"And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you."
Ephesians 4:32
For a couple of minutes, Tristan sat conversing with Drusilla. She took delight in teasing and prodding him. The demon had never thought he would be able to tolerate this amount of disrespect and mockery from any being other than his superiors.
"Just think about it as training. You can't easily be riled up in this line of work. Or you'll bring shame to the Nocturne name with your shenanigans," she explained cheekily.
"I am not a member of your worthless family. Don't lump me in with you inferiors." Tristan narrowed his eyes at her.
She raised her hands in defence. "Hey, I'm not the one who agreed to work for the Nocturne family. Whether you like it or not, you're a member of the family by affiliation."
Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering when his belongings would return so he could be rid of her.
"Drusilla," he called out.
The vampire tilted her head, giving him her full attention.
"The word 'halo'. What does it mean?"
He already had a rough idea that it wasn't a word used pleasantly, judging by the way Terry had thrown it around.
"It's a derogatory name used to address Seraphites, common among Netherites. What's up? Did someone here call you that?" she asked, curiosity gnawing at her.
The demon dismissed her with a wave.
"I assure you, any problems I encounter here will disappear as quickly as they appear. Save your concern for yourself."
Drusilla inched closer, narrowing her eyes at him, mischief dancing in her eyes.
"Did you kill anyone, Tristan? We talked about this," she said.
"Unfortunately, I did not. Looking back, I wish I did. You vampires are very insolent creatures," Tristan smirked.
Drusilla was about to reply when she heard a knock at her door. In an instant, Tristan was at the door, the hairs on his body standing on end.
"Identify yourself," he said bluntly.
"It's Brandon. I have the items as requested—"
The door suddenly swung open. Tristan grabbed the shopping bags from the vampire and shut the door in his face.
Brandon grumbled as he stomped away.
Fucking prick.
Meanwhile, Drusilla watched everything play out.
"Impressive work, Tristan Ashborne! A little less aggression and you'll make the perfect, discreet bodyguard," she commended.
Tristan opened the bag and examined its contents.
Clothes and shoes. What difference does it make?
The demon was glad he hadn't grown up in an environment where something as insignificant as clothing mattered. He had been hardened by Hell's harsh conditions and moulded by physical suffering.
"You like 'em? I instructed Brandon on what to get to match your style. Since you left your appearance up to me, I can style you as I see fit: my very own mannequin!"
Tristan set down the shopping bags on the table. Being referred to as a mannequin was infuriating, but it wasn't the worst thing she had called him.
"The clothes will do. Now, the event—"
Drusilla let out a loud groan.
"We need to discuss the details—"
Another groan.
The demon scowled at her.
"Can I speak, vampire?"
She walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a blood bag.
"Can you stop being an asshole?"
That's it.
Tristan began walking towards her, his irises glowing like suns.
"I have had just about enough of your abuse and insolence. You, a pathetic vampire, dare to mock me?" he snarled, ichor slowly building in his core. "I ought to terminate this business agreement along with your life!" he roared.
By now, he was face-to-face with her, staring down in anger. The warmth of his ragged breath grazed her face.
"By all means, Tristan: kill me. But I want to remind you of something: you are on Nocturne family grounds. The second my head hits the ground, you would be met by the full force of our family and its allies," she said, her gaze unfaltering.
"Yes, your supposed family. The same family that has been infiltrated and compromised. From what you explained, those ants would care less if I spat on your corpse!" He sneered.
Drusilla raised the blood bag to her lips and took a long drink.
"Yes, Tristan, that family. The family that has survived and grown in power for centuries, almost aeons. The family with enough fighting forces to rival a small army!" She bared her fangs.
"It matters not how large your forces are; I will tear through them without effort! Vampires are NOTHING to me!"
Drusilla let out a small laugh.
"Are you sure? You Seraphites seem so confident in your abilities. Yet I stand here, informing you that I know people who could squash you like a bug, Tristan. Like a fucking bug. So choose: tangle with little Drusilla here and risk getting torn to shreds by the full force of the Nocturne family, or be a good partner and bodyguard and calm the fuck down!" she roared with finality.
Tristan's anger swelled, ichor slowly seeping from his fists.
Me, Traz'gaxaun, a bug?
"You bluff!" he growled.
"Try me, Tristan," she hissed.
The demon was surprised by her sudden outburst. Perhaps he had misread the vampire's character.
Part of him wanted to see how powerful an ancient family was. He could already visualise the bloodshed as he tore through their ranks. Then he recalled the warnings of the entranced police officer in the forest. There were forces on this plane that could rival and possibly defeat him as of now. The thought made him hesitate.
This one is more trouble than she is worth.
Ultimately, he decided against attacking her.
"Very well, vampire—"
She shook her head.
"My name isn't vampire, Tristan. It's Drusilla. Now, I don't know what vendetta or beef you have against vampires, but it's important you squash it or swallow it for now. You cannot protect what you despise." She scowled.
"Understood, Drusilla. What was it that was so serious that you had to interrupt me twice?" he asked blankly.
Drusilla took one last sip of her drink and returned it to the refrigerator.
"We need to work on a few things. Your attitude is a good start, Tristan. I can only tolerate you being such a prick for so long."
Tristan raised an eyebrow in confusion.
Tolerate me? The nerve of this mortal. All he had done from the start of their encounter was tolerate her.
"From now on, you need to try your utmost best to be nicer. Not just to me, but to the people around you. Put up an act if you must. Just don't be a prick."
Tristan pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Why must I go through imaginary hoops and perform mental gymnastics to gain the favour of weaklings?" he protested.
"Well, for starters, being nice helps sometimes. You get on people's good side."
Tristan just stared, clearly uninterested.
The vampire slapped her forehead and shook her head.
"Think about it as a battle strategy. If you're nice to someone, you can request their help in certain situations, and they're likely to agree. Worst-case scenario, if you're nice enough, you could get through someone's defences and gut them from behind!"
She reached behind herself, miming a blade driving into her own back.
Tristan wasn't interested in asking any mortals for help; his ego wouldn't allow it.
What could I do that these ants couldn't?
But the second suggestion interested him. If there were a way he could eliminate a target with ease without drawing suspicion to himself, he wouldn't turn it down. If all it cost was being nice, he didn't mind giving it a go.
"I'll do my best. But my patience has a threshold, and a very low one at that. You and others will be wise to respect it," he said, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.
Drusilla's scowl was replaced by a cheeky grin.
"That's the spirit, Tristan. Thank you for understanding. Respect is all I have for you. That doesn't mean I won't make jest of you, though," she grinned.
"Now that is out of the way, what's the plan for tomorrow?" Tristan asked.
Drusilla shrugged.
"I don't know. By the way, are you hungry? I know you love apple juice, but surely that isn't enough to keep your hunger at bay."
Tristan closed his eyes, the veins in his temples bulging.
Drusilla waved her hands in protest.
"Dude, calm down! There isn't exactly a plan—we aren't infiltrating a fortress. I'll drive you to the portal venue and give you the exact coordinates to the place. Punch in the coordinates, and you should find yourself at the event venue. Not a big deal," she explained.
This vampire...
"We wouldn't be intercepted on our trip? No traps of any kind? It seems too easy," Tristan replied.
"Of course it's easy; this is just the trip! Unless an attempt is made on my life—which I doubt will occur—it should be a normal drive through New York City. The event, on the other hand, will be competitive, but I trust you wouldn't struggle with that," she said.
The demon smirked to himself; he couldn't wait to test the ability he had stolen from Pearce.
I hope these Seraphites are as strong as they are portrayed. I'd hate to accidentally break one.
"And you? Aren't you coming along? I can't protect you from that far away."
Drusilla clasped her hands beneath her chin, her eyes widening in exaggerated innocence.
"Aww, you already miss me? Since you asked so nicely, I'll accompany you as moral support."
Tristan narrowed his eyes in annoyance.
"I never said anything about missing you; I couldn't care less. It would be a shame if you got killed while I crushed those weaklings at the tournament; that's why I asked."
The vampire laughed, clutching her sides.
"Classic Tristan response. But seriously, are you sure you don't want anything to eat?" she asked.
The demon remembered the food courts he had walked past. None of the delicacies had caught his fancy, but to prevent suspicion, he would have to eat eventually.
"Later. I need to focus on the battle ahead," he replied bluntly.
"Alright, then..." Her voice softened into a velvety murmur. "I'm going to shower before the event. Care to join me?"
She drifted toward the bathroom, stopping at the entrance. With one shoulder resting against the doorframe, she tilted her head, looking at him with a small, teasing smile.
Tristan simply stared at her.
"Why would I want to shower with you? I already showered. Besides, it's more efficient if you—"
Bang!
The door slammed shut, abruptly ending his speech.
Mortals and their strange customs.
A few minutes later, Drusilla emerged from the shower dressed in a short black dress and long, lace-up boots. She advised him to spend the rest of the day relaxing and mentally preparing for the challenge ahead, which he promptly declined.
Eventually, he left her room and returned to his own with his new clothes. Tristan spent the rest of the day controlling the flow of his ichor. Once in a while, he formed a ball of light energy in his palm, condensing and enlarging it however he saw fit.
Yet another diamond left in a pigsty. These Seraphites are fraudulent creatures.
Before he knew it, D-Day had arrived.
The sun greeted him as he parted the curtains.
At last: the day cometh.
A knock came from behind.
"Tristan. Lady Drusilla sent for you. She says you should meet her at the hotel's exit," a voice came from outside.
Tristan took one last glance at himself in the mirror, making sure his disguise was still intact. He then made his way to the exit, where he found Drusilla waiting.
"On time! Let's go," she said, gesturing for him to follow.
The duo exited the hotel and entered a black limousine parked outside.
As Drusilla had anticipated, the ride was swift and safe. Tristan found himself watching the citizens of New York City as they went about their day-to-day lives. Some hurried along the sidewalks with their heads buried in their phones, while others stood outside restaurants and shops, laughing amongst themselves. Occasionally, he spotted people who dragged their feet, their eyes void of emotion and will to live.
Every corner seemed to hold an entire reality of its own, giving the city a life of its own.
Before he realised it, the engine's hum faded, and it was time to exit the vehicle.
Drusilla led him into a wide hall crowded with people and noise. Tristan recognised these machines from his brief time at the research facility. Portals lined the far wall in a long row, each one humming faintly, with attendants stationed beside them, checking people through in slow, uneven lines.
Drusilla didn't join any of them.
She pulled Tristan by the arm straight past the crowd toward one of the portals near the end, where a small panel sat mounted beside the frame. She entered a code without pausing, her fingers moving quickly over the buttons.
Hopefully this one is in another voidzone.
The portal's hum shifted, then brightened.
She stepped through without a word.
Tristan followed.
The venue opened up before Tristan, bright colours flooding his vision.
He had seen the grandeur of Logzeros Hotel, but he never imagined there could be a place that surpassed it.
Buildings stretched across the vast grounds, towering columns reaching towards the heavens. Tall fences surrounded the enormous property, while gardens, courtyards, and pathways disappeared into the distance.
Mortals and their vanity.
Around the buildings, people of different races interacted with one another as they made their way into the main building.
"Relax, Tristan. At this rate, your jaw will be scraping the floors," Drusilla chuckled, causing Tristan to inspect his neck and jaw.
"Welcome to The Ascendants Academy. Once we meet my contact, I'll have to leave you, but I'll be in the stands watching your performance. Be on your best behaviour," she said, signalling to a woman who appeared to be searching for something.
"And one more thing: don't kill anyone. This is an exam, not a slaughterhouse. Good luck!"
She gave him a tap on the back, earning her a scowl.
It's unfortunate I cannot showcase the full extent of my abilities. At least I can inflict some harm on these insects.
The demon could barely remember how the blood of another felt running down his fingers. He needed to sate his battlelust.
"Good morning, Lady Drusilla. I'm assuming this is our aspiring Ascendant?"
The woman gave Tristan a warm smile.
"He better be. Made me use my last favour. Watch over him, will you?" Drusilla whispered.
The demon merely scoffed and brushed past the two, ignoring their conversation.
The lady quickly followed him, lightly adjusting her blouse and fluffing her hair.
"Tristan Ashborne. Quite the name, I must say. From the looks of things, you're a noble?" she asked.
The mention of nobility brought a bad taste to Tristan's mouth as he remembered how those who were seen as 'royalty' treated him.
"No. Quite the opposite," he replied coldly.
Shades of red crept across the lady's cheeks.
"I'm sorry for assuming; it's a habit in my line of work. I'm Dorothy, a talent scout," she said, extending her hand for a handshake.
Tristan simply stared at it until she redrew it, her cheeks still visibly red.
"I'll escort you to the waiting area where you'll meet the other contestants. Aren't you excited?" Dorothy beamed.
"Not at all. I can't kill anyone. What exactly should excite me about this bland event?" he grumbled.
The woman's sudden silence already warned him that something was wrong.
Fragile mortals.
He immediately remembered Drusilla's advice.
"I was being sarcastic. Ignore my words."
Dorothy looked at Tristan with a mixture of confusion and fright.
That's not even how sarcasm works.
"Y-You know what? Feel free to roam the academy's grounds. The event begins in an hour. When you get into the main building, take the nearest right. You'll be escorted to the waiting area."
Dorothy slowly walked away from Tristan.
Drusilla, what trouble have you dragged me into this time?
Once Dorothy had left the premises, Tristan began to wander.
He found himself watching the Seraphites again. Everything he saw made him loathe them even more: from their brazen, prideful speech to their obsession with grandeur.
Yet, despite his hatred, he couldn't deny the scale of the academy.
The grounds seemed to stretch endlessly, with students and staff moving through the courtyards in an organised frenzy. Some carried books beneath their arms, while others gathered in groups, discussing amongst themselves.
Tristan's eyes moved from one structure to another.
So this is where they cultivate their strongest.
He stalked the halls, watching students pass by. Some wore expressions of confidence; others were visibly nervous. A few of them glanced in his direction before continuing on their way.
Focusing his senses, the demon could sense the strength of their ichor.
Most were weak, not even enough to get his blood pumping.
Then, suddenly, his instincts flared.
Could it be?
He felt the flare again, and this time, there was no mistaking it.
It seems Drusilla wasn't lying; there are some strong mortals at this academy!
For the first time since arriving, Tristan's contempt was accompanied by something else.
Interest.
Perhaps this won't be as boring as I thought.
A distant bell rang across the academy grounds.
The sound echoed between the towering buildings, and the crowd began to shift towards the main building.
Tristan looked towards the enormous structure at the heart of the academy.
The examination was approaching.
His lips curled into a sinister smile.
At long last.
He turned and began walking towards the main building.
Whatever awaited him inside, Tristan Ashborne intended to make his presence known.
Even if he couldn't have fun, he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to test his mettle against powerful foes.
The thought alone made his blood run hot.
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, Tristan wasn't walking towards something with contempt.
He was walking towards a challenge.
Let us see if this world has finally produced something worthy of Traz'gaxaun.