I Believe the Children Are Our Future

Cain was running.

Whether it was from someone, to someone, no one could tell…or perhaps he was going at this breakneck speed in the middle of the night for both reasons? Cain didn't know anymore. He just knew the wind was wonderfully brisk as it poured into his lungs and the cacophony of other creatures in the forest was music to his ears. He knew that his legs screamed for him to stop and let them rest.

But he wouldn't stop.

At first it was just for the hell of it; now he actually had a purpose.

His nose twitched and his eyes widened as he caught a whiff of that delicious smell again.

Dinner, Cain thought. He could smell blood.

He strained his legs and relished the burn because it reminded him that he was alive.

He'd survived being changed. He'd earned this new life and the bigger appetite that came with it.

The aroma of blood made him drool uncontrollably. Now Cain could see a campfire, and it hurt his eyes. Nightvision would take some getting used to.

There were some happy campers in the woods, and one bled just as he arrived.

He barked out a laugh at the cruelty of it and prepared to leap onto the broad back of the bleeding camper, a large man with a cut hand. The man managed a grunt as Cain's weight almost knocked him down.

Cain clamped his new jaws into the man's neck. There was a muffled crunch.

The camper's head dropped to the ground, looking shocked and pained. Blood poured into the dirt, and the dull light transformed it; made it look like spilled ink. The rich aroma assaulted Cain's nostrils once again and he almost lost his mind right then and there from the hunger.

He fought back the raw instinct. I can handle this, he assured himself.

Although unable to wipe away his drool, Cain managed to slow his breathing. He looked down, doing his best not to leap on the body and lick up the blood, to bury his head in the innards.

Self control. He knew he had to learn it, otherwise even his fangs and claws would not protect him from the retaliation that would come. Impressive though they were.

Cain tilted his head, admiring how cleanly he had ripped the head off.

Not bad. If I get good enough, the next guy won't even have time to look surprised.

Cain was so pleased with his first kill as a Were that he forgot about the other camper, who was probably the man's wife. That is, until she emerged from the nearby tent.

She screamed.

The scream was of pure terror, and it chilled Cain to the bone. It sounded like his mother.

A low whine escaped him before he could stop himself, and that made him snarl.

The woman spun on her heel and began to sprint.

Cain jerked around, lunged, and bit, catching the neck of her thick jacket. Cain didn't really want to hurt the woman. He just wanted her to stop screaming. He yanked her up by the jacket, and threw her against a tree. She was finally silent. Cain stared at the blood leaking down the woman's thin face. What have I done

Slowly, her chest rose and fell. Still alive.

Oh okay, nevermind.

She looked nothing like his mother, and yet…

It doesn't matter. I'll never hurt a girl again.

A tiny voice whispered at the back of his head: But they could be so much more tender and chewy, Cain, it protested. Just a bite, and you'll see. Just a bite…

He shook his head and turned away, pointed his nose towards the corpse rapidly becoming cold. But that was okay. He'd liked cold cuts as a human, too. It didn't make much difference. The man's flesh would give way to his teeth just as easily as when it had been hot, and the blood probably hadn't even congealed yet, so it would drip from the meat, slick as it made its way down his throat...

That was when his stomach growled and the animal took over.

The new Werewolf stalked over to his first kill, planted a paw on the chest, and began tearing at it. The violence of his bites made the body move, the hands flopping helplessly.

The wolf barely registered the glint of the wedding band, but the memory would present itself the next day when Cain awoke the same way he had been born: naked and screaming and covered in blood.

A Random(?) Note Found On A Kitchen Counter:

Registered Creatures of the Continent:


Malevolent but cunning flesh-eaters, usually created from corpses of evil/mischievous children by use of Aether Blood*. Avoid when possible.

Werewolves (lycanthropes)-

From same family as Doppelganger, but turn into animals. Unable to control when they turn (reason unknown). Most morph into wolves, but some have been known to deviate (these are simply called "Weres"). They feed on human flesh and organs. Always bring steak when coming to contact.


Creators of Dhampirs*; Aristocratic and Standoffish. They feed mostly on human blood and occasionally red meats. Good money, must keep contact.


Same family as Weres, only they shift into human forms (after murder of said human). Can feed on "regular" food, but many prefer to eat their victims. Massive identity crisis and existential angst typically abounds. Avoid.


Higher in power due to demonic origin. Once they could only be found in Southern Asia and the surrounding countries. They feed on Aether blood, human blood, or whole clergymen. Also pay good money.


Take the forms of and replace human children. Similar to Doppelgangers, but may or may not kill target child. They can eat "normal" foods and when grown may even become vegetarian. Voted Most Likely To Kill You While Apologizing the Whole Time.

Objective: Replenish the supernatural population to (at least) a 1:100000 ratio.

Forced Turning: OUTLAWED. Crime punishable by death within supernatural society. The one to be turned must be willing.

Reasoning: Majority of human adults (those over 18) refuse transformation, due to high risk of death. Youths, however, are less likely to resist and more attracted to the idea of "freedom" associated with supernatural lifestyle (cite: most media, especially books and television). Those who turn at a young age have reduced risk of rejection and therefore death.

The solution is clear: Children must volunteer to be turned.

*Part human, part vampire hybrids.

*A red liquid substance that exists for the sole reason that I wanted to make up a word/phrase that sounds mysterious. Oh it is, don't worry and don't ask.