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My name is D3athstroke

I should be dead. It is with a cry of pain and sorrow that I speak to you now. The demon will not let me die.

For years I fought to free this world from the demons that inhabit it. I considered myself a Hunter and a good one. The ash of vampire has dusted my sword. The blood of the undead has been pooled at my feet.

When I learned of the coming attack of the Von Helson's. I knew that all who could fight would be needed. Against my better judgment I dropped the case I had been working on and came to help. There were many hunters at that time. All excellent killers. Many trained and ready to fight to the end.

When the battle began the vampires were low in number. They would hit and run. Taking out blood and fleeing to save there own skins. I took chase.

In a darkened place where none could witness, I cornered one of the Von Helson's progeny. If it had been just him then I would have been fine. Little did I know that the hunter had become the hunted.

The mission I had been on before the attacks had been to kill a demon by the name of Horehound. A despicable fallen angel that still sang the verses of heaven with a sweet and heretical voice. I never suspected that Horehound would follow me to the streets of Duram... never suspected that he would corner me in that building with nowhere to escape.

Instead of killing me he held me down so that the Von Helson's leech could drain me and change me into one of the cities swelling population of vampire fledglings. He then did something that was a new level of horror. He entered this body and possessed it.

Unlike a normal human shell the vampire body isn't destroyed by the demon being inside it. It would not age and the physical/spiritual strain of procession does not make it fall apart in a few days time. That's not to say the damage isn't done. Just that it is in a constant state of repair. So I cook from the inside out in the hellfire of a demon's kiss and yet never die.

I never die. The pain goes on and on and I never die. The tainted blood pumps through me, cooking the veins and cracking the skins yet I don't die.

Horehound has cast me into his own personal hell.