"Fifty years..."
Eric's voice scraped out of him like something dragged over gravel.
"I hunted vampires for fifty years. I despised everything that fed on blood. I swore my life to destroying them..."
He stared down at his hands, slick and red, his whole body shaking.
"And what happened? I became something ten thousand times worse than any vampire. I ate people. I ate so many people. I nearly ate you..."
"Mr. Eric," Veyric tried, "this wasn't your fault. It was the virus..."
"No!"
Eric's head snapped up. His eyes were a web of burst capillaries.
"I could see. Every second, crystal clear. Every bite, I knew it was a living person. And I couldn't stop myself!"
His voice cracked, raw as a wounded animal's howl.
"I don't deserve... I don't deserve to be saved by you."
The words were barely out before he snatched up his silver sword and bolted for the window.
"Wait!" Peter's reflexes fired first. A line of webbing shot out to intercept.
But Blade was faster.
He sidestepped the web, drew the sword in the same motion, and a flash of silver severed it clean. The next instant, his silhouette vanished into the morning light.
"Damn it!" Peter lunged toward the window, but Veyric's voice stopped him.
"Peter. Don't."
"But Blade would be an incredible asset..."
"Let him go."
Veyric leaned against the wall, shaking his head weakly.
"Think about it. A man who spent decades hunting vampires, only to become something worse than any of them. That kind of blow... nobody walks that off in five minutes."
He paused, the corner of his mouth twisting into a tired half-smile.
"Besides, Blade's always been a lone wolf. Dragging him back by force won't accomplish anything. Give him time. Once he's sorted through it, he might come find us on his own."
[Ding...]
[Blade's attitude toward you updated to: Guilt]
[Blade Affinity +30. Current Value: 80]
[Bond Level: LV.0 (Stranger)]
Peter stood by the window, staring in the direction Eric had disappeared. He was quiet for a long time.
"I understand how he feels..."
His voice had dropped low. Veyric knew without asking that Peter was remembering his own time as one of them.
"Come on." Veyric pushed himself off the wall. "We've got the key. Let's head to the bunker. We still have work to do."
Peter snapped back and picked up the severed hand and key from the floor.
"Veyric, your hand..."
"Venom." Veyric glanced at the black mass still writhing on his shoulder. "Can you reattach it?"
The symbiote went quiet for a beat. Then a small head emerged, expression unusually grave.
"Yeah. But it's going to hurt. And..."
"And what?"
"My energy reserves are almost gone. If I force a full repair on your hand and that shoulder wound, I'll probably... go dormant for a while."
Veyric blinked. "Dormant?"
"Means I crawl back inside you and take a long nap. Until you find enough food to recharge me, I won't be able to come out and help." Venom's voice was oddly subdued. "Sorry, Veyric. I'm running on empty."
Veyric looked down at the bloody residual limb of his wrist, then at the bite wound still oozing on his shoulder.
In this condition, forget reaching the safe house. He'd struggle to walk two blocks.
"Do it." He set his jaw. "Being one-handed is worse."
"Okay. Brace yourself."
The symbiote surged outward, black tissue flooding toward the severed wrist. Peter pressed the detached hand into position, and Venom locked it against the residual limb with surgical precision.
"Ngh... AAAH!"
Pain detonated from the wrist. It felt like a thousand needles plunging into every nerve at once. Cold sweat erupted across his entire body.
He could feel it all. Shattered bone fusing back together. Torn muscle fibers reconnecting, strand by strand. Blood vessels and nerves splicing themselves back into place.
Like surgery without anesthesia, performed from the inside.
Two minutes. Then the agony receded.
Veyric looked down. His right hand was whole, unmarked, without so much as a scar. The bite wound on his shoulder had sealed over completely.
"It worked..." He flexed his fingers, relief flooding through him as sensation returned, perfectly normal.
"Of course... it worked..."
Venom's voice had gone threadbare. The black mass was visibly shrinking, retreating into Veyric's body in real time.
"I need... to rest... remember... find me... chocolate..."
Before the sentence finished, the symbiote had compressed into a paper-thin layer beneath Veyric's skin and gone silent.
Veyric reached inward. The bond was still there. Venom hadn't shut down completely, more like too exhausted to move.
"Hey, you okay in there?"
"Don't... bug me... let me... lie down..." The reply was barely a whisper. "Unless someone's trying to kill you... don't wake me up..."
Veyric laughed. Even running on fumes, the symbiote was still ready to jump out if things went south.
"Thanks, buddy," he said quietly. "First thing I do when we reach the safe house is find you chocolate."
"Better be... Dove..."
Peter had been watching Veyric talk to thin air with growing curiosity. "Can it still speak?"
"Barely. It's on its last breath." Veyric nodded, then pointed at the key in Peter's hand. "Let's go. Time to fire that thing up."
A fingerprint scanner was embedded in the device's casing. "Should need your print to unlock it."
Peter pressed his thumb to the pad.
Beep.
A crisp electronic tone. The monochrome LCD screen in the center blinked to life.
A simple arrow appeared on the display. Beneath it, a string of numbers pulsed:
[Distance to target: 7.3 km]
[Bearing: West-Northwest]
"Just over seven kilometre. Not bad." Veyric exhaled. "Let's go see our new home."
Peter pocketed the key, then crouched down, offering his back.
"You lost a lot of blood. Let me carry you."
Veyric opened his mouth to refuse, then felt his legs wobble beneath him and swallowed his pride.
Got my hand chopped off and my shoulder chewed on. Probably not the time for dignity.
He climbed onto Peter's back.
"Hold tight. I'll be gentle this time."
Peter launched skyward, webbing arcing out, and the two of them vanished into Manhattan's morning glow.
Behind them, the little house that held too many terrible memories shrank to a blurred outline on the horizon.
Peter didn't look back.
The way Aunt May had always taught him: keep your eyes forward.