Chapter 1 Animosity


Let me tell you a future. One where a land of rebellion shifts to one of isolation. Where the people of this land keep their spirits held high even when they're subjected with lost pride.

This land holds two important beings. One of truth, and one of lies. One with hope, and one with doubt. One views dreams, and one views the future. One can see the visible, and the other can see the invisible. Yin and the Yang. An immortal woman and yours truly.

The land of isolation will divide from one another, the erosion of trust will continue to grind down. The streets will crowd with evil and belligerence, as brothers and sisters gnaw at each other's throats.

This land will set ablaze an inferno brighter than the core of hell.


The world has always been black and white, with shades of gray in between. That's no philosopher's quote, nor does it have deep meaning that I've found in the world. I literally see world as black, white, and shades of gray. I'm colorblind.

Color has been absent from my life, everyday passes by with a white sun, black shadows, and gray buildings.

I've been dealing with this problem since I was born. My first memories have been monochrome, so to speak. I blame my colorblindness for my problem. I have trouble feeling emotions, it's not quite apathy though the word is very close to the absence I feel. It's not like I'm inable from feeling emotions, I can feel happiness, sorrow, laughter, disgust, fear, and anger. Though all those emotions are just numb.

"Sir."

I don't have friends, I have acquaintances, though some may argue that they're people consider themselves my friends, I don't think the same about them. I just lack the connection necessary to care about their lives, problems, or well being.

"Sir?"

I do have one pleasure, one hobby. Something that motivates me to get up everyday, and it helps me feel slight emotions, that activity makes life worth wild. Everyday I love to-

"Sir!"

I got blindsided for a moment, shaking my head. I observed my surrounding for a moment and realized that I got lost in thought, while standing in a cafe waiting for my black coffee.

"I-I'm sorry, I was lost in my thoughts," I said sheepishly.

I glanced at the female cashier, and what sticks out about her was her hair. It's crimson and braided while resting on her right shoulder.

Many people would ask how I could identify the color of her hair. My answer would be, that I lied about my colorblindness. I'm near colorblind. The only color I can see is red, more specifically, crimson.

"I could tell sir. Here's your coffee," the server was behind the counter. Acting as both a runner for making products and a cashier.

"Thank you," the newspaper on the counter caught my attention. I glanced at the date that said 'February, 28, 1929,' also stating that it's a Thursday. The significance of the paper was the day marked the 10 year anniversary of The League of Nations. A declaration of world peace so to speak.

More importantly, the celebrity serial killer made the front page. 'Nosferatu Drains His 3rd Victim.'

"Are you closing alone tonight?"

"Yeah, it's been a slow day. So I'm already prepared to close this place down. Everything is clean, set, and ready for tomorrow," the woman said with a smile. She must have been exhausted from working all day.

The woman started to wipe down the counter with a damp towel soaked in sanitizer. The cleaning agent filled the air with cleanliness.

"Are you walking home tonight?" I queried while sipping my piping hot coffee.

She gave me a suspicious look while carefully picking her words. "Yes, although my friend is expecting home at 9:30 on the dot."

"Oh no, you better be on the lookout." I warned the cashier. "Haven't you heard the news lately?" I questioned the ignorant woman.

"What would that be, sir?" she inquired with a bored look.

"The Nosferatu of Berlin stalks at night," I stressed the dangers of walking alone at night.

She chuckled at the thought of worrying about it. "What a vampire?"

"The news named a serial killer after his modus operandi. He sucks the culprit dry of any blood, leaving only a dry, boney, husk of a corpse," I held up the newspaper article on the matter to show the severity of the situation. Which opted the girl to gasp quietly.

My face shuddered at the thought of it. Being devoid of blood is just a horrible thought.

The cashier's skin went from pale to white as a phantom. Her red fingernails were clenched in fist.

"I-I won't meet him," she said with a lack of confidence.

Coffee machines began to shriek violently, causing the cashier to jump back in fear. Only to take a huge breath of relief and sigh with disappointment. The machines were cleaning themselves automatically, indicating that she could no longer serve coffee.

"Closing...time," the woman said with uncertainty. Her favorite time of the hour, and the moment she's been looking forward to all night, has malformed into a hour of paranoia and terror.

The woman turned her back to me, the patron. Showing her braided hair to me. She left into the back room to gather her things and prepare to leave the store.

I sat down and savored my coffee, as the night was going to be long and filled with adversities. A pick-me-up'er was needed now and again.

After a good five minutes, the woman returned. She wore a white tulle dress, and black high heels. Her hair was let loose instead of styled in a braid, and her eyes were as sharp as a blade. Gray eyes stared at me, as she couldn't leave without me leaving the premise first.

"Would you like an escort, ma'am?" I politely offered.

"No, I think I will be alright," rejecting my offer.

"I must insist. The Nosferatu of Berlin targets women who travel at night alone, without a man," I made sure to stress that important fact.

"..."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, clenching her red nails into the transparent fabric of the tulle dress.

"I would appreciate if you accompany me tonight, sir," she said with bitter resentment towards the situation.

"No problem," I placed my black apple cap on my head, then I covered my grey suspenders with my black trench coat. Holding my coffee in my left hand, and keeping my right in my pocket.

We left the Kranzler Cafe, then she locked the doors behind us. Snow glided gracefully to the ground, covering the street and sidewalk in a light layer of white. The street was wide and composed of stones, while the sidewalk was made of bricks. A wooden fence followed the sidewalk once we passed the cafe.

Nearby buildings had arching doorways, and fish-scale shingles. The bricks on the buildings were structured in a Roman design. Elaborate pediments were fashioned above doorways, and ribbon windows were placed between the shingles and the doorways.

The most notable building being the cathedral in the distance, which had a spiral belltower.

The sound of a bell filled the air, it gave nine rings before halting.

"Nine o'clock, time goes by fast, doesn't it?" The woman asked.

"Yes, it truly does. Technology is advancing even faster, we've made monumental advancements for a while now. Times have changed so drastically it doesn't even feel like the 1920's anymore," I stated with my hot breath marking the cold air in white.

"I heard rumors that landline phones are going to be going mobile soon, can you believe that?" I asked.

"Yes I can, even the Kranzler Cafe has automated machines now, it can dispense coffee automatically and clean itself routinely."

"Unbelievable. We've made so much progress since 1919, with all the nations working together, we've all progressed much faster than we would have separately," I recalled the establishment of the League of Nations. An organization that has the priority to bring unified peace. The idea was absurd on paper, though it worked out better than anyone could have hoped for.

The wind began to whistle a decrepit tone. Making the woman shiver, though it wasn't from the cold. The sound shocked her, along with the idea of a serial killer being loose in the neighborhood. She stopped cold in her feet from shock.

I saw this behavior, and my first thought was to reassure her safety. I placed my hand on her shoulder and said with a caring voice. "It's alright, you're going to be safe. What's your name,"

"Christina Alesha Chlotichilda," she gave a tiny curl of the lips, and grateful eyes. "What's yours?"

I took off my apple hat and placed it near my heart as I introduced myself, "Jake Fontaine Gonzalez."

"It's nice to meet you sir," she grasped her tulle dress, treating it like a fancy bell dress, raising it in the air and gave a curtsy. To which I returned with a bow.

As we continued to stroll down the sidewalk, we defiled virgin snow with our footsteps. Though this nice stroll came to an end as soon as the wooden fence halted and the archaic buildings began to decorate the streets. The end of the wooden fence and the beginning of a building created an alleyway, to which it would be assumed to be desolate, but was in fact occupied, it had the person of the hour.

A person in black clothing stepped out of the alleyway onto the street. His face was covered in a leather mask, which was fashioned to focus attention on one eye and his mouth. White air escaped through the lower part of his mask with each breath. Due to the cold weather, hoarfrost decorated leather mask.

The strange man said his question slowly, while staring into the distance. "Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?"

The creepiness radiated from his frame, the man was...unnatural.

"W-who are you" Christina asked, stuttering her words while trembling.

I glared at the man with a murderous attempt, he was messing up my plans for the night.

"Who...am I?" the man said. The words escaped his lips as if he never heard that sentence before.

"Yes, who are you," my eyes remained stern.

"Haven't you heard of me?" he queried with an innocent tone. He placed his index finger over his covered mouth, in a hush-like gesture.

"I'm The Nosferatu of Berlin." he whispered.

A gasp escaped Christina as her fears were known in her tremors. Her worst fear about tonight became reality.

"Oh really?" I inquired with disbelief. I drank my coffee and savoured the bitterness.

The serial killer cackled, and then he wiped a tear from his eye. "You doubt me?"

"Eh, I would suggest you walk away, and we'll forget about you. If you stay, I'll have to get rough with you," I warned the killer.

"You? Threatening me? What a joke."

The masked man pulled out a knife from his pocket and charged towards me. Causing Christina to hyperventilate in fear. I took a simple breath and focused my eyes on his weapon. He aimed it at my heart, which should've hit it's target.

If I didn't block the deadly weapon with my right hand. It pierced through my hand, causing a spurt of blood to jump towards Christina, to which she screamed horrifically.

The killer then attempted to pull his knife out of my hand, but unfortunately for the killer, the knife was deeply embedded into my hand and my hand clasped the hilt of the blade. So retrieving the knife was no easy task. I used this moment for my own advantage.

As he struggled to pull the knife, I jabbed my fist in his face, dazing him. Then as he attempted to regain his vision, and made another attempt to pull his weapon. I kicked him square in his stomach, causing saliva to erupt from his mouth and knocking the killer on the ground for a moment.

With that second of freedom, I utilized the loose knife in my hand, pulling the sharp object out of my myself. I held the knife in my good hand, holding the knife in a reverse fashion. I then threw my black coffee at his face, causing the cup to explode in his face.

"AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGH!"

The serial killer squirmed around on the ground, screaming in agony. As his eye burned from steaming hot coffee.

The Nosferatu eventually stood up on his two feet, holding his fists up, ready to battle to the death. Though he would have little time to fight, for when he charged at me, I swept my leg against his feet. Causing him to tumble against the fence, and before he got a chance to stand again I imbedded his knife into the killer's right hand, making the cruel man scream in pain. It wasn't a light injury, the knife's hilt was against his skin and the blade penetrated through the wood fence.

"Christina!" I shouted to the woman covered in my blood.

"J-j-jake?" she managed to stutter my name.

"Come with me, now's our chance to escape!" I persuaded her.

Her heart fluttered to this statement, causing her to latch onto me, her savior.

"Alright!"

She ran over to me, to which I placed my arm over her shoulder. Directing her in the alleyway, away from the serial killer who attempted to release himself from his restraint.

In the shroud of night, where the snow falls lightly. We stopped half way down the alleyway, where I held her with a secure grip.

"Are you alright, Christina?" I asked with a soft voice.

"Thanks to you," she forced a smile out of a bad situation.

"Good, I would've killed him if you bled one drop of blood," I expressed my happiness of her safety.

"But, what about you? Your hand," her concern was emanating from her compassionate face.

I glanced at my hand, and quickly tore my gaze away from the crimson color of the blood, it was too captivating for my eyes. If I were to stare any longer at my fluids, I feared that I would not look away for hours on end. It was the only color I could see, it was a beacon of attention to me.

"Don't worry about my hand," I said with a velvet tone.

"What?!" she questioned my statement. "You're injured, you need medical attention!"

"I'll be alright, as long as you're okay."

"Thank you," she couldn't help but blush at my statement.

"Do you know what I care about most in this world?" I asked. Leaning my head forward, closer to Christina's.

"What is it?" she questioned innocently.

Christina blushed at this question. I saw it in her eyes, she was fantasizing about me being the hero of her dreams. Confessing my love to her and whisking her away from the cafe life and taking her on a lifelong adventure. She closed her eyes, prepared to make a passionate kiss.

I was not that kind of man.

I put my lips next to her ear and said, "Blood."

She went pale.

I quickly grabbed my equipment from under my trenchcoat, and jabbed my needle in her jugular.

Her eyes twitched spasmodically, then focused onto my eyes. She wept streams of tears from her eyes as the one she could depend on the most was her killer all along. Christina's mouth opened and closed without producing audible sounds. Though I could read her lips.

Why?

The look on her face was priceless, I believe the Czech have a word for such an expression, they call it, Litost.

There's no word to translate it's meaning, so a phrase is better to describe it. 'A state of torment caused by the sight of one's own misery.'

Of course it was meant for a sudden moment in a person's daily life where they see their own misery. Though words can be used in different circumstances. Such as the sight of one's own death being that misery, or maybe the sight of seeing the one you could have loved, kill you when you weren't on guard.

I fiddled around with some tools in my trench coat, placing my finger on the trigger. "Because,"

A squeal came from under my coat, the tool sounded exactly like a vacuum cleaner.

WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

Christina's entire body spasmed in pain, her entire face contorted with agony.

"AAAAAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE!"

The human body typically holds 4.4 to 5.5 liters of blood, and I've perfected a technique to drain all those fluids in less than 5 minutes.

"I'm The Nosferatu of Berlin."

Her face went from pale to white as the blood from her body began to siphon away. Her natural colors drained away in a matter of a few seconds. I could tell by looking at her final facial expression that the only thing one her mind, was the horrifying effect of my last words to her.

"-RRRRRRRRRR…"

The vacuum died down, with myself smiling with glee as my 4th victim joined my collection. I took a 6 liter jug out of my trench coat and admired it. The jug was glowing with a crimson brilliance, it's awestrucking to see every time. There was a blank label which was prepared beforehand, for the eventuality of this situation.

I got on one knee and wrote down my victim's name.

Christina Alesha Chlotichilda

I then glanced at the victim's corpse. Christina was limp on the ground, with blank eyes, and a white skin tone. Not a single drop of blood was on the ground, all of it was preserved inside of the jug.

"Thank you for your donation, Christina."

I placed my finger in her blood and left my signature on the wall.

Which read...

'Never walk alone, ladies.'

It was written in cursive and was oddly elegant, I don't know what drives me to write with such passion behind my strokes. It feels as if I'm possessed why I leave my messages.

I hid my equipment under my trench coat and carried the jug by my side. Though most would attempt to hide the jug in fear of authority figures accidently spotting them, I was assured that no such misfortune would occur to me, as no one would assume that what I was carrying was blood. Humans were illogical creatures, they would sooner believe that I was carrying cherry juice or booze, well before they would believe it was blood.

I stepped out of the alleyway with a spring in my step, along with a cheerful whistle. I glanced to my left, seeing a delightful figure. The copycat Nosferatu was still stuck to the fence with a knife through his hand. His face was stained black from the black coffee, and his visible eye from his mask was squinting from the pain of the coffee and the wound.

"Hello there," I said with a cheerful tone. This activity always invoked powerful emotions from me.

"Where's your girl? Did she run away from you? Did you come to finish me off? You half-assed vigilante!" The copycat mocked me with questions. I personally found that actions speak louder than words.

I dropped the jug next to the copycat, and he blinked in confusion as to what he was looking at.

"What is that?" he said with general confusion.

"Christina, the girl I was with. You should know, I mean you are The Nosferatu Killer," I couldn't help but jitter at his surprised face, this imposter has such delicious expressions. "It's her blood."

"W-wh-Ho-w" he was incapable of formulating a word. He was flabbergasted by the turn of events.

"Why? Why would you do that? You were protecting her?" he questioned my motives with burning accusation in his eyes.

"Protect? Ha, I just wanted to keep my prey from falling to another predator, albeit an amatuer at best," I stated with a stern look.

"She would have been blessed to die by my hands, instead she fell into your demented hands," he stated with avarice envenomed in his words. Treating the woman as if she were an object for the taking.

"Ha! Blessed? By your hands? You're a fraud. And just to let you know, don't mix your beliefs with murder, or else your capture will be imminent," I warned the greenhorn copycat killer.

"Coming from a murderer," he rebutted.

"Do you know what I hate most in this world?" I asked the pathetic copycat.

"Women?" he humored.

"Hypocrites," I admitted my fault.

"Why do you kill?" he asked, with a blank stare in his eyes.

"I kill to see."

"To see?" confusion was plastered all over his face.

"I'm nearly colorblind, I can only see the color red. Crimson glows with a divine brilliance, unmatched by any color, and blood embodies the emotions I still have. If I didn't have this hobby, I would be an apathetic husk of myself."

There was a silence between us, which lasted for a little more than a minute before I broke it.

"Why do you copy him?" I countered his question with a question of my own.

"I am the nosferatu..." he said unconvincingly.

"No, you're an imposter, anyone would be able to tell," I want to drill that fact into his empty skull.

"..."

"Why? What do you benefit?" I asked simply. "Are you a fan?"

"..."

"Your life is in my hands, speak, or be silent forever."

There was a pregnant pause before the man spoke. "I'm a local moremation, and the three corpses that have been brought to me for examination have been...beautiful, I've never been more awestruck, the man is an artist."

I examined the man carefully, noting the fact that during our fight the man didn't seem very experienced in fights. Although I was a bit skeptical about his occupation.

"I've always...admired the man, to perform such morbid acts to the general public and the art he leaves behind. The dried corpses don't rot immediately. They look gorgeous. I want to meet him one day," the copy cat flinched in pain from the knife embedded in his hand.

"Well, it's your lucky day, your idol is here to meet you."


Is no amity