart in close proximity filled him with a sense of unfamiliar comfort. The tiny fragile shard of his broken heart still had enough strength to beat despite the time which had passed.