As night passed into morning, Znozor was roused from his deep, dreamless sleep by Branoc, who shook him urgently by the shoulder. The vampire child's small hands were surprisingly strong, and his voice carried a sharp edge of impatience. "Wake up! Wake up, now!" Znozor groaned, yawning widely, his mind still clouded with the fog of exhaustion. He blinked against the pre‑dawn gloom—the sky was still a deep indigo, the stars barely fading, and the forest floor remained shrouded in shadow. "Why are you waking me so early?" he grumbled, pulling his cloak tighter. "The sun hasn't even risen—it's still dark out there."
Branoc's eyes gleamed with a fierce purpose. He leaned in close and said, his voice low but charged with energy, "It's time!" Znozor, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, asked with a puzzled frown, "Time for what?" Branoc gestured downward with a sharp nod. "For these disgusting creatures to go back into their holes. Look—they're already starting to stir toward their burrows." Indeed, below them, the massive scorpions were beginning to move with a new direction, their earlier chaotic patrols giving way to an orderly retreat toward the gaping holes from which they had emerged.
Znozor squinted, still groggy, and questioned why it was necessary to wake up so early in the morning just to watch the scorpions return to their holes. "Couldn't we have just slept through it?" he muttered, his voice thick with sleep. Branoc's response was curt and sharp as a blade: "It's also time to kill them." Znozor was taken aback, his drowsiness evaporating in an instant. He sat up straight, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind?" he protested, his voice rising. "Why kill them when they're going to leave anyway? They're retreating—let them go! We're safe up here."
Branoc silenced him with a stern, hissing "Stay silent," and pressed a finger to his own lips. His gaze was fixed on the scene below, and Znozor, despite his confusion, clamped his mouth shut. The scorpions began retreating into their holes in earnest as the first faint glow of the sun painted the eastern horizon in hues of pink and gold. The creatures moved with surprising speed, their armored bodies disappearing into the earth one by one. Almost all of them had vanished into the darkness of their subterranean lairs, leaving only a handful of stragglers that scurried desperately toward safety.
As the last few stragglers attempted to slip into their holes, Branoc moved with lightning precision. From his pocket, he produced a small slingshot—its frame carved from twisted, dark wood—and loaded it with a black, shimmering orb that seemed to absorb the dim light around it. He pulled back the elastic cord, took aim, and released. The ball shot through the air with a faint whistle and struck the nearest scorpion square in the back. Upon impact, a small but violent explosion erupted, and the scorpion was instantly engulfed in crackling flames that burned with an unnatural violet hue. The creature let out a piercing, agonized scream—a sound like scraping metal—as it writhed and tried to drag itself into its hole, but the fire consumed it before it could escape. Two more stragglers met the same fate: each black orb found its mark, and each scorpion burst into searing flame, their death cries echoing through the forest.
Branoc seemed to relish the spectacle, a grim smile curling his lips as he watched the creatures burn. He let out a satisfied huff, then swiftly threw a rope down from the treetop, its end landing with a soft thud on the ground below. Znozor, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleepiness, watched the entire display with a mixture of horror and disbelief. He remarked lazily, shaking his head, "What a crazy guy!" But he made no move to stop him.
Branoc descended from the tree with remarkable haste, sliding down the rope as if he had done it a thousand times. He rushed toward the now‑dead scorpions, their bodies still smoking and twitching in the final spasms of death. From his belt, he produced a small bamboo flask container and a delicate knife with a curved blade. He knelt beside the largest carcass and, with practiced skill, began to extract venom from the scorpions' stingers. He worked quickly, carefully incising the bulbous sac at the base of each stinger and letting the thick, amber‑colored liquid drip into the flask. He moved from corpse to corpse, harvesting every drop with the efficiency of a seasoned hunter.
Znozor eventually climbed down and joined him on the ground, his boots crunching on the charred remains. He watched Branoc work for a moment, then asked, his voice genuinely curious, "Why did you kill all these scorpions? You could have just let them go and collected venom from dead ones later—if you needed it, that is." Branoc glanced up, his hands still busy with the knife, and replied with a hint of exasperation, "Can't you see? I needed this venom for my spider bullets. These creatures have the purest nocturnal poison—it's essential for my weaponry."
Znozor tilted his head, still puzzled. "But why were you in such a hurry? You could have collected the venom easily now that you've killed them. They're not going anywhere." Branoc shook his head and explained, his tone growing urgent, "As the sun rises and it gets brighter, the scorpions will burn and disappear into ash—completely, without a trace. Their bodies evaporate under direct sunlight. If I hadn't killed them and harvested the venom right now, I would have lost the chance entirely. By the time the full sun hits this clearing, there will be nothing left but dust."
Znozor's eyes widened with understanding. "Wow, I didn't know that," he admitted, a note of apology in his voice. "You should hurry, then—don't let me distract you." Branoc snapped back, "Shut up!" but there was no real venom in his words—only the focused tension of a craftsman racing against the dawn. He continued collecting, scraping, and draining, his movements swift and precise. After several tense minutes, he had filled the bamboo flask to the brim with glistening venom. He let out a long, relieved sigh, capping the flask and tucking it safely into his satchel.
As the first rays of full sunlight broke through the canopy, the strange scorpion carcasses began to sizzle and smoke. Within moments, they turned to fine, gray ash, which scattered on the morning breeze, leaving no trace behind—not a claw, not a stinger, not a single drop of blood. The forest floor was pristine, as if the night's horrors had never occurred.
Znozor, still brimming with questions, asked, "Now what are you going to do with that venom? You've gone to all this trouble—it must be for something important." Branoc looked down at his feet, a rare flicker of embarrassment crossing his pale features. He confessed, his voice softer now, "I needed this venom to save my people." He went on to explain that deep within the heart of the forest, there was a hidden cave—a sanctuary where his family and the last remnants of his verdant vampire kin had taken refuge. But outside that cave, a giant monster had taken up residence—a beast of immense size and power, with hide that could not be pierced by normal swords or arrows. For weeks, Branoc had been working on a solution: venomous bullets, crafted from the concentrated poison of the night scorpions, which would be strong enough to penetrate the monster's thick hide and deliver a fatal dose. He had been gathering ingredients for months, and this was his final batch.
Znozor listened intently, his earlier laziness completely forgotten. He felt a surge of empathy for the child—this strange, fierce, lonely child who had saved his life. Without hesitation, he said, his voice firm, "I'll assist you in killing that giant monster. You don't have to face it alone." Branoc's face lit up with pure, unbridled joy. He jumped in the air, clapping his hands together, and exclaimed, "Yippee! Together, you and I can definitely kill that giant monster. With your strange desert magic and my venom bullets, we'll be unstoppable!"
Znozor nodded, a determined smile on his face. "You work on your bullets—finish them and make sure they're ready. I'll go find some food for us. We'll need our strength for the battle ahead." He then set off toward the river, his steps light with newfound purpose, leaving Branoc to carefully craft his deadly ammunition in the warm glow of the rising sun. The forest around them was peaceful once more, but both knew that a greater danger awaited them—and that their unlikely partnership was only just beginning.