This is bad…

Bastian panted, trying to keep himself and his sword up. He continued to step backwards, while the three vampires crept closer towards him. He was outnumbered. A soldier laid dead nearby, the one with who he had been fighting. The others were away, battling in other corridors they had to shield.

He huffed and growled tiredly, having received multiple hits and small cuts. Even his good eye was clouded, both due to exhaustion and the surrounding scent of blood. The bastards were strong, and their constant slashes dazed him greatly.

He had known that this would happen, for a full month, ever since he discussed their plan in the dungeons of their castle. They parted ways with a clear mind, aware of their roles in their ploy. They had to prepare Hollowgrave for this siege, warn everybody and make them agree to not attack Nerys or her clan. He had to bargain with the council, personally, for only the sight of a willing vampire would gain their trust.

He had managed to sway their thoughts, not without witnessing the anger of some rebels. That was nothing, however. This was the real moment of truth, in which their fate would truly be decided.

As he had predicted, Alaric had sent some of his lackeys to other areas of the citadel, hoping to kill civilians. They all knew that it would happen and that she would not be able to contradict such command. She needed his trust until she got him into that chamber, where they would trap him.

He could not aid them, for he would surely feel the pressure of the disease. If he was to help, it had to be defending the lives of others. Still, confronting these beasts was an arduous task, for most soldiers were needed outside to face the horde that tried to surge into the underground tunnels.

His main hope was that Nerys would hurry and kill her sire as quickly as possible, to be able to impose her will over all others. He doubted that he could win this fight, and his chances of survival grew thinner with each second that passed.

A tired laugh escaped him, because he could not keep retreating from the advances of his foes. His back collided with a door, which led to one of the small chambers were civilians hid. He had nowhere to go, and the three were closing in slowly, savouring his dread even though they were of the same race.

His senses alerted him of the heartbeats that echoed past the door behind him; they pulsed with fear, for they were aware of their presence. There was no way he would manage to prevent them from killing, yet he still raised his sword. It did nothing to stop their next lunge.

“Mphf!”

One slammed a huge claw against his blade, and the force of the hit pushed him back fiercely. He had been leaning against the door, so it wasn’t a surprise when it gave in behind him, even if it had been locked.

He yelped and huffed as he hit the ground, not missing how the people hiding inside the room gasped in shock and fear. Many families were sitting in the shadows of the chamber, between furniture and crates, awaiting the end of the siege or the arrival or their killers. All had hoped that the door would stay closed, and with it open, adrenaline surged through their veins. It was something he sensed, and he hated it.

He shook his head with a groan and stood up onto one knee, leaning against his sword. A second after, he dared look behind him and saw the humans cower from his gaze. They noted quickly that he was not an insurgent, but a vampire.

His eyes narrowed, because he recognized that most were simple farmers or merchants, common people. He had always wished to shield people like them, and it hurt to see the apprehension in their gazes. They saw him as a beast, and many held back their children, wary of the fangs that peeked in his tired exhales.

He had no time to dwell on their abhorrence or his own laments. It was a good thing that none were armed or prepared to fight, because he had enough already with three vampires that wished to tear out his throat.

Bastian gasped and stood again, just in time to block another hit, which would have stabbed him otherwise. He panted and kept hindering their advances, slashing wildly by the door. They were three, and if he gave ground, they would be able to attack the civilians while one of them kept him busy.

He managed to hold on for one minute, no more. A pained hiss escaped him when two leapt at once. One struck his sword, while the other pushed him back. He stumbled backwards again, and this time he lost grip on his weapon.

His silver eyes widened as he landed on the ground, seeing his sword fall. They promptly kicked it out of the room, away from his reach. He sat there, cowering slightly, unable to match their big claws with his smaller ones.

He could fight humans, but not his own kin barehanded. One of them raised a claw over him, looming with a smug fanged smile. The sight made him flinch and close his eyes, for he would not be able to stop the strike.

He heard a fierce thud, yet he felt no pain. That made him blink, confused. He sat mouth agape, seeing a very tall man standing beside him, having thrown something very heavy onto his attacker. Indeed, the vampire was now on the ground, below a broken crate that had contained many heavy materials and metals.

Bastian finally recognized the man, after staring baffled for a few seconds. The name escaped him in a shaky whisper, feeling both relief and shock.

“Wilfred?”

He knew that her brother would be around, hiding somewhere, but he had not imagined that he would be in the very same room he chose to defend.

Wilfred glanced down at Bastian, with an unusual yet familiar stern expression. There was no hate, however. He had recognized him, and he had been the only one to stand to shield him. Although he abhorred fighting, he was not one to cower, much less if one he cared for was in danger.

“Get up.”

“I-”

Bastian had no choice in the matter. He yelped when Wilfred pulled him up to his feet, to then push him back gently. His silver eyes widened when his wife stepped past him, with sharp scissors in hand.

All vampires, including Bastian, were baffled by the couple. They had been hiding in the room with their daughter like many other civilians, as commanded by the officials. When they saw the door open and noticed that no human soldiers were able to shield them, they knew they had to act.

Bastian could not reflect on how the other humans flinched when he retreated between them, to then stare at him in bewildered awe. He had to move away, because Wilfred had grabbed another heavy crate, and his wife was twirling the scissors proficiently in her hand. Their bluntness made the two remaining vampires very nervous, for the third laid unconscious on the ground.

Their daughter watched intently as they confronted the beings she had recently learnt about. They had told her that vampires were feral and strong creatures, dangerous. Still, the roles seemed to be reversed when Wilfred warned, his care turned into rage.

“Dare raise a claw near them… and I swear that I will skin you alive, you filthy animals.”

Now Bastian understood clearly that the rage he had seen in Nerys ran in her real bloodline.

———–

The whips came down again. Nerys snarled and raised one of her arms, yet it did very little to muffle the hit. Her black gauntlet was shattered and ripped by the blades of the lash, revealing her pale skin underneath.

Her black armor was pierced once more, this cut one of many. She was bleeding slightly, yet it was not enough to make her falter. Her exhales were growled, due to rage and exhaustion. When her sire stopped focusing on her for a moment, she grabbed her bloodied helmet, to then take it off and slam it to the ground.

Nerys stood tall by the fire, panting. A strong huff escaped her as she pierced Alaric with a glare, tensing and leaning. He was ignoring her for now, simply striking her from time to time. Lyssa was the one who took most of his attention, because she was dashing fast, trying to stab him with her flaming dagger.

Not even Sergius was managing to do much. His own whip kept slashing the air or ground, for the ancient vampire sidestepped to dodge every single one of his attacks.

Nerys roared and lunged again, making sure to slam to the ground a henchman that tried to tackle her. She leaned her shoulder as she ran, to strike him with it, yet he simply moved his head to stare at her.

Lyssa flinched, because Alaric dodged at the last second possible, to then kick at Nerys with a clawed foot. She was pushed away, and it was thanks to her resistance to fire that she survived, because she fell fiercely into the flames that surrounded them.

Nerys huffed on the ground, while Lyssa yelled in anger. Her green eyes blinked, dazed by the flames that brushed her. She felt their warmth, and she knew that she should move before she could be burned. With a growl, she stood again, looking back at the centre of the circle. Her brethren and the human soldiers were still struggling to bring down his men. Although they were less in number, they were fiercer and older, just like him.

This battle had gone on for a long while, yet he was not showing any hints of tiredness, unlike them. Their blood was mixing on the ground, both vampiric and human. All were wounded, even if non-lethally.

Nerys gasped breathlessly, horrified, because Alaric acted upon their exhaustion. Lyssa’s attacks had grown more desperate and angrier with each second that passed. On the other hand, her target was simply saving strength, toying with her efforts.

Lyssa yelled and raised the dagger again, and Alaric noticed how she channelled stronger flames onto its blade. She moved closer, and he let her. When she tried to stab downwards, he saw an opening. Just as the tip of the weapon would have sunk, he moved with an inhuman and uncanny speed.

Sergius and Nerys felt how their hearts skipped a beat when one of those bladed whips twirled and tangled around Lyssa’s right arm.

“Ah-h!”

Lyssa dropped the dagger, for the blades sunk into her flesh. Alaric made sure to make her bleed more deeply with a fast and strong pull, which ripped at her arm. The yank left behind wounds that would turn into permanent scars.

Sergius had been too busy with another vampire to shield Lyssa. His negligence would haunt him forever, the moment engraved into his conscience. He instinctively sent his foe to the ground and got ready to run, seeing Alaric raise one of his whips again, to finish her off.

He was not the one to shield her. His heart was relieved and angered at once, because Nerys leapt in between, outstretching her arms to prevent Lyssa from being struck again. The bladed whip slashed her chest, yet she kept herself tall and unmoving.

Lyssa blinked, overcoming her own pain to acknowledge the fact that another one had been pierced instead. Nerys was dazed for a moment, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw her sire ready yet another strike. He twirled his whips for one last double slash.

There was no pain or death; the weapons did not descend. Nerys sighed tiredly, because Alaric flinched and looked back in alarm. He hissed and jumped away, for Sergius ran closer, swinging his whip and flaming hand at him.

Nerys took her chance to look back at Lyssa, and their eyes met worriedly. The next whisper was snarled, full of desperate anger.

“W-we are not getting anywhere like this, Nerys. He keeps evading our attacks. There is no way to corner him…”

Her answer was a dreadful exhale, because she could not offer any encouraging words. She had never seen her sire in battle. Before, she had thought that she could take him down if she cornered him. Of course, she had been wrong. She had not predicted his feral moves, nor his speed. Not even with the combined help of the humans and her clan could she kill him. She had underestimated him.

I can’t-

Nerys snapped out of her grim thoughts. Both she and Lyssa froze, struck by fear. The two saw red, pouring in the centre of the chamber. Sergius had managed to fend off Alaric alone, for a while. He had let out all the anger he felt for his master, who merely laughed and danced around him, entertained.

For Alaric, everything was a game. And Sergius was a mere plaything he had grown tired of. As always, a human was simple prey. He had let him step closer, to then swing two blades from underneath his robes.

Sergius had stopped sharply, feeling the sharp edges brush his neck. He looked down at them slowly, while Alaric smiled, letting the two curved daggers cut him slightly. There was no room for him to back away; the blades enclosed his throat, keeping him bound where he stood.

If he dared move, the cuts would deepen, and he would bleed out rapidly. He had found a dead end, and it was determined by the one who had chained him for years. Once more, there was mocking amusement in those bloody eyes, which pierced him intensely.

“You can’t run off this time, morsel.”

Sergius stood there, frozen. He looked sideways, and time seemed to slow down. Lyssa and Nerys were there, near, yet too far. Both had seen the blades on his neck and bolted to aid him. Sadly, they were hindered by other vampires, who were not letting them reach him so easily. His former master whispered, venomously.

“I really hate losing something that belongs to me, dear. You truly wounded me when you fled. I still remember how loyal you were once, perceptive in your obedience. You showed great potential, and I was sure that you could survive my bite. I always noticed your strong will, determined to keep on, no matter what.” He leaned his blades slightly, to force him to meet his sharp eyes as he offered, one last time. “You will not find death due to time; I assure you. Accept my gift, and you may keep existing by my side. If you refuse me, I will kill you like the wild animal you are. Decide how to lose your life…”

He lost himself in those bloody eyes, beautiful yet vile. His captor returned his glance, with that mocking smile of his. After a couple of seconds that felt like an eternity, he finally chose.

Alaric’s eyes glinted, with wonder. Sergius moved slightly between the blades, to give him a look he had missed, full of captivation. He leaned his head, to let him see his neck. His arms raised at his sides and his hands opened, welcoming his advances.

The ancient vampire shivered, seeing easy prey, which could perhaps share an eternal existence with him. The human stayed still, even if he was neared slowly, with intent. Not too far, those ochre eyes hinted horror, for she saw that beast lean very close to her mentor.

Alaric erased all distance between them. He whispered to Sergius, right by his ear, never moving away those blades from his neck.

“You have made the right choice.”

Sergius smiled calmly, and then raised one of his hands. Alaric did not stop him as he held his face, in a motion he considered devoted and caring. The next two words were sighed defeatedly, to answer his vile affirmation.

“I know.”

Alaric only had a split second to realize how that contemplative gaze darkened, suddenly. Sergius slammed his hand onto his sharp eyes, letting it blaze fiercely. The vampire screamed and moved his blades blindly, in retaliation. The mage flinched, in pain and shock. Both took an instinctive step away, but the damage had already been done.

Nerys and Lyssa saw the blood pour, far too much. Sergius dropped to the ground, his neck sliced open. The two witnessed how his body slumped with a thud, and how the life left his eyes. There was a contented smile on his face, and pride in his empty gaze.

The last thing he saw was the shock in those ochre eyes, and the horror in the stance of a young vampire, who never stopped shielding what he most loved. He did not regret his choice, for his master would never see the suffering of others again.

Alaric let out a few huffed snarls, taking multiple steps backwards while he slashed his surroundings wildly. His men cowered, for they saw how his eyes had been burned. No human would have ever managed to blind him with fire, but he had been neglectful. He roared, outraged by the pain.

“You traitorous coward!”

Nerys stared in a daze, seeing Alaric take multiple blind steps. He moved too close to the surrounding fire, only realizing he did so when he almost brushed the flames with his feet. His eyes were now truly bloody, for Sergius had stabbed them deeply with his magic, in a move he paid with his life. A cry echoed, and it made her scowl sorrowfully. Lyssa was weeping, kneeling by the body of her mentor, lamenting his loss.

Before Sergius acted, he had looked at Nerys, subtly. She noticed it, but she did not understand until now. There had been conviction in his expression, for he debated his options, and he finally decided to trust. He placed his faith in her, hoping she would end that beast.

Sergius had weakened Alaric, and he expected Nerys to act upon it. He considered that she was needed, that she was the one that could aid both sides once this fight was over. She could end this madness and keep her safe.

Lyssa cried silently, able to do so thanks to the fact that some soldiers shielded her. Nerys bowed her head darkly, and then began to advance slowly, creeping closer towards her sire. She made no sound as she moved, like a shadow.

Alaric was taking deep breaths to try to sense where everybody stood. Sadly, there was too much blood for him to trace where Nerys roamed. All scents were mixing, misleading. He swung one of his whips strongly, yet he only heard the cry of one of his henchmen, who he mistook for his youngest spawn.

Her brethren finally had enough space to move freely, because Nerys was making sure to kill what few of his men remained. She marched strongly and without hurry, stabbing each bastard with her claws. All the while, Alaric tried to lash her with his whips, but she dodged each blind strike.

All his aid fell dead to the ground. Most were torn by her nails, but others had their throats ripped by her huge fangs. She snapped the neck of one who dared threaten a human soldier, afraid of her advances.

Alaric could not prevent the deaths of his descendants, for he could not see. He soon was alone, the last surviving threat to the humans that stood in the chamber. Lyssa glared at him, seeing how her clan and the few remaining guards surrounded him. He sensed them all and began to back away, only to find himself against a fiery wall. No one dared near him, however, because he kept swinging his whips fiercely.

“Keep your distance, maggots!”

Nerys knew well that Alaric was panicking. He was in a dark chamber, lighted by fire, surrounded by foes without aid. As well, he had been stolen from his most valued asset: his sight. He had always loved to see everyone submit at his feet, bleeding.

Alaric could do nothing to prevent Nerys from nearing. She did so slowly, standing tall as she readied her claws. Her next whisper was calculated, mocking and resentful.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you, my lord?”

He grinned angrily at her, able to pinpoint her position due to the echo of her voice. A whip was pointed, and it did not fail to intimidate all but her.

“I can still rip you apart, child.” He taunted her, arrogant. “Dare bare your claws or fangs, and I’ll make sure to sink mine into your flesh! I am still stronger! You can’t wound me, for I sense your moves, my own blood!”

He could trace her scent now. She was close, bleeding. He did not need his eyes to see. Still, she simply let out a long sigh, to then take another step towards him.

“You may display great strength, fortitude and speed. It is true that your claws could cause me more pain, and that you would endure any wound I inflicted. There is no way to match your viciousness…” Alaric smiled, but he flinched when he heard her dash. “I have something you lack, however!”

He moved his blades as she lunged at him. She huffed, feeling those curved daggers stab her shoulders. It was something that she could have dodged, but she didn’t. His expression twisted, hinting surprise when her claws slammed around his wrists.

Alaric lost a little of his balance when Nerys pressured him backwards, towards the wall of fire. Being close was exactly what she wanted, even if it meant being wounded. Now she could injure him and keep him still, at the same time.

She grinned angrily, because he hissed in pain. He was brushing the flames behind him, slowly edging closer to them due to her push. There came the kicks and yanks; he began to struggle to get free from her grip.

Lyssa frowned, because she noticed how Alaric managed to stand his ground, even winning some back with a fierce jolt. In retaliation, Nerys huffed and growled, invoking all her might.

The other vampires could only watch as the two lords duelled. They could not intervene to help her, because she was giving them all her back, very close to the fire. Furthermore, if they aided her, other clans would not consider her rise in power rightful.

She had to be the one to do the killing, or else. Nonetheless, all vampires saw humanity as a lower race. If such a being took part in the death of a lord, said ruler would be considered unworthy, weak.

Nerys gasped, because a wave of flames flowed near her. She flinched, rightfully scared of magical fire. However, it barely brushed her, channelled past her. Instead of her flesh, it struck Alaric’s feet, causing him to back away due to her push and the sudden pain.

Lyssa was near, clenching a smoking hand. Both their expressions twisted after a shared glance, displaying the firmest determination. Nerys pressured more, while more waves of fire were sent onto Alaric, who could do nothing but flinch and lose ground.

Alaric was finally pinned against a stony wall. Nerys hissed, because both stood in the middle of the flaming blaze, which engulfed them all over. Even she felt the sting of pain, yet she did not let go and move away. She kept herself still like a statue, locking her claws around his wrists.

He began to screech, feeling the burns of the flames like any human would. Instincts drowned his pride, his next kicks and thrashes undignified and beastly. He tried to unlatch her grip desperately, but even if he clawed at her fiercely, she simply huffed and kept holding on.

She too felt the scorching fire, because she kept him still for minutes. His stony skin was withering, yet he was still alive, moving wildly as he burned alive. She took a deep breath, to let time go by. Her mind focused on her grasp, no matter how painful it was.

His efforts were growing weaker with each second that passed. His hair had withered away, and his elegant robes were mere ashes that caressed his charred skin. There was no expression to recognize anymore; his face looked like the one of a cadaver. His lips were gone, revealing his fangs permanently, in a haunting snarl.

She began to hurt for real, having spent multiple minutes between the flames. Her black armor was now red, almost melted. Yet he was still enduring it all. He kept convulsing in her hold. His claws were nothing but bone, yet they still dashed to stab into her.

The only thing she could do was clench her teeth and hold on to overcome the pain. If she kept still, her skin would forever be charred, scarred. Not even her resistances could shield her from such pervasive heat.

She would have burned if she had not been pulled back. A yelp escaped her when she felt claws grab her shoulders and arms. She tripped slightly as her brethren hauled her away from the fire. Her eyes widened, seeing that black charred corpse lunge forward, now free from her grasp. It pushed itself away from the wall, to leap at her, ready to claw her face off. She would have been wounded if a spear had not sunk into that scorched chest.

Alaric hit the wall again, stabbed right through by the weapon, which was smoking. Its point sunk into the stony wall, pinning him there, preventing him from ever leaving the blaze alive. Nerys blinked hazily, seeing Lyssa pant, still holding onto the spear as she stood by the edge of the fire. She did not move away until the ancient vampire stopped twitching, with one last growled hiss.

He was finally dead, impaled by the weapon of a fallen human soldier. All stood silent, seeing the flames scorch what was left. The corpse hanged there, ominously, staring at them all with void sockets.

Rein closed his eyes, finally breathing in. Meanwhile, ochre and green eyes exchanged tired glances. Lyssa held herself mournfully, while Nerys took deep breaths to ignore the pain of the burns. It took a while for the silence to be broken.

Nerys looked sideways to give the fallen mage an unreadable stare. Lyssa said nothing when her love stood and moved past her brethren, to grab a sword on the ground. She neared the burnt corpse, with a dark and cold expression. Her mind fixated on one single thing, which had to be done to repay his sacrifice. No one stopped her from desecrating the dead.