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He can't breathe.
Struggling brings a feeling of great weight over him, like he's been trapped underneath- Like he's been buried. Like he's under the earth, but he hasn't died. It's wrong, wrong, and he can't get out.
When he feels something give way, grimy, wet, he pushes. His limbs feel stronger.
He thrashes and digs as best he can, feeling his way through the dirt, quickly turning to mud. Bits of roots block his way, but he tears through them, his fear of enclosure and hope for freedom driving him onward.
There's movement above him.
He remembers something. Pain in his neck, a feeling of energy leaving his body, his soul departing even as he screamed inside. He remembers some sort of beast awakening inside him, remembers the taste of blood--copper and salt.
Whoever- whatever is near him, digging him out, is an enemy.
Once the rain from above ground hits his face, air rushing into his throat in a huge gasp, he lunges and grasps as best he can. Just over the sound of wind and thunder, he hears a grunt of pain; He reaches out again. His wrists are caught in a tight, strong grip. Even when he tugs, pulls, frees his whole upper half from the mud, he cannot escape this monster.
Words leave its mouth, but he does not understand them. Even so, they aren't like what he knows, from his people or those who came to kill his people.
He doesn't know what they want. So, he speaks.
"What are you doing here?"
Eyebrows furrow; Confusion takes over their face before they speak, haltingly. "Saving you."
They stumble over their pronunciation. The creature is not of his people, as he expected. But they know the language; Someone taught them, and they listened. Glancing briefly off to the side, there in the mud lays the monster he remembers. Head severed from neck, body somehow dried and shriveled like it had been burnt, or left in the sun for months, despite all the rain.
He looks back, really looks at the one holding him. Pale skin, pale hair, obvious fangs; Yet, covered in mud, from helping dig him out. A dead monster nearby--one of their own kind.
Tugging his arms gets them released this time.
"Olrox," he says, before he can really think it through. But the stranger has already tilted their head, so he presses on. "My name is Olrox."
For a long moment, with more thunder rumbling above, the stranger seems to think. Then, slowly and carefully, says back, "My name is Alucard."
Olrox rolls the name around in his mind for a few moments, then repeats it. "Alucard. Help me out."
Alucard doesn't argue any further, turning to dig at the wet ground, and Olrox helps, both digging and pressing against the ground from the inside. It takes time, but eventually he is freed. The mud sucks at his feet, but he steps out from the hole rapidly filling back up with water and more soil. Fresh air presses against his face, and despite the speed and howling, all Olrox wants to do is continue to take in large lungfuls of it, memorizing the feeling of being out of the ground. But the wind is quick, and the rain and mud are cold. Olrox shivers.
Alucard easily takes off his long cloak, speckled with mud on the outside but mostly dry on the inside, and drapes it over Olrox. He's frozen for a moment at the kind gesture, but thanks Alucard and wraps it tighter around himself.
"I am sorry."
Olrox turns to his... ally, not friend yet, in confusion. "Why?"
With a pained look, Alucard gestures to the dead monster on the ground. Olrox is already disagreeing--he wanted that thing dead too--but Alucard is trying to describe something more complex, and doesn't seem to have the words. Eventually, with eyes pinched, he gestures to his own mouth, pointing out his fangs. Then he points to Olrox.
Olrox, once again, feels weighted down by burial soil. No. He's mistaken the meaning. They aren't communicating or understanding each other well. It can't-
Olrox reaches up with the hand not holding the cloak together. He presses a finger to his teeth and runs it sideways. Fangs. He's grown fangs, just like the monster which bit him.
Everything feels numb. He slumps to the ground, legs and arms sinking back into the mud. His voice is the howling wind, and his eyes are lashed by the rain drops.
When Alucard kneels down next to him, he doesn't stop. When Alucard reaches around and picks him up like a child, with the ease of strength clearly not natural, Olrox lets him. They move swiftly through the storm, reaching a small, simply protected spot between several large trees. The wooden walls are holding, even with their simplicity. There's just enough room for both of them to fit sitting up, legs crossed, which is how Alucard arranges them.
Olrox can't help but reach up to press at his- his fangs again. He can't be- doesn't want to be like that creature.
"Olrox?" Alucard calls his name, looking at him, though Olrox can't quite parse the emotions on his face. "Sorry," he says again. "You are safe. I will keep you safe."
A sob breaks from his throat. Bitterly, he responds, "Will you keep others safe from me?"
"...Yes." Alucard's voice is strong, sure. "Safe from you."
And Olrox watches, really looks into his golden eyes, to make certain he means it. Because for the moment, with a stranger's cloak over his worn clothing, and the storm, and whatever terrible thing has been done to his body, it's all Olrox can ask for.