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((OoC: . . . . apologies in advance for length.))

"You're rather good at that, aren't you," the vampire drawled slowly, absently, as if still in a lethargic stupor -- the sort experienced by those waking in a warm afterglow after a lovely dream that somehow involved rainbows and kittens, possibly bunnies, and evoked a faint, pleased upturning of the corners of the mouth in what was more commonly known as a smile. He was, of course, referring to Lethe's seduction tactics, which, even as dazed as he currently was, clearly displayed to the brunette the sort of efficiency utilized by ruthless military strategists. ~~Or ninja.~~

Perhaps this one should be turned rather than simply consumed, as was the count's wont, and he mused over taking him in under his wing, rather than thoughtlessly leaving the blond's cold, beautiful corpse discarded in some nearby alley, as one would dispose of a torn and useless sheet of paper already inscribed with some note jotted down days ago, whose message of "dozen eggs, honey jar, chicken wings," had been made meaningless by the brief passage of time (as well as that quick trip to the grocery market).

Nyolcas gradually returned to his senses and shook his head, his dark, chocolate locks flowing along with the movement, elegant like blades of wheat compelled to bend to the domineering might of the wind (if wheat came in shades as atramental as ~~Nyolcas' dark, dark soul~~ the night). It was highly unlike him to allow himself to be so intoxicated by the sapidity of blood -- at least, not since that fated night, when, cornered in some dank back street and captured by the moon's luminescence, his sire had pressed deathly cold lips to his neck, perforated his skin with those preternatural canines, the ease of which was not unlike a knife slashing cleanly through cloth, and, weakened as Nyolcas was, having been drained like water from boiled spaghetti, was made to savour his first taste of blood, overwhelmed by sensations as his slow, mortal mind was reborn, beginning to experience a wild synaesthesia that could only be expressed in a sentence that had already far surpassed its rightful limits.

It would have been a lie to not admit that the monk was something different -- well, not that different, as his blood tasted like anyone else's (or, to be more specific, like anyone else who had type B blood, if the count tasted correctly, which he always did). Even as conventional as it was, Nyolcas desired to englut himself on the rich, sanguine liquid coursing through Jiàng's veins, to let the euphoria of feeding on the monk's blood wash over him like warm waves of the ocean, and he, a helpless bystander on the shore during high tide.

But before that, always the seduction, always the enticement -- never the forced taking of one's mortality, as had been Nyolcas' experience. He smiled now, charmingly, beguilingly, jade orbs glinting with unnatural intent. "You speak of forgetting as though the loss of memory would be some sort of welcome relief," said he to the two of them, his low, silken tenor amused and dry. "Surely it's remembrance that is the more desirable of the two -- the ability to see all that has passed in this lifetime, the chance to see all that happens in the next." He gestured vaguely, before finally holding a hand out to the two of them, an open invitation, while his half-lidded emeralds shone with an unmistakable predatory hunger. "Ah, but if it's release you desire, then perhaps I might be of service."

((Main point: "Join the dark side, Luke."))

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Lethe smiled at Jiàng's words. He knew where this was headed. Apparently the priest was one of those do-gooders after all. Impulsively he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Jiàng's in a brief kiss, then pulled back, giving him a quick grin. "It's too bad you're a priest." He let go of Jiàng's hand and stepped away.

The Count's voice startled him. He'd almost forgotten the guy was there. For a moment Lethe was captivated by the combination of that voice and the intense look in those green eyes, but then he shook it off. Whatever drug trip this guy was on, he wasn't going along. "No thanks," he answered, smiling politely. "In fact, I really should be going. I'd love to stay and talk, but I have business to attend to."

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If he'd been given the opportunity, Jiàng might have returned the kiss, even knowing he'd probably be charged for it. But it was just as well that Lethe pulled away when he did, so the Sanzo priest could focus on other matters.

"I see nothing 'bad' about my being a priest," he remarked in his usual placid manner, casually removing his crown. Where it went once he slipped it into his robes was anyone's guess, as no telltale bulge could be seen anywhere on his person afterward. ~~Monkspace was indeed very convenient.~~ When his hands were visible again, in one he was holding several large bills, folded in half, between his thumb and index finger. "Business, you say?"

Jiàng, too, felt himself inexorably drawn by the sound of the count's voice, and the redhead's smile turned almost coy as he glanced at Lethe before stepping closer to Nyolcas. "Release is not what I seek. Perhaps a good conversation." He crossed an arm over his stomach and held the money up with his uninjured hand, as though attempting to lure Lethe in. His eyes never left Nyolcas. "And the company of two interesting young men. Mm, that would be a very lovely way to spend my evening. I do hope you'll both find this arrangement to be... agreeable?"

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Nyolcas glanced between the two of them, his jade gaze gleaming from lust, wanting above all else to draw either of them close, run his lithe digits across warm cheeks and necks, absorb the heat from their bodies with his unnaturally cold hands with the eagerness of one huddling near a fire after being out in a snowstorm; yet, while that proverbial blizzard must eventually abate, for Nyolcas, the diamond frost that covered his skin would always remain chilled, and the silver storm would forever rage in his psyche. The thought sank in his mind like a raw piece of granite through the still waters of a clear lake -- falling, falling to the lake's floor until it settled in the mud, a disturbing addition to what might have otherwise been calm waters.

"I find it highly agreeable," he finally sussurated, voice quietly compelling and heavy with a sort of desire and desperation he had not experienced in decades. His empty, emerald orbs, blazing with the dancing flames of want and need, pierced through the priest like twin machetes of despair. He felt that he should be drowning in the flood of these strange emotions, in the wise ruby pools that were Jiàng's oculars; perhaps the priest had been lured in first, but it was the vampire, now, who was ensnared, trapped and exposed like a tiger in a cage for all curious spectators to see.

Wrenching himself free of those hypnotically mild crimson orbs, Nyolcas turned his attentions now to gold and amethyst -- beautiful superficies paired with the meretricious garb the man's occupation must warrant, -- half-smiling, an unspoken challenge on his lips. Surely Lethe must have taken as much of an interest in the priest as he -- the kiss, impulsive or not, was evidence enough of that ostensibly innocuous fact. And as fond as the count had become of this man with sunlit strands (as much as one could in this short time, anyway), his competitive and almost territorial nature was now taking precedence.

"So undemanding of you, if all you desire is to speak," sibilated the count to the priest, though his eyes never averted their focus, though his countenance never lost its desire, thinly veiled as it was behind an outward show of pleasantries. "Of course, it could very well be that you would have only one of us for company tonight."

((~~repost for~~ Main point: "God, you two are hot. I get to top, though."))

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One eyebrow went up when the priest produced the money. Every time he thought he had Red figured out, the man did something to surprise him. "For that kind of cash, you can have whatever you want," he said, smiling seductively at Jiàng. "Well, almost anything," he corrected, with a pointed look at Nyolcas. "I don't do blood play." He quickly glanced away again, not wanting to be pulled in by the Count's gaze. There was something dangerous and hypnotic about it.

The challenge in the Count's words hadn't gone unnoticed. "Are you planning to leave then?" Lethe asked. "Or did you have something else in mind?" He wasn't going to back down from a challenge, and he wasn't going to leave Jiàng alone with the bloodsucker either.

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Just as easily as he'd made the bills appear, Jiàng made them disappear with a quick flick of his wrist, using some practised sleight of hand to tuck the money down into his glove. The younger initiates at the temple found his parlor tricks amusing, if sometimes inappropriate, and always provided him with an excuse to indulge in his more childish pastimes when the other monks weren't around to notice.

He held out his hands to show that the money was gone, looking pleased with himself, then stepped toward Lethe and leaned close, reaching up to his ear and 'pulling' the bills out from behind it. Jiàng took one of Lethe's hands in his own, gave him the money, and returned to stand beside Nyolcas. "The 'magic' would be more believable without these, I suppose," he said, gesturing to his leather gloves and chuckling.

"Now, there's surely no need to quarrel, you two. All I request is the pleasure of your company -- somewhere that would allow for a little more privacy?" He gave Nyolcas a long look, his pleasant expression never changing, though he was sizing up the man, wondering if he could truly be trusted or not. It was one thing to risk his own life for the sake of his curiosity, but he wouldn't risk an innocent's. "Ha ha, am I required to purchase your cooperation, as well? What shall I offer you as payment?" He raised his injured hand, making an obvious offer, and tilted his head inquisitively. "And your guarantee that he won't be harmed? Violence is so distasteful, after all."

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Nyolcas chuckled at Lethe's comment about blood play, more in appreciation than in actually amusement, the sound of which was devoid of any mirth or even any other emotion; it was empty, as vacant as a motel placed inexpertly on some out of the way stretch of abandoned road during those months that garnered little to no travel, as meaningless as a grammatical constituent that was simply ingeminating what had already been previously established.

"I suppose I could be persuaded to stay," he said at first, as an answer to the two of them, and then his jade orbs were drawn to the monk's wounded hand, as was likely expected; magic or no, the vampire was bewitched by the sight of the small, scarlet splotches (like psychological inkblot tests) against the background of ivory challis. Suddenly he could taste that carmine fluid of life again, the urge to simply overtake the monk forcing its way to the surface of his mind -- and he could, the vampire thought, could do it easily, like stealing a bottle from an already inebriated bar-goer, like snatching a lollipop from a napping boy, yet he still refrained.

Slowly, as though afraid to frighten some skittish creature into fleeing (as he must have imagined the priest to be), he reached out a hand, gingerly brushing Jiàng's crimson locks away from his neck, the meaning behind the gesture at once clear and obvious. "Something can certainly be arranged, if you wish to bargain," said Nyolcas, in hushed, almost reverent tones, the sort used by those in places of worship, as they pay their respects to their chosen gods -- though the count would not have trivialized this current feeling to something as straightforward as veneration.

"Unfortunately, I make no guarantees, however distasteful you might find violence." His gaze listed over to the blond briefly, before being drawn inexorably back to the sight of crimson, which so complemented his own emerald. He smirked a little before adding, "You have my word, though, that no harm shall come to our . . . forgetful river, so long as he does not bring it upon himself."

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Lethe gave Jiàng an odd look, but he took the cash and made it disappear again, this time into his own pocket. Did the priest think he was a little kid? The answer was obviously 'yes', as Jiàng proceeded to bargain for Lethe's safety. And it was equally obvious what Sertés wanted in return. He glared at the Count and turned to Jiàng. "Hey. I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself," he told the priest angrily. "You don't have to give this psycho anything on my account."

He tried to tell himself that the so-called Count was just a little too into Halloween, but it was more than that. This was definitely a Halloween party, but Lethe wasn't wearing a costume. Somehow he'd known that Jiàng's robes weren't a costume either, so maybe Sertés wasn't pretending? The guy couldn't be a real vampire of course, but it would be dangerous enough if he thought he was. The priest probably had no idea what he was getting into.

"You don't expect us to believe that you really need blood, do you?" He stepped closer to Nyolcas, trying to put himself between Jiàng and the perceived threat without really being aware of it. "You had your little taste already, so why don't you just give up the act."

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"Of course, of course. Do forgive me, Lethe," he said, assuming an apologetic expression. Jiàng's manner evinced genuine sincerity, as opposed to the sarcastic, demeaning attitude any other person might have taken after being so chastised for their altruistic concern for the well-being of others. "No, you're not a child," he agreed easily, looking Lethe over for a second time and unintentionally lending a suggestive double meaning to his words. "But I am entitled to protect my 'investment', as it were, am I not?" He laughed softly at his own joke, covered his mouth and shook his head, as if he were embarrassed to be enjoying himself at someone else's expense.

"And don't go." He eventually sobered and lowered his hands back to his sides, allowing the count to do what he would without interference. Feeling how gently his hair was pushed back, he touched Nyolcas's arm, both reassuring and encouraging him, and readily tilted his head back to expose more of the tender flesh of his throat, smiling almost patiently as he did so. Jiàng may have lacked some of the heightened senses of a full youkai, but a part of him, perhaps whatever was human in him, instinctively understood the look in Nyolcas's eyes -- and that understanding negated any fear he should have felt at offering himself to a predator.

What he did feel, however, was the steadily thrumming undercurrent of restrained power, almost tickling his skin whenever Nyolcas focussed on him. It was a dangerous game he was playing, he knew, but equally as intriguing, and there were few things the priest appreciated more than a challenging riddle to solve.

Jiàng slowly drew away from Nyolcas and Lethe both, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "Both of you, come with me, please." He waited until they seemed to be willing to follow him, then turned around and made his way through the crowd, heading toward an unoccupied corner some distance away from where the heart of the party was happening. It would offer about as much privacy as any of them were likely to get in the middle of a celebration like that.

Along the way, he briefly stopped at one of the other tables and took what he assumed to be a glass of ice water. Once he reached the desired location, he gracefully sank to the floor, making himself comfortable on the velvet cushions that had been arranged around the room for just such a purpose, and finally glanced up to see if his two companions had remained with him.

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((OoC: the following is done with permission~ and also, the length -- fear it. you've been warned.))

Nyolcas smirked at the blond, this time his elongated canines flashing overtly, like two small daggers in the hands of waiting thieves, and he watched him take a step towards him, as though in an unconscious incitement. The vampire, however, did not rise to it, choosing instead to answer Lethe's questions by bringing his own thumb up to his fang and wordlessly piercing his pale skin with the ease of a knife through warm butter. He displayed his hand to the two of them, but it seemed the only symptom to what looked to be a painful puncture wound was a miniscule pearl of crimson.

The slightest widening of his emerald orbs betrayed his astonishment at the monk's warm touch, felt (or perhaps imagined?) through the layers of cloth that were his sleeves. His deft digits gently enlaced themselves in soft, scarlet tresses, a strangely tender gesture from a creature whose livelihood depended on the deaths of undeserving mortals -- and who was more undeserving than a high priest, such as Jiàng, who had already displayed far more compassion and understanding in these sparse moments than most other mortals could only wish to achieve in a lifetime? It was not desire, now, that drove the vampire, but necessity -- the need to draw blood, the need to feel it warming his mouth and throat. Withal, the count still knew he would take him, even if it led to the priest's demise (which it likely would, the count didn't make a habit of leaving survivors, unless he chose to gift them with the curse of living death) -- and then, even knowing that he would mourn him.

It was with some reluctance that he allowed the crimson locks to slip from his grasp, allowing the barest hint of a frown to crease his pale, perfect brow. The vampire followed Jiàng, like the innocent moth drawn to the flame (though the count was anything but innocent, and the thousands of corpses he had left in his wake could attest to that), his lithe physique moving with the grace of a dancer; it was almost as though Nyolcas' form was a dark, detached shadow, gliding almost silently after the monk, save for the soft sussuration of his cape fluttering behind him like the benighted wings of some sinister, yet tragic, fallen angel. He slowly lowered himself to the floor when Jiàng sat, one leg beneath him, the other bent forward with his elbow resting on top of that knee, either as though he were kneeling in deference, or as though he were ready to spring forward.

((OoC: . . . comment continued below I'm so sorry.))

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((OoC: Aaaand continued from above, in case that wasn't clear.))

The vampire simply stared at the monk, not bothering to check if their amethyst-eyed companion had followed. His unblinking oculars, as attentive as a feline, drank in the sight of ivory robes, of glinting gold at his chest, and finally of gorgeous ruby orbs that perfectly matched the cerise mane spilling over his shoulders. He was gradually drawn forward, as though under a spell, like the sailor at sea enthralled by the sweet, entrancing voices of the sirens; only the count was being lured, not by a feminine song, but by the wordless, nearly inaudible melody of a promissory heartbeat, the rhythm of the claret fluid coursing through Jiàng's veins.

Slowly, his cold, nimble digits brushed across the monk's soft skin -- tentatively, at first, before tracing the curve of his cheek, the line of his scars (the perfection of his face twice marred by these old wounds, the vampire noted dully), before gently sliding down to the sensitive skin of Jiàng's neck. Slowly, slowly, Nyolcas brought his own face closer, feeling the crimson priest's breath warm his algid skin, like the first breeze heralding the arrival of spring after the snows of winter had melted, capturing those ruby pools with his smoldering jades -- gazes locked for a long moment, like an insect captured in amber. Without so much as a questioning look (his eyes had slid closed at this point), the vampire pressed his chilled mouth to the monk's, feeding on the mortal's natural incalescence, sharp fangs grazing delicate lips but not breaking the skin.

Slower still, heedless of his surroundings, focusing only on the sonorous pulsation so close, so close, so close, driving his yaotic (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Sanzo) desire and passion, he trailed feather light osculations across the Sanzo priest's jawline and down, down, to his neck, where he finally paused, though he wasn't sure why; something vaguely tugged at his mind, and he wavered, hesitating like the bringer of bad news on the recipient's doorstep, but he was quickly able to brush it aside -- though not before it compelled him to whisper something into the monk's neck (an apology).

His deft fingers pulled down Jiàng's collar, leather the color of onyx, and he pressed his lips on what might have been a carefully chosen spot on the monk's neck, nicking the skin a bit as a warning for him to prepare himself. He paused again and pulled back, glancing around vaguely as though momentarily lost, before his jade orbs caught sight of gold and amethyst; the vampire's smile to him was one of victory, of triumph, and he turned his attentions back to the priest encircled by his arms. Nyolcas gave a soft cat-like hiss before he finally perforated the monk's flesh with his canines, warm liquid life spurting into his mouth, like when one takes a bite into a ripe apple, and then fluxing over his glossa in heated waves.

((Main Point: Sanzo Priests - it's what's for dinner.))

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The Count's demonstration left him momentarily speechless. The teeth, the clothes, even the blood drinking could be a pretense, but there wasn't any explanation he could think of for wounds that didn't bleed. He looked back and forth between the two men, feeling out of his depth for the first time in a long time.

When Jiàng led the way to a secluded corner, Lethe followed reluctantly, still trying to figure out what game the priest was playing and what his own role was supposed to be. They settled in the corner, and Lethe watched silently as the Count moved closer to Jiàng. Nyolcas was obviously experienced at seduction, and Lethe had to admit that they looked good together. Maybe the priest was an exhibitionist and he wanted Lethe to be their audience? People had certainly paid for stranger things. Normally he wouldn't have minded watching two attractive men together, but something about this particular situation had him on edge.

The uneasy feeling continued to build, and Lethe realized his hands hurt from the way he was clenching them. Nyolcas suddenly looked over at him and smiled, and Lethe felt his heart pound as he was pinned by those eyes for a long, breathless moment. Nyolcas finally looked away and sank his teeth into Jiàng's neck, and Lethe gave a harsh gasp. He hadn't believed until that moment that Nyolcas would really do it. He wanted to reach over and pull Jiàng away, but the priest had obviously wanted this, so Lethe wouldn't interfere.

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((*diiies* I'm officially in love with the purple prose. Sorry for the novel, too. ♥))

He had a distinctly satisfied air about him as the two young men joined him, and he set the glass of water aside for the time being, apparently saving it for later. He looked from Lethe to Nyolcas, held the count's gaze as he shifted closer, and automatically moved to accommodate him, allowing him to settle between his legs. The count's fingers were as ice on his skin, cold almost to the point of numbing, but the exploration was welcomed, even enjoyed; Jiàng murmured words meant for their ears alone, words that formed a poem, or a prayer, about no light without darkness, no night without day, and the two men might perfectly embody Buddha's teaching--

Momentarily silenced by the kiss, he gladly returned it, bringing his uninjured hand up and lightly running his fingers through Nyolcas's dark hair. Though he'd been chaste his entire life, never struggling with impure desires and thoughts as he knew so many other monks did, it felt only natural to respond to Nyolcas as he did, to make those quiet sounds of pleasure as the count continued to press unnaturally cool lips to his flushed skin before pausing at his throat.

The first small sting as his skin was pierced elicited a soft gasp from the priest, and he wound an arm around Nyolcas, urging him to continue. At the same time, as though sensing the boy's distress, he blindly sought Lethe's hands. He gently clasped one and, feeling how it was clenched in a fist, smoothed a thumb across Lethe's fingers, trying to coax his hand open. His grip barely tightened when Nyolcas used his elongated eyeteeth to open an artery in his neck, the sensation causing him to involuntarily arch his back and press himself against Nyolcas's unyielding weight. Unthinkingly, he closed his eyes and began to slowly rock his hips, moving against the vampire in a languid rhythm as his blood continued to flow.

He could hear whispered words as familiar as the sound of his own voice, and tried to ignore them, instead focussing on his slowing heartbeat and taking care not to hurt Lethe as he retained his hold on the boy's hand. He was quickly tiring, soon looming on the verge of unconsciousness, but made no effort to push Nyolcas -- an actual vampire, there could be no doubting that now -- away.

Jiàng's refusal to acknowledge the words echoing in his mind and summon the power that was rightfully his to call on, a power that had once been used by the gods themselves to create the world, caused the sutra worn on his shoulders to ripple faintly, erratically, for several moments as its potential remained suppressed. If not for the charge in the air, it could have been mistaken for nothing more than a shudder passing through the sutra-bearer's body.

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Nyolcas' cape was spread out behind him, fanned-out on the ground like a pool of tenebrosity, creating something of an unofficial, shadowy barrier between the contradictory pair and the rest of the world, just as the orotund pulsing of the blood filling his mouth erected a wall around his mind, casting his consciousness into darkness, and wreaked havoc on his senses. He had lost his awareness, becoming oblivious to all, even the motions of the monk as he pressed against him. There was no up or down, wrong or right, night or day -- only this, the hypnotic, resonating reverberation of two heartbeats pulsing as one (one gradually intensifying, one gradually weakening), unified in some exotic, forbidden lambada.

His digits wound themselves around the flaming locks at the back of the monk's head, fiery strands surprisingly cool to his even cooler touch (though his skin was gradually warming now, heated from within by the blood he was consuming). He hummed softly into the priest's neck, some tuneless melody sung as if in answer to the dying siren; as he drank slowly, deeply, his lingua grazed over the heated skin around the two small punctures, as though collecting the last bits of warmth from Jiàng's cooling body.

Suddenly he drew away, his cheeks flushed by the stolen claret, sensing the restrained power of the sutra, rippling outwards like the surface of a calm pond disturbed by a soft zephyr in springtime. As if finally aware of the priest's ebbing strength, the vampire slowly lowered him down onto the velvet cushions into a supine position, catching the monk's injured hand (his own wounded thumb was throbbing vaguely, now that it had blood to bleed). He tore away the makeshift bandage, letting it flutter to the ground, like a piece of cloth cruelly discarded by its owner, left to disintegrate over time on the cold floor -- . . . which was actually an accurate description. He gently pressed his now warm lips to the slashed flesh of Jiàng's palm, lapping at the blood like a cat drinking cream, still humming softly. Gloating emerald orbs fixed on violet pools now, and not the sea of ruby with which he had been so consumed, that now resided within his own body, and his gaze expressed his triumph -- as well as an unspoken invitation.

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The feel of Jiàng's hand holding his own was the only thing keeping Lethe from jumping up and forcing the two apart. The sight of them together was incredibly erotic, and yet terrifying at the same time. He didn't understand why Jiàng was allowing this to happen. He thought he could hear someone whispering, but it had to be his imagination. It couldn't be Nyolcas, and Jiàng's murmured prayers had faded away.

He dragged his eyes away from their entwined bodies and focused on Jiàng's face again. The priest looked almost serene, but his face was getting whiter and whiter, and the Count didn't seem to be stopping. The whispering got louder, and Lethe imagined he could feel the priest's pulse slowing. When Jiàng's hand loosened and slipped from his, he started to panic. He couldn't let this go on any longer.

As if in response to his thought, the vampire pulled his mouth away from Jiàng's neck and turned his attention to the cut on Jiàng's hand again. The priest's face was pale and still, and Lethe's heart sank at the realization that it might be too late. He met the Count's triumphant gaze with eyes full of anger, although he wasn't sure if the anger was directed at Nyolcas or at himself, for sitting and watching while Jiàng's life was drained away. He felt a shiver of fear as it dawned on him that he was probably next on the menu. Well, the priest might have been a willing victim, but Lethe wasn't. He didn't know if a knife would be enough to stop a vampire, but it was all he had. In one swift movement, Lethe pulled the knife from his boot, grabbed Nyolcas by the shoulder and thrust the blade towards his heart.

Before the blade found its mark, there was a moment of disorientation, and then it was Genjyo Sanzo kneeling there, holding a butter knife and facing Cho Hakkai. Sanzo dropped the knife in confusion. "Hakkai?" He looked down and saw Gojyo lying on the floor between them. "Gojyo?" What the hell was going on?!

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It seemed almost a shame to give up his life so easily, though he feared neither pain nor death -- death was, after all, simply another step toward attaining complete enlightenment and achieving Buddhahood, and for that reason he wished he could find the breath to thank Nyolcas for assisting him. There was yet some feeling in his limbs, and he gently stroked Nyolcas's face, hoping to convey his gratitude that way, even as the vampire continued to feed from the open wound in his hand.

Jiàng had quite a few disciples, but no chosen successor. He wasn't yet twenty-one years old; naming another to carry the burden of the holy sutra once he was gone hadn't been a priority. Had that been arrogance? He wouldn't be at peace knowing he'd made a grave error, and his dedication to the Buddhist way of life would be for naught if he were to have such heavy regrets during his last moments.

Logically, these couldn't be his last moments, then.

Perhaps it was his stubborn sense of duty and tenacious will that prevented his heart from stopping and held back the descent into nothingness, though each slow, burning throb of his heart caused more blood to seep from the twin puncture wounds in a steady trickle, spreading onto the dark velvet beneath him, staining it black.

He wouldn't die. But he did consider meditating, or taking a nap. As his strength finally gave out, the choice was made for him.

His last conscious thought was a memory of cherry trees in bloom, blossoms carried by the wind and scattered across an impossibly green landscape.

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The vampire smirked as his strength -- already considerable before his feeding -- was amplified by the priest's blood, now circulating through his chest and limbs. He felt alive, and even if this sensation of having a heartbeat, as faint as it was, was something he had experienced often after every meal, it was still something he savored every time. He leaned his cheek into Jiàng's touch, working on some sort of feline instinct that craved the contact and the attention.

The flash of silver as the knife was pulled caught his emerald orbs, and he couldn't help laughing a little in pity for the foolish mortal's attempt to secure his own petty life, especially when Nyolcas could offer him so much more. It was a shame, really, he thought dully, as one would comment on some tragic incident some safe distance away. One hand still loosely held around the monk's wrist, the other lashed-out like an attacking snake to grip Lethe's windpipe.

His fingers stopped just centimeters from their intended target, and for the briefest second, it was like there were two minds in one, ~~waging a futile war within the clear windows of his oculars, battling not for victory, but for the sake of fighting~~. Cho Hakkai blinked ~~his ethereal emerald orbs~~ in obvious shock and carefully pulled his hand away from Sanzo's throat, glancing down at the butter knife poised at his own chest before Sanzo finally dropped it.

He was aware of a strong metallic taste in his mouth, a dull ache from his thumb, and some fading sense of warmth and satisfaction~~, like the last vestiges of summer before the rains of autumn~~. He saw confusion reflected back at him when he looked back up at Sanzo -- which meant that the monk had about just as many questions and just as few answers as he did. He felt a soft touch at his face slowly slipping away, and it took him a moment to realize that his ~~deft, tapered digits~~ fingers were still encircled around Gojyo's wrist. Hakkai glanced down at him, mouth partly open to voice his questions--

-- until the sight of Gojyo's pale face and bloodied neck brought back hazy memories of what had just happened. He gingerly touched the corner of his own mouth, and when the tips of his fingers came away red, he visibly blanched and looked very close to being sick. Without a word, he gripped Gojyo's wounded hand into his own, palm glowing yellowish-green as he healed the cut as fast as he could. It seemed that in Hakkai's almost blind panic he had forgotten about the school's no-kill spell, judging by the way he frantically repositioned himself and placed both hands at Gojyo's neck -- and if the healer was one to swear, he would have been uttering a long string of vulgar profanities. He poured his energy into the injury, making relatively quick work of repairing the artery and broken skin, and attempted to "repair" the blood loss, not realizing that that was beyond his abilities.

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Sanzo stared down at Gojyo, frowning in concentration as he tried to remember what he had been doing a moment ago. He had hazy impressions of anger and fear, and the odd feeling that he had been playing a part in a story. It felt like waking up from a dream. He watched Hakkai heal two puncture wounds on Gojyo's neck, and his brain suddenly made the connection between that injury, Hakkai's vampire costume, and the blood he could see on the side of Hakkai's mouth. After that, it wasn't hard to put two and two together and come up with 'oh shit'.

The neck injury had been healed, but Hakkai was still pouring his ki into Gojyo. Sanzo grabbed Hakkai's shoulder to try and stop him, and was immediately hit with a sense of déjà vu. He dismissed the feeling and gave Hakkai's shoulder a firm shake. "Hakkai, let go. You've stopped the bleeding, and he can't die on school grounds." Even as he was reassuring Hakkai, Sanzo was reaching to touch Gojyo's neck. He was more relieved than he would ever admit to feel the kappa's pulse beating steadily.

His hand on Gojyo's neck brought something else to his attention. Gojyo's costume had been a pretty good imitation of a Sanzo priest's robes, but that was no longer true. He didn't need to touch the scripture draped around Gojyo's shoulders to feel the power radiating from it. He could tell it wasn't his own Maten Sutra, and after one moment of completely illogical hope, he realized it wasn't his master's Seiten Sutra either. It was impossible for this scripture to be here, and it was impossible to deny that it was real. He pushed the questions aside. Answers could wait until the three of them were out of this room and away from whatever spell had done this.

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Hakkai blinked when Sanzo shook him, looking at him blankly, at first, as though the monk was speaking a completely different language. It took him a moment to comprehend what he had said, but once he finally understood, he slowly pulled his hands away from Gojyo's neck; his finger tips still hovered a little uncertainly near the newly healed injury, as though he didn't trust his own abilities. "Yes, you're right," he managed, his voice strained and tight. "I'm sorry, I suppose I-- I just panicked."

His hand shook as he wiped the blood from his lips, his expression faintly disbelieving and partly horrified. Breathing deeply (mostly to keep himself from immediately running off to retch in a different corner), he calmed himself enough to assess the situation, now that he remembered that no one could die in the school (which was highly convenient, he thought, and he'd have to remember to ask about that for next time he inexplicably found himself craving blood, which would be never again hopefully). He nodded once, decisively, and said, "We need to at least get him into a bed, I think." He gently maneuvered Gojyo's unconscious form into a sitting position, placing an arm around his waist as a support. With one of Gojyo's arms around his shoulders, he nodded to Sanzo to take his other side.

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