"There are two of them," Marcel said as he walked over to stand beside me, his voice calm, though not without that familiar edge of recklessness.
"Which one do you want to face?" I asked, eyes locked on the two figures that had stepped out of the dome. The Higher Vampires stood aloof and commanding, surveying the battlefield like lords watching a storm they had no intention of weathering themselves.
Marcel squinted. "Ah, what the hell. I'll take the one on the right."
Without hesitation, he strode to the edge of the wall and jumped. The action caught me off guard, forcing me to rush to the ledge to check if he was alright. Of course, he was. Marcel Raven, stabbed clean through the abdomen only three days ago, now strolled across the battlefield like a man late for an appointment.
"Thorpe," I said, glancing toward the commander. "This what you had in mind?"
"Yes, my lord," Thorpe replied. "We believe we can manage the horde. But the vampires especially the High Vampires are another matter. So instead, we're employing a more streamlined method."
"Streamlined," I muttered, letting the word linger a moment before exhaling and leaping from the battlements. The wind tugged at my cloak. The ground met me like an old rival firm, sudden, familiar. I straightened and dusted myself off, setting my pace toward the other High Vampire.
I didn't get halfway.
Three cultists intercepted me, cloaked in dark rags and soaked in madness. One lunged in with a tomahawk aimed for my neck.
"Well, well. What do we have here?" I muttered, parrying with my blade.
"Submit to your fate," the cultist growled, bearing down. "This is what you deserve for daring to deprive the Master of what is his."
A tingle ran down my spine a second presence. I shifted instinctively and narrowly avoided a pair of knives. Another cultist. This one circled around, his eyes wild and fanatical.
"You and your people won't see another sunrise!" he shrieked, slashing as he rushed in.
I met his frenzy with calm, parrying with deliberate precision. When he lunged, I drove a boot into his stomach, sending him tumbling. The tomahawk-wielder surged again, only to meet my blade. A clean counter flung him back across the dirt.
But as I reset my stance, a thought struck me. Three had approached me. I'd only dealt with two.
A sharp pain bloomed in my side. I looked down blood. A hole torn clean through my left flank. I turned just in time to see the third cultist, wielding a chained mace, its head stained and glinting. I barely had time to react before the tomahawk came again. I moved to parry, but it was a feint. The real strike hit my other side, and pain exploded anew.
With a stomp and burst of strength, I leapt out of their encirclement. My breathing was labored. I was bleeding on both sides, and the mace-wielder had reach he could manipulate it mid-air like a dancer spinning a flail.
"Good work, Kai," the tomahawk-wielder chuckled. "We'll be the ones to kill him and earn Lord Ghestin's favor. Maybe we'll even be turned officers in his court."
"Don't get cocky," said Kai, the mace-bearer. "We caught him off guard. Now he knows. No more rushing in, Trent."
"Yeah, yeah," Trent muttered and immediately charged.
He hurled his tomahawk. I raised my sword and parried, expecting it to fall harmlessly. It didn't. With a flick of his wrist, Trent called it back. A nearly invisible wire yanked it midair, dragging it toward my side like a predator lunging for the kill.
"You thought you'd be facing one of the High Nobles of Ghestin's court?" said the knife-wielder, circling. "You overestimate yourself. Accept your death."
"Sorry to disappoint," I replied, tone dry. "I'm not really the 'do as I'm told' type."
I surged forward faster than they expected. Surprise flickered across their faces as they moved in tandem, weapons raised. But just as quickly, I stepped back. Testing them.
"Shit," Kai growled. "He's a vampire. He's been holding back."
"He's wounded," the knife cultist added. "But if he loses control, he'll drain us to recover. We have to eliminate him now. Even I'll admit he's of the superior race."
Kai spun the mace, sending it crashing toward me. I dodged left as Trent's tomahawk followed. But this time, I didn't sidestep entirely I caught the handle mid-swing.
With a vicious tug, I yanked.
Trent, still tethered, flew toward me like a rag doll. In one motion, I released the weapon, grabbed his head, and launched into the air. My fangs sank into his neck with a wet, cracking sound. His companions screamed his name from below, but I didn't care.
The blood flowed freely. My wounds began to mend. By the time I landed, I was nearly healed. I dropped the corpse without ceremony.
The other two charged, rage blinding them. Perfect.
Freshly fed, I was faster stronger.
I moved to strike, blade humming through the air but just before impact, something stopped it.
A crimson blade. It shimmered briefly into existence, parrying my swing with unnatural precision.
I stepped back, stunned. Then I saw him.
Slicked-back silver hair, eyes barely open but burning with that ancient crimson glow. Pale skin etched with sigils like old battle scars. A high-collared cloak draped over a body that seemed almost too calm for this chaos. Floating rings orbited him, their hum palpable. Each ring forged of blood those were the source of the blades.
The High Vampire I was meant to face.
He smiled.
A calm, chilling smile.
"I am Viza," he said, voice smooth and sharp like a dagger wrapped in silk. "And I will now be your opponent."