"Louis! I got the dagger!"
Ronette's voice cut through the ruin like a squeaky trumpet—bright, proud, and wildly out of place. He charged forward, face lit with childish triumph, dagger held aloft like a kid who'd fetched a prized stick.
For a heartbeat, even the ruin seemed to pause.
Then the Vampire God's head snapped toward the sound.
A blur of shadows and bone-white claws lunged.
"YEEP!" Ronette yelped, leaping back with windmill arms, boots skidding across blood-slick stone.
But before the monster could tear him apart, I moved.
One breath. One pivot.
With a firm grip on the neck of my fiddle, I swung it in a brutal arc—and brought it crashing down onto the Vampire God's skull.
BAAAAMMM!
Sound exploded through the ruin like thunder cracking marble. Dust leapt from the floor in wild spirals. Even the walls seemed to flinch.
The Vampire God toppled, limbs sprawling across shattered stone. Twitching. Stunned.
Ronette didn't waste a heartbeat. He skipped—yes, actually skipped—over the monster's collapsed form and ducked behind me like I was a fortress of wood and defiance.
"You okay, Louis?" he whispered, breath ragged, eyes hopeful and wide.
I lifted the fiddle, feeling a grin tug at my lips. "Yup! Thanks to me fiddle."
Ronette clapped, face shining as if he'd witnessed a saint's miracle. "To think… the fiddle was a holy sword all along," he breathed in awe.
Behind us, the Vampire God groaned—a low, rattling snarl that crawled down the spine.
"AAACCKK!" Ronette shrieked, leaping a foot into the air. "He's awake!"
I didn't hesitate. I raised the fiddle again—and smashed it down once more.
BAAAMM!
The ruin rang with the blow. The Vampire God's head slammed into stone, limbs twitching, then going slack.
I twirled the fiddle lightly, almost absently. "Huh. I never knew it had a stun effect."
Ronette's gaze flicked between the monster and the scuffed fiddle, mind racing.
'Maybe… it's not an ordinary fiddle… That explains the death-bound sounds every time Louis plays it…'
He nodded solemnly to himself, like a scholar confirming a grim prophecy.
Then he turned back to me, urgency sparking in his eyes. "What do we do now? You can't just keep smacking him. The fiddle's durability will hit zero, and then we'll have nothing to stop the Vampire God."
"Good point," I said, voice cool despite my racing heart. My gaze dropped to the dagger in his hand. "Wait a second… Ronette, what's that?"
"Oh!" His eyes lit up again. "Remember when that creepy priest used this to resurrect the Vampire God? I figured, maybe it can kill him too."
I blinked—then let a smile slip. "Oh? That's… actually a smart idea. Let's try it."
"Only problem is… we still don't know where his heart is."
"Don't worry about that," I said, gripping the dagger. "I'll keep stabbing, you keep smacking him with the fiddle. Just—control your strength, okay?"
Ronette drew himself up, nodding like a knight sworn to duty. "Roger that."
We moved into place: me straddling the monster's chest, dagger poised to strike; Ronette at the head, fiddle lifted high.
I tapped the blade lightly on the Vampire God's ribs, brows furrowing. "Where should I start?"
"Why not from the top?" Ronette offered.
I gave a little shrug. "Alrighty then. Following Ronette's suggestion!"
I drew in a breath—and stabbed.
Blood spurted in a hot arc, staining my coat and the broken floor with dark, glistening drops. A metallic scent filled the air, sharp enough to taste.
The Vampire God twitched.
WHACK!
Ronette brought the fiddle down, hands steady despite the terror burning in his eyes.
We found our rhythm. I stabbed, he struck. Again and again—blade biting through flesh, wood crashing down with ringing force. The ruin echoed with wet crunches and sharp cracks, a grotesque duet played over a fallen god.
Until finally—the Vampire God went still.
And then, as if a final breath left him, his form crumbled—bone, sinew, and shadows dissolving into fine ash. The ruin floor drank him in, and what remained scattered on a dying wind.
"We did it!" Ronette shouted, eyes alive with giddy disbelief.
I sagged onto my knees, chest heaving. "Yeah… finally…"
"I was freaking out when I noticed the stun effect was wearing off."
"Same."
Then—a low, rumbling groan rolled through the stone.
Ronette's smile froze. "Huh? What's going on, Louis?"
I glanced around—pillars cracking, dust cascading from the ceiling. "The ruins are collapsing. Time to bolt!"
That was all the warning needed.
We ran.
Stone cracked and boulders crashed around us, thunder chasing our every step. We dove through a half-shattered archway, lungs burning, legs numb.
At the exit, we leapt—
"ACK!"
"OOF!"
—and hit the ground face-first, stone biting skin and jarring bone.
A breath later, the ruin behind us fell in a roaring avalanche of stone and ancient dust, swallowing the Vampire God's domain forever.
I spat grit from my mouth. "Patooh!"
Ronette lay still. Too still.
My brow twitched. I stomped over—and smacked his backside.
"OW!" He clutched his butt, glaring up at me, pain mixing with indignation. "That hurt!"
"Then get moving, Ronette," I snapped, tugging him upright by the arm. "There's still time before the Harvest Festival ends."
He pushed himself to his feet with a theatrical groan. "You just want to enjoy the fresh crops with everyone, huh?" His grin was teasing, but soft around the edges.
"What? No!" I scoffed, eyes narrowing. "I'm going to play the cursed song with my fiddle."
"Oh… right. The cursed song…" His grin faltered. "I thought the bard was supposed to play it?"
"What? No one's playing my song!" My voice sharpened.
"But… no one wants you playing the fiddle…" he muttered under his breath.
My glare promised pain. He flinched, but I grabbed his arm again.
"Come on, pal. Let's get moving before it's too late."
Ronette grumbled, brushing dust from his sleeves. But before we left, he paused, glancing back at the smoldering ruin.
"It's really gone… huh?"
I followed his gaze. The heap of rubble stood silent, crowned with drifting ash.
"Yup. That's that," I murmured. "No more Vampire God."
"And the townsfolk are safe now," Ronette added softly, shoulders relaxing.
"We make a good Vampire God–slaying team," I said.
We clapped palms together—one crisp, dusty smack—and turned toward the road.
An hour later, the festival's glow rose to meet us.
Lanterns danced like drifting fireflies. The air smelled of cider, smoke, and spice. Children shrieked and wove through crowds, sugar-sticky hands trailing streamers in their wake.
Vendors hawked roasted nuts, sweet wine, and charms woven of wheat and crimson thread, their laughter carried on the breeze.
Just then—the old lady appeared behind us, as if she'd bloomed from the festival smoke.
"Hiiik!" Ronette and I yelped together, clutching each other like startled cats.
She only chuckled, voice warm and brittle. "Look at you two—bruised, dusty, limping. Go wash up. The Harvest Festival is nearly done—you wouldn't want to miss what's left."
We traded a look, nodded, and shuffled off—bone-tired but strangely light.
We scrubbed away ruin dust in the inn, swapped torn clothes for something that didn't reek of blood, and dragged ourselves back into the lantern-lit square.
Despite the bruises, we found strength to laugh. To run. To chase each other past game stalls and dodge through crowds like overgrown children.
We drank too-sweet cider, devoured fried pastries that scalded our tongues, and let laughter carry away the ruins' lingering chill.
And, inevitably, I made my move.
The moment the townsfolk saw the fiddle, panic lit their faces.
"Wait—no, not the fiddle!"
But I was too quick—slipping past arms, leaping barrels, cloak snapping like a banner.
Even Ronette scrambled after me, shouting about restraint and public safety, his voice cracking with desperation.
'Fools.'
I vaulted onto a rooftop, breath fogging in the night air. Lanterns glowed below, and the town square spread before me like a stage.
I raised my fiddle to the moon.
And played.
The first note cut the air—sharp, spectral, otherworldly.
Gasps broke from the crowd.
Then one by one, they crumpled—fainting mid-step, mugs and masks tumbling from slack hands.
Still, I played. Wild. Untamed. Notes soared like crows at dusk until the final chord faded into the sky.
I drew a deep bow, cloak swirling.
"Thank you, thank you! You've all been a wonderful audience."
When I looked down, the festival square was littered with unconscious bodies—sprawled like toppled marionettes.
Only Ronette stood, moving between them, checking pulses with grim patience.
At last, he looked up, relief softening his features. "Thank goodness… They're all still alive."
I wiped sweat from my brow, gaze drifting up to the stars. "My music must be so brilliant," I murmured, "that everyone fell into a deep, peaceful slumber."
And with that, laughter—soft, weary, unbreakable—echoed into the night.
So, under lanterns and drifting ash, the Harvest Festival came to its unforgettable close.