Deathless
Blood tasted sweet.
When it choked Victor from the inside out and every breath drowned him further, it tasted far different than any he’d tasted before. It didn’t taste like the rich surprise of childhood scrapes earned while scrambling through the broken skeletons of buried building where metal and earth fought and nearly always won against tiny bodies made of rusted steel and vulnerable flesh. It didn’t taste like the heat of stinging liquor on broken skin born from restless nights where fists and laughter where shared in equal measure. It didn’t taste like the rampage born of fury and impotence and hatred in a battle that would never end.