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“Well, it seems we have a slight clash of interests then. You see, she is mine, and I won’t allow you to take her. But fear not; you won’t be leaving empty-handed.” The corners of my lips curl as my fangs descend. “In fact, you won’t be leaving at all because you will die here.” It’s not that I enjoy butchering people, but when it comes to what is mine, let there be blood.
“We’ll kill you if you get in our way.”
“No, you will die where you stand. I demand to know who sent you.”
The scarred man’s sneer deepens, and he exchanges a glance with his companions. Their faces harden; they’re not going to divulge any information.
A fiery-haired man with more freckles than skin steps forward, wielding a gleaming silver blade. “We don’t have to tell you anything. We know who you are, and we’re prepared.”
“Preparation means nothing if you lack the skill to wield it,” I taunt, my words barbed. “If you won’t reveal your puppeteer, then let the dance begin.”
They circle me cautiously, their weapons glinting with ill-concealed excitement, and I bask in the sickly-sweet scent of anticipation. The scarred man attacks first. His stake whistles through the air, a hair’s breadth away from my chest; its wooden tip brushes against the fabric of my shirt, but I sidestep his attack. My hand shoots out, and my fingers wrap around his wrist, trapping him in an iron grip. His eyes widen in disbelief, and his breath catches in his throat as I squeeze his wrist.
“Do you really think you can best me, mortal? You are but a fleeting breath in the vastness of eternity.” With a snarl, I rip his arm clean off his body and his screams echo through the room. Blood spurts from the stump, spraying across my face and clothes. Nerves and flesh dangle from the torn limb. It feeds the hunger that gnaws at my insides. I toss his arm aside and grab him, sinking my fangs into his throat and tearing into his jugular vein. The taste of his fear and misery is sweet on my tongue. His struggles falter, and his strength wanes, but I’m done with him anyway, so I let him fall to the ground.
I turn to face the other two hunters and lick the blood from my lips. “Mmm, AB-negative, rare but delicious.”
“You monster!” the red-haired devil screeches.
Like a madman possessed, he lunges at me, his silver dagger an extension of his rage. Their stupidity amuses me; they outnumber me but come at me one by one. Predictable fools. Boredom creeps in, and I decide to play with his fragile little mind. Let him believe he holds the upper hand—a fleeting delusion that will fracture against the jagged rocks of reality.
I make no effort to evade his strike, allowing his silver blade to carve a wicked smile across my chest. Pain sears through me, an exquisite agony that intertwines with pleasure. Crimson tendrils cascade down my torso, a grim work of art painted in my own lifeblood.
I regard the carnage and chaos I have inspired. “This shirt is an Armani creation, and I take offense, hunter, to your feeble attempts at defiling it.”
“Fuck you, leech.”
It is time to end him, too. My eyes fix on the hunter with hypnotic intensity. As I stare at him, my gaze pierces through the hunter’s defenses, burrowing into the core of his being. His pupils dilate, mirroring the expanding void within his soul.
“Submit to the whispers that slither beneath your skin,” I murmur. “Your fight ends here. Take your knife and plunge it into your own heart. Embrace the release of death and go fuck yourself.”
The hunter’s pathetic resistance crumbles; his frail will is no match for the relentless onslaught of my vampiric enchantment. He raises his blade, desperation etched upon his face, and drives it straight into his own chest. A silent scream of agony contorts his mouth, his eyes bulging with the torment he willingly embraces. His body crashes down, collapsing upon the ancient coffee table. With a sudden, sharp crack, the table gives way beneath his weight, the wooden surface splintering and collapsing under the force of impact. The intricate chess set, once proudly displayed on the table’s surface, shatters into a thousand pieces, scattering across the floor in a shower of broken fragments.
Amidst the wreckage, the last hunter, a towering brute of a man, stands defiant. His bulging muscles strain against his shirt. But he won’t get my beguiling whispers this time. No, this time, I’ll savor every vicious blow, etching them into my memory like scars of victory.
I crack my neck eliciting a satisfying crunch of bones. The air crackles as the hunter and I lock eyes; the room shrinking to a narrow arena of pulsating hostility. The hunter charges at me, a thunderous roar escaping his lips, his muscles coiled like steel springs. His fists, hardened weapons of destruction, rain down on me. In retaliation, I unleash a barrage of swift strikes; flesh meets flesh, and bones collide with bones.
He fights valiantly, but his efforts are worthless against my supernatural might. Furniture lies discarded and broken, and more blood is smeared across the room. The hunter’s shirt is now torn and drenched, blending with the hues of violence. Bruises blossom like morbid flowers upon his flesh, a testament to the brutality of our clash.
He shoots me a defiant glare, blood dripping from his battered face. “Is that the best you’ve got, you damn bloodsucker? Your darkness won’t overtake me!”
“Your courage is commendable, hunter. But remember, darkness is patient, always lurking, ready to consume even the most righteous souls.”
He spits out a mouthful of blood, his voice strained but determined. “I won’t let your mind games get to me. I’ll stand against the blackness, protecting those who can’t protect themselves!”
I let out a cold, mocking chuckle. “Ah, the valiant knight, deluded by his own sense of justice. Tell me, how many lives have you claimed in your self-righteous quest? How many ghosts haunt your path? Can you truly comprehend the depths of darkness that surround us? In this broken world, justice becomes a mere illusion, a fragile flicker in an endless night.”
“I’ll be the damn torch that cuts through your shadows, even if it costs me everything!”
With a confident step forward, I meet his challenging gaze. “We’ll see. Let this fight settle the score once and for all.”
Time loses its meaning as we fight, lost in a dance of savagery, but the hunter’s blows falter, and his strength is waning like a dying ember. A faint, discordant sound pricks at my ears, disrupting the triumphant haze that envelops me. A distant shuffling, accompanied by a shrill cackle, draws my attention away. But what stirs my dead heart is not the sounds of the shadow schemer itself but the realization that it is in the hidden passageways heading towards her—the woman who has captured my soul.
For the first time in three hundred years, I feel real fear. It crawls through me and infects every inch of me. Panic surges within me, and the fight with the hunter is forgotten in an instant. The hunter, silently and swiftly, capitalizes on my momentary lapse in focus. In a fraction of a heartbeat, he draws a sword from a sheath on his back, wielding it with unleashed fury. The silver blade glints menacingly as he rushes me, fueled by the desperation for survival.
As the hunter’s strikes land, I’m silently impressed by his choice of weapon. In an era where firearms and modern technology dominate, it’s a rarity to witness someone skilled in the art of swordsmanship. The way he wields the sword with calculated precision, the finesse in his movements—it’s a testament to his dedication and training. Despite the terror that grips me, a part of me appreciates the echoes of a bygone era resurfacing in this deadly encounter.
But my moment of admiration is short-lived as the hunter’s final strike finds its mark. The sword impales me, its blade penetrating my shoulder with a searing pain. I attempt to retaliate, to free myself from its piercing grip, but the barbs along its edges prevent me from pulling it out. Each futile struggle intensifies the torment, tightening the grip of the sword. The world tilts as gravity pulls me towards the earth, and my body crashes down on the unforgiving ground.
