1 Records of a Despairing Exiled Race.

We used to rule over the world. We used to be a proud and glorious race. Nowadays we are but pitiful rats governed by imbeciles.

It all started a long time ago. So long I lost any sense of time.

But I will always remember the events of these days.

I was but a fledgling then. Young and hopeful. Courageous and impetuous. Taking pleasure in fighting in the god war. Bringing glory to my people. We used to be kings. Extremely strong and without equals. An endless army that would bring ruin to our enemies and govern wisely.

But then it came. The day of judgment. It came for everyone, not just us.

Out of nowhere, the world became thin in mana. Slowly at first, ever-increasingly fast.

We had no choice but to relocate. We small soldiers could have actually survived in such an environment, but not our lords. They were too powerful, too powerful for the world.

They had no choice but to leave it and scheme their return.

We had no choice but to follow.

And we did willingly.

This is the decision I regret the most in my life.

We were promised a safe haven. We were promised a new home to await our eventual return.

We were promised a lot. But it was all smoke and mirror.

All that awaited us in our new world was despair.

At first, everything was going well. We still had high morale from surviving a calamity.

We were filled with hopes.

But we were confronted with a dead and merciless world. Devoid of any life except us.

Any other species might have thrived there. But not us. We drew the shorthand of the stick.

Worse we are an immortal race. No amount of suffering will end our pitiful lives. Dying is hard work. The resilience we were proud of became our ticket to a non-stop ordeal.

That didn't stop many from committing suicide. Sadly the 17 lords intervened. They made it a crime to attempt to end one's own life. There used to be 30 lords, but many offed themselves.

You'd think: what could scare a man that wants to die already? Well, a fate worse than death. Endless torture. One that the lords have honed through the countless years they have lived. A knowledge of the body so on point that they could use it to save lives, not that they ever would. And they are always watching.

Anyone sane will "happily" live on.

To understand the plight of the masses knowledge of this world is required.

This plane itself is devoid of the very source of joy and sustenance of our race. From time to time a dimensional crack will let some through but even then the lords are quick to take possession of it. If you are lucky and offer it to a kind ruler, you might also get a taste. Being unlucky you might end up getting eaten as a side dish. Well, there are worse ways to go. When even the kings are starving, the populace becomes living hungry ghosts.

If it wasn't enough, the outside world is deadly and the ground so sturdy digging to make shelters is close to impossible. After countless years we do have some by now. But even then, we are still crammed like sardines in it. We look like the livestock we used to look down upon. Pitiful. It is better than it used to be, but not enough to rekindle any hope.

But there is a path of survival for us. There are rules to the deadliness. Half of the time we can actually head outside and wander around. But even then, we look like specters. Hungry, purposeless and dead inside…yet moving about. Then the other half it's back to stacking in a tiny cave. Rats I tell you.

There are actually natural hideouts existing. This is how our race first survived upon our arrival. Then the rulers ordered us to tirelessly dig shelters for our race. We did so valiantly. Relentlessly. We had hopes of finally living in close to decent conditions. That is not what happened. The rulers kept most of the space available for their own use. Exiled us to the few burrows we made after countless years or toiling hard. Because of this the expansion pretty much halted. What is the point of working hard just for it to be taken as spoils by our leaders?

All of this has been going in accordance with the blood god's will. The god I used to worship faithfully myself. The one we are forced to follow. I am having doubts by now. Of course, I won't voice it. I am actually a small cult leader myself. A nice-sounding title that doesn't bring any benefits. But either way it has been ages since that god of ours made an apparition, even indirectly through an oracle of something. *sigh*

Why are we not rebelling? Because we are weak. And the lords are strong. The strongest. Rebelling means a fate worse than death.

There is one silver lining to this. The death games. A brutal fight in which 2 of our brethren fight each other in a match to the death. Once a week. The best kind of entertainment for our rulers. Successfully losing such a fight is my goal! Of course, such a thing is close to impossible. One needs to first draw the lottery to be chosen. Then one needs to successfully lose the fight. Yes, it is possible to fail to lose it. For one we need to give our all in these fights. Both contestants want nothing more than to die. But they need to act like they are getting overwhelmed by the opponent. The hard part is acting well enough, so the rulers actually believe it. It for that very reason that I have become a small religious leader. To practice my acting!

I have become so good at it that recently that I even managed to rekindle the hopes of some of my comrades. Telling them about our upcoming glorious return. To the old world! How risible haha. Yes, my bullshiting talent is improving for sure. Sadly my luck has been bad. Well, drawing the lottery is almost a pointless endeavor given the low chances. Still one needs to dream.

This week I haven't gotten it. Next week maybe. As I rest in the shelter next to my squirming brethren, I think about how it must look outside at this time.

Blue sky, pure water, cool winds, fresh air, lush grass, and an ever so radiant sun.

It would be a utopia for most.

Sadly we are vampires X_X