Blood and Lust

Chapter 1

Here's a thing you need to know.
Vampires are real.
Yes, they're real- and Wilbur Soot is one of them.
Their only defining qualities are their blood-red, sunken eyes, their pale, almost waxy, skin and their abnormally long and sharp fangs.
They also have special abilities, such as enhanced strength, but you wouldn't know that by sight.
They all have a special talent unique to each vampire, and can turn someone into one of them if they want to. They usually don't, though.

Wilbur, in this instance, is a very talented vampire. He owns a guitar which he uses to lure unsuspecting humans into his small home, where he makes quick work of them. Like a Siren to sailors, the sweet music is tempting, nearly irresistible.
They call him the Musician.
'Oh, but who's they?' you might ask. Well, probably. You're going to know regardless, I guess.

Vampire hunters.
Wilbur hates the lot of them. Always trying to pick a fight with him.
He's had to move towns so many times because of these fuckers. When he'd just gotten comfortable in his home, he'd be raided and have to flee.
There's not much to flee from, to be honest, apart from the threat of death, which is not very daunting if he'll be completely honest.
Vampires can die, but it's a very complicated process that no vampire would ever sit still through, so there's not much threat.
Still, they're annoying as shit and just a pain in the ass for Wilbur.

Here's a description of Wilbur for a better image of the man- he's got puffy, curly brown hair with a single white streak running through it, and he always wears his signature yellow sweater paired with his worn brown coat adorned with patches.
He's not broad shouldered, rather average bordering on skinny, but his height manages to make up for it- he's six foot five.
He's wearing a necklace with a single green emerald laying on his chest. There's actually a fairly interesting story attached to this emerald, but that's for another time. He always wears a black beanie. He considers himself unremarkable.

He's had his friends come and go throughout the decades, but they never stay. He's a lone wolf, really.
He tried to make friends with humans, a long time ago when he was freshly turned, but he always found himself turning on them and murdering them or watching them grow old and die.
Both aren't exactly very pleasant experiences, to say the least, but at least they've desensitised Wilbur to death and loss.
Now he doesn't bother- he doesn't even care for vampire friends, really, they're just competition to him.
In his eyes, less blood is less happiness, and if he's going to have to share that blood with someone else?
Hell no. He wants it all for himself.

He's been a vampire for around three hundred years now- he was turned by this pink haired dude called Technoblade he didn't see again after.
To this day, he still wonders why he was allowed to be turned instead of being left dead in that road. I mean, the guy that turned him doesn't even know him!
He's grateful for it, though, and he's earned himself a name in the vampire community.
As said before, his nickname is The Musician.

Right now, Wilbur's hungry, so he decides to play a song on his front porch to lure unsuspecting humans in. He's in a small single bedroom house on the outskirts of a moderately large town. To the back of the house lies a forest.
This is useful for dumping the bodies in once he's through with them.
There's no real evidence of them being there except the bloodstains on the ground and, well, the bodies, but Wilbur's usually moved by the time they find them.
He picks up the guitar and heads out onto his front porch, sitting on one of the chairs conveniently placed on it.
Wilbur starts strumming a sweet, wordless melody on his guitar. He knows how gullible humans are, and sure enough one comes in the first five minutes.
Like a moth to a flame.

The man appears. He had previously been sticking his head out from his window, trying to locate the source of this beautiful, alluring melody, and obviously he had found it since he's wandering over mindlessly to Wilbur, entranced by the music.
Wilbur smirks. Easy food.
Really, humans are so stupid sometimes.
He continues to play until the man is on his front porch, in a trance of some sort.
Wilbur slowly backs into his house, still playing, to get the man inside- which, in fact, he does. The man wordlessly follows him like a lost sheep.