Chapter 12

Chapter: The Human Condition

The pale moonlight flickered through the open window, casting long, slanted shadows across the room. Enzo sat hunched on the edge of the bed, his once-powerful frame reduced to a hollow shell of the man he used to be. His dark, olive-toned skin had faded, now dull and almost gray. He ran a trembling hand through his once-pristine jet-black hair, which had grown matted from days of neglect. He wasn't used to this—this feeling of weakness, of hunger, of desperation.

The talisman Sam had given him, a small pendant with ancient engravings, rested cold against his chest. It was the only thing keeping him from disintegrating under the weight of his newfound humanity. No more immortality. No more vampire strength. No more bloodlust gnawing at the edges of his mind. Well, almost no more.

His brain, however, hadn't caught up with the sudden change. The first few days had been hell. His body ached for blood, but Sam wouldn't let him anywhere near it. He craved it. He needed it. The hunger was like an itch under his skin, a whisper in the back of his mind that grew louder with every passing moment.

And now, here he was—hooked up to an IV like some hospital patient, the slow drip of nutrients barely keeping him alive. A mockery of what he once was.

"How you holding up?" Sam's voice broke the heavy silence.

Enzo's eyes flicked up to meet him. Sam stood at the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Always so damn calm, so collected. He had a way of commanding attention without raising his voice—a far cry from the cocky, reckless vampire hunter Enzo had first thought him to be.

"I feel like shite," Enzo muttered, his voice raspy from the lack of strength. The cocky smirk he was known for—his trademark—was a distant memory, though a flicker of it tried to surface. "You got anything in that bag of tricks for ex-vampires?"

Sam walked into the room, his steps deliberate. He knelt beside Enzo, checking the IV bag, his face still unreadable. "You're not an ex-vampire, Enzo. You're a human now. Get used to it."

Enzo wanted to laugh, wanted to tell Sam to shove it, but he didn't have the energy for either. The sarcasm that usually rolled off his tongue so easily was lost in the weariness that clung to him. Instead, he just nodded.

"You'll adjust," Sam said, almost casually, as if Enzo's entire life hadn't just been ripped apart and stitched back together in some Frankensteinian way. "The IV's keeping you alive now, but soon we'll transition to real food. Slowly."

A pause. Then Sam's voice softened, though only slightly. "I need you to survive this."

The words hung in the air like a weight between them. It wasn't concern—Sam didn't do concern. But there was something else, some unspoken need. Loyalty, maybe. Enzo was starting to understand.

Sam wasn't just saving him out of some misguided attempt to help. He had plans. Enzo was a part of those plans. And that meant Sam needed him in one piece.

The next week was a slow, torturous transition. The hunger for blood clawed at Enzo like a wild animal caged in his chest, but Sam was relentless, keeping him on a strict regimen of fluids and nutrients. The headaches came and went, pounding at his skull until he thought it might split open, but Sam's discipline kept him grounded. He barely spoke, merely observing as Enzo struggled to adapt, always nearby but never offering more comfort than was necessary.

It was when Sam started transitioning him to liquid food that the real challenge began.

"Drink it," Sam said one evening, pushing a cup of thick, almost broth-like substance into Enzo's hands. His tone was firm, brooking no argument.

Enzo stared at it, nostrils flaring. "I don't need this. I need—"

"What you need is to shut up and drink it," Sam interrupted, his voice carrying that quiet authority that was impossible to argue with. He leaned in slightly, his eyes dark, intense. "The blood? It's gone. The sooner you accept that, the better."

Enzo hesitated. The hunger was still there, lurking beneath the surface, but it was starting to fade. Slowly. Painfully. He raised the cup to his lips and drank. The taste was bland, almost metallic, but it was nourishment, and his body responded in kind.

It wasn't blood. But it would do.

After two months of grueling recovery, Enzo was finally eating solid food. The talisman on his chest had stopped the rapid aging, keeping him in his prime, physically, at least. But his body—his human body—was frail compared to the strength he had once known. That realization cut deeper than any weapon ever could.

Sam didn't waste any time once Enzo's body had adjusted. The training began immediately, harsh and unrelenting.

"Get up!" Sam barked one morning, tossing a wooden stake at Enzo's chest. He barely managed to catch it, his reflexes still sluggish. "You want to survive in this world? You need to learn how to fight. Not like a vampire. Like a man."

Enzo groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was never much for 'knight training,' mate," he muttered, pulling himself to his feet. His usual cocky smirk returned for a brief moment, a flicker of the old Enzo trying to resurface. "More of a finesse fighter, y'know? A bit of charm, a lot of bloodlust—"

Sam's fist shot out, slamming into Enzo's jaw before he could even finish the sentence. Enzo hit the ground hard, the world spinning around him as pain erupted in his face.

"Lesson one," Sam said, standing over him. "Don't rely on what you used to be. You're not a vampire anymore. You don't have time to be charming in a fight. Get up."

Enzo wiped the blood from his split lip, groaning as he pushed himself off the floor. "Alright, alright. No more charm. Got it."

The next few weeks were hell.

Sam trained him relentlessly, pushing him to his human limits. Every morning began with brutal, strength-sapping exercises, followed by sparring sessions that left Enzo bruised and battered. Sam was faster, stronger, and far more skilled. Hand-to-hand combat became a daily ritual of humiliation for Enzo, who found himself repeatedly thrown to the ground or knocked unconscious before he even had a chance to counter.

But it wasn't just physical training. Sam drilled him on everything—guns, crossbows, wooden stakes, tracking, poisons, anything and everything that could be used to fight the supernatural. Enzo wasn't just learning how to fight; he was learning how to survive.

"Again," Sam's voice rang out as Enzo gasped for air, his body drenched in sweat, muscles screaming in protest.

"I can barely stand, mate," Enzo panted, leaning heavily against the wooden post of the training ring. "Give me a break, yeah?"

"There are no breaks," Sam said coldly. "Not in this world. You think a vampire's going to give you a break? A witch? A werewolf? You want to stay alive, you push through the pain."

Enzo clenched his fists, the sharp sting of reality hitting him harder than any blow Sam had landed. He wasn't a vampire anymore. His strength, his speed—it was all gone. All he had now was human fragility and stubbornness. But Sam was right. If he wanted to survive, he'd have to learn how to fight like one of them. Like Sam.

One night, after yet another grueling session, Enzo sat alone by the fire, staring into the flames. His body ached, and every inch of him screamed for rest, but sleep wouldn't come. He'd never felt so vulnerable, so breakable. The world he once controlled with charm and brute force now seemed like a distant memory.

Sam walked up beside him, a bottle of whiskey in hand. He offered it to Enzo without a word, and Enzo took it, gratefully swallowing a large gulp.

"Why are you doing this?" Enzo asked, his voice quieter than usual. There was no smirk, no devil-may-care attitude. Just a genuine question.

Sam's eyes didn't leave the fire. "Because you're loyal. You've seen more of this world than most. And I need someone who understands how to lead."

Enzo furrowed his brow. "Loyalty's one thing, but why train me to be human? You tolerate vampires, sure, but you wouldn't have a vampire as your right hand."

Sam finally turned to face him, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark with something Enzo couldn't quite place.

"I don't trust vampires," Sam said, his tone sharp. "And I sure as hell don't trust anyone who needs blood to survive."

Enzo chuckled darkly. "So what, I'm your pet project? Train me up, make me your right-hand man? What's the catch?"

Sam's gaze flickered, his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "There's no catch. You've got the loyalty, the charisma, the experience. All you need is to learn how to survive as a human. Once you do that…" He trailed off, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You'll be the perfect partner."

Enzo leaned back, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of it all.