#vampire!jason

The world ends. It was quick, bloody, and ruthless. The world ends, and something new rose from the gore and destruction left in its wake. A new world begins, one led by The Vampire King, who reigns over it with sharpened claws and even sharper fangs.

The lucky ones got to continue with their lives, struggle to adapt to the new normal, their new rulers. The really lucky ones, the ones who were already powerful and godly, got changed into something unkillable.

The unlucky ones, you, got chosen for a far worse fate. Blood Bag. Vampires and humans alike spit it like a slur, like you're something less all because the bite marks that litter your skin. As if any one of you were given a choice.

You hadn't asked to be taken to the castle fortress that the Vampire nobility called home.

You had been in your apartment, watching the world fall apart from the safety of your home. Watching in a dazed horror as Dick Grayson's signature smile, now adorned with pearly fangs, flashed across the news, when he just appeared in front of you.

You'd said his name, jumped to your feet to touch him– to hug him, grateful he was safe and alive.

But he'd stopped you. Said he wasn't Jason anymore. Said he was just Red Hood now. It didn't make sense at the time.

Jason was Red Hood, and Red Hood was Jason. You didn't realize how wrong you were until you ended up kneeling alongside other humans in front of The Vampire King.

He had given a lavish speech about your new place in the world. That the humans staring up at him in fear and awe were special. Chosen to serve in his court. That being a Blood Bag was an honor and a privilege.

You might have believed it if they hadn't dragged you to the dungeons after.

You were left there, cold, confused, and hungry for almost a week. Your cell mates come and go, but the ones that return always come back with their skin covered in deep, telltale puncture wounds.

They whisper stories of the grand parties, the growing crowds of spawns, the brutality of The Vampire King, and his court.

You wait for your turn, and wonder if maybe when you are chosen, you'll be one of the prisoners that don't come back.

You don't get any warning, when it's your time. Two spawns with sunken eyes drag you from your sleep, hauling you from the dungeon and across marble floors.

They taunt you, proclaiming that you're a gift for The General. That you'll make a fine pet, a good blood bag, if he manages not to kill you tonight.

A part of you wants to scream. To cry. To beg. To hope as you have every night since Jason brought you here, that he'd come back for you. But your hope runs out as they force you into a lavish bedroom.

Two new spawns take over from the guards, they wash you, dress you, and soon enough, you almost look like you haven't spent a week in a cell. They leave you sitting on the soft bed and an order to not disappoint.

A part of you wants to use the moment, to seize the opportunity to escape. But you're so tired. So hungry. So thirsty. And the bed is so comfortable. But whatever comes next for you could be worse than that cell.

The door swings open, and you jolt from your thoughts. You're expecting someone fearsome. Someone terrible and evil and threatening. But it's Jason.

You think he's going to free you, save you. You believe it wholeheartedly. Until you see the glint of his fangs.

He steps towards you, eyes focused and dark, and you realize who The General is. You realize what he's going to do.

The first time Red Hood feeds from you, you feel nothing but pain. It's agonizing, to feel your life being dragged out of you and drank down by someone who could so easily kill you.

There's no ceremony. He sinks his fangs into your throat and leaves you exhausted and dazed on the bed while crimson drips haphazardly down his chin.

The second time isn't any easier, he only takes what he needs. His fingers don't brush over your skin to soothe you. He doesn't speak a word of comfort. He only presses gauze to the bite wound before leaving you to recover alone.

The third time is different. He lingers when he's done. You might be crying. You're too tired and dizzy to be sure.

But you're not so far gone that you don't notice the way he presses a kiss to the puncture marks. Like it's a twisted apology.

His hand traces lines over your back. He holds you close, even after he's done draining the blood from your veins.

The way he feeds from you changes after that. He treats you like you're precious. He presses kisses to your skin before he bites.

He licks away the trails of blood and tears. He presses his face to your pulse and doesn't move until your heart finds a steady pace.

He still doesn't speak. He hasn't since he told you he's not Jason anymore, but he hovers when he's done. He brushes his fingers along your jaw, watches you as you fall asleep.

It's not until you're brave enough to leave the room that you learn your status as Red Hood's Blood Bag has privileges.

It turns out the bedroom you've constantly been left alone in is yours. You can wander most of the castle and its gardens freely. No one else tries to feed from you.

But it doesn't stop the taunts and jeers. Doesn't stop the spawns or the high-ranking nobles or human servants alike from spitting curses at you.

But no one touches you. No one seems to want to earn Red Hoods, and in turn, The Kings, ire.

You hadn't realized the protection that his marks had offered you.

Not until you started to hear the whispers that followed you, the murmurs that warned of sinking their teeth into the only Blood Bag Red Hood seems interested in. How any bites or scratches not his would be a death sentence.

The months of faded scars that mark your skin serve as a warning to them. But to you, they're a stark reminder of the new world you're forced to navigate.

They become memories, in a way, of the mistakes you've made.

The bite on your palm marks the day you spoke to another Blood Bag out of turn. You can't forget the panic that sparked in their eyes as a spawn dragged them away. (You haven't seen them since)

The bite on your shoulder marks the night you tried to run. You had barely made it to the garden walls when Red Hood had lazily appeared at your side. It didn't take words to know he'd been aware of the moment you left your room.

Mistake after mistake, bite after bite, create a sick patchwork of art over your skin.

You try to cover the ones you can see, for your own piece of mind, but the extravagant outfit you're wearing now? The one that's been picked out for tonight's ball? Does little to hide exactly what you are.

It's rare for you to make an appearance at any of the Vampire Kings events, and the times you have gone have been incredibly short and spent entirely at Red Hood's side.

But the chatter that floats about you in the ballroom suggests The Vampire King had expected your presence. Each snide smile and quiet laugh sends a chill down your spine.

You'd expected this night at court to be like any other, one or two dances, and then a quick return to your room.

You're proven wrong when Red Hood is pulled from your side at the request of The King.

You're not completely sure how long you've been left waiting at the edge of the grand dance floor, but it's been long enough that your feet ache, and your shoulders feel tight.

Long enough that you don't think twice to slip out of the loud, music filled room and into the darker, quieter halls.

It's another mistake.

A spawn, drunk on blood and his own immortality saunters into your path. "A pest," he drawls, eyes eerily fixed on the juncture of your neck, "a pretty pest, but a pest nonetheless."

You offer a customary nod, safe under the illusion of safety the marks scattered over your body brings.

The spawn shatters the illusion when he snatches your hand with supernatural grace, "Be still, pest, I thirst."

"You can't," You protest quickly, the words spilling before you can think on them.

He pauses, head tilting in a mockery of interest, "and why ever not?"

"I'm–," You start, then pause, saying it aloud feels too real. "I'm Red Hood's," You finish, voice weaker than you mean it to be.

The spawn drags his claw over the palm of your hand, laughing as the drops of blood begin to form in a line of ruby dots, "You? Pretty pest. Not even the lowest of us would want to keep a Blood Bag that's been shared by so many."

"I haven't been–" You breathe out, but his claws only dig deeper into your skin, turning your words into a wince.

You don't tear up, don't cry or beg. It hurts. It always does. Even the idea of being fed on hurts. But your next thought keeps you quiet.

Maybe this spawn will lose control. Maybe, in a way, you can finally be free. The thought makes your heart rate spike, and you're not sure if it's in fear or anticipation. You're not sure if death is something you're ready to face.

He doesn't give you a moment more to think on it. The spawn pulls your palm to his mouth, fangs glinting as he prepares to bite down.

He doesn't get the chance.

A flash of red catches your eyes, and suddenly, your wrist is no longer restrained.

Your mind can't quite keep up with what just happened, and by the time you've even registered his presence, Red Hood has his claws buried in the spawns chest.

If the sight of blood wasn't something so common in The Vampire Kings court, you would be sick. It's messy, loud, when Red Hood rips the spawns unbeating heart from his chest.

You stumble to lean against the wall, when Jason tears the spawns head from his body and crushes it beneath his boot. You don't get a good look at what's left before Jason is in front of you, blocking your view.

He grabs your wrist and presses you flush to the wall. He offers you no warning before his tongue traces the line of blood on your skin.

It's something you should be used to, but you still make a noise of surprise, still instinctively try to pull away.

Jason only shoves a leg between your thighs, trapping you between his body and the wall behind you. His grip on your wrist tightens, and his head bends down again. His gaze doesn't stray from yours, almost like he wants you to watch.

Jason slowly licks at the cut again, then drags his fangs down your hand and to your wrist. He never blinks as he bites into your skin, adding another mark among the many others that cover your skin.

He drops your wrist and steps back once he's had his fill, "You were letting him feed from you. No one else feeds on you. Haven't I made that more than clear?"

"It's not my fault," You protest weakly, "He didn't believe me when I said I was–"

"That you were what," he asks, voice low and almost threatening. You find that entirely unfair, considering you're the only that almost had their life drained.

"That they're yours," a happy voice supplies with a chirp, "Maybe it's time you did something to show that, don't you think, Little Wing?"

You immediately drop your head at the sight of the Vampire King leaning against the wall. You can't help but think, by the cocky grin growing on his face, that he witnessed the entire thing.

Red Hood scoffs, like the idea is ridiculous, "They're covered in my bites. What else could they need? That idiot should have known–"

"But they didn't," The King supplies with a smile and walks over to you to lift your chin with a sigh, "and your little pet could have died for it."

Red Hood stiffens, and you can feel the tension growing in the corridor. He shoots a glance towards the decapitated spawn, as if he's considering removing the rest of their bones piece by bloody piece. "So what do you suggest," he finally asks, voice low and measured.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was on the verge of ripping you away from the Vampire Kings clutches.

The King only shrugs in return, "You should have shown them off more. Taken them to court. Feed from them during parties."

Red Hood goes to speak, but The King continues to talk as he tilts your chin back and forth, "Blood Bags are symbols, after all. Power. But you've always kept the things you like tucked close to your chest. Haven't you, Little Wing?"

"I don't– I don't like them. I just don't want some spawn watching me eat," Red Hood counters, and neither you nor Dick miss the way his fingers twitch towards you.

The Vampire King nods sagely, "Then I suppose you won't be interested in keeping them."

Red Hoods head snaps up in the same instant the Vampire King spins you around, his fangs catching the skin above your pulse, "And if you're not interested in a Blood Bag," he drawls, voice low and lazily as he trails off, leaving the implications of his threat in the air.

It leaves you wide eyed and frozen. The Vampire King presses closer to your back, drawing you by your hips as his free hand curls around your neck. His fangs don't quite break your skin, but the cold promise of them doesn't waver.

The ball hadn't scared you in this way. The spawn hadn't left you with tears filling your eyes, terror tightening your throat. Not even the dungeons had made dread fill every cell of your body.

Jason drops to his knees, any facade, any lie he had been trying to maintain disappears, "I want them. I want them. Please–"

The Vampire King laughs, and his fangs leave your throat. He shoves you, and you stumble to the ground into Jason's waiting arms. He keeps you caged tightly to his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head.

"I was only teasing, general, truly, you're the only member of my court who's proven time and time again you're deserving of your status," The King drawls.

You can't see him as Jason keeps your face pressed to his shoulder, but you can hear the sick glee building in his voice.

Jason tenses as Dick continues, satisfaction dripping from his tone, "The resistance camp you personally slaughtered? The leader's head left on spikes? I couldn't have done it better myself."

"I'm– I'm honored to have impressed you," Jason says steadily, fingers digging into your skin. You think if he still had a heart, it would be beating just as fast as yours.

The Vampire King hums in response, as if he's suddenly grown bored, "Go enjoy the gala, Little Wing. Remind the raff who you are. And what that makes them."

Jason doesn't argue, just hauls you towards your feet and drags you towards the ball. You keep your gaze lowered, but you can still see him checking over his shoulder, as if he's worried the Vampire King will change his mind.

"What he said– about a resistance–" You begin to ask, desperate for knowledge, but more desperate to finally hear his voice again.

"Don't. They won't win," he answers sharply, not giving you a chance to ask more questions as he pulls you into the ballroom, and drags you to the dance floor.

He doesn't let you find your footing before he's spinning you around the dance floor, arm hooked firmly around your waist.

You try to ignore the remnants of blood, his boots leave on the sparkling floor.

Every cell in your body screams at you to talk again, to demand answers. To know how he ended up like this. To know why all he seems to leave you with now are questions and scars.

You open your mouth to ask, throwing whatever decorum you should have in front of The Vampire Kings court to the wind, when Jason drops you into a dip.

Your breath hitches, and his lips find your pulse.

The sounds of the ball seem to fade around you as you stare up at the decorative ceiling lined with mirrors and gold.

He kisses down your throat, curls his hand tighter into your back and all you can think about is how odd it is, to know the room is so full and yet there's nearly no reflections in the mirrors above.

Jason runs the tip of his nose back up your neck, following the veins under your skin.

"You've always smelled so good," he murmurs. It's the only warning he gets before he sinks his teeth into your throat, drinking you down in the center of the ballroom for everyone to see.

It draws a whimper from your lips, and it only seems to encourage him to hold you tighter, to lick every trail of blood that spills from the marks on your neck.

He kisses the punctures his fangs left when he's done. It feels less like an apology this time, and more of a claim.

When he finally lifts you from the dip, when you're finally able to steady your vision even as it threatens to swim, he shows you his teeth, and his lips are dyed in the color of your blood.

"Brava," the distinctive voice of The Vampire King breaks through your hazy mind. Your eyes never leave Jason's, even as clapping begins to sound throughout the ballroom.

You're not sure what it means. You're not sure if The Vampire Kings' interest in you is just some passing folly.

But Jason's eyes are dark, intense, and they flicker with the weight of knowing. But there's more to it than knowing. It's clear in the way his eyes never yours either. There's a desire, a want, a need to keep.

To make it an unshakable truth, that whatever role you're meant to play in The Vampire Kings world, you're going to do it at Jason's side.

His eyes hold a promise, and he seals it with a bloody kiss to your pounding pulse.

One week.

It took a whole fucking week to track down the bastard Dick sent him to hunt down.

Why they were on the King's shitlist was anyone's guess. With his mood lately, the reason could've ranged from anywhere between planning an uprising to some snide comment being overheard regarding the new "Discowing suit" (Now with a vampire cape!) worn last month. Whatever the case, Jason couldn't care less. They were to be taken out, and that's all he needs to know. He knows better than to go against the king's orders.

Unfortunately, someone must have tipped them off, cause by the time he left, the target was already halfway across the country. All it really does in the end is buy the bloodsucker a few days, but that meant another few days with you at risk without him. And Jason can't afford that.

He's made it clear multiple times to the court that you were his. His pet. His property. Therefore, you were under his protection, which means you were off-limits. Anyone who tried anything didn't live long enough to regret their mistake.

But that was when he was there by your side. Right now he's far away, and you were left behind to defend yourself. Alone and amongst a court of vampires, with only your status as the General's personal blood bag as protection. But he knows some of them will think with him gone, so is the danger. They'll either grow bold or decide the taste of you is worth the risk.

The Red Hood's name can only keep you safe for so long in his absence. Which is why he wants to rip the head off the slippery fucker wasting his time playing this damn game of chase. Luckily, it's not long before he gets his wish. He'd almost feel bad for the spawn if they hadn't put you at risk dragging this out.

Clearly, they don't know what happens when you piss off the King's second-in-command. Otherwise, they might have given up sooner in hopes for a quick death. It was too late now though.

Jason was the General for a reason after all, and it wasn't for being merciful.

----------------

He doesn't bother cleaning the blood off his clothes before immediately hightailing it back to the castle. By the time he gets back, he's a tight ball of anxiety and marching straight towards your chambers, barely registering the buzz of gossip around him. The feeling of unease grows as he gets close to your room, and he slightly begins to pick up his pace when he overhears a group nearby uttering your name.

Now he's running.

Your door practically shatters from how hard he slams it open. Little splinters of wood go flying everywhere, and he'd be more concerned about one hitting you, except the room was empty. No sign of anyone there recently.

...

Where the FUCK were you?!

------------------------------

The Red Hood is on the warpath, and no vampire is safe from him.

(A/N: You know that scene in 'Beauty and the Beast' where The Beast is roaring at Belle to 'GET OUT' while she's fleeing the room? Same vibes.)

There's screaming, bodies are flying, and by the time the Vamp! King is on the scene, the stone walls have been permanently dyed a scarlet red. Anyone unlucky enough to get caught in Jason's path was now a corpse. The only thing preventing Dick from being his next target is the fact that Jason still doesn't know where you are, and a part of him still clinging to sanity knows that he has to get a fucking hold of himself if he wants answers.

So, he crams that familiar rage into a box, bows his head, and kneels, submitting before the king of vampires.

When he lifts his head, Dick looks almost like he feels sorry for him. It's only the slightest twitch in his lips that tells Hood that he's full of crap. He then proceeds to go on a long-winded speech about what a tragedy it was. How it's such a shame what happened and he knew that they were his baby bird's favorite plaything.

Even as the cruel undead king of vampires, Dick was a dramatic little shit and he was milking this performance for everything it's worth, building up the tension while evading giving a straight answer.

It's taking all Jason has not to bare his fangs and lunge at the man he once called his brother. Perhaps Dick can sense it because he finally confirms his worst fears. One of the spawns managed to break into your room. You called for help. You called for him.

Nobody came.

One would assume that this would reignite Jason's blood slaughter from earlier, but there's...nothing. Even the familiar green haze permanently residing in the back of his mind goes quiet. There's a buzzing in Jason's ears and he wonders if he died again. But this time was worse because at least the first time he died you were still breathing. You were still alive. Now, you were gone.

...What was all this for then?

The blood on his hands, the distance he kept towards you, every moment of agony he had endured, every act of cruelty just so he could see you the next day, even if it meant you looking at him like a stranger. All of it, and it still wasn't enough. He failed you.

Slowly, the world starts turning and noise starts to filter back into his ears. Dick was still talking, informing him that he has your attacker in custody for him to deal with personally. That allows a flicker of something to reignite with him. He couldn't save you, but he could damn well make sure the one who took you pays for what he did. He wouldn't be able to make them feel a fraction of the pain Jason felt but he had years of experience as a crime lord. He could get creative.

But before anything else, you came first. Even now, you were his priority, and he wants to make sure you were sent off in a way you deserved. With the care and love you he couldn't give you in life. So playing the role of an obedient dog for a little longer, he asks where your body was?

"Body, what body?"

There's a flicker of sick amusement in Dicks eye while he watches Jason struggle on his last thread of patience before he finally reveals: "I never said they were dead"

It takes a moment for Jason to process what he said before a timid hope begins to rise, and it only takes another for it to immediately drop to the pit of his stomach as his brain flies a mile a minute.

If you're not dead then what-

Jason loses all the color on his face, and Dick smiles while watching the final piece click into place in his brother's mind. No, you were were not in fact dead.

You were turned.

And you've escaped.

A/N: Holy paragraphs Batman! I haven't written anything in like five years and then suddenly this thing just magically manifests from my cranium. Like, where in the ever-loving fuck nugget did this come from??? Anywho, this is unedited so sorry for any mistakes made. Will probably fix any errors later on. (If I remember) Do I have an idea where to go from here? Yes. Will I write another chapter? No idea. Maybe, if anyone's interested. And only with the approval of the original creator.

Again, this AU does not belong to me. All credit goes to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes and their Blood bag AU. Please check it out if you get the chance it is amazing.

I read everything in the DC v Vamp! Universe and the ending was so disappointing 😭

Like there was so much hype and arcs built up that just got totally scuffed

Author’s note: Before we get to the ending, I just want to say thank you to everyone who’s supported this fic. Red Moon means a lot to me, and I couldn’t be more grateful for all the kind words y’all have sent since the very first chapter. Whether you choose this ending or the other one, I hope it succeeds in delivering a satisfactory close to this story. Once again, thank you. <3

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THE GARAGE

2103 HOURS

A veil of anguish laid itself across Salim’s face, providing a small window into the man’s inner thoughts. He said no words following the discovery of Jason’s true intentions, but his expression fell short of any ambiguity.

It was clear that Salim understood the gravity of this ordeal, and the threat HERA posed. He understood that the termination of Red Moon was necessary if they wanted to restore peace, but worst of all, he knew what it would take to achieve such a thing. And that... was something he didn’t know if he could sacrifice.

Salim was human, after all. And just like anyone else, he carried his own personal desires. It didn’t matter to him that Jason was infected, or that he barely resembled the man he once was. None of that erased the fact that he still loved him. Just the same as he loved him before.

But... regardless of any reservations he may have had, Salim knew one thing to be true. 

HERA was a danger to everyone. 

Not just Iraq, not just the United States -- everyone. If they wanted to eliminate the risk of this virus spreading any further than it already had, they would have to destroy it. Here and now. 

And Jason would have to die with it.

“A-Alright.” Salim agreed. “We’ll do it your way. I’ll take the truck, and find my way home. In the meantime, you...”

Jason brushed a hand down the man’s cheek, stroking it in a comforting manner.

“It’s okay. You’re doin’ the right thing.”

Salim leaned into his touch, wishing he could stay there forever. “It doesn’t feel right. After all this -- after finally reaching the surface -- now I have to leave you behind? How could this be right?”

The marine showed a hopeful grin, trying to maintain a strong front. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Life may not play fair, but neither do I. When I’m done with this place, CENTCOM won’t be able to hurt you no more. You’ll be safe.”

Despite his attempts to lift the mood, Salim remained in a sunken state. “It’s always about me, isn’t it. But what about you? Is this what you want?”

Jason’s front cracked a bit. “...What I want stopped matterin’ a long time ago. I’ll draw my dyin’ breath serving a cause bigger than me. It’s the life I chose. But until that moment comes...”

He slipped a hand into his pocket, taking out the photographs Salim found in Carlyle’s lab. A flood of nostalgia instantly hit him upon touching the frozen memories, and in doing so, Jason found himself reliving the life he once took for granted.

He could remember everything. His friends, his enemies, his accomplishments, his failures. All the people he ever loved, and the ones he hurt. His pride, his regret, his anger, his joy. He thought about the sins he never got to confess, and the goodbyes he never got to say. He recalled the days when he felt like he was on top of the world, and the nights where he hoped he wouldn’t wake up.

It wasn’t a pretty life, or even an admirable one. So much of it had been structured around actions that stemmed from either lostness, or fear. In fact, Jason hated almost everything about it.

And yet... he couldn’t bring himself to let it go. These memories were all he had left from his time as a human. They were the only thing keeping him intact. And so, with a silent gesture, Jason handed the photographs over to Salim, entrusting them to the man he loved more than anything else.

“Take care of ‘em for me, okay?”

Salim spared a second to browse through the photos before giving him an assuring nod, stowing the mementos safely in his pocket. 

“...I will. I promise.”

Finally ready to bid farewell, Jason began chewing on his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself together, not wanting to fall apart in front of his companion. Although he was hurting on the inside, he didn’t wish for Salim to see him suffering during his last few moments. That wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered.

He wanted to be remembered as a man who kept fighting till the very end; as someone who refused to succumb to HERA, in spite of all its efforts to kill him. He wanted Salim to be able to look back on this day and think of his valor, rather than his grief.

But most importantly, he didn’t want to spend his last day on Earth anchored by sorrow. If he was going to die tonight, he would do so without any fear.

Before Jason could even say anything, however, Salim suddenly stepped forward and pressed a hand on the back of his neck, pecking a loving kiss on his cheek. He remained there for a short while, pulling the marine into a tight embrace.

“I wish I could kiss you a proper goodbye.” Salim remarked, resting his chin on Jason’s shoulder.

The lieutenant wrapped his arms around his companion’s waist, cherishing this moment of intimacy before it would inevitably be swept away.

“Me too.”

Lingering in the warmth of his lover’s grasp, Jason found it becoming increasingly harder to let go as the seconds passed by, bringing him one step closer to the end of his journey. 

He could hear Salim’s shaky breath echoing in his ears, and the rhythmic thumps of a heartbeat that knew it would soon face peril.

These were the sounds of life, Jason thought to himself. The sounds of a true, living, breathing soul. A soul that had experienced both the harshness and beauty of this world, and would, one day, be allowed to rest.

Such was the cycle of humanity. It was the wheel that kept the Earth turning. Some would try to escape it; others would even try to alter it. But today, Jason would die to preserve it. And no one would ever know.

Forcing himself to confront reality, the marine reluctantly separated the hug and gazed longingly into the other man’s eyes, exchanging some parting words as their time came to an end.

“...I gotta go now, darlin’.”

Salim ceased any further objections and stiffened his upper lip, prepared to do what was necessary. 

“I... understand. Allah ma’ak, habib albi.”

“What does that mean?”

“God be with you, my love.”

Jason’s brow crinkled in heartache at the phrase. “...Good luck out there, Salim. You and Zain make sure to stay safe, okay?”

Salim displayed a tearful smile. “We will.”

Turning away from his partner, the lieutenant approached the control panel and reached an arm out, pausing for a moment as he braced himself for what was about to unfold. He then gripped the lever that operated the gate, and yanked it downward with a firm tug, prompting the mechanism to spring into action.

Accompanied by a loud metallic screech, a pair of lights started flashing near the garage’s entrance, signaling the rest of the camp of the upcoming departure. Within seconds, a commotion began rising in the distance as other soldiers closed in on their location, curious to see what was going on. 

Jason, on the other hand, simply stayed in place and rested his palms on the desk’s surface, speaking to Salim with his back facing him.

“...Go.”

Rattled with guilt, the older man hesitated before rushing for the door, hurrying to get to his vehicle before the soldiers could arrive. Meanwhile, Jason snuck one last look at Salim and watched the fleeing prisoner from afar, unable to stifle his tears any longer.

He couldn’t tell whether he was crying out of ecstasy or sorrow. Life had been cruel to Jason for a long time now, that much was true, but today, he’d finally get the chance to kick it back. And to him, a death like that was considered a blessing compared to the other horrors he had witnessed in the facility.

Prepared to meet his fate as an equal, the marine pushed aside all thoughts of despair and picked up a rifle, moving with a reinvigorated resolve. He then marched to the garage’s entrance and planted a foot in the door, bashing it open just in time to greet the troops that were now approaching his position. 

Due to his bright orange jumpsuit and striking green eyes, Jason stood among the darkness like a beacon, drawing everyone’s attention straight to him. Shocked by his appearance, they all gawked at his mutated features and exchanged glances with one another, trying to process the bizarre sight. Some of them were inclined to shoot him out of pure panic, but the others waited patiently for any commands.

“What do we do, sir?” One of them asked, their voice triggering Jason’s echolocation.

The commanding officer consulted his radio, keeping his gaze on the vampire at all times. “Colonel, we have an unidentified figure within the premises. Looks to be male, and is wearing a prisoner’s jumpsuit. He’s armed and in control of the eastern garage. He’s either incapacitated or killed the guards inside. His accomplice has also stolen a vehicle. Please advise.”

There was a lengthy pause, followed by a brief response. “...Kill him, and retrieve the body. As for his accomplice, track them down by any means necessary. CENTCOM’s orders.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Jason sighed quietly in disappointment, already knowing where this was going. He took no pleasure in fighting those he once defended -- especially when he could recognize a few faces in the crowd -- but, as always, CENTCOM left him no choice.

“Fire at will!” Shouted the commander.

Cutting through the night like a meteor shower, a barrage of bullets instantly erupted from their muzzles, lighting up the camp with a flicker of golden fire. Some of them zipped right past the lieutenant, while others hit him in different parts of the body.

Regardless of where Jason was shot however, none of the bullets damaged him enough to make him yield. One after another, they simply pelted against him like a bunch of pebbles, leaving the soldiers in a state of utter confusion.

“What the fuck? Why aren’t our weapons doing anything?!”

“I don’t know! Just keep shooting it!”

Desperate to put him down, the troops continued raining hell on Jason as the rogue marine steadily pushed his way forward, firing back into the swarm. He stormed through the assault with an unrelenting persistence and carved a path to the elevator, leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Occasionally, someone would abandon their firearm and attempt to best the lieutenant in close-combat, only to be hurled across the field.

With every corpse that hit the ground, the young vampire couldn’t help but ask himself if this was truly the right thing to do. Salim may have seen him as a hero, but would the United States agree? Would they paint him as an honorable veteran who made the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good, or would they frame him as a terrorist who betrayed his own country?

...Would they hear of him at all?

Whatever the case, Jason knew it was too late to stop. Salim was still out there. If that man was going to make it home safely, Red Moon would have to be terminated tonight. No matter the cost.

Running into the elevator, the lieutenant let loose a few more shots before slamming the button on the wall, waiting anxiously as the lift lowered him into the facility. 

By now, there was enough blood staining the dirt outside that he could see the moon’s warped reflection in the enticing liquid, as well as the shadows of the men pursuing him. Some of them had retreated due to Jason’s invincibility, but the rest were only more determined to kill him after all the havoc he had wreaked.

“He’s going down!” One of them yelled. “Stop him!”

Ducking his head, Jason shoved himself in a corner as the soldiers fired into the ceiling, causing a number of bulges to protrude on the other side. The sound of bullets ricocheting bounced all over the walls, but none of them actually made it through. Unfortunately for the marine however, his enemies weren’t ready to give up just yet.

In an attempt to trap him downstairs, the troops cut the cables hanging above the lift, sending it plummeting to the bottom of the shaft. Jason floated for a split second as the elevator fell through the air, only to slam against the floor once it crashed.

Shaken by the forceful landing, the vampire lay still for a couple moments, wheezing in pain. He felt as if his lungs had been knocked out of his chest, and his limbs ached with an intense soreness.

Before anyone could surprise him though, Jason quickly clutched his rifle and got up from the floor, ready to continue his mission. He could already hear CENTCOM’s forces gathering not too far away from him, and he sure as hell didn’t intend on giving them the upper hand.

Squeezing through the elevator’s bent doors, the marine retraced his steps through the facility at lightning speed, refusing to stop for anything else. He sprinted down the bloodied halls like a mad bull, returning to the point where it all began.

Up ahead, the familiar glass walls of his cell started coming into view, greeting him like an old friend. Both Tressler and Alvarez still lay inside, sitting in the exact same spot Jason and Salim had left them.

As for the lieutenant, he hurriedly took out the key he retrieved from Carlyle’s body and approached the back wall, searching frantically for the light Moreau described. He expected to see some sort of flashing signal like the one at the garage, but instead, all he found was the illuminated outline of a doorway hiding in the surface.

Trembling with adrenaline, Jason glanced down at the rectangular key and spotted a similar light radiating from its indentations. A circular button had revealed itself in the center, leading him to press it down with a soft click.

In an instant, the hidden door retracted from the wall and lifted off the floor, unveiling an entirely new section of the facility. Though, unlike everywhere else, it wasn’t coated in a layer of pristine paint, or polished to the point of perfection. Rather, it was constructed of cold, hard steel, and looked more akin to a giant cage than an actual room.

The lights were dim, the air was quiet, the shadows were thick, and in the middle, a single computer sat atop a hefty stand, welcoming Jason as if it knew why he was there.

Drawn to the docile machine, the lone vampire carefully wandered inside, shutting the door behind him. He examined the computer from top to bottom as he inched closer to it, observing the keyboard that sat below the monitor.

At the very bottom of the board, Jason noticed a small slot that resembled a USB port, except slightly thinner in width. In fact, upon closer inspection, it looked to be about the same size as the key.

Sticking the key inside the port, he pushed the gadget down and rotated it, causing a message to appear on the screen:

“Welcome back, Dr. Carlyle,” a robotic voice narrated. “What would you like to do today?”

Reading the list of options underneath the salutation, Jason’s eyes immediately locked onto one of them in particular.

He moved the cursor over the text, his heart pounding faster and faster.

“You have selected ‘Initiate Self-Destruct Sequence.’ Please enter the code.”

Holding a shaky finger over the numbered keys, the marine slowly entered each digit one-by-one, his ears ringing with a series of individual beeps.

“Code accepted. Explosives armed and primed. Please confirm that you would like to proceed with this operation. Warning: this cannot be undone.”

Jason suddenly froze.

Wait, what was he doing? 

Was this... really the end?

What would happen to him after this? Where would he go, if anywhere at all?

Was this truly the best option?

Staring intently at the screen, the young man found himself paralyzed by a ferocious kind of fear, uncertain of what to do. He had spent so much time worrying about how to survive, that... he never really considered what it would be like to die. Now that he was face-to-face with his mortality though, he felt smaller than ever.

Even with all the death he had witnessed during his time in the military, Jason never really fathomed just how fragile human beings could be.

One button. One man. One choice. That was all it would take to end hundreds of lives, including his own.

Was it worth it? Over and over, he kept trying to convince himself that this was for the good of mankind, but how many families would suffer because of him? How many graves would have to be dug? How many years of trauma would he cause?

No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Millions of people were depending on this decision. Even if it meant that his name would be tarnished forever, he had to destroy HERA. For everyone’s sake.

“God,” Jason whispered, “if you can hear me right now... I’m sorry. That don’t make up for what I’m about to do, I know, but please... just keep everyone safe. I don’t care if the world spends the rest of its existence hatin’ me, or even if it forgets me entirely. They can spit on my grave for all I care. Whatever they do, just let ‘em do it in peace.”

He held a hand over the keyboard, taking a deep breath. His voice was quivering by now, and he could feel the anxiety settling into him.

“And please, take care of Salim. Watch over him and Zain. That man deserves a better life than this. He deserves to find his son.”

Jason shut his eyes one last time and smiled, ready to face what was about to come.

“Who knows? One day, he might even find me again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE CAMP SLAYER

2134 HOURS

Soaring across the desert under the moonlight’s guidance, Salim bolted away from the military camp as fast as he could, doing everything in his power not to turn back. He could see multiple helicopters tailing him in the rearview mirror, and accompanying them, it looked like there were other vehicles pursuing him on the ground.

He had no idea if Jason had reached his destination at this point, or if CENTCOM finally got their hands on him, but whatever the case, Salim’s mind was currently fixated beyond the horizon. 

All he could think about was Zain. That boy had spent over two weeks wondering if his father would ever come home. For all he knew, his son may not have even been in Badra-Mandali anymore. He could’ve decided to take shelter with Tariq during Salim’s absence, or maybe, already left for London.

Regardless of where he was, Salim just prayed that the boy was safe. There was no telling if CENTCOM knew of Zain’s location, but if he had learned anything about them during his time in the facility, it was that they wouldn’t hesitate to use him as leverage.

Alarmed at the thought, Salim pressed his foot down even further and forced the truck to push against its limits, just barely evading the helicopters’ searchlights. They were no more than a few meters away from being within shooting distance now, and the only thing preventing them from gunning Salim down was the difficulty of getting a solid visual.

In just a few moments however, their efforts proved to be futile.

Shaking the ground with an earth-shattering force, a colossal explosion suddenly decimated the atmosphere, causing Salim’s truck to jolt in the shockwave. The impact of the eruption instantly swatted CENTCOM’s helicopters straight out of the sky, and the flames expanded so far that they nearly seared the clouds.

As for the vehicles following Salim, they were thrown off-course and flipped onto their sides, leaving them at the mercy of the bomb’s wrath. Within seconds, the Iraqi soldier found his enemies replaced by a dome of fire, and his truck riding on the edge of a scorching wave.

“Jason...!” He exclaimed, glancing at the rearview mirror. 

He couldn’t believe it. 

That crazy bastard actually did it. 

He destroyed Camp Slayer.

HERA, Red Moon, the facility -- they were all gone.

Every scientist, every subject, every civilian, every soldier... all of them had been reduced to ash. Including Jason himself.

It was both a tremendous victory and a devastating tragedy; one that Salim would carry until his dying breath.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it now. Jason had just given his life to ensure his safety, and he would be damned if he wasted this chance. So, with a broken heart, Salim simply let the truck carry him away from this horrid place, hoping that he would never lay eyes upon it again.

He didn’t know how he would live his life from now on; how he would pretend that everything was normal around Zain, or that he didn’t know who Jason was. But at least one thing was for certain.

Salim and his family were safe. All the files CENTCOM created on him were nothing more than kindling now, and the rest of their organization had no way of tracking him down either. Although Jason’s death would follow him around for a long time after this, he was finally free.

It was a sacrifice that Salim would never forget, nor be able to speak of. 

He was the sole survivor of Camp Slayer, and his story would be buried under its ashes.

~~~~~~~~~~

BADRA-MANDALI

1017 HOURS

Scribbling a few more notes in his journal, Zain quickly skimmed through the last handful of sentences in the book he was reading, eager to take a break after an entire morning of studying. He had been preparing for university by absorbing every piece of information he could find pertaining to mythology, but so far, it was proving to be more tiring than he anticipated. 

He enjoyed reading about the folklore from different countries -- the UK, specifically -- but even then, there was only so much he could take at a time.

Setting his pencil down with a yawn, the boy stretched his arms before shutting the book closed, feeling worn out for the day. His eyes stung from focusing on text for so long, and his fingers were stiff from writing multiple pages of notes.

It wasn’t even that late in the day yet, but Zain already felt inclined to take a short nap. He was planning to meet Tariq later, after all, and didn’t want to be a sluggish mess by the time they got together.

Scooting back from his desk, Zain grabbed the book and walked over to the shelf, finding a spot for it amongst all the clutter. He pushed aside some of the other books in an attempt to form a gap, but instead, ended up creating an even bigger mess.

One of the books stumbled to the floor due to the abrupt shove and landed right next to the boy’s feet. He let out an annoyed sigh and bent downwards to pick it up, only to halt when he realized what he was looking at.

...It was the book Salim gifted him for his birthday. 

Zain found it on the kitchen counter about two weeks ago with a signed card. Originally, he planned to open it when his father returned home, but the opportunity never came.

The war took him first. At some point during Zain’s escapade with Tariq, Salim was whisked away by the fight with the Americans, and just... disappeared.

No one knew where his body was, or how he died. Worst of all, no one cared enough to find out. Most of the soldiers in the area were still preoccupied with remaining pockets of conflict, and none of them would hear Zain’s pleas to find his missing father.

Eventually, the boy had no other choice but to give up. He opened the gift on his own, and stuffed the book alongside the rest of his collection, determined to forget the memories that were attached to it. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the first page, let alone read through the whole thing. At the same time though, he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.

If Zain was being honest, he didn’t know what to do with it, period. It was a painful reminder of another parent he had lost, but in a way, it made him feel closer to them. And for that reason, he decided to keep it.

Right before he could do anything with it though, a series of knocks came from the front door, tearing him out of his thoughts.

“I’m coming!” Zain called out, tossing the book on his bed for now. He jogged to the living room, undoing the locks beneath the handle.

Who would visit him now, he wondered? Could it have been Tariq? They weren’t supposed to meet for another few hours. What if it was someone else?

Swinging the door open, Zain greeted his visitor with a curious glance. “Hello, is there something--”

His jaw hit the floor, and he could’ve sworn that his heart stopped.

Standing across from him in the stark sunlight, a dirty, fatigued, battered Salim gazed at him with a weakened smile, leaning on the wall for support. Albeit somewhat tattered, his clothes resembled the uniform of an American soldier, but the jacket had been discarded. In its place, a rifle now hung from his torso.

“Zain...” he said, clearly exhausted. “...My boy. You’re still here.”

Zain took a step forward, gawking at him incredulously. “...Baba? You’re alive?” He laughed in excitement, leaping into a hug. “Baba!”

Bringing the boy into his arms, Salim held him close and practically smothered his face into Zain’s shoulder, crying tears of joy. He was struggling to stay upright after hours of running from CENTCOM’s men nonstop, but when it came to embracing his son, he had all the strength in the world.

“I’m so glad you’re safe.” He murmured, pulling away from him for a second. “Are you alright?” His eyes scanned Zain’s body for any possible injuries. “You haven’t been hurt, have you?”

“No, no. I’m fine, baba. Don’t worry. But what about you? I thought you were dead. What happened? Where have you been? What--”

Salim softly gripped him by the shoulders, speaking to him in a soothing manner. “Shh. It’s okay, Zain. I’ll answer all your questions later. Just... give me a moment to clean up, alright? Then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” The boy agreed, helping his father inside. “Come on. I’ll get you something to eat.”

And thus, for the next hour or so, Salim spent some time washing up in the shower and getting a new change of clothes, all while pondering how on earth he was going to explain everything to Zain. He omitted the details of his escape to the best of his ability, and in the end, spun a tale that didn’t involve Jason or CENTCOM at all.

As far as the boy was aware, he had gotten trapped in some caves with American troops after a series of tremors caused the ground to open up. The majority of them starved to death while waiting to be rescued, including Dar, and the rest were forced to climb their own way out. In order to avoid the risk of being captured when he reached the surface, Salim stole an American uniform, and headed home once he was free.

Although a bit vague in some parts, the story seemed convincing enough to quell Zain’s curiosity. The boy still sensed that there was something else plaguing his father’s mind, but it was nothing that would arouse any suspicion. At least, not to the point of doubting his recollection.

Salim, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as satisfied as his son. For the rest of the day, he did nothing but replay the image of that horrific explosion in his head, thinking endlessly about the partner he lost.

Even now, as the sun began to set, Salim sat on his bed, looking over the photographs Jason gave to him. One by one, he sifted through them, wishing desperately that he could touch his lover just one last time. He longed for his warmth, and the comforting sound of his voice.

He remembered the jokes they used to crack, the way they would laugh about certain things, and that big, goofy grin Jason always wore. He recalled what it felt like to kiss him for the first time, knowing it would also be his last.

Jason might not’ve thought much of himself -- hell, he probably died thinking he was nothing more than a murderer -- but Salim knew that he would never find another person like him.

He was one of a kind. And the world took him far too soon.

Letting out a sigh, Salim averted his attention from the photos for a minute and rose to his feet, contemplating what to do next.

He was home. He found Zain. But now what? 

Was he supposed to spend the rest of his life just sitting on these memories all by himself, forever bound by a vow of silence? Was he supposed to act like Jason never existed, and forget everything about him? How would that even be possible?

Jason was a part of him now, whether he liked it or not. Moving on from his death wasn’t going to be as easy as simply “getting over it.”

But, deep down, in spite of his grief, Salim knew that moving on was necessary. He still had a son who needed him. He had a family to take care of. Jason wouldn’t have wanted him to get trapped in the past, nor would he have wanted him to waste time chasing a ghost.

Death would always have a role to play in this world. Denying that fact was exactly what drove Carlyle towards the insanity that killed him. The least Salim could’ve done to honor Jason’s memory was ensure he didn’t fall prey to the same madness that infected so many of CENTCOM’s scientists.

It was the only way he would ever find peace, and the only way this ordeal would be laid to rest.

Through acceptance.

Walking over to his nightstand, Salim decided it was time to put the memories away and pulled open one of the drawers, granting himself a final look before leaving them behind. He laid the photos down individually, making sure that Jason’s portrait sat on top of the small pile. It brought him comfort to see the man as he was before HERA took hold, but for now... he would have to focus on the future.

Life waited for no one, after all. The Earth would keep turning regardless of the flock of souls that departed from its grasp on a daily basis, and carry on as it had for eons.

Jason, however, would always be waiting. When death eventually came for Salim one day, the marine would be there for him just as he was in life, ready to greet a long-lost friend.

It was a promise they both made to themselves, and one they looked forward to fulfilling. 

No matter how long it would take.

“Thank you for everything, habibi.” Salim whispered. “I’ll never forget you.”

He gently pushed the drawer closed, smiling fondly to himself as he bid one final farewell.

Jason did not think he was a violent man. He wanted what most men wanted: power, respect, peace. To rule his people without challenge. To provide for those same people so they would never want for more. His death and rebirth had not altered his personality, had not made him the bloodthirsty tyrant his neighbouring kingdoms claimed him to be. One by one they had waged war on the undead king and one by one they had been felled - replacing Jason’s fallen soldiers with their own bodies. But time was not kind, and these kingdoms dwindled and faded; people suffered and died. Famine and plague would touch the mortal breath and draw it out, like a doctor drawing blood from a wound. The land diminished and Jason was left to look out from his castle over an oceanic forrest to the distant lights of the Capitol. The last human civilisation to stand against the mountain of time. An army thousands strong, farmlands that stretched to the sea. Cathedrals where Jason’s captured subjects were trialled and burned before God. The skeleton of a glorious kingdom lay behind Jason - feeble waves crashing against a mighty ship, desperate to live in a world where waves were not wanted. They had withdrawn to live on beasts, withdrawn to live in the dark, withdrawn to where it should have been safe. And still soldiers from the Capitol came for them, with fire and silver arrows. With woven nets and pikes. And Jason could no longer stem the tide of immortal fear. Centuries he had lived, making peace with the punishment of his nightmares, and never had he been bent or broken. But on the horizon the sun of change was rising, and if he could not shelter his people, he was doomed to watch them blaze.

The Prince of the Capitol would soon come of age and be crowned its new king, and the old king would step aside. And what better shield against a son than his own father. As Jason stood on the parapet of his castle’s wall and looked deep into the fireflies of the distant city, he thought with the best intentions: I will capture the king, and I will make him a vampire like me.

Jason could not look at himself in reflective glass. He’d had masks made in his image to remind him of his own face - high cheekbones and deep brown eyes of royal lineage. Hair that refused to be tamed except by the thickest of oils. Lips that sneered more easily than they smiled. Age and decay had not touched him, time had not rendered him weak or weary. Sleep came to him in a warm and rolling embrace with the arrival of the sun each day, and each night he awoke as if he has simply blinked the time away. He wore lavish clothes from a bygone era, had no interest in fashions favoured by humans. Dark blues and jewel greens, deepest blacks with gold or silver trim, sweeping cloaks and fur lined cuffs. Polished leather boots to his thighs with velvet leggings or embroidered breeches. Jason’s string of temporary lovers had always seemed fascinated by the way he presented himself, yet set no precedence for the fashion of his court. He’d never assumed it was his business to interfere in the way others chose to present themselves. How could a subject feel safe when they couldn’t even chose what they wore? 

Jason kept small close contact - only a few vampires that aided in the ruling of his kingdom. A private and withdrawn trio from the first kingdom he conquered: Lord Eric and Lady Rachel, and their companion Nicholas. A trade ship had bought him a man named Merwin, well versed in matters of money but with a less than savoury tongue. The youngest prince from a toppled Estate by the sea, José was a talented linguist and academic. And wandering witch and alchemist Clarice, an outspoken and headstrong young woman, was the most recent addition, some three hundred years ago. These few he trusted above all others, these few he allowed private knowledge of his plans. And these few he left in charge when he travelled out one night to attend the Capitol’s Masquerade. 

A pity Jason could not see into the future, for the best laid plans of all good men are so often doomed to fail…

***

[I promise it ends happily..