Chapter Text
Vinh bites down, and the hot spurt of blood fills his mouth.
He relishes the familiar taste as his fangs sink into the other vampire’s neck. His hands scramble violently against Vinh’s grip, desperation giving strength to his fingernails as he gouges at Vinh’s shoulder and arm. But Vinh barely even feels it; he just bites down harder, feels the windpipe giving beneath his teeth, the cold metal of his collar pressed against Vinh’s cheek.
The hot rush of blood makes Vinh forget where he is, if only for an instant—it drowns out the cheering of the crowd, the sweat dripping into his eyes, the heavy metal collar around his own neck. He swallows, and the blood feels like it goes straight from his stomach to every corner of his body, giving him a new wave of strength.
The other vampire’s hand flails about wildly, fingernails grazing Vinh’s cheek and he claws at Vinh, wheezing, blood sputtering from his mouth. Vinh grabs his flailing wrist, pulls, and twists until he hears bones crack and break. Vinh feels him spasm underneath him, hoarse scream trapped in his throat. He’s sinking down, losing strength, the hot gush of blood flowing down his body a waste. Vinh wishes he could lap it all up but this is good, this is enough.
He’s stopped struggling, Vinh feels him go limp—he’s given up, accepted that he’s lost, that he’s going to die. Just like that. Vinh feels a low growl building in the back of his throat. He hates it when they do that. He hates the feeling of fighting something that isn’t fighting back, of killing something that’s just waiting to die. Pathetic.
Vinh takes one last deep gulp and unlocks his jaw, loosens his fangs from the other’s neck. His throat stays its broken shape as Vinh pulls back—windpipe crushed, only a tiny wheeze coming out of his mouth amid a sputter of blood. Vinh lets go of his arm, the unbroken one, and pushes himself back, stumbling, knee to ground. The other vamp just lies there on the ground, dying, blood puddling, eyes glazing over, done with it all. Fuck it.
Vinh pushes himself to his feet, turns away in disgust. He doesn’t look up at the crowd cheering and yelling—he hates the fucking way the Demons watch him, all leering eyes and gleaming smiles, taking pleasure in watching them die. Vinh knows they’re just playthings to them, nothing more than toys for them to pit against each other in the complicated games they like to play. Doesn’t matter to him—Vinh keeps it simple: he does as he’s told, he kills whoever they put in front of him, and he just hopes that they’ll leave him alone for everything else.
