Glade 36th, 4623
Early in the morning, so early that the fringes of the sun's light barely peeked over the horizon, Arkash sat at crouched at the foot of the watchtower. Deep, rich red covered just about every inch of him, from his cheeks and nose to the deep green fabric of his jerkin. It soaked through and cooled the warm flesh of his hairless stomach and chest to such a degree that the jute clung to him.
His breath ran ragged, labored while his hands shook. Glistening crimson in the early sun while it steadily coagulated and dried on his skin. He swallowed; palette still rich with the taste of copper while his tongue lashed at the remnants of flavor on his teeth. He shivered, a body-rocking experience that saw his eyes lid while he basked in the fleeting pleasure of satiation before, all too quickly, it was gone.
"That's the sickest thing I've ever seen in all my years of raiding and pillaging," said the Moroi, who stood nearby while Arkash steadily recovered his composure. "All of them, all fourteen of my men, bones, hair, nails, skin, clothes and all..." He continued. "You barely stopped to breathe, let alone... Where does it even go? You..." he pressed his head into the wall of the watchtower. "It's not even physically possible to fit that much food in a... Whatever the Bel you are."
"Quiet," Arkash ordered as he shakily rose to his feet, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His fists clenched once he got there, and all the blood that matted his clothes and dripped from his features was pulled from every inch of his skin and loose thread of his attire to form a perfect sphere, which levitated above their heads. Shortly thereafter, the ball of blood funneled in a tendril that extended into his open mouth, and he drank. He swallowed hard on the last gulp and licked his lips before he pressed a hand to his flat stomach.
"I haven't eaten in weeks," he began. "For a while, I'd be struck with Mageblight every time I attacked someone. Mageblight is the accumulation of corruption in the soul, which then dilutes through the body. I wasn't sure what was happening, so I didn't run in here to kill you all outright; that much mageblight would have killed me without a doubt. I had to think smart, and produced a plan that ended with... minimal casualties... But even after I slit throats and shattered skulls, no Mageblight came. There's something else going on, I just don't know what," Arkash thought out loud. "What do you think?" He looked over his shoulder at the Moroi.
"I don't... Didn't know anything about magic before I died," said the Strigoi. "What creates corruption in the soul?"
Arkash shrugged. "Pushing yourself too hard with your magical abilities... Overstepping."
"So you're probably spending too much magic on your powers," The Strigoi reasoned. "Just stop using magic."
Arkash fell into silence, eyes staring into the sand while he considered the possibility.