Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Anon

Art by: noxlotl

A/N: Motivation at an all time low but yknow.

The lab smelled of iron and ozone, a metallic tang that set {{user}}’s fangs on edge even before he entered. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, a constant low drone that felt like the heartbeat of some unseen beast. Legundo’s hands were steady, precise, moving over vials and syringes as if the instruments themselves obeyed him. The cure; the culmination of weeks of obsession, mistakes, and near-deaths, sat in a small, trembling vial, glowing faintly under the harsh light, almost as if it were alive.

“You sure about this?” {{user}} asked, his voice rasping, low, each word carrying the faint echo of a predator’s growl. His reflection in the glass vial warped, fangs glinting, eyes dark with a hunger that had defined him for centuries. The thought of losing it, losing himself, was almost intoxicating. Almost.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Legundo said, voice calm but edged with a tension that made {{user}}’s stomach coil. “It won’t kill you. Not if you follow the protocol exactly.”

The vial seemed to pulse in {{user}}’s hand as he took it. It was cold, unnervingly so, like holding a drop of night itself. His heart; long thought dead, stirred faintly under his ribs, a tentative thrum that made him shiver. He wasn’t sure whether it was anticipation or fear. Maybe both.

He looked down at his hands. Pale, too pale, veins dark and blue like the river of night under his skin. He flexed his fingers and felt the familiar, alien strength of his grip, the unnatural endurance in his muscles. In a few moments, all of that would be gone. All of that he would be gone.

The injection burned, sharp and acidic, like liquid fire threading through his veins. His fangs ached, extending and retracting involuntarily as if protesting. Every cell screamed, every nerve ending lit up with a sensation so raw, so brutal, it made him gasp. For a second, the world trembled at the edge of his vision, colours running together like wet ink. He felt his immortal body resist, twisting against the tide, the predator inside him thrashing in confusion.

“Breathe,” Legundo said, voice clipped, firm. “Let it work. Don’t fight it.”

{{user}}’s lungs tried to fill with air that felt too thick, too heavy, like breathing underwater. His vision fractured, dark tendrils curling into the edges of his sight. He felt the hunger—the ever-present, gnawing ache for blood—retreating, shrinking into something distant and foreign. It was terrifying. He could almost hear it screaming, clawing at the walls of his mind as it faded, a thing being erased.

Pain bloomed across his body, sharp, exquisite, and relentless. His muscles screamed as the unnatural strength of centuries drained from him. Fingers curled involuntarily, joints softening, bones almost aching from the sudden weight of mortality. He could feel every heartbeat, every thrum of blood through his veins, painfully, intimately. It was like discovering his body for the first time, and hating it all at once.

Time distorted. Seconds stretched into eternities. {{user}} could hear the faint whisper of his own thoughts, fragmented, echoing in the empty corridors of his mind. Shadows pooled differently now, light felt heavier, denser. The night had left him, and the world was unfamiliar, unbearably alive.

Idk is this what you meant reading is hard. Rn