In a windowless room, shrouded in silence, a man lay leaning against the wall.
The air smelled of rusted iron and ash; the floor was covered with a thin layer of dust and dried blood.
A seriously and mortally wounded vampire was breathing with difficulty. His body, covered in deep cuts and burns that were still smoldering, was barely managing to regenerate. Every muscle trembled with the effort of staying intact.
He was tall, almost two meters in height. His brown hair, dirty with blood and dust, fell to his shoulders. Behind dark glasses broken at one edge, his eyes were tired but still full of rage.
The memory of his last battle still burned in his mind: the clash with the Inquisition general known as D. The hunter had not only outpaced him, but also outmaneuvered him. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs novelꜰire.net
If it weren’t for the contingency measures he had prepared in advance, he would have died right there, reduced to ashes by that damn sacred energy.
"Tch... if I hadn’t had something prepared, that bastard would have killed me."
Loic clicked his lips in frustration.
The sound echoed in the empty room.
His expression contorted in pain as one of the wounds on his abdomen reopened, spilling a thick stream of blood.
The vampire’s regeneration worked tirelessly, but the sacred energy embedded in his wounds slowed down the entire process. Every attempt by the body to heal itself was punished by a burning sensation that consumed it from within.
’As you might expect... today’s generals are much stronger than they were a few centuries ago.’ He narrowed his eyes, remembering the days when the Inquisition was little more than a clumsy, poorly organized shadow.
Now, those humans were trained hunters, true monsters with faith and power.
His breathing slowed. Exhaustion was crushing him.
He thought about everything he had lost during that mission: his pride, his army... and her.
His subordinate, the only one who had followed her even when everyone else had turned their backs on him.
He had left her behind, or perhaps she had died in the crossfire. Loic didn’t know and didn’t dare to confirm it.
"Damn it..." he muttered, closing his eyes. His voice was barely an echo inside the room.
The memory of the Blood of Christ came back to his mind. He had thought of using it, harnessing its power, but everything had gone wrong. Not only had he failed, but he had also attracted the attention of the generals of the Inquisition.
That’s why he didn’t return to the scene of the confrontation. It wasn’t safe. If he did, he would find nothing but death waiting for him.
’Not yet... Not while I’m still breathing.’ The thought crossed his mind like a promise, cold and poisonous.
With a forced sigh, he slowly sank to the floor. His body creaked as if every bone was about to break. He closed his eyes, letting the pain and silence envelop him.
He hadn’t given up yet. He was just waiting for the right moment to make his move again.
Now he just has to wait for the wounds to heal completely, but he’s not entirely sure, because the Inquisition hunters have that sacred energy that is capable of leaving permanent wounds.
He frowns, but when he watches a video, a creature appears, composed of a dark substance, with only red eyes and sharp teeth like those of a shark, drinking the blood from the hearts of the hunters.
When he watches the video, he feels a strange sense of familiarity, as if he has seen it somewhere before... although that is not important right now; he knows exactly what to do with this video.
Close the video and send it to a contact who would love that, then, after doing that, throw the phone on the furniture and close your eyes, letting the wounds continue to heal.
Current location: the place where Lucien fought the group of Inquisition hunters.
A group of dark-skinned, muscular men appeared on the scene; they were about 6’5" tall.
They wore black pants and simple white shirts, and around their necks they wore necklaces with sharp fangs that attracted a lot of attention.
They had short black hair and sapphire blue eyes. Their bodies were covered in black striped tattoos, and they had several small scars scattered across their arms.
Look at the place, it’s in perfect condition, one of them says.
"Yes... They died here," murmured one of them, crouching down to sniff the ground. His voice was deep, almost a growl. "The smell is unmistakable, that of our kind... but there’s something else too."
He looked up, frowning. "Vampires. Lots of them. There were six."
"Tsk." The largest of the group, imposing in presence and with a golden gaze, clicked his fangs in annoyance.
It was Liam, the Alpha.
"That’s why I told you to join my pack. If you had listened to me, we wouldn’t be smelling their blood right now."
One of the younger wolves growled softly, his anger contained. "Those betas were too proud to accept your offer, Alpha. They thought they could survive on their own."
"And you see how they ended up," added another, in a cold tone. "Their death was just punishment... although—" he paused, sniffing the air uneasily. "—this wasn’t a normal fight. The air is... rotten. It smells of blood, fire... and something else."
He covered his nose, but his muscles tensed. Everyone else did the same, instinctively, their senses heightened to the maximum.
Liam frowned. The smell was overwhelming, dense, almost tangible. Not just death: it was the mark of an apex predator. Something had been here.
’What the hell happened here?’ he thought, a chill running down his spine. Even he, an Alpha with years of battle experience, felt the pressure of something that surpassed any known creature.
Finally, after a few seconds of silence, Liam straightened up. "Let’s go." His voice was firm, sharp. "There’s nothing left to see here... nothing left to hunt."
The wolves nodded. And in the next instant, they vanished with the speed of a storm, leaving behind only silence... and the lingering smell of blood that still permeated the air.