[Daywalker]
A vampire that defies the usual weakness of sunlight. Able to walk in the sun without any physical harm. Their strengths are focused on a fast and durable body, relying heavily on blood intake to maintain their Daywalker condition. Weaknesses: vulnerable to garlic, affected by holy water, and their healing is extremely limited. Without constant blood intake, they revert to a mortal state and can die normally.
Silas stared at the description. It was a tempting choice, especially with the benefit of walking freely under the sun, but something about it disappointed him. It felt too plain, too simple for what he had become.
'So I get the daylight… but lose most of the vampire part. That feels like getting the discount version.'
He sighed and moved on.
[Shadow Vampire]
Vampires of the night who are most powerful under complete darkness. They move effortlessly through shadow and can manipulate darkness around them. They can create thralls from the shadows to fight by their side, and can shift into shadow form to travel quickly or escape. Weaknesses: any presence of light causes pain and greatly reduces their power.
This one made his brow lift. The abilities sounded incredible on paper, but the weakness was too extreme.
'Yeah, being allergic to light in a zombie apocalypse? Sounds like a great way to die because someone lit a match.'
He swiped to the last entry.
[Origin Vampyr]
One of the ancestral vampires, born not only from curse but also from nature. They possess powerful physical strength, enhanced speed, superior senses, and a noble presence. Beautiful in appearance yet monstrous in battle. They dictate blood, shaping and controlling it, and can transform into one chosen creature of the dark. Weaknesses: sunlight greatly weakens them though it does not kill them, gold is painfully fatal and a stake of gold in the heart instantly transforms them into solid gold. Cannot enter owned property unless invited.
While reading, a small smile formed on his face. Origin Vampyr had everything he expected a real vampire to have, power, presence, control over blood, transformation. But the weaknesses made him hesitate.
Turning into gold from a stake in the heart was absurd and terrifying. And not being able to step into homes without permission seemed like a very inconvenient curse.
He closed the menu with a frustrated breath. "What the hell are these options?" he muttered.
As if sensing his annoyance, the screen displayed a new message:
[To continue to grow, you must choose a Type. Remaining as a normal vampire will limit your evolution.]
'Now I don't want that,' he thought.
He didn't want to be ordinary. He didn't want to be stuck weak while the world around him evolved into something worse.
But every strong option had weaknesses that made him pause, and every safe choice looked boring enough to make survival miserable.
Only Daywalker and Origin Vampyr gave him something close to the freedom he needed. But even then, he wasn't sure which was the lesser nightmare.
Even the Shadow Vampire was not bad when he thought about it.
Here is your continuation exactly in the pacing and structure you use, full paragraphs, no clipped beats, no summarizing endings, no thematic wrap-ups.
His fingertip brushed the screen.
He didn't even look long enough to see which one he ended up pressing. The confirmation flash appeared before he had a chance to second-guess himself, and the system accepted the input like it had been waiting impatiently for him to decide.
Heat flooded through him a second later. It wasn't the painful burn from sunlight or the fever from his turning.
This felt deeper, like his blood was boiling and his bones were trying to reshape themselves while still being used.
His jaw clenched and he reached for the wall to keep himself upright, but his legs buckled anyway.
'Not again.'
[You have chosen....]
Darkness pulled at his vision. His knees hit the floor but he barely felt the impact. The room around him vanished, replaced by a black expanse with no sound and no direction. Then something snapped back into focus.
A village.
He was standing in the middle of a small settlement under a fading sky. The air smelled of earth and cooked grain.
People walked past him carrying baskets, waving as they smiled. He understood instantly that they weren't smiling at Silas. They were smiling at the person he was inside.
He could feel emotions that weren't his. A warmth toward these people. Familiarity and belonging. He felt himself smiling even though he wasn't in control of the expression.
The perspective shifted, and he entered a modest home where a woman hugged him tightly and children clung to his arms.
Their laughter surrounded him. The weight of the man's affection washed through Silas like it belonged to him.
Time blurred until night.
Blackness dripped into the scene like ink spilling across paper. The lights in the house faded. The children slept. The wife's breathing slowed.
Then the hunger arrived.
Not Silas's hunger, it was worse. It was primal, ancient, and merciless. His vision sharpened in the dark, picking details that only predators needed. His body moved on its own, silent and confident, stepping closer to the sleeping family.
He wanted to shout. To pull himself back and actually stop anything from happening. He couldn't. He wasn't the one making decisions.
Hands, his and not his, wrapped around the woman's throat. Her eyes opened for one brief second before her body went limp.
Blood flowed warm and rich, and Silas felt the taste fill his mouth even though he hadn't moved his tongue. He tried to recoil but he was locked inside the action, prisoner to every sensation.
He moved to the children next.
One by one, life left the room. There was no hesitation in what he was doing, like it was not the first time. And there sure as hell was no regret.
Not even a shred of conflict in the man whose memory Silas was trapped in. The hunger eased, but the satisfaction was better.
Silas wanted to vomit. The horror wasn't just seeing it happen, it was feeling how right the man believed it was.
This wasn't a moment of survival nor panic.
It was enjoyment.
And Silas experienced every second of it like it was his own hands doing the killing.
And while he didn't want to admit it, he had tasted the blood. It tasted divine. He never remembered anything in his old, normal life coming close to that feeling.
He hated that he was thinking about it now. His own mind turning against him, replaying the flavor like a reward.
Silas didn't know why the memory lingered on his tongue. But a seed had been planted.
Temptation didn't need permission. Once it was inside, it grew on its own. The pleasure of the blood. The rush during the hunt.
The feeling of strength after taking a life. He could pretend all he wanted, but his body remembered everything the instant he thought about it.
It would be easy to fall into that. Too easy.
Whether it was the thrill of killing or the taste that followed afterward, both were now part of him. Both were waiting for him to give in again.
It was only a matter of time.