The echoes of the strike faded into nothing, swallowed by dust and ruin. Silence returned—but not peace.
Shapes moved in the haze.
And somewhere, coiled in shadow and hate, the Vampire God waited.
Unseen.
Breathing.
Waiting.
Then—
TWAANG!
A sharp note cracked through the air like a whip, bright and defiant—an insult made sound.
The Vampire God jerked toward it. Wings flared, a blur of shadows and ancient fury.
He lunged—struck only crumbling stone. Nothing. The silhouette had already vanished.
TWAANG.
Another note. This time from elsewhere.
Like a ghost taunting the dark.
He snarled, eyes burning like molten coin, lunging again. Missed again. Frustration rolled off him in palpable waves, claw tips screeching across broken marble.
Then—
SKREEEEEEEE!
A shriek ripped through the ruin, shrill and primal. Stone cracked, dust cascaded like dying rain, and ancient pillars groaned in protest.
The haze settled.
And he saw me.
I stood atop the rubble, balanced on fractured stone like a dancer on a broken stage. Fiddle in hand, bow drawn tight. A faint smile tugged at my lips.
Another note. Sharp. Taunting.
The Vampire God launched upward, shadows twisting around his limbs—but I was already gone, slipping past like laughter caught on wind.
He lunged. I danced.
He swooped. I spun.
Strike. Dodge. Strike. Dodge.
To any onlooker—if any soul still dared watch—it would have seemed like a waltz: a duet of fury and song, choreographed atop the bones of a fallen faith.
[Ronette's Side]
A groan slipped past Ronette's lips as the world slammed back into focus. Pain gnawed at his ribs; dust stung his eyes.
"Ugh…" He rubbed his head, wincing. "What happened…?"
CLASH!
A sharp sound cracked through the air, jolting him fully awake. He squinted—then froze.
High above, in the ruin's fractured light, Louis spun. Fiddle gleaming, bow flickering, each note slicing the air.
And across from her—loomed the Vampire God.
They weren't fighting.
They were dancing.
Ronette blinked once. Twice. Gave his own cheek a slap, as if to knock sense back into it.
'Am I dead? Or has Louis finally entered her villain arc?'
The music swelled, strangely graceful, almost… romantic—if you ignored the claws.
Then—a scuttling sound behind him. He spun, heart lodging in his throat.
A figure hunched beside a crumbling pillar.
High Mourner Vaelith, half-slouched and mumbling, eyes locked on the swirling chaos, lips moving in cracked reverence.
'It's the High Mourner! He must know how to kill the Vampire God!'
Ronette turned to Louis again.
She moved like wind on water. Ducking, twirling—almost playful.
His lips drooped in tragic realization.
'But… would Louis even want that? His hand curled against his chest. It looks like she made a friend… with the Vampire God…'
Then he shook his head, hard.
'No, no, no. Focus, Ronette! The Vampire God is evil. EVIL! He might be pretending to be friends… waiting to sip her like soup!'
His pitying gaze followed her pirouette around a claw swipe.
'I'm sorry, Louis. But I can't let him hurt you. Even if your fiddle playing is technically more dangerous than him.'
With the courage of a man about to do something profoundly foolish, he crept toward Vaelith.
Slow.
Awkward.
Like a potato sneaking up on another potato.
Vaelith stood transfixed, voice rasping like parchment on stone.
"He dances with divinity… dares to dodge His Majesty's embrace… he should be honored to perish by His hands."
Ronette inched closer, each breath loud in his own ears.
Closer.
Then—arms snapped out, looping around the priest's thin neck in a desperate chokehold.
Vaelith's gasp rasped sharp as splitting bone
"Wh—What is this?! Another one?!"
Bony fingers clawed at Ronette's arms, nails biting skin. But Ronette clung on, trembling but unyielding.
"Tell me how to kill the Vampire God!" Ronette barked, voice cracking with panic and resolve.
Vaelith's laugh was ragged, bitter as rot.
"Kill His Majesty? Fool! No blade can pierce him. No fire can burn him. He is the end and the beginning!"
Ronette's jaw locked. Arms tightened.
"Stop lying! Spit out the truth!"
The High Mourner's limbs jerked, breath hitching. His mouth moved, mumbling something faint.
"What? What did you say?" Ronette leaned in, straining to catch it.
A trail of foam bubbled at the corner of Vaelith's lips.
"Huh?"
With a gasp, Ronette released him.
Vaelith's body slumped to the stone with a quiet, final thud.
Ronette staggered back, heartbeat stuttering.
He knelt, fumbling for a pulse. Pressed his ear for breath.
Nothing.
"…Uh-oh."
Hands shook. Panic clawed up his throat.
'I… I accidentally killed him…'
His gaze darted to Louis—still dancing, still alive.
'What do I do? What should I do?!'
His gaze darted about the ruined chapel, desperate for some guiding sign—but there was nothing. Only the haunting melody of Louis's fiddle and the distant flutter of wings.
Then—clarity.
"Wait!" he whispered, eyes sparking. "Didn't Vaelith use a dagger to resurrect the Vampire God? If it brought him back… maybe it can send him back too?"
With renewed purpose, Ronette glanced at the lifeless body beside him.
"Could it be under his robe…?"
He swallowed hard, muttered a quick prayer for forgiveness, and began searching.
With shaking hands, he rifled through the blood-crusted robes, swallowing guilt.
Charms. Coins. Dried flowers.
Then—
Something cold. Solid.
He drew it free.
"There it is…" he breathed, eyes wide. "Got it!"
The dagger gleamed. Long, curved, etched with runes that pulsed faintly like a dying heartbeat. The hilt was dark as a starless sky.
Ronette exhaled, breath shaky.
"Now all we've got to do is stab it… right in the heart."
He blinked.
Smile faded.
"…The Vampire God has a heart, right?"
His gaze darted toward Louis.
His gaze drifted toward the ruins, where Louis still danced her duel, the creature striking again and again. Fluid, inhuman. Every movement is elegant. Terrifying.
Ronette tilted his head.
"…But where's the heart?"
He squinted toward the monstrous shape weaving through the air—its form a tangle of wings, limbs, and shadows too deep to understand. No obvious target. No clear anatomy.
He scratched his head, thinking hard. "Maybe the heart moves around. That's a thing, right?"
Across the rubble, Louis's glare speared him like a javelin.
She'd seen it all: the fumbled chokehold, the dagger discovery, and his blank confusion.
Her eyes narrowed.
Sharp. Unamused.
Ronette missed the warning completely.
Then—enlightenment.
"Aha! I don't know where the heart is—but we can just jab everywhere until something works!"
He stood tall, ridiculous resolve hardening in his chest.
'The worst plan… is still a plan.'
Gripping the dagger tight, Ronette sprinted toward chaos—hair flapping, face set in heroic panic.
Ahead—the ruin became an arena of death.
The Vampire God slashed, wings carving the air into shreds. Shadows swirled like living blades.
And Louis—
She twirled, cloak spinning, fiddle shrieking its raw hymn. Each note defiance made a sound. Each breath is a gamble.
It wasn't a fight.
It was a waltz with extinction.
And Ronette, dagger in hand, had chosen to crash the stage.