They had completed the setup fairly early. The sun still stood high, even if it was slowly going down. However, they had reasons to worry. They could hear the sound of armours rustling in the far distance. It seemed that the vampires would not wait until night to meet them, and it was something that concerned Bastian greatly.

The beasts were on the move, far too early, not fearing the sun at all. That had a clear implication; no fledglings were part of that vampiric army. Only a few clans dared walk below the light, due to arrogance or real fierceness. He hoped they defied the sun due to their pride, and not because of their strength.

As he rode his horse between his troops, he kept his gaze on the distant crops fields, his gambit. They had left the concealment of the forest, armed and ready to shoot with their bows. All of them stared at the horizon. They could see abandoned farms, big hills, and wheat. Something else soon appeared. Banners raised slowly into their sight, carried by figures that advanced downhill, towards them.

Bastian gulped, finally seeing the army of vampires he had heard of. Most were wearing light armours, their sharp jade eyes shadowed below their hoods, which were decorated with bristly feathers. A few wore heavy armours, their iron helmets shaped like the head of a bird of prey, long swords held in their big claws. They were enough to oppose a whole human battalion. And he only had thirty soldiers at his disposal. At best, things looked grim. There would be losses.

He always considered the worst possible outcome, but that allowed him to act accordingly. Fear and hope pushed humans to struggle, after all. He looked back and forth, between the men behind him and the vampires approaching surely through the wheat fields. The sun still glinted high above, but it did not offer much comfort or delay.

Two of his men were hidden, crouching on tree branches, waiting. His fingers twitched, for he doubted if to give the signal already. A frown grew on his face, because he needed the vampires to advance as much as possible. They were nearing, but at a firm slow pace.

Those sharp eyes were fixed on him, for he was the one who stood out most between all. He was more visible, riding on the frontline on his white steed. Though anxious, he knew well what to do. At last, he deemed that their enemy was close enough, but still far.

“Archers!”

The vampires were not surprised when his men raised their bows, firing quickly at the field they crossed. Bastian snarled, because most of the arrows hit the ground or their armours. Few beasts were wounded, and he doubted any died. The strike only riled them, as always, making them advance faster.

The clan had its own archers, but they were not being ordered to shoot as they did. His squad stood near the forest, which could offer protection if fired upon. Due to it, it was clear that the beasts would attack in close range.

They showed anger in their sharp eyes, and that was what he wanted from them. Their fangs were bared as they dashed onward, soon to clash with them. Before they could, however, he finally moved his hand and signalled with a whistle. The sound echoed loudly. Much like the hiss of two flaming arrows, shot down from the trees behind them. He smiled pridefully when fire blazed in front of the vampires, blocking their way.

Bastian laughed silently, hearing his men aim their bows once more, now at point-blank. A perfect shot was ensured, many hearts sure to be pierced. The vampires could not cross the line of fire, not without crumbling in pain and agony. It was the perfect setup.

Or so he had thought. His eyes widened when his men fired, as planned. The shots missed when the vampires dashed forward, leaping over the fire. Their arms moved sideways in their jumps, pushing off the flames, their skin and armours only shedding slight smoke as they brushed it.

Those jade eyes were full of confidence and determination. The arrows soared over them, because the shots intended to hit behind the fire, not on it. Such a thing should not have been possible, yet he was seeing it with his own eyes. They dared confront their most dreaded weakness.

Bastian could only cower in shock. There was little space between their forces now, because the vampires landed with calculated rolls out of the blaze, right upon them. Their sharp gazes and claws rose furiously, fangs bared in loud hisses. He yelled an order, instinctively.

“S-swords!”

The command came all too late, those lunges too sudden. His men tried to let down their bows and wield blades, hurriedly and frightfully. But it was pointless. The vampires jumped at their necks, the first line quickly disposed of, given no time to react.

Bastian’s horse reacted in fear, standing onto its hind legs. The second line of vampires jumped over the fire as well, worsening an already dreadful situation. As dangerous as the battle had been, now it was deadly. By the time most soldiers dropped their bows and held their swords, the beasts had already surrounded them. Most were forced to stumble back, closer to the woods, something that divided them. There was nowhere to run; they would be cornered against their own fire or between trees.

The majority of vampires wore light armours, which helped them be fast. Worse, their sharp claws allowed them to climb, use the trees that now loomed over them all. Like them, they began to use their surroundings, in order to leap onto them with more drive and force. Not only humans could plot and think.

Bastian was shooting repeatedly with his crossbow, trying to keep away the vampires that were trying to make him fall from his horse, with swings of claw or sword. He was managing to keep himself alive thanks to the fact he had a steed and higher ground, but most of his squad had fallen to their knees, most dead already.

His breaths became troubled, as he realized he was almost alone. The vampires were now circling him, the fire he invoked reflected on their menacing figures, the sight looking like hell itself. A growl escaped him, his fear turning into desperate anger, seeing he had no way out. Even if there was a chance of fleeing, he wouldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to deep inside.

He kept shooting furiously. His beloved mare helped him somewhat, kicking any vampire that tried to sneak behind them. The beasts were glaring at him, demanding he surrendered. Something he would not do; no way in hell.

Because of his struggles and stubborn resistance, there was time for a few heavy armoured vampires to near. They crossed the fire easily, none burned, only a few annoyed hisses echoing. They advanced on him as well, and one raised its huge sword, leaning to slash and bring him down.

Bastian noticed its intentions, and he would not stand idle upon that attack. He quickly snatched a flask from his belt, turning to face that beast, which blinked in surprise for his next move. In a second, the vampire hissed, because the flask of water was thrown furiously onto its helmet.

That desperate counter only brought Bastian’s fall faster. The vampire had been blinded, its eyes hit squarely by the water. In such daze, it moved its sword instinctively, fiercely. His grey eyes widened, for the weapon swung and cut the air near him, in an attempt to push him down his steed.

His vision blackened for a moment, and then he felt himself fall, pain flowing all over the right side of his body. He let out a cry, blood pouring from his face and torso, slashed at by the blind swing of the sword. The vampires halted when he crumbled down to the ground, gasping in pain, his horse running away in a panic. He was left bleeding and defenceless.

Bastian tried to raise his gaze, which was blurry. He moved his hands to clutch and assert his wounds, the pain intensifying each second. Tears finally poured from his left eye, as he realized he was completely alone. His entire squad laid dead, brought down swiftly.

Most vampires took their time in making humans surrender and submit. They usually bit, clawed and toyed with their bodies, once they were wounded or unarmed. These, however, had been fast and direct. They only killed; there were no bites, time was not wasted. They did not give them any chances, for they were efficient.

Bastian trembled in pain, wheezing, surrounded by fire and monsters. Everything loomed over him, menacingly. There was nothing he could do to avoid or fight those sharp claws and fangs. He thought it was over, that they would strike down at any second. But those jade eyes only narrowed, hearing something he could not yet.

They moved off, for something else marched forward, towards him. Strong steps echoed behind the fire he had lighted. A figure was approaching, taller than any other, darker too. He could only whisper to himself, his heart skipping a beat.

“Oh god…”

He was seeing a huge vampire, dressed in a black jagged armour. There was a big red banner tied around its shoulder, the flaming maws of a dragon drawn on it. The symbol resembled the helmet it wore, shaped like the head of a wyvern, which covered all its face and most of its tied red hair. Its figure was at least two meters tall, strong and fierce. In its stride, it did not bother to jump over the fire; instead, it stepped over it like if it was not there at all.

That fact inflicted more fear in Bastian that anything else, because it walked right across the blaze, its bright green eyes defying it with pride. Fire always hurt vampires, greatly, but not these. It was something that haunted him, dazed his mind more than the pain of his wounds. He wondered why they were not in agony, why did they not burn when all others did.

The human could only tremble there, kneeling. He raised his bloodied gaze with resignation, knowing there was nothing he could do. He met the gaze of those green eyes, which now loomed over him. For a moment, the lord hinted slight perplexity in its shadowed eyes. Its stance faltered subtly, perhaps due to inner conflict. Both were haunted by wild thoughts and emotions, and only one of them knew that fact.

Why is he here?

Nerys stared down at Bastian, noting the shock in his grey eye, fixed on hers reluctantly. He only had one now; blood still poured from the right side of his face, which he had tried to brush, only to paint his hands in red. After noting that damming cut, he had clutched his side instead, a deeper wound there.

Her heart suddenly felt as blazing as the fire around them, drowning everything in its raging hunger. His name echoed repeatedly in her mind, each time more hatefully and resentfully. Many memories assaulted her, all now bitter and tainted.

The vampire stood motionless for a long minute, piercing him with a cold stare. It did not help the human feel any better, for the wait only promised more pain. Both kept thinking, pondering deep inside.

Bastian could only dread, imagine what they would do to him. He had finally fallen in battle, at the mercy of their claws. For years, he had heard all sort of horrifying tales. Humans would be killed brutally, or be kept alive to suffer horrible fates. Some would be forced to bleed horribly, while others served until deadly exhaustion.

There were worse things than those, he knew. He tried to not think of them while the lord eyed him, very intensely. There was no way he could read that cold calculative glare, but it hinted a terrible demise.

Nerys could only growl, because she saw no recognition in that grey eye. There was only pain, a fearful daze caused by blood loss. Her helmet concealed her features, even her long red hair, which she kept tied in a plait.

She contemplated what to do with him, very carefully. All this time, she had kept fantasizing her possible actions upon a moment like this, and now she had no clue. There were many questions, and she could not muster them. She kept staring at the blood, in a trance.

Nerys blinked when her brethren moved, unnerved by her silence and deferment. She frowned when her second in command spoke up, making one soldier lower a sword near Bastian’s neck, which made him whimper and bow his head.

“Shall we end him, sire?”

Bastian braced himself as much as he could, while not letting go of his wound. He shivered as he felt the sharp blade brush the back of his neck, a quick slash intended. They would decapitate him, as soon as the lord gave word.

This was it. He had wanted to join the frontlines, and he had finally found his deadline. At least it would be a quick end, for that blade was sharp, and those claws strong. To his surprise and horror, it seemed that he was wrong; he would not die by sword.

“Do not strike him down.” Bastian looked up shakily, seeing the lord point at him fiercely, with a growl that rumbled the fiery night. “Make that wound stop bleeding. I want him alive, for now.”

Those words did not make him feel any better. Still, he let out his breath, realizing he had been holding it. The sword moved away, prolonging his dread. He did not struggle at all when claws reached for him. The tall and imposing lord turned away with a snarl, walking away from him in apparent repulsion.

Pain soon flowed more fiercely through his body. Another scream escaped him when they treated the long slash on his torso, rather carelessly. They were efficient, but not gentle at all. When they were done, they let go, and he hit the ground in his exhausted stupor. His vision grew foggier; now he could barely move or think.

They did not bother to tie him up. He had no strength left to fight. Two vampires grabbed him easily by his shoulders and arms, dragging him along. He could only hang there limply, in pain and fear. They were taking him away, alive. He was the only one left, all the others were dead. In time, he would perish too, but not as fast. He would suffer more for his failure.

Bastian let his head hang low, tears mixing with the blood on his face. His mind began to shut down. But he had one last thought before he blacked out: Nerys’ demise and his own.

——————–

Something was amiss. Sergius stopped his horse, finally noticing that Lyssa had halted completely, left behind by the rest of the soldiers. Her ochre eyes had fixed on the far distance, in a trance.

“Lyssa?”

Normally, he would scold her lightly. They had to hurry, because they were in hostile territory, with no time to waste. However, he did not scorn her. He called softly, sensing that there was worry in her eyes; something she had pushed away when she was commanded into distant lands. Away from everything, including Bastian.

A long time had passed since he had seen the haunted expression she displayed now. Lyssa struggled to realize she had stopped, blinking in a daze. When she spoke, she did shakily, as if tired.

“S-sorry.” She looked at the horizon one last time, frowning. “I just had… a bad feeling.”

Her mentor looked at her worriedly, even if she moved again and marched with them once more. She tried to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine, telling herself that it was nothing.

She could not possibly know that something was wrong, for she was far from home. That sudden sensation could only be tiredness, caused by weeks of travel.

Nothing is wrong…