Kiss of the Vampire: The Girl with the Sharp Sword
Mission One: Fangs and Folklore (A Night at the Movie Theater)
Original story by Garen (WrathBu69)
---
It was a good morning—at least for Deyviel. He stretched out his toned frame, cracked his neck, and leaned out the window of his second-floor apartment.
"GOOD MORNING, NEIGHBORS!" he shouted.
"FUCK YOU!" came the reply from next door.
Deyviel just grinned. "Ahh, what a beautiful start to the day," he said, turning to his cat. "Right, Ryco?"
The gray tabby blinked and let out a tired meow.
After a quick shower and brushing his teeth, Deyviel pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"Yoh, bruh? Wuzzap?" came Denver's groggy voice. "It's 7 AM, you bastard—are you calling me while I'm takin' a shit?"
---
[Character Sheet Interlude]
Name: Deyviel Keith Martin
Age: 19
Happy-go-lucky, constantly jokes around, but sharp when it counts.
Stoic under pressure, believes in justice, but rarely shows how deep he thinks.
Brown eyes, messy dark hair, lean but fit.
Trained under a retired general for two years alongside his friends.
Currently a welder.
Single. (Yes, still.)
His crew:
Denver (19) – Fellow welder. Slightly more serious but shares Deyviel's humor. Black belt in Taekwondo.
Ethan Allen (25) – Military guy turned secret operative. Model-tier looks, black sharp eyes. Think Denis Trillo.
Mizuno (19) – Pretty boy, multiple girlfriends, secretly works in the same shadowy group as Ethan.
---
"Anyway," Deyviel said, scratching his neck, "Professor Raul said we need to pass that project by tomorrow or we're dead."
"Yeah, that guy just loves ruining weekends," Denver muttered. "We still on for the movie later?"
"Yep. The two douches are meeting us inside."
"Cool. See ya later, DJ."
---
Later that day, they met up at Fisher Mall in Navotas City, ready to see Avengers: Endgame. Deyviel rocked an Iron Man shirt while Denver wore Captain America.
"Bro, I've been waiting for this movie for years," Deyviel said, grinning.
"Yeah," Denver replied, smiling while buying their tickets. "It's finally here—Endgame."
While Denver handled the tickets, Deyviel flirted with the cashier at the next booth. Denver just shook his head, smiling at his friend's antics.
Meanwhile, across town, Ethan and Mizuno were on alert. Their HQ had pinged reports of a possible vampire sighting. Vacation or not, duty called.
---
Back in the mall, Deyviel and Denver grabbed food. Over lunch, Deyviel brought up something chilling.
"You hear about those missing persons? Some folks even found... body parts."
Denver glared at him. "Dude. We're eating."
Deyviel chuckled. "C'mon, just sayin'."
Nearby, another group was talking about the same thing.
> Man 1: "Did you see the news last night? Body parts, man. Just scattered out there."
Man 2: "Yeah, freaky stuff."
Man 3: "Pfft. If I catch whoever did it, I'll break their damn bones."
---
A few hours later, they headed into the theater and found their seats.
Ethan and Mizuno arrived just in time. Mizuno went off to get popcorn—and got sidetracked by the call of nature.
While in the restroom, he heard a man and woman... moaning.
"Oh, bold. Hot. I'll just pretend I didn't hear that," he joked, leaving with a wink to the closed stall.
He didn't realize those weren't moans of pleasure—but death.
---
Once the group reunited, Mizuno asked, "What did I miss?"
"The commercials," the others replied in unison.
The movie started, but halfway through, a scream tore through the dark.
Everyone turned—and saw a bloodied woman biting another.
"Call for backup!" Ethan shouted, already rushing down the aisle.
He kicked the vampire with a thunderous snap, sending her flying into a row of chairs.
But more came.
"Shit," Ethan growled. "Mizuno, help them!"
"I'm kinda—uh—busy, Captain!" Mizuno replied, struggling against another vampire.
"I'm on vacation, dammit!"
Deyviel ducked as a vampire lunged at him.
"Holy mother of bad breath!" he yelled. "Don't bite me with that unclean-ass mouth! Here, gurgle this!"
He smashed a broken chair handle across the vampire's face, then caught her and slammed her down in a brutal Russian suplex.
Denver was getting pinned by another. Deyviel grabbed what was left of the chair and shattered it into the vampire's skull.
But even that didn't stop them. The vampires rose again, blood dripping, faces snarling.
"Hey Dre," Denver panted, "ready for round two?"
"Man, worst timing ever," Deyviel replied.
They braced themselves.
Bang. Bang.
Gunshots echoed. The vampires dropped, unmoving this time.
Ethan lowered his smoking pistol. "Took you long enough," Deyviel muttered.
Then, the theater lights flickered on—and the truth stood before them.
---
"These things you wish were just folklore?" Ethan said grimly. "They're real."
People were still screaming, scattering, slipping in spilled popcorn and blood. Deyviel glanced around at the wreckage.
"Welp… that escalated fast."
"This was a Type One vampire. We call them Runners," Ethan explained. "Fast. Reckless. Hunt in small packs."
"No offense," Mizuno said, wiping blood off his collar, "but I hate your job."
"The cops won't believe this," Denver said.
"They don't need to," Ethan replied. "We'll handle it. Quietly."
Deyviel looked at the mess, then at his friends. His gut told him this wasn't a one-time thing. "Alright. Let's finish what we started."
"Hell yeah," Denver nodded. "Let's clean house."
Few hours later..
Deyviel and Denver moved through the sleeping streets, their footsteps muffled against the cracked pavement. The streetlamps flickered like dying fireflies, casting long, twitching shadows that danced between shuttered sari-sari stores and empty tricycle stands. The usual nighttime noises—distant laughter, the whir of motorcycles, even the barking of stray dogs—had vanished.
The silence wasn't peaceful. It was wrong.
"You feel that?" Denver asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He kept his eyes forward, one hand near his belt.
"Yeah," Deyviel muttered. "It's too quiet."
The city seemed to shrink in around them, buildings pressing close, windows shuttered like eyes refusing to look. As they rounded a corner, a foul smell hit them—something sour and metallic. Deyviel stopped in his tracks.
Blood.
His senses sharpened. The stench wasn't strong, but it was fresh. Nearby.
He glanced down a narrow side alley, half-hidden between two concrete buildings. The kind of place you'd ignore during the day but instinctively avoid at night. A faint flickering glow from a busted streetlight barely reached the entrance, leaving the rest swallowed in shadows.
Then they heard it.
A muffled scream—cut short.
Deyviel and Denver exchanged a look. No words. Just movement.
They sprinted toward the alley.
Trash bins clattered underfoot as they rushed in. The narrow path reeked of damp cardboard and rust. At the far end, they saw her: a woman stumbling backward, her hand clutched to her neck. Her breaths came in sharp gasps, each one more desperate than the last. Blood seeped between her fingers.
Behind her stood a figure half-draped in shadow—tall, deathly pale, eyes glowing faintly red like a dying ember in a dark furnace. His mouth glistened with fresh blood.
"Vampire," Deyviel growled, pulling the blade from his back.
The creature slowly turned to face them. Smiling.
As they walked through the dim streets, Deyviel's mind drifted back to just an hour ago—
Ethan's voice still echoed in his head, sharp and tense.
---
Earlier that night – Temporary HQ
The cramped safehouse reeked of burnt coffee and sweat. Ethan stood by the city map pinned to the wall, red circles and pins marking recent sightings. His jaw was tight, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
"We're stretched thin," he said bluntly. "Three teams are still patching up from last night's attack, and we just got another report—Sector 12, two possible vampires, maybe three. One witness already dead."
Denver leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "So you're sending just the two of us?"
Ethan nodded. "We don't have a choice. I trust you both. You're fast, clean, and smart enough not to pick a fight unless you can win it."
Deyviel pulled on his gloves, expression unreadable. "You said Sector 12?"
"Yeah. An alley near the old tricycle depot. You'll know it when you smell it."
Ethan walked closer, lowering his voice. "You're not just there to confirm. If they're there, you neutralize. Fast. Quiet."
He paused. "And if things go south… you run. Understood?"
Deyviel gave a faint nod.
Denver, though, smirked. "We don't run."
Ethan didn't return the smile. "This isn't about pride, Den. It's about staying alive. Now go."
Moments later after sending the two at their mission Ethan and Mizuno is still at the base .
The operations room buzzed with tension. A large digital map covered the main screen, filled with blinking red pins—vampire sightings. Hundreds of them. Some marked recent, others confirmed threats. It looked less like a map and more like a slow-burning apocalypse.
The sharp voice of a Hunter officer broke the silence.
"You're seriously sending civilians to the field now?" he snapped, glaring at the two figures in the back. "What kind of damn joke is this?"
Ethan didn't flinch. Standing beside Commander Valen, his expression stayed calm, unreadable. Mizuno leaned against the cold steel wall, arms crossed, his eyes lazy but alert, like a wolf that hadn't decided whether to nap or bite.
"They're not just bystanders, they're kids," the officer pressed, stepping forward. "You expect us to believe they can handle missions like this? The General won't approve it."
Commander Valen exhaled sharply, clearly tired of the debate. "We're short on Hunters. Most of our elite units are deployed—Africa, Russia, the American Midwest. Vampire activity is rising, and we don't have the manpower to cover every hotspot."
He turned toward the officer, tone cool but firm. "And those two? They're stronger than most of our best. Don't judge by age."
The officer wasn't buying it. "Strong or not, they're still teenagers. That makes them a liability. If something happens—"
SLAM!
The heavy metal door burst open like it had been kicked off its hinges.
Silence fell like a curtain.
A huge shadow filled the entrance. Then came the thudding footsteps, slow and heavy, each one echoing through the command room like a warning.
General McDougal had arrived.
He was a wall of a man—tall, broad, and absolutely cut from raw iron. His muscles bulged under his thick, worn-out combat coat, the kind of strength that wasn't for show, but built through decades of killing monsters and surviving worse.
Scars ran across his body like battle tattoos. The most brutal one tore from his right eyebrow, down across his nose, and ended at his left chin—a vampire's gift, one he never bothered to hide. His face looked like it had been chiseled out of war itself, jaw tight, one eye slightly clouded but still sharp.
He didn't walk—he loomed.
Hair gray and cropped like he'd trimmed it with a blade. Beard scruffy, as if time had no authority over him. Some said he resembled a gorilla in combat gear.
Deyviel once called him "Gangster Ape"—right to his face.
McDougal just laughed, grunted, and made Deyviel run laps in vampire-infested woods for three straight days.
The room held its breath.
He stopped at the map table, stared at the pins for half a second, then looked straight at the arguing officer.
"Let them be," McDougal growled, voice like gravel dragged across iron. "I want to see if those two buffoons are made for this… or not."
The officer tensed. "But sir, they're civilians and—"
"Civilians?" McDougal turned to him fully now.
His shadow swallowed the officer whole.
"Those two took down a full-grown bloodlusted grizzly. Three years ago. Middle of winter. I dropped them off in the forest with nothing but sticks and rocks."
He stepped closer, his presence pressing down like a physical weight. "No guns. No knives. Just instinct, willpower, and the kind of pain that makes a man or breaks him."
He jabbed a thick, scarred finger at the man's chest.
"Can you do that?"
The officer couldn't answer. Could barely breathe.
McDougal didn't wait for a response. He turned to Ethan and Mizuno, eyes narrowing, not out of doubt—but expectation.
"They're not civilians anymore," he muttered as he turned toward the door. "They survived me. That's more than I can say for most."
Then he walked out, boots thudding like war drums, the door slamming shut behind him with finality.
The silence stretched.
Mizuno whistled under his breath. "Still built like a pissed-off gorilla."
Ethan smirked, nudging him. "Gangster Ape never changes."
---
Present – Alley Street
The faint metallic scent in the air snapped Deyviel back to the present.
Blood.
Just like Ethan said.
He and Denver moved without a word, turning the corner and slipping into the narrow alley where the scent grew stronger—fresh, thick, wrong.
Then the scream.
Denver coughed, pushing himself off the dented dumpster. "She's running."
Deyviel was already moving. "We're not letting her go."
They sprinted out of the alley just in time to catch a flash of her coat sweeping around a corner.
She darted through narrow backstreets like she knew them better than her own pulse. Over fences. Through crates. Sliding under hanging laundry like wind slipping through cloth.
Deyviel leapt a stack of crates, his boots barely touching the top before he kicked off. His coat flared behind him. Denver followed, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs.
"Up!" Deyviel pointed.
She'd scrambled onto a fire escape, moving like a spider.
Denver cursed and jumped, grabbing the rusted ladder. It shook but held. Deyviel used a broken pipe to wall-run halfway before pulling himself up in a smooth motion.
The vampire turned briefly on the roof.
She smirked.
Then threw something.
A vial.
It exploded in smoke—thick, choking, and reeking of blood and ash.
Deyviel's vision blurred. Denver shouted somewhere through the fog.
"She's trying to cut us off!" Denver wheezed. "Left!"
Deyviel didn't hesitate—he trusted the call. They took a different climb, flanking through the adjacent building. He kicked open a rickety door and burst through a dusty apartment, scattering crows perched on broken furniture.
Window. Leap. Rooftop.
He caught sight of her again, a dark silhouette darting between antennae and old chimney stacks.
Deyviel threw a knife.
She ducked—but stumbled. Just enough.
Denver reached the next roof with a grunt. "You clipped her!"
"She's slowing."
But that wasn't a good thing.
She wanted them close.
They vaulted another gap—barely.
Then—
Crack!
The roof beneath Denver gave way slightly—just enough for his ankle to catch. He fell to one knee.
Deyviel turned, hand out—but a blur came from the shadows.
The vampire tackled him.
He hit the gravel hard, blade skittering from his hand.
She straddled him, claws to his throat, grinning. "You're fun."
Before she could strike, Denver threw a broken pipe at her head. She caught it mid-air.
"Cute," she hissed.
But it gave Deyviel just the second he needed.
He grabbed a shard of his own broken blade and rammed it into her shoulder.
She shrieked and leapt back, staggering—but not defeated.
Then she did something they didn't expect.
She smiled.
And jumped off the roof.
"Shit—" Denver limped to the edge, looking down. "She's gone."
Deyviel caught his breath, chest heaving. "No... not gone. Just deeper in."
Sirens in the distance. Faint.
"I don't think this was random," Denver muttered. "She wanted to see what we could do. She lured us."
Deyviel's eyes narrowed, wind rustling his coat.
"Then next time... we don't chase. We bait her."
He looked toward the skyline—crimson clouds brewing far beyond.
"Because something worse is coming."
Denver wiped blood from his brow, glancing at Deyviel.
"She's fast, but not that fast," he muttered.
Deyviel nodded, eyes scanning the rooftops.
"She's injured. We can catch her."
They moved in unison, navigating the maze of alleys and fire escapes. The city's underbelly was a labyrinth, but they knew it well. Each step brought them closer to their quarry.
Suddenly, a shadow darted across the adjacent rooftop. Deyviel pointed.
"There!"
They gave chase, leaping over gaps, scaling walls, and weaving through obstacles. The vampire was leading them deeper into the city's forgotten districts.
As they turned a corner, they found themselves in a dimly lit courtyard. The vampire stood at its center, smirking.
"Took you long enough."
From the shadows, two more figures emerged. One was tall and gaunt, with elongated limbs and glowing eyes. The other was hulking, with a brutish demeanor and claws that gleamed in the low light.
Deyviel and Denver exchanged glances.
"Three of them," Denver whispered.
"We can handle it," Deyviel replied, drawing his blade.
The fight erupted. Deyviel engaged the gaunt vampire, their movements a blur of strikes and counters. Denver faced off against the brute, dodging powerful swings and retaliating with precise blows.
The female vampire circled, looking for an opening. She lunged at Deyviel, but he parried, forcing her back.
Despite their skills, the vampires' coordination was formidable. Deyviel and Denver found themselves on the defensive, forced to rely on each other's support to stay in the fight.
Realizing the tide was turning, Deyviel activated his communicator.
"Ethan, we need backup. Three hostiles, Sector Delta Five."
Static. Then Ethan's voice.
"Hold your ground. Reinforcements en route. ETA six minutes."
Six minutes. An eternity in combat.
Deyviel and Denver steeled themselves, preparing to endure until help arrived. The battle was far from over.
The gaunt vampire closed the gap again, claws like curved knives slashing toward Deyviel's throat. He twisted, blade intercepting just in time—steel met claw in a screech of sparks.
"You're fast," Deyviel muttered, sliding back from the pressure. "But for someone living off blood, you hit like a malnourished gym rat."
The vampire bared his fangs and hissed. "Blood sustains us."
Deyviel ducked under a claw, flipped back, and retorted, "Is that why you're all skinny and twitchy? Maybe it's time to upgrade from vitamin blood to… I dunno—vitamin D?"
The brute vampire halted mid-charge, confused. "What?"
"You know," Deyviel said, smirking, blood dripping from his lip. "Semen. Human semen. Why not just suck dicks instead? Less murder. Still warm."
Even Denver blinked at him from behind the busted crates. "Bro, what?"
Deyviel shrugged. "Just saying. Y'all really out here doing serial killer cardio when a back alley quickie would've solved the craving."
The female vampire snarled, visibly thrown off. "You disgusting little—!"
"Hey, you're the one who drinks people through a neck straw," he shot back, ducking her claw just in time.
That second of hesitation was all he needed.
He planted his foot into her knee, twisted, and drove his blade into her ribs—deep enough to make her shriek and stumble back. The gaunt one charged again, blinded by rage. Deyviel met him head-on, parried once, then elbowed him in the face hard enough to break his nose.
Denver joined in with a heavy shoulder tackle, sending the brute skidding across the cobblestone.
"Nice distraction," Denver panted, wincing.
"I aim to please," Deyviel smirked. "Even the undead can't handle dirty jokes, thank you."
The gaunt vampire lunged again, a blur of rage and fangs—but Deyviel had already read the pattern. He ducked low under the swing, drove his elbow up into the vampire's ribs, then twisted his sword and slammed the hilt into the creature's jaw.
Crunch.
The vampire staggered. One last desperate claw swipe grazed Deyviel's cheek—but he didn't flinch.
With a snarl, Deyviel flipped his grip and drove his sword pommel square into the side of the vampire's skull. The creature collapsed—groaning, twitching, but out cold.
Denver exhaled sharply. "You good?"
"Not really," Deyviel muttered, wiping blood from his mouth. "But I'm still pretty."
Then—a sound. Footsteps. Light. Fast.
The girl.
She was trying to make a break for it again, darting into the narrow maze of alleyways behind the burning heap of trash and metal. Denver turned to follow—but Deyviel raised a hand.
"I got her."
Denver blinked. "You sure?"
"No. But I owe her a punch for the whole dick-sucking joke."
Without waiting, Deyviel sprinted after her.
She moved like smoke through the alleys—twisting over crates, vaulting over chain fences, her coat fluttering like wings. She was fast. Faster than him. But she was bleeding—and Deyviel had studied enough prey to know when they were masking pain.
He cut corners where she ran straight, leapt rooftops while she dipped low, matching her like a ghost behind her shadow.
"Damn it—stop running! You already lost!" he called, voice echoing through the rain-slick alley.
She didn't answer. Just kept moving—until she turned a sharp corner—
And froze.
There he was.
Deyviel had leapt over the side wall and landed ahead of her, crouched low, sword leveled.
She skidded to a stop.
"You—" she growled, lunging.
Steel flashed.
He didn't go for the kill. He caught her wrist with one hand, redirected her strike, and twisted—forcing her body into a spin. Using her momentum, he swept her legs, slammed her into the damp alley wall, and pressed the flat of his blade across her neck.
"Enough."
Her eyes burned with fury, teeth bared. "Kill me then—"
"Not today."
He reached into his coat, pulled a small vial of sleeping agent, and smashed it near her face. She gasped—too late. The gas hit her lungs. Her body went limp against the wall.
Deyviel held her up with one arm and sighed.
"Let's get you a bed. A cell, technically. But baby steps."
The hum of the fluorescent light overhead buzzed like a mosquito in a tomb. The vampire girl sat slumped in a rune-etched steel chair, arms shackled in silver cuffs that hissed against her skin. Blood stained her collar, and her left eye was swelling shut. Still, her jaw remained tight with defiance.
Ethan stood across from her, unflinching, clipboard untouched in his hands. Deyviel leaned on the far wall, arms folded, a faint bruise on his temple from the earlier scuffle. Denver nursed a gash along his ribs, eyeing the girl as if she might spring loose any second.
"You're not like the others," Ethan finally said, voice calm but low. "You didn't fight like them. You didn't feed like them. You hesitated."
She didn't reply.
"We've seen purebloods. Ferals. Spawns. You're none of them. You're still... you." He stepped closer. "So what are you?"
Her lips trembled, barely a whisper: "I was human."
That made Deyviel straighten slightly.
She continued, slower now. "I was turned... but not fully. They call us Halflings. Some kind of ancient strain... it's rare. Most humans either die, go mad, or turn feral when infected this way. But me? I... kept myself."
Ethan exchanged a look with Denver.
"They didn't plan it," she went on. "I was taken during a raid in Eastpoint. My children were with me. I begged them not to hurt them." Her voice cracked for the first time.
"They offered me a deal. They said if I agreed—if I obeyed—they'd keep my kids alive. Feed them. Shelter them. So I said yes."
"And they turned you into this," Ethan said, flatly.
Her eyes flicked up to him. "I don't even know what I am now. I'm strong, fast… but the hunger's constant. And they bound me in a blood pact. If I disobey, the children die. If I run, they die."
Deyviel finally spoke, stepping forward. "That guy you were with earlier. The tall one—he the handler?"
She nodded. "One of them. He watches me. Follows me. Keeps their end of the pact... for now."
Denver crossed his arms. "So this whole thing tonight—vampire sightings, slaughtered patrols—it's a coordinated expansion. They're making more of you?"
She didn't answer immediately. Then: "No. They're testing. Seeing which humans can become Halflings. Most still die. But the few who survive—"
"—retain their ego," Ethan finished grimly. "And can be used."
"They're building a smarter army," Deyviel muttered. "Great."
Ethan stepped back, exhaling. "You'll stay here. We'll keep you safe, and we'll find your children."
The girl laughed, bitter. "You think you can just walk in and take them?"
"We've done worse," Ethan said, stone-cold.
Deyviel leaned in, trying to soften the edge. "Hey. You survived this long. Means you've still got a soul in there. Help us—and maybe, just maybe—we tear their nest apart before they get to use more like you."
She said nothing, but something in her expression shifted. Less defiance. More... fear.
Ethan turned to Denver. "We're going under. Gear up."
Deyviel followed, throwing one last glance back. "Keep her fed. No blood bags. Real food. She's still human enough."
As they walked out, the girl whispered, barely audible—
"They call it the Crimson Palace. But it's not just a place. It's a movement."
The dim lighting cast long shadows across the briefing table as Ethan spoke into the comms.
"We need a sweep team. Immediate recon around Eastpoint. Target: two children, possibly being held by the hive that's experimenting on halflings. Priority one. I want eyes there within the hour."
Crackling static. Then a voice on the other end:
"Copy that. We're stretched thin, but I'll pull two captains from the West Sector. ETA twenty minutes."
Ethan closed the comms with a curt nod. "We can't risk them moving the kids. If the hive suspects she talked—"
The door opened.
No knock. No announcement. Just the smooth creak of hinges and a familiar presence.
Ben Rayleigh stepped into the room like a ghost that walked with purpose. His long coat billowed slightly behind him, despite no breeze. His silver eyes scanned the trio before settling on Ethan.
"I heard you're looking for children," Ben said calmly.
Ethan blinked, just once. "We didn't call you."
"I wasn't far," Ben replied, glancing briefly at the sealed interrogation room. "I'll go."
"You don't even know where to start," Ethan said, skeptical.
"I'll find them," Ben said simply. "Alone."
The room fell silent for a beat. Deyviel and Denver exchanged a look, unsure whether to be reassured or unsettled.
Ben's eyes drifted to the two younger hunters. His face softened slightly, and then came a rare smile—dry and tired, but genuine.
"Just keep the new bloods alive," he said to Ethan, nodding toward Denver and Deyviel. "I'll handle the rest."
Deyviel raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Guess we're the baggage now."
Ben smirked faintly. "Not baggage. Just not deadweight... yet."
Denver gave a short, dry chuckle. "I don't know if that was a compliment."
Ben turned without another word, vanishing through the same door he came in from—no sound, no fuss, just the quiet echo of bootsteps as he headed into the night.
The silence lingered after he left, like the wake of a passing storm.
Ethan sighed. "Well. That's one less squad I need to move."
Deyviel leaned back. "You guys always let that guy do side quests alone?"
Denver shrugged. "He's not 'doing a side quest.' He is the side quest."
Ethan didn't argue. He just checked his watch and muttered, "Let's get ready. This night's far from over."
The map of the Eastern Quarter flickered with red markers as Ethan tapped the old, dust-covered church icon near the edge of the slums.
"Clara gave us a location," he said, folding his arms. "Old sanctuary. Condemned twenty years ago after the fire. Never rebuilt. No patrols. No light."
Denver leaned forward, brows drawn. "They're using it as cover?"
"More than that," Ethan said grimly. "She said it's the feeding ground and possibly where they're nesting the halflings. Which means—if they're breeding new types—we can't afford to wait until sunrise."
Deyviel leaned against the wall, spinning a silver stake in his hand. "You know, for an abandoned holy site, they sure know how to make it sound like a boss room."
Ethan ignored the comment, eyes scanning both of them.
"You two—Deyviel, Denver—you're not part of the guild officially," he said, tone firm. "You've fought well. But this is different. You cross that threshold, you're not just helping out. You're temporary hunters."
A beat.
Deyviel smirked, placing the stake behind his ear like a pencil. "Do we get badges or just more near-death experiences?"
Denver looked at Ethan with a steady nod. "Understood. We're in."
Ethan gave a nod in return, then glanced at the ticking wall clock.
"Gear up. We move in ten. No backup this time—Ben's already gone ahead. We follow quietly. If they're awake and feeding, we can't afford mistakes."
Outside, the wind picked up. Lightning flickered in the far-off clouds, like a warning from above.
And in the silence that followed, the camera would've panned out—past the cracked windows of the safehouse, past the flickering streetlamps and alleys soaked in rain—to the distant silhouette of a ruined cathedral, swallowed by ivy and shadow.
Something moved inside.
Something watching.
Waiting.
To be continued...