"You're eating yourself," observed the duke. "Disgusting."
Abel's body began to change shape. A new arm started growing out of the wound. It was a regeneration of sorts, but it was happening impossibly fast. New flesh grew out, piece by piece; first the fingers, then the palm, wrist, and forearm. Eventually, the biceps and shoulder snapped into place.
He wasn't human, and he sure as hell wasn't a vampire. The duke knew this. He started to back away. His mission to crash the Tristan didn't seem so important now. Before him stood something beyond his experience, something even more cursed than a vampire.
The priest cocked his head. "I will ask you one question, a question that might save your life." His simultaneous consumption and regeneration was now complete. But that was the least of his powers, the duke sensed. Seemingly from thin air, a double-bladed scythe appeared in Abel's hands. "Who are you working for?"
Duke Alfredo didn't answer. He just ran. He bolted as fast as his vampire powers allowed. He scrambled to an outer access door and fled the ship itself, scurrying to the top of the helium balloon.
The duke's mind raced. Will I have to jump?
He didn't have to think about it for long. Abel suddenly appeared in front of him. How could anyone have outrun me?
"It's useless. You cannot escape me." The vampire could just barely hear the priest's voice above the whipping wind.
Where does he come from? What is he? The duke almost didn't care anymore.
The air around them was freezing but the priest just stood there, not even a warm cloud of breath trailing his lips.
Alfredo whimpered, afraid for his life. What is he?!
The twin moons glowed down on them. Finally, Abel broke the silence. "What are you afraid of, Duke? Aren't you safe at the top of the food chain?"
The duke screamed as he charged forward, but it was merely a feint. Duke Alfredo swung his belt at the priest and then turned to run. His plan was semisuccessful. His legs ran in one direction . . . but his torso fell in the other.
His lower body ran a few steps before it stumbled and flopped over. His hands reached out for his thighs, but found only empty air. "Help me. Please help me," the vampire begged.
Abel's red eyes looked down to the mortally wounded vampire. "How does it feel to be cattle?"
As his guts poured out, Alfredo tried to scoot away. He was terrified. Rational thought was impossible.
"Speak," ordered the priest.
The duke was compelled to answer. He just blurted out information that he'd once sworn to keep secret.
"Rosenkreuz Orden . . ."
Duke Alfredo felt something squeeze his heart. He was certain that it was the priest. But when he looked, it was his own hand tearing into his chest. He was crushing his own heart.
"What's going on?" he squeaked.
His hand acted on its own and pulled out his heart. What the hell is happening?
"Oh no! Pre-hypnotism!" the duke whispered, watching himself die.
The priest swung down his scythe to sever the heart from Alfredo's hand, but in vain. The mangled organ was already crushed like a grape. The duke gurgled off his immortal coil.
Abel knelt before the fallen vampire, closed the corpse's eyes, and whispered, "Calpa perrenis aelito ora tuor nominare. Your sins are eternal. But I will not pray for the dead."
The priest rose. The rosary between his fingers clanked, swaying in the intense wind. "I don't like this one bit," he said as he looked at the burst heart. "Not one bit."