literature

How to make an Immortal

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Literature Text

    Small flames housed in a street lamp flickered softly, as a piercing shriek filled the dimly lit streets. The scream bounced from house to house in the dead of night setting the maker's death in stone.
An alchemist well known for his love of anatomy and the patients in which he worked so closely with; lie on his basement floor curled in a ball, his face contorted as he clenched his thin sides tightly.

He knew his time was almost up.

He had visited many doctors of the time, looking over him they found nothing wrong on the surface, only deeper could the problem be seen.

His blood was contaminated.
Spleen, Liver and Kidneys all decaying within him.
No operations could be performed, no supplements or remedies to help the pain.

He would waste away painfully, dying from the inside out with no help for redemption...


Unless.


A desperate thought thrust it's way into the Alchemist's mind.

Maybe.

The alchemist forced his fingers to release his sides, tendrils of pain forced him to bite his lips. He swept piles of documents aside and began dragging himself across the cluttered floor to his study table. With much effort he grasped his desk's edge, exhaled and wrenched his upper body on top of the surface.

This time he screamed, as the full pain of moving shocked throughout his body. Restraining himself to the point of his veins bulging, he ground his teeth into his lips and reached for the torn book hidden amongst many others.

The candle light spilled across his weathered face, to reveal a glimmer of hope shining in his weary eyes as he flipped through the pages.
The color that remained in his face then faded, and he sunk to the cold floor gasping desperately, the book clenched against his chest.


Then he became deathly still... suddenly his head jerked and his body wavered.



The book fell to the ground and it's pages flipped open to an important section: conjuring life.
He leaned over intently flipping through the pages, one hand clenching his side to acknowledging the pain.
After the excruciating moments of flipping through the pages, he found only fractions of what could help.

Just as despair was creeping into the seams of his mind, he grasped a piece of charcoal and began plucking pieces of information: Runes, symbols, circles, hurriedly scratching them into the stone.



He was moments away from death then.



Sweat pouring from every pore he possessed, lines drawn being blurred by tears, and a shaky hand to place amongst the magic lines finalized the mark.

With his last breath he used all of his magic, energy, and every last piece of his being, and pushed them out of his body and into the lines of chalk. As they lit up with the air around the curious shape shimmering, the maker fell; broken and stressed to the limit, into the shimmering light.


If you have ever wondered why vampires could ever need fangs, why they drink blood, etc. It shall all be explained in my theory here~ Enjoy.
© 2015 - 2024 I-am-Leonidas
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Fenestrelle's avatar
...I AM a vampire...