#i am writing this and procrastinating on the next chapter of the forgemasters please end me

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

Death was cold. Unforgiving. Empty. Myrion thought it would be a peaceful embrace.

That is why he begged Lyoris to let him go.

But perpetual dread quickly filled the man like venom coursing through his body so deep it poisoned his very soul. If his heart could beat it would have pounded fast enough to break his chest open.

Myrion tried screaming, but had no form to make the sound.

The Human lay suspended in silent terror alone. Not a single living being or dead. No one save himself.

And how could Myrion save that which he had lost?

Life spent, the Human gave way, allowing this terror to consume whatever of himself remained.

Until two sharp protrusions... pierced... his throat?

How?

Myrion felt something drawing out of himself, as though given a physical form despite being unable to see it. This draw... it drained... the fear?

Relief began to fill him, whatever embedded itself inside his neck giving great comfort.

And there the darkness fell away, a muffled, desperate voice begging.

"Please! Please. Drink...!"

Myrion's eyes opened, weary, his body heavy. Within his sights was Lyoris, mouth bloodied as he sobbed overtop.

"Please, friend! I beg of you!" Lyoris held his wrist to Myrion's lips.

Myrion glanced down at himself, skin pale as a corpse, uniform bloodied but the red stains dried. He glanced upward to the crying Lyoris, sorrowed and afraid.

Afraid...

He opened his mouth and, with a set of fangs, bit down on the king's wrist. Excasty filled his entire being as he began to feed. Deeply. Needily. Greedily.

Selfishly.

Myrion froze, drawing back, his own mouth coated in blood as he looked upon the king, eyes a deep crimson, wide in fear.

"My friend, please take more if you must! I cannot bear to lose you!" Lyoris begged.

"What if... I take too much? What if... I hurt you?"

Lyoris gripped the man against himself, laying his head against Myrion's. "I would give you all of myself if I had to! You are worth more than I have!"

"I am worth nothing..."

"No! Don't say that!" Lyoris pressed into him tighter, squeezing the new Vampire. Gently, his clawed hands reached for Myrion's spine, brushing along a fresh set of feathered wings. "You're worth everything, Myrion! Please don't think anything less!"

These gentle strokes—Lyoris's embrace—were a comfort. The king was comfort.

And Myrion fell against him, lifting pale hands now clawed, then hugged him. He, too, sobbed. "I was so afraid... Alone... I... I hate death..."

Lyoris looked at the Vampire, and brushed his hair gently back. "Do not fear it anymore. It cannot claim you. Kynthar holds no power over you now. He believes he is death, but you are stronger, and so it will be forevermore."

Myrion closed his eyes, laying against Lyoris. "Thank you. Thank. You."

@nosebleedclub prompt 1: Back to life