The two hunters stood at the top of a twisting stairway into an underground crypt, a doorframe built with stone, into an old church that kept to old traditions - much like the Order did. While it served as a more prodigious cemetery for high ranking church members or those that supported the church, it also gave a fledgling vampire somewhere to slink into for sleep. That happened a lot with them, newly turned, unsure where to go or what to believe, some of them clinging to movie tropes and horror b-movies for reference when their sire just didn't give a damn about who they left behind or what souls they tossed to oblivion. Delwyn held up a hand for Lyselle to stop a beat, eyeing her cautiously. He didn't come from the Vigil but he had been hunting this vampire's sire for some time now and asked for help - the Order gave him Lys - their brightest and most promising to assist. Despite the Vigil's utmost confidence that she'd be able to help him with this fledgling, the outsider seemed suspicious of her and for reasons she could not bring herself to comprehend.

A whisper softly brushed the air, cautious not to alert even a new vampire and their enhanced senses, "you stay at the entrance and keep him from getting away if anything happens ... you know what to do if he comes at you, right?" There was a subtle eyebrow raise. Lys wasn't good at social norms and rules, but understanding people well enough to catch the tone and body language - she was much better with interactions where she could observe a person verses relying on second nature reactions to decipher someone's intentions. This one was obvious - he doubted her ability. Truth was... she doubted her own. But she had to keep up appearances.

"Of course," Lys whispered back, plainly so, "I am capable with my blessed silver weapon, have holy water on hand to distract, and I happen to know more than a few sigils." The man sighed, still uncertain, but willing to take the masked confidence at face value. He nodded then and motioned her to follow as they slowly went downwards, both with their hands on weapons. For Delwyn, this was just another day, but for Lys this was the calm before the storm. No matter how many times she had tagged along with mentors and teachers, she always felt so tense, afraid she'd slip and make a mistake one day and fall from the grace the Vigil had given her.

The crypt itself was about what you might expect - a chill in the air and only dim light from a few wall lamps that used to be torches back then. They were both as quiet as they could muster and when they crossed the threshold, Lyselle stopped at the doorway while the more experienced outsider creeped forward, both of them slipping out holy silver from sheath as quietly as possible.

There is no broken soul in this world like the one that is discarded upon being bitten. As soon as those white-porcelain yet lethal canines penetrate soft human skin, something breaks. Not just the skins surface, but the essence of the victim found beneath. All they are and all they were corrodes, it bubbles for a moment then dissipates into nothing. What’s left of them? Well, a fledgling. A new born vampire with a mind occupied by one thing: Thirst.

It had only been a handful of months since Rhyland had been turned. His memory is fractured, fragmented and fuzzy since that fateful night. He remembers nearly nothing of his sire, the image is blurry as if underwater. And if underwater is where Ryland is, he’s drowning. Overcome by thirst, nothing but thirst. Every trail of thought his obsessive mind manages to grip hold of leads back, inevitably, to that burning desire to empty a human body of their blood. Nothing of his old life, his dead life, but his name lingers. At the beginning of the end, it was the only word that echoed in the empty chamber of his sense of self.

“Rhyland”

It still hangs there in the ether sometimes. A painful reminder that there used to be someone beneath this. He just wasn’t sure who that someone was…

It took many weeks for Ryland to begin to understand his new cursed life. Many mistakes had been made in order to process exactly what the parameters were of his vampirism.

• Head to church to prey for redemption “Nope, that results in excruciating physical pain with proximity alone. Can’t even put my hands together and begin to wish for anything without my skin itching like hell…”

• Approach someone, anyone, and plead for help “Humans are terrified of me no matter what I do. I can’t hide who I am, I can’t resist the sound of their blood coursing through their veins. Humans are both my enemy and a juice box I wish to drain, squeeze and discard”

Ryland’s mistakes went on just like this, missteps that resulted in catastrophic endings (mostly for his victims)
Now, he took a different approach:

Keep hidden. Always. Until the thirst becomes unbearable and then sneak out and snatch away an unsuspecting stranger.
Remain in this dark, secluded crypt. It makes you feel stronger when you’re hidden in the dark. Allow yourself to sleep, even if it’s brief. Turns out draining humans of their life is tiring.

This is exactly what Rhyland was doing when he was awoken from his light slumber.
The stone of the crypt was so chilled it felt damp and the air was stale. It was the kind of atmosphere that would chill your bones if you weren’t already dead.
Rhyland was curled into a ball, on the crypt floor, wrapping his arms around his body in a feeble attempt to comfort the burn of thirst that had become his constant.
A shift in the crypts air was what made him open one eye, his hollow gaze scanning the perimeter. Something was wrong. He was no longer alone.

As the fledgling became a little accustomed to the seismic physical and mental changes vampirism had wrought, Rhyland realised there were some advantages to his newly inherited torture. He could smell that sweet, hypnotic red elixir from miles away. Now, why did his nostrils fill with a cocktail of rose water and iron? Why on earth was he being awoken not only by the crack of stone beneath booted feet, but the irresistible aroma of his favourite perfumed, metallic beverage?

Rhyland slowly got to his feet, his body unfolding one limb at a time. His tall, wiry frame curled into a slightly crouched stance. His heckles protruding like a frightened cat, the young vampire heard a low moan escape his cracked lips. This was what happened when human blood crossed his perimeter. The presence of flesh and veins and a beating heart sent his body into an unbridled frenzy.

“Logic? What is logic? What is anything when all I want to do is taste that delectable scarlet tipple these humans possess?”

And how lucky for him that they’d seemingly wondered into his home? Well, his home for now, at least. A cool breeze carried a scent into his nostrils and they flared. Ryland's head cocked to one side, angling so he could get his fill of their smell.

“2 of them… Coming… One of them more fearful than the other… Moving closer…”

As the thirst took hold, Rhyland’s inner voice became broken, like a scratched record. It was hard to tether any coherent thoughts when he had just one inane desire: To drink. To drink until he collapsed. And this time, he didn’t have to hunt for it… They were coming to him.

The faint groan was the only thing the more experienced Delwyn needed to pinpoint his prey - the sort that in the arrogance of its youth, assumed it was the hunter. A quick flip upwards before an echoing thwang bounced across the walls, signaling the release of a wrist crossbow lined with blessed silver bolts, marking its target. He knew it probably hadn't run into pain like this since its making, which is why he had the girl at the doorway - no telling how it might react. Would it snarl and go for the kill or panic and find a way out, both common reactions from animals being trapped into the corner. The man flipped his other wrist, brandishing his blade at the ready, honed by years of muscle memory and experience in battle, all too aware that even fledgling vampires were quick enough to attack from any side.

In the nearby distance, Lys tightened her grip around the hilt of her shortsword, her other hand loosening a glass bottle with blessed waters inside. She wasn't nearly as experienced or honed as her companion, but she had been enough of these hunts to know what was coming and that she had to be quick and focused. Thankfully, the only fear she really held onto was that of distant failure, and much less so of the creature. She knew their weaknesses and strengths inside in out - at least in theory. Some of what movies cover is actually real like hallowed ground, blessed silver, extreme discomfort with holy water, but other things like garlic or unable to cross running water were pure myths. In truth, their silver weapons and sacred grounds were their best weapons and defenses against vampire-kind and while hunters went after werewolves and other undead, vampires were and still stayed the most dangerous.

Thankfully even some of the newest members of the Vigil had an edge that the masters of undead did not - each other. Vampires were not often known to ally one another and the way Lys had been taught, it was due to their inherit evil and greed, while humankind was almost genetically designed to lean on one another. Traditions, methods, practices passed down from generation to generation and one of the most important rules; do not hunt a vampire alone unless you must. That's why Delwyn had asked for aid, even if all he got was a 'promising student' and not a more experienced partner. It was almost like a universal truth that had been discovered back centuries ago, that hunting vampires alone was almost certain death, except for the very luckiest and the very best.

So here they were, the pair of them, now having injured a newborn and steeling themselves for the most dangerous prey. The man had years to get used to this and Lys had her mark and that kept them both far more calm than this vampire would likely ever foresee. It was only a question now if it would fight or run - go to Delwyn or to Lyselle.

Rhyland, blinded by the white hot burn of thirst, was robbed of his heightened senses. You’d think a vampire’s hunger would increase their ability to see and hear, right? - No, the only sense that trebled when ravenous was their sense of smell at such a sapling age. A vampire as young as he, so fresh to this unborn life, stood no chance against two very adept hunters.

He just didn’t know that yet…

Rhyland remained frozen, crouched and braced for his new guests arrival. His pupils had fully dilated, becoming increasingly more blood shot as his food source approached. The talon, made for making incisions in skin ready for drinking from, had unsheathed with a trill. Those brand new fangs, having quickly replaced his regular canines, were fully exposed. Rhyland was the picture of horror; A dictionary definition of a fledgling.

SWOOSH

The surprise arrow struck right where a heart once beat with a harrowing crunch
A shrill, chilling scream shot out of Rhyland’s already open mouth. The scream, unlike anything human, hit a note unachievable for human vocal cords. It pierced the stone walls of the crypt and had such power, it might have cracked some of the bricks around him. Suddenly his cold, rigid body felt as if a fierce fire had ignited beneath his feet. The lick of the flames enveloped his entire form, curdling those ice cold veins and forcing his knees to almost buckle from the immense pain.

Suddenly, as Rhyland’s breathing corpse erupted into burning hot agony, a flash of a memory bore across his minds eye.

“A woman…”

He recognised her. A fearful acknowledgment of a familiar foe. It was this pain, this feeling that riddled him from that goddamn arrow in his chest, that caused a buried memory to resurface.

Sinking to his knees, hands clasping where the arrow pierced his chest, Rhyland blinked away the black cloud that shrouded his mind. Again, the memory buoyed to the surface and this time he saw her clearer. Like the scene of a movie, Rhyland watched the memory of his human self unwittingly living out the last of his human moments…

Work wrapped up late. Again. Fucking management had no clue. Why did only HIS desk have to stay after-hours because his pig-for-a-boss couldn’t prioritise tasks? Rhyland dragged deeply on his cigarette and felt his face pinch in scorn just thinking about how much more his manager was taking home in wages.

“Honestly, I could punch his fat face in” he growled to himself, as he stormed home. The last bus was long gone. So he was forced to take the long walk home. It was a cold night, too. And guess what? He’d forgotten his good jacket.

All of a sudden, Rhyland turned his head to look over his shoulder. He got the sense someone’s eyes were on him. You know that suspicious feeling you get in your chest when you’re not alone? There it was again, survival instincts coaxing him into an alerted state. Another cool breeze crept around his shivering body, cocooning him in that wintery air. Rhyland cradled himself, shivering dramatically.

Then, in a flash of long, dark, glossy hair and fine china skin, he was snatched off of his feet and dragged like a rag doll into an adjacent alleyway. He didn’t even have time to cry out in protest because she was upon him like a ravenous cougar.

“What the fuck are you doing you -“ Rhyland managed to choke out as his gaze briefly fixated on his assailant. Pupils. Fully dilated. Black bottomless pits planted in a hauntingly stunning face. Cheekbones. Bloodred lips pulled into a menacing smirk. Determined movements of her monstrously strong arms manoeuvred him up against the wall. One arm pressed firmly across his chest, pushing him into the cold, wet bricks behind him. The other? Raised above her beautiful head, her hand elegantly poised to reveal one singular, long talon.

“You bitch” Rhyland hissed, fear and fury spurring him on. “You fucking bitch. You wait. You wait until I get my hands on you-”

Then, something changed. His attacker’s previously chillingly calm face flickered with disdain. He realised, sickeningly, he’d said the wrong thing. Her smirk disappeared, replaced with a snarl. And the last thing he saw was 2 bright white fangs protruding from her parted, plump lips before she leant in and planted them firmly in his jugular.

The memory faded to black. Rhyland was still screaming. But now he could face his brand new assailants. The ones that had popped an arrow in his chest cavity.
He lifted his heavy, pained gaze to face them. Bound by burning agony, there was no fight in him. The least he could do was watch his killers as the certainty of death greeted him like a long lost lover.

Footsteps planted heavily upon the cold stone floor of the crypt, clicking inbetween the monster's screams. He knew the moment he saw that look, that it didn't chose to fight or fly, but rather just let death come. Delwyn however, did not indulge the desire, instead swinging his blade to the creature's throat as he twisted the bolt planted inside its chest. The hunter growled and swung his weight into the newborn, forcing it on its knees and spoke with a distain that could only ever come from hate. "Where is your sire!?" he half-yelled, almost spitting into the once-man's face, his lips curling downwards into a scowl.

Lyselle seemed to relax some of her tension when she too realized the fight was already over and done with. It happened sometimes - this she knew from experience as no book she had read ever spoke much about vampires freezing in place. A memory whispered in her head of a time she asked why this happened. Much like most of her questions, it was met with a dull, 'sometimes they just give up'. She always thought it was such a boring question - did they not ever wonder why-- no, of course they didn't. At least most of them. A few of the Vigil shared her curiosity, but as far as she knew she was the only actual hunter that thought like she did, ever curious if there was more behind those striking eyes.

Delwyn hardly gave the vampire time to think before twisting the bolt again. "Tell me!" His passion... his ferocity surprised her, causing her to lower her weapon a moment and almost look to the man with sympathy. But she couldn't. 'It' was evil, so she clenched her grip, her jaw, and forced herself once again into a stoic expression. It was over and 'it' would be destroyed. Even in her impassive state however, she drew closer as to hear - to better see with her own eyes. Inside the Vigil you were born and raised within, so even if you never felt particularly close to your 'family', tragedy stuck far less often then one might think. The girl wondered ever silently to herself, if he had lost someone, her steps taking her closer to see not just hate burning in those orbs of his, but disgust at what 'it' was. Lyselle wasn't completely sure what to make of it... so she stood there and just watched, unable to look away.

How do you imagine it looks when someone who is technically already dead… Dies?
Well, Rhyland had never imagined that. Not in his life, nor his unborn life. In fact, before he was brutally attacked by that siren of the night, Rhyland hadn’t believed in vampires. But as he clung to the last string of lifeline that dangled in front of him, Rhyland acknowledged the irony that as a non-believer, he was dying (again) as a vampire.

“Where is your sire!?”

Slain twice in one lifetime? That had to be some bad luck. Rhyland blinked slowly as he attempted feebly to focus his hallow gaze on his executioner. Looming over him, broad in stature, was a man doused in weaponry. This man’s face was a perfect picture of determined rage, a clear disgust at the fledgling that lay dying before him. As if the arrow wedged in Rhyland’s chest wasn’t enough, the twist of a sword draped over his jugular meant the taste of imminent death became certain.

“Tell me!” the hunter bellowed. Rhyland, buffeted by the waves of confusion followed by ebbs of soaring pain, opened his lips to say something menacing. Something that might threaten the two humans. But his impotent threats with his maker in that alleyway months ago hadn’t exactly helped him, so the fledgling gasped a haggard breath. Air wouldn’t fill his lungs, his chest rising with that fractured breath meant the arrows presence became evermore obvious and Rhyland closed his eyes to pull back at the memory resurfaced just before.

“My sire?…” came a voice that must’ve belonged to him, but was unrecognisable now. Laced with a tortured plea, his voice croaked as it struggled to formulate the sounds.
“Don’t look for her,” Rhyland begged. His vampire mother’s frightening beauty etched into his minds eye. That pitiful, vengeful smile. Those scarily powerful arms. The smell of her perfume as she sunk her teeth into his neck…
”She was at Belle View,” he groaned out, a vision of the residential street an hour or so away flickering in memory. “Near the church in Belle View…”

As the final words left Rhyland’s cracked lips, he finally noticed the girl behind the man. Stoic but firm in her stance, she seemed to be looking at Rhyland analytically. Really looking. The fledgling let out another pained cry, like a wounded animal, and his arms flailed in an attempt to grab at the sword against his neck. The girl, also gripping a short sword braced for attack, would be the last thing Rhyland saw before dying… again.

“She’s not like me…” he croaked, voice tight and barely there “She’s stronger… So much stronger…”
It was a warning. One which Rhyland had no idea whether these humans would heed. Clearly, they weren’t scared of vampires. It seems they came prepared and knowledgeable of their target. The fledgling was wondering what a young woman like this one could possibly be doing, following a large man with a crossbow and wielding a sword of her own. Is this just what they did? Hunt down vampires to torture and kill them? Maybe it was. Maybe that’s who they were. At least they know, at least they have a purpose. Rhyland lost his the second that beautiful stranger laid her icy fingers on him.

The man's grip tightened as the fledgling spoke, seeming to be completely unphased by its attempts at garnering sympathy from him - in fact, it almost made him angrier, like he was silently cursing this evil creature for daring to manipulate him. Him of all people. After what its kind had done to 'her'. With clattering weapons and a heavy brown trench coat, this was the most emotion he had shown ever since arriving on the Vigil's doorstep - it was something he didn’t expect the girl to understand, nor did he care! All that mattered was the fire bellowing in his chest where his heart used to be, now replaced by a vengeful ghost from the past. He spat in the creature's face before leaning in closer.

"You're all dead anyways," he snarled, and then his sword split across its neck so fiercely that it separated head from shoulders, the holy silver leaving behind a hiss like the wound was being slowly cooked alive. Then he threw the body away like the trash it was before sliding his blade back into place.

Lyselle had been told her whole life that these creatures were evil and she trusted that, but this was genuinely the first time she had ever seen so much hatred for their kind - almost awestruck, her mouth slightly agape. It was like he was torturing 'it' with some sort of twisted pleasure, like getting back at someone for smacking you across the face, but a hundred-fold. She had been in enough hunts to know how hunters extracted information - at least normally - with a cold indifference steeled by the mission of ridding the world of evil, and she had seen enough vampires struggling for their existence... but there was something in 'its' eyes that gave her pause. It felt different from the other hunts. It almost felt like the creature was hurting - almost like in some sad, tragic way, it wanted to die. Why would evil want to die?

She was suddenly shaken from her thoughts when she realized the man was staring at her. At first, he said nothing, just gave her a quiet, cold, calculating look before finally sighing. "It's a long story... but the sun is almost down for the night, so we should turn in..." Lyselle just absently nodded in reply and they both stowed their weapons and began their climb upwards - Lys giving one final glance back to where the vampire had died. On their way back up, neither spoke, and Delwyn seemed back to his ‘normal’ self when he encountered a priest in the church proper, giving short and polite answers. Finally, the priest thanked them and ushered them into lofts where a couple of makeshift beds were spread out for the pair. True to what she knew of him before seeing his rage, he was quick to disappear, but not before saying, "We'll go back to the Vigil tomorrow. If she's really as powerful as I think she might be - we will need more help."

So Lyselle plopped onto the pew, staring at the floor in thought.

---

By the time midnight had rolled around, the priests had locked up the church - though the hunters had their own ways of getting in and out - and Delwyn was still missing. Several times Lyselle wondered if he went to the Vigil on his own, or maybe to find the vampiress on his own? Both thoughts made her nervous for different reasons: either the thought of not being 'good enough' to come along to the Vigil, or that he was facing a powerful creature by himself. She quietly fidgeted with a bottle of silver dust in her hand as thoughts and feelings crossed her mind.
What if he did go back? Would her mentors be disappointed? Think she wasn't as 'gifted' as they believed? Not trust her to be ready yet?
But if he went to Belle View by himself... would he really? Was he capable of being so angry that he'd risk his life?
No hunter should be alone.

Then the thought that was bothering her the most flashed behind her eyes - that newborn. That look. Those feelings. Those doubts. She tried to shake her head, tried to cast them aside, but it was in moments when she was alone that she felt... weakest. A slight frown crossed her lips before she closed her eyes.
"Fuck!"

She stood suddenly and put the bottle into a pouch before seeming to grumble to herself as she marched downstairs to the back door. Her feet stopped just shy of the door and she stared for several moments.

"Am I really doing this?... ugh..." With a clench of her fist she reached up to the lock and clicked the wooden door open. Taking out a quick piece of paper and pen, she scribbled a sigil - a fairly basic and common one she had memorized - which locked the door behind her. As the paper faded into dust, she spun and put on a brave face again. She felt compelled to go to Belle View.

At least to know that Delwyn wasn't on his own.
At least that’s what she told herself.

---

The church finally came into view and her steps became quieter and more precise as her eyes scanned the dimly lit street. After a few silent moments, she cupped her hands and whispered loudly, "Delwyn?"

She waited for a response, standing as still as she could muster.
No answer.

The slightest gulp was the only indication that she understood how potentially dangerous this was, but just because the vampiress had shown up near here didn't mean she'd show up again. The young woman figured the chances were actually in her favor that this sire would not appear... but she couldn't help being cautious - such was the life of a hunter.

She drew closer still to the street this time, hunched over to keep her profile low, and called again. "Delwyn - are you there?"

Renaissance Le Sang sat cross legged on the herringbone flooring of her loft apartment. Her dark, glossy hair splayed down her intricate back in a Hollywood-like wave. Face the picture of serenity, her eyes were closed gently shut, her feathered lashes fluttering slightly in concentration. Elegantly formed lips pouting with focus, the vampiress softly whispered the enchantments she knew so well. Like a song, Ren uttered those rehearsed words laden with power. Repeating certain phrases, accentuating particular syllables, the vampiress was building a spell layer by layer. With her taloned index finger dripping with thick tannic blood, she traced a circle directly onto the floorboards around her. So practiced, like an artist, she joined the circle from beginning to end. Then she daintily placed her finger, dripping with residual blood, directly between her lips. Tongue caressing that bloodied finger, Ren enjoyed a drop of her favourite beverage and uttered the final stanza of the enchantment. The oh-so-familiar taste of blood slid down her throat, warming her gently, and then headed directly to her stomach.

The ancient vampire had dressed accordingly for the ceremony; She wore a silk embroidered black corset top, laced so tightly her chest pooled over the top and her hips indented in a deep V shape. A tiered black skirt hugged Ren’s hips and pooled out around her, creating a little entourage of fabric. Slowly, seductively, her eye lids reopened and she glanced at the completed Blood Circle that surrounded her.

The decor of Ren’s loft was a museum of the tastes she’d accrued over many years of unborn life: A mixture of gothic, vintage and modernism. This space was one she’d acquired through questionable means about 60 years ago and was the longest stint she’d stayed in one fixed abode. She’d never committed to a home like she had with this one. The wise creature had always been travelling from one place to the next. Always covertly, forever in disguise, eternally on the run from discovery. But during these lifetimes of hiding, Ren had collected trinkets and pieces of furniture, full of history and memories. Most of what she had on display in her home had a heartfelt story. If only she had someone she could share these with…

A set of candelabras from her time in Paris, burning blood red tapered candles - A gift from a French duke who became obsessed with her in the 1700s.

A scarlet chaise lounge poised proudly on a rich moroccan rug, surrounded by modern black iron plant holders - Both sourced from a flea market in 1960s London. An array of ferns, ivy and monstera swarmed the plant holders like her own purpose-built forest. Herbology was a passion of hers. She swelled with pride at her herb garden on the balcony and the house plants that were dotted throughout every room.

Framing the open plan living space of her loft were endless bookshelves, filled with all varieties of prose. Literary classics, text books from her many educational feats… The list was a long one.
But more interestingly, buried between hardback literature and well-worn text books, were Renaissance’s notebooks. They were, of course, organised in chronological order dating from the 1600s to now. Ren couldn’t resist an opportunity to organise.
Some may accuse her of idiocy for keeping notebooks spanning her existence. Isn’t that clumsy? What if someone broke in? What if someone came across all of this written evidence that Ren was, in fact, an Ancient Vampire?
Well, that’s why she spent every few nights like she just had; Cross-legged, religiously reciting the protection enchantment with Blood Magic. The truth is, Ren’s loft had been sealed shut with a Blood Magic enchantment so often that only someone with sizeable power could break through. Another Ancient Vampire or a demon with immense evil. Ren had studied the ancient vampiric sorcery for some hundred years and was confident in her ability to lock her loft away in an impenetrable shielding spell. Still, she gave it a little charge every few days or so, just to be sure.

So, yes. This loft was untraceable. Which meant so long as Ren was home, she was safe. It was her haven, her kingdom, her peace.

As Renaissance dusted down her skirt, now standing proudly in the centre of her blood circle, she felt a familiar tingle begin in her palms.
This wasn’t residual power from practicing magic, this was a warning. Age had gifted Ren with many advantages. Her vampire strength and abilities only got better with age. Like a fine wine, the creatures powers became fuller, denser, greater with every year that passed. So Ren quickly acknowledged the tingling sensation as one she recognised. A sort-of premonition was incoming. Then, there it was.

An image flashed into her mind. It cascaded through the windows of her brain like a flood, bursting through every entrance. Only briefly, but enough for her to gather what had happened. As quickly as it arrived, the vision dissipated.

“Oh” Ren purred, nodding to herself knowingly. “One of my offspring has been murdered.”

__________________________

That cold night air filled Renaissance’s lungs as she stood atop her apartment building. She’d wrapped her favourite thick, velvet cloak around her slender shoulders. Spanning two arms lengths either side of her were her wings. Bat-like, they fluttered with the wind. There was no feeling like that of a breeze on her wings. Ren shuddered in pleasure.

Looking down at Belle View below was quite the sight at nighttime. Street lamps, empty roads, hauntingly quiet alleys. But something disturbed the peace. A change in vibration, a distant set of footsteps approached from afar. Ren’s hypersensitive hearing picked up the click of leather boots on the paving slabs. They were minutes away, long enough to flee, but Ren didn’t disappear into the Loft. Instead, she crouched down, getting to her knees. Her bat wings gracefully folded back and disappeared beneath her shoulder blades in preparation for discretion. Her violet eyes scanned the streets below, trying to place the sound.

"Delwyn - are you there?"

Ren sucked air through her teeth, hissing quietly. From her crouched position, she darted swiftly to the edge of the rooftop and gripped the railing. Swinging both legs over the rail in one grand swoop, Ren hung from the edge of the rooftop. Both her feet were planted against the outer wall of the building now, and she gripped the railing with both hands. Her sea of softly curled hair billowed out behind her, dancing and twirling in the wind. She hung there effortlessly, using it as a hidden vantage point to scope out who on earth was calling out at this time of night in Belle View.

"Delwy–?" Lyselle stopped herself just short of calling his name again, her eyes blinking a couple of times in genuine surprise — the sort of surprise you couldn’t fake if you tried. Whenever she brought this flair up, other members would ask her what she experienced, since each hunter felt the sensation differently — at least among those gifted in such areas. It was always hard to put into words, to turn the sensations of the supernatural into something describable, but she had always shared a similar explanation when inquired about it.

The shadow-haired woman often spoke of it feeling like a scent, that each vampire — even each undead — had a different feeling to them, even those mass-summoned by necromancers and tied to the same puppeteer. It enveloped you like a fog rolling in, or smoke being gently exhaled across her skin, something that almost reminded her of someone smoking in the dead of night, accompanied by that familiar bite of chilled air.

Vampires and their “smog,” as one might imagine, were always thicker, denser, and easier to pluck out among several impressions. She had met a “very old” vampire only once, during a hunt with a few of her older instructors, and never had she felt anything like it since — until now. She remembered the thickness of it, the pressure, the presence, and how wildly different it was from what hunters referred to as “old.” One of the few things she had never read or understood yet was why a vampire suddenly gained power past particular boundaries (as “old” and “very old” began somewhere around 219 to 249 years), but she had a theory that it had to do with the average lifespan of humans.
But that wasn’t the point.

The difference she had felt that day had been akin to day and night — but this, tonight, was so much more significant. Like feeling a downpour compared to a gentle mist. It instantly drew her guard, her blade in hand before she even realized it, her gaze darting around as she tried to sense the origin.

Then she saw her. Her eyes weren’t as powerful as her sixth sense, but even in the dead of night she could still catch the slight movement — a darkness swaying in the wind like a flag. Lyselle’s hands clenched around her hilt and her body tensed, her free hand slipping toward a bottle of silver dust — but would she even have time?

The memory of how fast an older vampire could move was burned into her mind, and with how thick the scent of this vampire was, she doubted she’d have any chance to complete a sigil. But instinct took over regardless — her fight-or-flight response flaring like a struck match.

Hoping she had time, she broke the bottle onto the ground and reached quickly for the hallowed powder, trying to draw a repulsion ward around herself to give her a few precious seconds to think. She was alone with something very old — ancient, even — and there would be no opportunity to run.

All she wanted to do was find Delwyn... but deep down, was that truly the reason?
A strange feeling gripped her heart as it began to pound faster.
Was it fear?
No — not really, though she did wonder how she might survive the night.

Perhaps... perhaps it was excitement.

Not excitement for the hunt — but something quieter, deeper.
A spark in her chest whispering that if she survived this, if she faced something like this and walked away...
Maybe — just maybe — she really was a prodigy.
Maybe she truly deserved to stand with the best of the best in history, just like everyone always said.

A cool breeze rushed through the alley, scattering fallen leaves and bustling litter through Belle View’s streets. There was a tired groan from the roadside trees as the foliage shimmered against the wind. The moonlight bathed the street in a warm white light, casting winding shadows with it. Belle View was so hauntingly deserted at this time of night. Not a car on the roads, not a pedestrian for hours at a time. Renaissance, still gripping the railing of her rooftop, focused her far-sight at the figure ahead. The image was clear despite being so far away. And there she was. A woman. Alone.

Ren’s velvet cape and silky mane plumed behind her, catching the winds and intertwining in a breezy dance. She felt her pupils dilate as they honed in on the lone woman, her nostrils flared when the scent of blood reached her. The hair on her arms prickled, standing to attention, warning her she’d been seen. Ren growled quietly to herself. She didn’t like to be spotted by humans before she chose to expose herself. That was her inane desire for control. She was unaccustomed to being deprived of that. This left her with 2 options: Disappear or approach. Then, her eyes caught sight of the glint of silver in the woman’s hand. She had the weapon readied, her grip steady. And that’s what made the decision for her, ultimately. An ancient vampire, raised through the ages of swordsmanship and the honourable rules of duelling could never turn down an invite so grimly appealing.

“Hmmm- a hunter…” Ren mused. She’d met many a “Vampire Slayer” in her lifetimes. Too many to count. Clearly, none had been successful. But that didn’t mean she was overly pleased about being faced with one again, especially one so quick to pull a weapon. Usually, there was at least a little play before they got to business. A chase, maybe? Not this time.

“I wonder how you sensed me already, little one…” the ancient vampire pondered. Hunters had a sense, an inkling, a primal feature they possessed as a warning as to when a supernatural presence was upon them. Ren knew this since she was middle aged after being rumbled by Hunters on numerous occasions. But rarely had she come across one so astute. This intrigued her.
Most of the trivia she knew about these humans was tortured out of them. As soon as Ren had established that Hunters had congregations, vigils they called them, she ascertained a necessity for more intel. There couldn’t be an organised body of people collectively aiming to wipe her species out without her awareness. Knowledge was power. So Ren made it her business to extract as much intel as possible from her Hunter victims. Some were easier to break than others, most crumbled when she pressed her fangs to their arteries. The threat of her making them her children was worse than death to Hunters. Stubborn breed. Too proud to at least die with the honour of secrets.

Renaissance took a beat to compile a plan. Her mind worked quickly, filtering through actions and outcomes. Her body had decided that this wasn’t a time for fleeing. The alternative to retreat was a little more aggressive and since it had been just over 24 hours since her last meal, Ren accepted that perhaps it was sensible to feed. She also made a mental note to see if she could establish just how the young hunter had sensed her so early… Were they getting stronger? More adaptable? The thirst for knowledge paired with the thirst for blood was a tantalising one. She bristled at the thought.

“Like a disease…” the vampiress muttered, the hint of a sneer tugging at her lips. Hunters were spreading, growing, learning. Multiplying! Like germs.

As if the young Hunter heard her, she sprinkled powder around her, creating a border between the two of them. Hallowed powder? Interesting approach. That would certainly slow Ren down… But she had a plan. That repulsion ward would work in that position, granted. It would prevent Ren from getting her hands on her, prevent her talon from gliding down her veins and letting the blood flood the pavement. But it wouldn’t prevent her from tempting her outside of the warded area, would it? No, if Ren could get her moving, she couldn’t remain in the repulsion ward all night.

So Renaissance released her grip on the rooftop railing. Her hands opened, the railing exiting her hold. The vampire threw herself back, off the edge of the 25 story building, free-falling. Her body elegantly plummeted towards the cold, hard ground. Cape flapping at the force of her fall, waist-length hair whipping in all directions… She imagined the sight was quite something. Windows shot past her as she descended, a blur as she let herself continue towards the pavement that was so far below her before.

Moments before her body would collide with the ground, Ren let her wings snap open with a “CRACK” and the force jolted her body upward. Narrowly grazing the ground, feeling her skirt brush the pavement, she felt the rush of adrenaline flow through her. Then, she launched her form into a barrel roll, midair. Her bat wings caught hold of the wind and she rode it, moving with the grace of a predatory bird in flight. The beat of her wings was so loud amongst the silence of Belle View but she let them move in sync, pushing her further and further into the night sky. Flying was an art form to her, she adored the feeling of submitting to the power of air. Gliding, dipping, diving, the vampire let her magestic midnight-black wings take her through the air. Taking the long way, she began to circle the Hunter overhead. Like a hawk circled on its prey before diving for the kill, the vampire gently pumped her wings to keep a cruisey pace round and round in the sky above.

Ren’s aerial dive had certainly closed some distance between her and the Huntress and now, she could get a clear view of her. Drinking her in, Ren registered the fabric of her clothes, the texture of her hair, the reddened nose from the cold. She could smell her soap, the fabric softener of her clothes, the ever-so-slight hint of sweat beneath those layers she adorned. Oh, and the blood… That sweet red liquid being pumped round her human body hummed to her like birdsong. Ren began to hover, stationary. She was far enough above that she was safe from that blessed silver shortsword. Though she had no doubt a quick fix of hand-to-hand combat would rid her of that protection. After all, hand-to-hand was Ren’s favourite. It felt like foreplay to her. Sometimes, she even let her opponent get ahead of her. Taking a few hits only made her victims more confident, sloppy. But something told Ren that this Hunter was different.

As her bat wings beat down with a steady beat, Renaissance asserted her gaze upon the Hunters. She forced eye contact, letting a small smile spread across her face. She gave the woman a knowing look as if to say “Come on, darling, we know what comes next”… And then she lifted a hand and beckoned with her taloned index finger. Wiggling it tauntingly, she gave the Hunter the universal signal of “Come here.”

In those first moments her attention was on the powder, knowing that drawing the ward might save her life. But the sound of thunder echoing across the buildings startled her — causing her to jump slightly in the briefest pause. Her eyes shot upward and a quiet gasp escaped her trembling lips, her adrenaline spiking as she laid her gaze upon those beautiful and terrible wings unfurling with a grace that spoke of experience and control.

'Shit!' With haste she returned to her sigil, spilling a circle around herself as she heard and felt the wind shiver at Ren’s approach — the vampiress' circling giving the young woman just enough time to enclose herself and let out a huff. Finally she could look back up with some measure of safety, watching the vampire sweep around her one last time.

As Ren moved to hover in the air with the beat of ancient wings, Lyselle stared at her as if examining a puzzle for the first time. As her eyes skated across her enemy, she took in the haunting beauty of the leathered wings, the marble-like skin, the familiar raven hair, and finally those ancient, mystic orbs as their eyes locked. There was something there that made the young huntress freeze before she closed her eyes and shook it off — now noting that smile. Lyselle let out a small tsk at Ren beckoning her, twisting her grip on her sword defensively.
'Taunting me...' she thought as the click of her tongue sounded into the cold air, never letting her gaze wander from her opponent.

To someone watching, it would seem like Lys was frozen — perhaps afraid or not confident enough to fight — but Ren would see far more than most mortals could. Slight shifts in her stance, twitches of her wrist, tiny repositionings of her fingers, and a calculating gaze. Though it would be obvious — to Ren — that this huntress was no veteran, neither was she caught in fear or in reckless bravado. No, those dark brown eyes of hers were searching, scheming, deliberating what to do next. Lys quietly reminded herself of the vampire’s strength, that even if the creature appeared careless or arrogant, it could snap into action the moment she landed a hit — if she ever landed one.

That last thought sprung her free hand into motion, reaching to her side for another bottle — quick as she could — unclasping it and tossing it toward Ren like a throwing knife, full of holy water. In truth, Lyselle didn’t care if it hit or not, because that wasn’t the purpose. Instead, she wanted to see if she could hit... and if she couldn’t, would the vampire catch it or dodge? She needed to assess what she was truly dealing with, for her only references were vampires much younger than the one floating before her.

The bottle left the hunter’s palm and came throttling towards Ren at a healthy speed. The vile spun through the air, that lethal liquid shaking like a deathly cocktail beneath the cork. The vampiress resisted the urge to roll her eyes and kicked her legs, flipping her body backwards in an arc through the air. Tucking her wings, she rotated with the grace of a ballet dancer and dodged the bottle a little narrower than she’d have liked. She and Holy Water had a tricky relationship. She’d had many near-disasters with the stuff. In micro-doses, blessed water would simply burn and itch. But the balance between safe and sore was a tricky tightrope to traverse.
Renaissance watched as the miniature bottle lost momentum and began to plummet downward. Shooting forward with a “WHOOSH” of her wings, Ren narrowed her eyes and lifted her dainty hand far behind her head. The razor sharp talon that extended from her finger unsheathed with a ring and she brought it upward with a hefty swing. It didn’t cut like butter, not like it can slice through flesh. But it did collide with the body of the bottle, shattering the glass upon impact.

As if the two of them were playing some sick form of baseball, the bottle and her talon cosplaying as bat and ball, Renaissance watched the glass fragments rain down, tinkering like a wind chime when they met the empty road below. With a satisfying splash, Holy Water formed a new puddle on the tarmac. Ren watched it hiss, angry that it hadn’t made contact with it’s intended victim. Between Ren’s aerial acrobatics and this Huntress’ overarm… Were the two of them holding back?

Almost definitely. The ancient vampire was sure this brave young supernatural slayer had far more in her arsenal than the toss of a bottle. But it worked well as a threat. It said “There’s more where that came from” and that, Ren could respect.

This face-off was resulting in a manner of things. It was allowing the natural-born enemies to assess one another, to feel eachother out. Like burly men in a pub eyeing eachother up full of one too many pints; Who’ll throw the first punch? Except these two were not mere humans having a squabble. They were 2 opposing sides of the same coin. One dead, one alive. One good, one evil. And yet? Neither were going all in. Not one of them had unleashed their full power. It’s true, they were holding back.

Above them both, the starry sky and full moon set white fire to the skyline. A low rumble came from Mother Nature as a storm brewed angrily above their heads. Renaissance sighed. This meant her sky bound ventures were soon over. She’d navigated stormy skies before, of course. There wasn’t much more magical in the world than flight surrounded by forks of lightning, but it didn’t exactly make for a safe battleground. The ancient vampire’s sleek wings fanned out against the stormy, starry backdrop. Renaissances wild hair wrapped round her neck like a winter scarf, rippling in the breeze.

”Will we do this all night, little one?” Renaissance called out. Her voice forceful and oozing gravitas. A voice with a vocal fry and dripping honey. One that, when lowered, had a natural seduction and persuasiveness but when thrown across airborne metres of space, would have seemed leerily looming.

Ren and The Huntress had barely broken eye contact, this thread tying them together in a match of wits. Don’t blink. Don’t look away. Don’t take your eyes off of one another. The atmosphere was thick with challenge. She could so easily lose patience and eliminate instead. But this dance was one Ren enjoyed partaking in.

“Storm’s coming,” the vampiress sung, lifting her arms out wide to gesture at the backdrop behind her. “Lightning doesn’t agree with my wings… So I’ll be forced to come down there with you-“ Slowly, a mischievous smile began to spread across Ren’s face. She allowed her fangs to drop down, just hanging over her pillowed bottom lip. They glinted in the moonlight, winking at The Hunter below.
”Then all this foreplay will have to cease and we’ll have to get down to it, properly” Renaissance let her wings falter, her body lowering closer and closer to the ground. Still keeping her distance, but moving out of the firing line of the storm, Ren began to count the visible weapons and various other little treats the Slayer had in her belt. A quick count? Multiple blessed metals. More bottled Holy Water. Viles of Hallowed Powder.

‘That’s quite the kit she’s got…’ Ren marvelled internally. Hunters really did come prepared these days…

In a graceful, practiced movement, she slowly tucked a stray curl of dark hair behind her dainty, almost-elven ears. Revealing her sizeable diamond hoop earrings and the curvature of her elegant neck, Renaissance cocked her head curiously at this young but clearly ambitious Hunter. She found herself wondering what the next move would be…

The fact that the vampiress dodged didn’t surprise her much, though she silently marveled at the picture of grace as she watched her spin and even swoop down to cut the bottle. ‘Okay…’ she quickly told herself, pursing her lips together, her brows knitting in thought. The crackle of thunder in the distance did little to distract her from the winged creature, nor did it cause even the slightest flicker of worry on her features — Lyselle was more focused than she had ever been before. As she heard the words reverberate beneath the coming storm, her lips parted just enough to idly wet them, readjusting where her free hand rested — fingers brushing something else on the belt across her waist. ‘So she’s holding back, even,’ she thought silently, taking in a slow breath of the biting cold air.

She bit her tongue gently as she stared at the other woman, letting a couple more thunderclaps roll across the sky before finally replying,
“I only need to stay here all night…”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Would the vampiress be able to call her bluff? Besides the obvious — the silver dust being blown away by the storm — Lys couldn’t deny what she felt. On some level, there was a flicker of pride from almost hitting her opponent, but beneath that, deeper and older, words and images echoed in the back of her mind, replaying themselves like a montage.

‘Ha, have you been studying again, Lys? Those are advanced sigils — we haven’t even covered the basics!’
Moments when she would stay in the library long past midnight, soaking up knowledge, pulling book after book after book.
‘Oh, haven’t seen that in a while — that’s amazing.’
Drawing circles and symbols like it was a science experiment, like a prodigy who understood code without ever learning it, like math problems solving themselves in her head.
‘Whoa, almost got me! Damn, she’s quick…’
The spinning of her favorite blade from one finger to the next, like a coin roll.
‘This young lady has a promising future — she has the potential to be one of the best.’
The slow, crushing pressure of always outdoing herself, of proving she could live up to a promise she never stopped to question if she wanted to keep.

Her gaze refocused moments later as she snapped back to the present, watching this terrifyingly beautiful creature drift closer to the ground. Her right hand tightened around her blade; her free hand slipped another tool free with caution, like a cat waiting to spring.

‘She’s going to call my bluff,’ she realized just before Ren gave her reply. She wasn’t far from hallowed ground — the church was nearby — but could she distract her long enough to reach safety? Did she even want to? The smart thing to do was run — a hunter should never fight alone unless they must. If reaching the chapel was possible, then she had been taught that was the goal: survive and fight another day.

And yet… she never could shake off that pressure — to be the best, to not disappoint her mentors, to prove everyone wrong, and ultimately… be left alone.

She didn’t want to be alone.

“I only need to stay here all night…”

Renaissance let the threat hang in the air for a moment, her eyes slowly scanning the Hunter from head to toe. She was analysing each minor detail, down to every rise and fall of the Hunter’s Chest. The way her lips shone slick with moisture after she’d run her tongue over them, the way her eyes were wide and alert staring right back at her… And Ren listened to that oh-so-human heart beating defiantly, pumping a stream of warm blood around the body.

There was a determination residing in this girl, a focus that set her apart from most other humans. How brave must she be to travel alone? To face an Ancient Vampire with no reinforcements, no small army to protect her from that ancient wrath that could rain upon her? In Renaissance’s younger years, she would’ve labelled this choice unwise. Arrogant and judgmental, younger Ren was not one to respect nobility. But after eternities of witnessing suffering, sacrifice and even slavery, this was a bravery that should be admired. And this woman was still so young! She couldn’t be older than her later 20s? So very young in comparison to Ren’s 1000s of years on this planet. Once upon a time, she too may have made a decision like this one. One that took a naive courage with seeming ignorance to the risk. Discarding everything at stake.
But this life wasn’t built for vampirism and a vampires existence depended entirely on their ability to blend in. The art of discretion. Which was exactly the opposite of what Ren was doing in this very moment. If a Belle View resident was to awake from their slumber and pull back their curtain, they’d see a gothic form of a woman hovering in midair with bat wings and ivory fangs. At the thought, Renaissance warily lowered herself right down to the ground. She felt her leather black heeled boots meet the concrete with a gentle “click” and she stood a good distance from The Hunter.

A shroud of clouds passed over the moon, temporarily darkening Belle View. Still, the street lamps glowed loyally but there was no longer the moon’s soft white luminosity.

“Come on, little one” Ren cajoled in her softened voice, she folded her bat wings beneath her shoulder blades where they belonged. “Let’s not engage in a messy battle just yet… Is it necessary to spill blood so early into our acquaintance?”
There were thoughts whirring through the Hunter’s head, Ren could tell. No doubt weighing up her options, debating whether to fight or flee. She saw the Hunters eyes flicker briefly in the direction of the nearby Church and Ren shook her head slowly. If she were to make a run for it, Ren would have to pursue. She was a mere vampire, after all, and there was nothing like a chase to make blood taste ever sweeter. Those primal instincts would kick in and it would be difficult to control the sheer power that would drive her to trail her prey.

“Come now,” Renaissance continued, taking one solitary step towards the Hunter. She held both hands out like calming a wild bear, gesturing for her to remain still. Remain calm.
“Why don’t you tell me your name?…”

Watching the vampiress descend definitely put her on edge, those echoing words about having to actually fight now pulling back her free hand as she watched every minute detail of her enemy she could — so focused that she didn’t even notice the street growing darker. And hell, if anyone else had been around to witness this, she wouldn’t have noticed them either. Hunters were less careful about being seen if it meant killing one of their prey, but they were a secretive sort too. After all, who wanted the government showing up and locking you away while they tried to slay the very creature you'd been trained your whole life to kill? No one, that’s who. Not to mention the need to keep their own secrets hidden, especially with vampires having penetrated every level of high society and government.

What broke her concentration, though, was the shift in tone from the other woman. Lyselle’s eyes fluttered in shock. Was she... trying to make a truce? Did the ancient vampiress see Lyselle as a threat or was it… something else? Watching a vampire — of all things — hold her hands out as if trying to calm her like a feral cat was not something she had ever expected. In truth, she had never seen this type of behavior from any undead she had met before. Even when threatened, vampires would bargain or seduce before they’d ever attempt to soothe their opponent. Either from fear or the need to keep the heart pumping. Calming down their “food” went against their own nature. Was her sworn enemy playing some other game she couldn’t see?

Suspicion was natural. But then she remembered the man.


Lyselle struggled in that moment — to put on a brave face, to take advantage of the opening the vampiress was giving her — and instead began to doubt. It flashed across her features as her brows knitted gently before smoothing again.

“L-Lyselle…”

The name croaked out of her, and she instantly cleared her throat, surprised she had sounded like that. She should have been on complete edge, and yet she found herself relaxing. And then there it was again: the vampiress’ eyes. Why did they seem so… recognizable? As if she had dreamt of them a thousand times, even though she had never met this creature before tonight.

What was this strange familiarity?

In the back of her mind, she cursed herself for letting her guard down — even though it felt like she was utterly incapable of stopping it.

Renaissance Le Sang, one of the oldest vampires to still be treading Earth, was inching closer to the Huntress with her hands still splayed in a sort-of surrender. Her sire would surely be turning in his grave if he knew she was succumbing to such human emotions. So irrational, so thoughtless. But she couldn’t help herself. Ren craved to be closer to this woman, to follow this magnetic pull tugging at her very being.

There was something different about this one. This lone Huntress, brave and honourable. This powerful woman so willing to fight such a skewed battle. She’d sensed her from so far, hadn’t she? She’d tossed a bottle of Holy Water yet still hadn’t drawn a crossbow, had she? There had been hundreds of opportunities for the two of them to launch into a fight to the death… And yet here they both stood. In the middle of Belle View beneath the moonlight. Both very much still alive.

“L-Lyselle…”

The croak of the Huntresses name held more power than with which she uttered it. A bolt of energy surged through Ren’s body and she took a sharp intake of breath. Her voice. Her name. Familiarity overcame the vampire and her perfectly preened brows knitted together with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“Ll-y-sss-e-llll-e” the ancient vampiress repeated, enunciating every letter. It was a name she felt she’d heard before, buried at the very bottom of her subconscious. Her tongue knew it as she said it, her lips hummed like greeting a long-lost-friend. Renaissance nodded slowly, feigning understanding but disguising the sheer bafflement she felt. Still, Ren was keeping her eyes levelled with the Huntress’ as her heeled boots took slow, tiny steps. Onward and onward. The distance between them had begun to close and another chilling breeze churned the streets of Belle View. The air lifted Ren’s locks from her back, tossing them around her shoulders and framing her angular face. The vampire’s pupils were no longer dilated, revealing their true colour; A chartreuse with flecks of lilac like watercolour.

A thought had crossed Lyselle’s mind, one that echoed in the chamber of Ren’s own psyche. As Lyselle’s face told the story of her inner voice, Ren continued to watch her earnestly. This moment, right here, was completely and utterly unknown to her. Unchartered seas, forgotten territory. Never, in all her existence, had the Aged Vampire experienced this. She wasn’t even sure what “this” was…
But watching the thoughts that plagued the Huntress, the ones written all over her face, was like watching a secret broadcast. The memories Lyselle was analysing inwardly caused Ren to feel something comparable to extreme empathy. Lyselle the Huntress was thinking about something and clearly felt so strongly about it that the emotions were being sent down this tether between the two of them. A tether, a lifeline almost, that began with Lyselle and ended with Renaissance. Whatever extraordinary bond was forming between these ultimate foes was gaining form by the second. The longer they shared space together, the stronger it was becoming. Therefore, as Lyselle began to recall her own memories of Rhyland and the emotions attached to them, Ren was feeling a reflection of them. Like looking into a body of water, something was being refracted back at the vampire. All she had to do was tune in to understand.

It felt like a lifetime that Lyselle considered her own thoughts, but she was quick to smooth her expression back to neutral. Ren cocked her head, angling her gaze to deepen the inquisition. Her eyes aglow with curiosity, she lowered her hands to her sides and proceeded with exaggerated, slow movements towards the Vampire Slayer.

“It was you…” Ren purred, her voice like silk. “I felt one of my kin pass over tonight… It was your doing?” There was no malice in Ren’s tone, no anger to be seen. Just pure, unadulterated curiosity at what was unfolding. Time seemed to slow down, each second feeling drawn out and stretched until there was no knowing whether it had been minutes or hours that they’d been sharing this intense gaze.

Lyselle still gripped the shortsword of blessed silver in her hand, her knuckles white with the intensity of her grasp. Ren gestured to it with a soft point of her finger.

“Lower that,” she crooned “We won’t spill one another’s blood tonight.”

A dog barked in the distance and the blanket of cloud passed by the moon, letting it shine once more. A beam of moonlight spliced through the skies and cast its glimmer over Lyselle and Renaissance. There was a mere few metres between the two of them now and Ren could feel the force of the Repulsion Ward.

Magic like this was a strange sensation, one that could be felt mainly in the gut. The ward pushed back at Ren, like an invisible energetic force field. So she stopped walking. Remained still, unmoving. The two continued to analyse one another, watching the others every move. Ren found herself, once again, watching the rise and fall of Lyselle’s chest. She could hear her heart beating now, a little quicker than average, and if it were something physical the pair could see, she was sure they’d witness a string tied from Lyselle’s heart to the empty cavity where Ren’s once was.

As the vampiress spoke her name, a shiver raced down her spine, like hearing someone whisper it into her ear. The weight, the gravity, with which she felt the reply was difficult to put into words. It was like she had been waiting her whole life to hear it spoken — lost in the current of human subconsciousness until this very day, where it rang out as clear as a church bell in a silent crowd. A slight gasp slid from her lips, causing her to let her guard down and look at the other woman with confusion, even as the grip on her blade tightened further.

“It was you… I felt one of my kin pass over tonight… It was your doing?” Lys’ mouth went slightly agape at the question, realization crossing her features. This was the fledgling’s sire? He had mentioned she was stronger, but she had not expected it to be this stunning creature who now slowly inched her way over. The huntress found herself nodding in the middle of her thoughts, replying instinctively to the question with utmost honesty. If anyone else were here, they would either call Lyselle a foolish girl or assume she had been dominated. The former must’ve been the case then, because Lys felt no pressure, no tingling of being controlled — something she had experienced once or twice before.

Though for Lyselle, it didn’t feel like foolishness, even as whispers in her mind echoed to never trust their kind. Instead, it felt like some strange cosmic design urging her to lower her weapon when asked, her facial features softening.

“I-… I’m sorr—”

Suddenly, like the lightning in the distance, a bolt of silver whistled through the air, aiming straight for Ren’s chest.

“No, it was my doing!”

The shadow-haired hunter spun her head toward the familiar voice — Delwyn! His face twisted into a hateful snarl before he looked to Lys. He didn’t seem surprised or concerned for her at all and instead fixed his gaze on the vampiress, snapping up his arm to release his wrist-mounted crossbow without hesitation, truly showing the difference in experience — and in contempt.

Lyselle gasped as she watched the bolt shoot across from the side, reaching her hand out as if to guard the vampiress from harm, no other thought in her head besides this binding that was tying her and the creature together.

“W-wait!” she shouted, feeling time slow to a crawl, an almost panic overwhelming the young hunter. She had just found something — something incredible, something wholly unique, something she had never felt before — and the silver shining across the empty road threatened to end it all.

Not only that, but she had thought vampires incapable of feeling anything but the desire to destroy… and what she had seen cross her once-opponent’s face was nothing short of human emotion.

Was the Vigil wrong this whole time?
Was their hatred for their prey so absolute that they refused to see the truth?

She was afraid Delwyn would never understand this, but she had to do something.

Remorse fell over Lyselle’s face like a curtain being drawn. That sorrowful look was enough to make Ren extend her hand, an outstretched offering of condolence. She wanted to reassure her that she didn’t care for her offspring in that way, not like human mothers with their children. Rhyland’s death stirred nothing in Ren’s unbeating heart, she’d simply sought an answer to her question. Always thirsty for the truth, for knowledge.

“I-… I’m sorr—” Lyselle’s voice was soft as a whisper, each struggling syllable a mark of genuine apology. A Vampire Slayer? Apologising for slaying vampires? Ren shook her head in disbelief, her furrowed brows exposing her confusion and sheer bewilderment at what was happening between the two of them.

Then, a lightning bolt of primal warning struck Ren’s spine and her head shot to behind Lyselle where a raging man had appeared. He was dressed like her Huntress. Clad head to toe in protective fighting attire, lightweight but certainly a uniform of sorts. A crossbow. A sword. A belt full of assorted weaponry curated entirely for her demise.

“No, it was my doing!” he roared. The man was consumed with fury. Ren could smell the stench on him like rotten flesh. That was what anger did to humans, it festered within them. Decayed them, from the inside out. That was another beautiful quality of vampires; That kind of human emotion was expelled from their souls the minute they became corrupted with their own disease. A fury for blood, granted. But the elder vampires controlled themselves, their every flickering emotion, for that was what it took to survive.

Anger made humans clumsy and rash albeit strong at times. This was certainly the case with this man driven by his hatred for Ren’s kind. Her simple presence, her very existence, ignited such repulsion within him. It was etched in his face as he shot an arrow straight for her.

Like the very lightning above them, Renaissance moved with a speed you’d miss if you blinked.

“W-wait!” Lyselle cried. Ren, back lowered in a combative stance, whipped her head to face the Huntress and snarled. Her lethal fangs protruded, her razor-sharp talon unsheathed and midnight-black pupils corrupted those once chartreuse eyes.

“Let him come!” Ren roared, her voice shifting into something more animal, more beastly. A long, pronounced hiss erupted from her lips and Ren focused her knife-like gaze on her opponent. The arrow narrowly missed her, snagging the velvet cape still draping her shoulders. The vampiress leapt into the air, wings unfolding with a “CRACK” and she unfastened the button of her cloak. It slithered from her shoulders like an anaconda, and floated dramatically to the ground. Ren’s corseted torso now hovered in the air, her skirt billowing in the wind.

For Lyselle and Ren, time slowed. Each second crawled by, agonisingly slow, yet the fire that had been ignited in Ren’s stomach drove her on. This man would die tonight. All she had to do was lock away the flurry of emotions Lyselle had stirred in her in order to concentrate. And so she did.

Hanging in midair, darting artfully from side to side to ensure she was a moving target, Ren awaited the enraged Hunter’s next move. Advancing on him too quickly would end all her fun, and Ren didn’t much enjoy a quick demise. She was all about playing with her food before she ate it and this was no exception.

“Come, then!” the hauntingly unafraid Vampire bellowed. The trees around her moved with the breeze generated by her beating wings, making a satisfying rustle as their leaves brushed together. Ren outstretched her muscular arms, throwing her head back in submission. She would savour this. And then her and Lyselle would be alone again, able to continue this time uninterrupted with whatever magic was being created between them.

The man showed his years by refusing to flinch even in the face of an ancient. He loaded another bolt into his crossbow, but this shot would be different. His features twisted with malice and pain as he watched his prey dart from side to side. A growl followed by a scowl, then he aimed again. He was clearly skilled with this weapon — perhaps the one he had honed above all others — tracking the vampiress’ movement as she swayed midair.

With another click, a bolt flew toward the winged nightmare, but this time the head expanded and released a net made of blessed silver. It snapped open, glistening in the moonlight as it hurtled toward the place where the vampire hovered above the street.

'No…!' Lyselle thought, familiar with the tactic Delwyn was employing — setting her new companion up to be captured and tortured like her offspring. Her body moved on its own, lifting a hand as she felt life-energy pour from her core and out through her fingertips.

Light illuminated the street as etchings formed in the air, drawn with the efficiency and grace of hours upon hours of practice. She finished just in time — the net poised to wrap around the winged woman — but instead a pillar of light blasted outward and slammed the silver against the brick wall opposite Ren.

The sigil glowed and ebbed for several moments before fading, leaving a panicked Lys standing there.

'Why did I do that!?'

Delwyn’s head snapped toward her, hatred burning behind his eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing, Lyselle!? She’s a damn vampire! Kill her!!"

Too focused on his prey to waste more than a heartbeat on the girl, he loaded another bolt, untying a scroll and tossing it to the ground. Ren could see the sigil written on it — a trap, perhaps — or something to buy him time.

Still shaken by everything happening and the chaos erupting around her, she called after the vampiress, “please don’t kill him!” Her voice was earnest, genuine, pleading — clearly not even wanting the fight to be happening at all.

She wasn’t sure she had the strength to cast another Script so soon, so she fumbled for her throwing knives instead — she had always preferred them to Delwyn’s wrist crossbow. They suited her quick hands better than that clunky thing he trusted so completely.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat —
a threat to the first woman who ever spoke her name, who ever whispered to her very soul.

Still… she didn’t want him to die either.

Another bolt had been reloaded and shot, aiming straight for her. Feigning right, the Vampire knew she’d dodged it successfully. That was, until, the tip of the bolt broke away and an oversized net popped out with a satisfying click. Renaissance watched the net expand, its crosshatched silver material flying tauntingly through the air. The vampire had undoubtedly dodged the original arrow, but this? The net’s width would surely snag her wings and give her great difficulty keeping her height. The idea of the net ensnaring her, snuffing out her wings like a candle and causing her to topple to the ground made Ren let out a slow growl. She snarled at the realisation that this would mean almost-certain entrapment and escaping from a net like that would involve more power than she was willing to expend on the fury-riddled Hunter.

Like a religious intervention, a bright light suddenly appeared, casting warm white beams to shine down on Belle View. It was a sigil. And by the looks of Lyselle’s determined but panicked expression, she’d been the one to cast it. The symbol hung in the air for a moment or two, like a beacon. And when Ren’s eyes darted below, she saw the net crumpled on the ground like dirty laundry.

"What the fuck are you doing, Lyselle!? She’s a damn vampire! Kill her!!"

‘What the fuck indeed, Lyselle’ Ren mused internally, the three of them each shared varying degrees of surprise at the heroic intervention. Where had this young Huntress learnt to cast such a strong sigil? She’d formed the symbol so quickly with those agile fingertips, Ren hadn’t even had the chance to acknowledge it was happening. The Hunter’s horror at the betrayal of his kind was well-founded. And it was whilst his guard was dropped that Ren seized her moment. Thanks to Lyselle, a window of opportunity had opened and she wasn’t going to let it pass by her. The Hunter would recover from his shock at the betrayal fairly quickly, she was sure. So Ren chose the only route that was certain to grant her escape.

Blood Magic was a thing of controversy in the Vampire community. Not many fledglings and adolescents were even aware of it but Ancients had likely studied it at some point during their undead lifetimes. Notoriously poorly documented, it was only studied through determined searching for reading materials. Scriptures, scrolls and ancient tomes were the only known evidence of Vampire Blood Magic. Unless you were unfortunate to come across someone practicing it at your expense. Thanks to Ren’s obsession with studying, she’d managed to get her hands on a few volumes on the lost art form. Blood Magic required harnessing a large portion of inner power that was rarely acquired in the community. It was a skill so difficult to develop and the stakes were off-puttingly high, so it was mostly exclusively Ancient Beings that practiced it. Younger vampires had tried, sure. But it resulted in burn-out or worse, death. Creatures had literally imploded from the sheer volume of power required to complete a Blood Spell. Blood Magic was seemingly entirely intended for malicious acts; Curses, deception, harm, destruction. But there were some more intricate castings that were less ominous, these were what Ren dabbled in. She reserved the ultimate evil for when was absolutely necessary. She certainly wouldn’t waste such a large amount of energy on casting against this Hunter.

But when faced with a Hunter hell bent on her demise, Renaissance decided she’d tap into some preventative Blood Magic. The essence of the magic had no bias when it came to whose blood was spilled. It could be human. It could be otherwise. For potency, Ren used her own blood. For what held more power than Ancient Vampire blood? Whilst the Hunter remained stunned by Lyselle’s impressive distraction, Ren had quickly made an incision in her wrist with that deathly talon at the end of her finger. Whilst the puncture oozed, a black droplet of her blood formed and then ran down the inside of her naked arm. Whilst it trickled down her arm like a black stream, Ren began her incantation. It would be swift, it would be articulate and it would be effective.

“Please don’t kill him!” Lyselle plead. The vampiress, wings pulsing to keep her suspended in the air with a great vantage point for her attack, shot a withering look at Lyselle. The arched brow challenged her as if to say ‘And let him kill me instead? Never’
That look was all she had time for, she had to finish the incantation. Blood Magic could not be left half finished, it was hungry in its nature. Complete the spell or let that dark power roam free.

Ren finalised the spell, casting an extended finger to guide the energy towards the intended victim. This wouldn’t kill him, no. It would maim him. This particular ailment would only last long enough for Ren to disappear. She’d retreat back to her loft, where her Wards would grant her anonymity. All the while, the Hunter would awake from his nightmarish slumber disorientated and unsure of what had just happened. That should do it, shouldn’t it? And she’d grant Lyselle’s request to leave him alive.

As the dark energy trailed down her veins to the tips of her fingers, Ren continued to repeat the incantation, coaxing it out of her body. She saw the black smoke-like stream writhe down her veins and out into the air. The smoke entered the space before her and exhaled audibly, a sigh of relief to have been brought to life and a sigh of pleasure to have been put to work. The cloud dissipated and Ren knew it had, through osmosis, bonded molecularly with the air they were breathing. Soon enough, the Hunter would take a breath and slip into an uncomfortable sleep. His sleep would be littered with nightmares and leave him confused when he finally awoke.

Describing this now, it would be reasonable to assume casting Blood Magic was a lengthy process. However, Ren had drawn blood, chanted and cast with a slick professionalism that meant by the time the Hunter realised what was happening, the dark energy would be corrupting him already.
Renaissance, relaxing in the knowledge that she’d gained some time, turned to face Lyselle and lowered herself to the ground once more. She tossed her mane of dark hair over her shoulder and took a few quick strides towards the Huntress. There were many questions burning:

“Where on Earth did you learn to Sigil like that?”

“Why the hell did you protect me? I had it handled (ish)”

“Did you not want to mention you weren’t travelling alone?”

But more than all that, more than the technicalities, Red was dying to ask:

“Do you feel what I’m feeling?”
And by that she meant this channel of energy connecting the two of them, this sense of knowing. Surely she couldn’t be the only one that felt a gravitational pull tugging at her corrupted soul, dragging her toward Lyselle like a leash.
But Ren vocalised none of these questions. Instead she stood just out of arms reach from Lyselle, arms folded, waiting for her to explain who the hell she’d just put to sleep.