The body of the vampire Mithias lay on the hard and unforgiving ground, unmoving, as if dead. The remnants of an eviscerated soul were all that remained in the center of that splatter of blood and spirit. He teetered dangerously on the edge of soul-death as the half-witch Mia approached him. There was only one thing could have allowed him to survive to this point. It was the light of hope itself that had kept the shards of his soul from splintering off into oblivion, a light that was now spent, dimmed into a faint flicker deep within him, barely noticable, like a dying heartbeat.

Wrecked, was the only way to describe Mithias' state at this point. His body functioned, but he was empty, willess, and highly unstable, trapped within his own mind. It was like being in a dream, or rather a nightmare of despair. He didn't appear to react to the real world. Inside, the destiny of the void called to him, reaching up it's ever-black hand to wrap him in eternal nothingness. For that is all he was....

Then, out of the swirling, nonsensical nothingness and fear, came a light to his senses. It was pain, and Mithias mentally latched onto it like it was the only tether he had in the universe to survival, which is exactly what it was. A finger graced him, burned him, and as it did, one of the rents in his soul was stitched closed. Pain. He welcomed it, begged for it. Consciousness began to return. 

Just as Bug came over to stop Mia, she suddenly felt one of her hands grabbed. A red glow eeked out from the vampire's eyes as they began to open. Mithias held her wrist with all the strength he could muster. "Don't... s-stop." He inclined his head to her, gratitude, desire, and desperation evident in his composure. Anything that grounded him and made him whole was a godsend. Whoever this woman was, he was hers. He needed her.