The way out was caved in. The air flow Peter felt was coming through a maze of debris formed by a variety of gaps too narrow for him to fit through.
“I must’ve been a real sonofabitch in my past life.” Peter grumbled looking at the blockage. [There’s no way I’m getting through that! Not quick enough, at least.] Some of those rocks were the size of his torso, and he could see a collapsed pillar twice his height. He’d have to find another way out.
He stood there for a moment, though. Staring at the exit set at an angle within the corner. He was actually considering how to dig through while he waited. His eyes picked up on the sizes of the rocks and how they were positioned. Not one was without a bunch of others holding them in place through crushing force. Except maybe for the big gummy bear-looking one at the top.
“This is a death trap.” He muttered while leaning in to get a better look.
He took a step back and considered the lintel. It ran nearly vertically at this point. One end on this side of the frame and other just over the threshold. It didn’t look stuck, though.
“Sigh,” Peter’s ears picked up the sound he’d been waiting for.
Cre-e-ak! It was still distant, but he wasn’t about to get caught with his pants down this time. The thought brought a silly grin to face for a moment as he looked down at himself.
Peter turned towards the sound and, rolling his shoulders, moved to greet it. Putting together a plan as he walked.
[Right! Scout out escape routes and locate the appas. Kite them away from skellies. Double back. Kill one skelly and pull back. Wait out the pain. Rinse, repeat]
As he walked through the aisles, he couldn’t help a bittersweet smile. The nostalgic scent of old books – a lot more prevalent now that the fire was long dead – brought to the fore some of the best memories of his past life. Peter wasn’t much of a reader himself, but he’d spend many a day with his daughter at the library. His little girl devoured books and loved reading them to her daddy before…
Peter shook himself out of his daze and wiped his eyes. He needed to focus.
He listened as he kept his eyes peeled for the apparitions. They’d gone quiet again. But he could make out the four skeletons slowly splitting up the moment they entered the library. [Slight change of plans, guess I still got some luck, after all.] At the breach, two had picked his side of the library, the others had gone in the opposite direction.
Peter went for the one moving toward his quadrant.
[How did these not burn?] Peter wondered as he walked through the bookcases and scroll racks that were, somehow, still standing despite, not only their age, but also the very recent fire. [They're wood, right?] "Not the time." He whispered to himself.
As he got closer to his target, Peter softened his footsteps and lowered his body, bending his knees slightly.
That undeath scent became stronger and that strange anger rose within him, battering aside his ever weakening anxiety. But he focused and pushed that down.
Just as Peter was about to reach the skeleton’s position, who itself was about to round the end of the bookshelf aisle, he broke into a light stealthy jog into the neighboring aisle. Back against the bookcase, he waited. The creaking of bones confirming the image in his mind’s eye’s accuracy.
He swung the moment his greyscale sight picked up on his foe. But he didn’t go for the head this time. Peter wasn’t going to risk missing. His flanged mace banged into its chest plate and the skeleton staggered a couple of steps backward.
The skeleton didn’t give Peter a chance to register his disappointment as it brought the tip of its sword up in a double grip and thrust. Peter barely managed to get out of the way, finding his back against the bookcase again. The skeleton swiftly slid its left leg back and slashed at Peter’s midriff. Peter only had time to meet the blade with the shaft of his mace, making the mistake of grabbing its flanged head with his left hand.
He screamed, but soldiered through. He pushed the blade away, shouldered the skeleton and swung his mace down on its leg. The resistance was almost non-existent and the skeleton crashed to the floor. Peter followed through and smashed his foe's skull as he dropped to one knee.
“Ar…” Peter’s scream didn’t get the chance to escape. The pain didn’t stop at blowing up his skull this time. It shot down his spine making Peter spasm like he was being electrocuted. His muscles locked and he was unable to breathe.
There were no thoughts in his mind. Peter could feel his consciousness beginning to fade, but refused to let go.
“GASP… pant… pant… pant…” moments later, just before he was about to lose the battle, all his muscles went slack and he inhaled. Air had never smelled or tasted so good. But after the first few gulps of air a horrible stench reached his nose and he retched. He knew this smell. As he focused his awareness, he started feeling yucky. He ran his left hand over his chest and there it was. That disgusting gunk was coming out of him. Then he noticed his free use of his left hand. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should. Looking closer he could make out the marks made by his mace’s flanges on both sides of his hand; they had closed and were well on their way to healing.
Kkeeeeeee!
Cre-e-ak! Cre-e-ak! Cre-e-ak!
“Oh, give me a break!” Peter protested under his breath. He struggled back to his feet and stealthed a quick escape. First, back to the blocked exit, then on to the other side of the library. All the while he grumbled about not being able to loot that armor.
Following the wall, he found it veered right and opened into a wide area filled with tables and chairs, desks, and sofas. There were display cases, portraits and paintings. A myriad of long dead light fixtures hung from the ceiling, were affixed to walls or stood throughout the space clearly reserved for study. On the far wall, a huge mural adorned a sizable portion of it. It was framed the same way he’d seen windows and doorways framed in some churches and cathedrals. Arches?
He moved closer, marveling at the level of detail put into the mural. Even without color he could tell it was meticulously crafted. It must’ve taken ages to complete. It clearly told a story, he just needed some time to figure it out.
He got to two feet away from the mural when he turned on the ball of his foot and shot to his right, mace raised high above his head. Reaching his target he stopped and lowered his arm. That skull had long been smashed in.
“Finally!” This guy’s clothes looked good. Well, robes. Clearly a mage of some sort.
Peter crouched down and got to work. “Oh my God, jackpot!” Peter wanted to scream for joy. This guy had everything. A hooded robe, blouse, vest, pants and boots. Even socks and underwear. There was a belt, too, with a pair of gloves hooked onto it. And by the look of it, this guy had a bigger build than him when he was alive. Best of all, none of it was damaged. Thank God, one hit to the noggin was all it took. “Sorry, my guy.”
Somehow the clothes hadn’t deteriorated or gotten dirty either. [Must be enchanted to kingdom come.] “You were an important one weren’t ya?”
Not long after, Peter was squirming in pleasure. “Damn, that’s some good fabric!”
Then he started looking around again? No weapon? A staff? Maybe a wand?
Peter got on all fours and looked under the tall display case the mage had been leaning against. “There we go.” He muttered, reaching toward a fancy looking wand. He’d seen enough movies and played enough games to recognise one. However, just as he was pulling the wand back, he saw what he guessed to be an amulet. “You sneaky bugger.” He chuckled. The mage must’ve thrown the wand and amulet to hide them from his enemies.
Things were finally looking up.
He used the wand to pull at the chain and soon he had his hand on the amulet. Straight away, he regretted even laying eyes on it.
The moment Peter’s hand touched the amulet, a tremor coursed through his body and his mind’s eye conjured the image of ancient blind-looking eyes snapping open.
He tried to let go of the amulet, but found he couldn’t control his hand anymore.
~Maarti ka ishtt!~ He heard the voice, but there was no sound. And as it spoke, Peter felt a light stabbing pain going through his head.
~Maarti ka ishtt!~ “Argh!” The pain came again, stronger this time. He had no clue what it meant, but felt like he should.
~Maarti ka ishtt! ZERAKK!!!~ This time his mind went bright white and he screamed.
When he finally came to, Peter was standing in front of the Mural, the hand holding the amulet moving towards a slot at the center of it. Luckily he broke out of it and managed to stop himself in time.
He felt something… connect to him? His mind? It was hungry. And the lowly beast that awoke it was fighting it instead of offering itself.
Then he registered the sound coming from behind him.
Kkeeeeeee!
Cre-e-ak! Cre-e-ak! Cre-e-ak!
Kkeeeeeee!
He turned around and there they were. Two apparitions and three skeletons. But before he could even come up with a plan, he felt the entity in his mind change its focus. A moment later, the skeletons crumbled to the ground and the apparitions dissipated.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. [I’m dead!] was the only thought he could form. There was no getting out of this.
~Come to meeeee!~ The pain came again, and with it came something else. He saw himself standing in a dark room staring at a huge door. He could open it, but he felt too weak. [How long have I slept?] He had to support himself against his sarcophagus. Why wasn’t that beast coming to him? It understood him now, and it was not possible for such a feeble creature to resist his compulsion.
~COME TO ME, NOW!~
From within him, Peter could feel that primal anger trying to take over. “NO!” He roared. Pushing the primal anger down and the entity in his mind out.
He collapsed to the ground then. He’d managed to let go of the amulet, but now he was exhausted and in excruciating pain. He lay there waiting for the torture to pass.
Soon though, he heard the grinding of heavy stone followed by irregular footsteps and heavy, raspy breathing. Then the smell hit and the anger rose to meet it. Yet, even in his delirium Peter refused to give in to it. It wasn’t his.
The footsteps paused, ~What happened here?~ The raspy breathing quickened. ~My son? No!~ The footsteps started moving towards him again. Faster. But he couldn’t move.
A hand grabbed Peter by his collar and lifted him off the ground like he was a child. Then he finally saw the entity. An old man so desiccated he couldn’t even express the rage and hunger Peter could feel wafting off of him.
~Tell me what happened here? Why do you wear my son’s robes?~
Peter couldn't even bring up the will to speak. He didn’t even have the answers the desiccated old man wanted.
As if reading his mind the mummified man turned his head towards the skeleton that Peter had stripped earlier. ~What…? How long…?~ The voice in his mind whispered, trembling.
Pain racked through Peter’s head again. ~Impudence! You desecrate my son’s corpse? I will feed from you for an eternity and you will suffer.~
Peter barely had time to register the mouth full of sharp teeth rip open before it tore into his neck. More pain shot through him. He felt his blood being sucked out and wanted to put an end to it. To stop the damn bloodsucker. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t obey. Yet again, he felt himself about to lose consciousness.
Then he felt the air rush past him before his back hit the wall and he fell to the floor.
“ARGH” Bleagh! ~You!~
Peter managed to look up and see the ancient vampire on his hands and knees, puking his blood out. He couldn't form any kind of thought, but a sense of amusement washed over him and a smile tugged at his lips.
Retch! ~How?~
The old man seemed to have puked all of the blood out as he locked eyes with Peter. Was that fear?
The bloodsucker was shaking now, ~You sh… ouldn’t be h…ere…~ was the last thing he said before he died.
Peter barely felt the pain of the old vampire’s death. He was out like a light the moment it came.
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