The plantation house loomed in the darkness like a sleeping beast, its white-washed walls gleaming faintly in the moonlight. It stood at the end of a long, winding road, surrounded by the endless fields of cotton and tobacco that seemed to stretch on forever. A symbol of wealth and power, it was a world away from the squalor of the slave quarters, a fortress that stood as a reminder of the master's dominion over everything and everyone around him.
Inside, the master's study was a testament to his arrogance. The room was filled with the trappings of luxury—a large oak desk, shelves lined with leather-bound books that he never read, and paintings of long-dead ancestors glaring down from the walls. A decanter of whiskey sat on the desk, the amber liquid glinting in the lamplight.
The master himself lounged behind the desk, his feet propped up, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and thick around the middle, with a face that was red and bloated from too many nights like this one. He took a lazy sip of his drink, his eyes half-closed, as he leafed through a stack of papers.
"Damn fool niggers," he muttered under his breath, tossing one of the papers aside. "Think they can steal from me and get away with it?"
He glanced up at the sound of the wind rattling the window, his eyes narrowing. For a moment, he thought he saw something move outside, a shadow flitting past the window. He shook his head, grunting as he took another sip of his drink.
"Probably just the wind," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. He felt a twinge of unease, but he brushed it aside. He was the master here, the lord of all he surveyed. No one would dare challenge him, least of all one of those wretched slaves.
Outside, the young man stood in the shadows, his body tense, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He could feel the hunger gnawing at him, a living thing writhing inside his gut. His vision was blurred with pain and exhaustion, but he pushed it aside, his eyes locked on the light in the upstairs window.
He moved silently, his bare feet whispering against the dirt as he crept closer. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound of it echoing in his ears. He could feel the power surging through his veins, a dark, intoxicating energy that made his hands tremble and his muscles coil with anticipation.
He reached the side of the house and paused, his breath hitching as he looked up. The window was open, a soft breeze stirring the curtains. He glanced around, his eyes darting to the shadows, but there was no one there. The night was still and silent, the world holding its breath.
He took a deep breath and reached for the trellis, his fingers wrapping around the rough wood. His muscles strained as he pulled himself up, his body trembling with the effort. He could feel the pain in his back, the wounds from the whipping burning like fire, but he gritted his teeth and kept climbing.
His hands found purchase on the ledge, and he hauled himself up, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He paused for a moment, his body trembling with fear and adrenaline, and then swung himself over, landing softly on the balcony.
The door to the study was just a few feet away, the faint sound of the master's voice drifting through the open window. He could hear the clink of glass against wood, the low murmur of the master's words, and the fire in his belly flared.
He crept forward, his heart pounding, his hands clenched into fists. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he reached the door, his fingers trembling as he pushed it open just a crack.
The master looked up, his eyes widening as the door creaked open. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth hanging open, his face pale and slack with shock. And then his expression twisted with fury.
"What in God's name…" he started, his voice rising in anger. But the words died on his lips as the young man stepped into the room, his eyes blazing with a fierce, terrible light.
"You!" the master spat, his face turning red with rage. He shoved himself to his feet, his hands slamming down on the desk. "How dare you come in here, you filthy—"
The young man didn't let him finish. He moved with a speed and strength he hadn't known he possessed, his body a blur as he lunged across the room. His hands closed around the master's throat, and the two of them crashed to the floor, the master's glass shattering against the wooden boards.
The master struggled, his face turning red, his eyes bulging as he clawed at the young man's arms. His fingers scraped against the torn skin of the young man's back, but he didn't feel the pain. All he felt was the hunger, the dark, terrible hunger that consumed him, that drove him forward.
"You think you can take from me?" the master gasped, his voice a hoarse rasp. "You think you can—"
The young man's fingers tightened around the master's throat, his nails digging into the soft flesh. He could feel the master's heartbeat against his palm, the frantic thud of it, and something inside him snapped.
He leaned in, his mouth opening, and he bit down.
The taste of blood filled his mouth, warm and metallic, and a shudder ran through him. He could feel the master's body convulsing beneath him, could hear the choked scream that bubbled up from his throat. The sensation was intoxicating, a surge of power and strength that made his head spin and his muscles burn with energy.
He bit down harder, tearing into the flesh, his teeth sinking into the muscle and sinew. The master's body jerked and spasmed, his hands flailing as he tried to push the young man away. But it was no use. The hunger had taken hold, and it wouldn't let go.
The young man devoured him, consumed him, the blood and flesh filling his mouth, sliding down his throat. He could feel his body changing, growing stronger, more monstrous with each bite. His muscles bulged and rippled, his skin hardening and darkening, his bones cracking and shifting beneath his flesh.
By the time it was over, the master was nothing more than a broken, bloody heap on the floor, his body torn apart, unrecognizable. The young man stood over him, his chest heaving, his hands stained with blood, his eyes wide and wild with horror and exhilaration.
He stumbled back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his mind reeling. What had he done? What was he? He looked down at his hands, at the blood dripping from his fingers, and a shudder ran through him. He felt strong, stronger than he'd ever felt before, but there was something else, too—a darkness curling around his heart, a terrible, insatiable hunger that he knew would never go away.
He turned and ran, his feet slipping on the blood-slick floor as he bolted from the study. He tore through the house, his vision blurring with fear and confusion. He didn't know where he was going, just that he needed to get away, needed to put as much distance between himself and this place as possible.
He burst out the back door and into the night, the cool air hitting his face like a slap. He ran through the fields, his legs pumping, his lungs burning with the effort. He didn't stop until he was deep in the woods, his body collapsing against a tree as the adrenaline drained away, leaving him trembling and hollow.
He knelt there, his chest heaving, his mind racing. He had crossed a line, a line he could never come back from. He had become something more, something monstrous, and he would never be the same again. Never human again.
But he would survive. He would learn to control this power, to use it. He would never be weak again.
With one last look at the plantation, at the place that had taken everything from him, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, his heart burning with a fierce, unquenchable fire.