The chaotic dream dissolved, leaving behind a lingering horror like the taste of black blood still clinging to his throat. Jack gasped for breath, his chest aching not from the healed wound, but from the nightmare that had just ravaged his mind. Fragmented, desperate images of a girl and two children being seized haunted him. The feeling of helplessness as the darkness stole his consciousness, turning him into a bloodthirsty monster, still chilled him to the bone.
"Again…?" The old man's voice was hoarse, laced with resignation and a weary acceptance. Blood still trickled from his nose, drop by drop, like counting down his remaining time. The resolute glint in his eyes from moments ago had faded, replaced by utter exhaustion. "I've reached my limit…"
Jack staggered to his feet, his body feeling leaden. Each step he took towards the old man was heavy, trembling. His hand reached out, trying to force out the words caught in his throat. "Tell… me…"
The old man squinted slightly, his gaze fixed on Jack's bloodshot eyes. But then, a strange amber glow flickered in their depths. An unbelievable change. There's no other way… I'll have to gamble on this.
SWISH! For the second time, the Dragon Sword swung. Golden light flooded the chamber, but this time, everyone saw it clearly. That light was eroding the old man's very life force. Strands of his dark hair gradually turned silver-white. Deep wrinkles etched themselves onto his gaunt face. His life was draining away, bit by bit. The ragged breaths of the survivors echoed in the silent space as they huddled together, awaiting their grim fate.
"I WILL END YOU HERE AND NOW!" The old man roared, pouring the last of his strength into the strike.
WHOOSH! The sharp blade descended, aimed directly at Jack's head.
But—
"KHURK!"
The sword halted, its edge mere millimeters from Jack's pale forehead. No one could believe their eyes. Jack's bloodthirsty, vacant expression—was gone. The crimson, savage eyes—were no more. His eyes… now held a different color. Amber. The color of twilight. The color of a soul awakening. He was still a Vampire, his skin still deathly pale, his fangs still sharp, but his gaze… had changed. He looked up, meeting the old man's gaze. His eyes were resolute, holding something profoundly… human.
"WAIT!"
The voice was no longer the feral growl of a monster. It was a hoarse, trembling human voice, filled with panic and pleading. Jack stumbled back a step, his body shaking. "What… what did you do to me? Please… don't kill me. I… I have to find my wife and children…! They're in danger! Please!!"
Each word was choked, trembling like a leaf in the wind. A cold draft swept through the damp underground chamber. The surrounding survivors stared, their mouths agape, unable to comprehend what they were hearing. A notorious Vampire Lord… A ruthless killer… A heartless fiend… Now, begging for his life, with the desperate eyes of a human being. What the hell was happening?
The old man gripped the sword hilt tightly, his eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the amber, bewildered gaze of Jack. Then, a soft whisper escaped his lips, barely audible. "Cleanse…? Purified…?"
CLANG! The Dragon Sword fell to the ground, lodging crookedly in the cold stone floor, its golden light fading.
"Did… I do it…?" The old man murmured, collapsing to his knees, his entire body trembling as if electrocuted. "After seventy years… is this the truth…?" His voice broke, filled with utter disbelief, as if he couldn't trust his own eyes.
Jack frantically grabbed the old man's thin, trembling hand, his own eyes wide with panic. "What did you do to me!? Why… why can't I remember anything!?" A vast emptiness engulfed his mind, as if his entire past had been ripped away, the fragments of memory dissolving into a thick fog. Unfamiliar faces, choked voices in an endless darkness. He didn't know who he was.
But… the memories of Jack the Butcher… remained, vivid and repulsive. All the bloody massacres, all the desperate screams echoing in the night, all the souls he had crushed under his heel. He looked down at his pale hands, the fingers that had once been stained crimson. "I… am a Vampire? No way… Have I… killed so many people…? How disgusting…" His throat tightened, his chest aching as if an invisible hand was squeezing it. A vile nausea surged, not from his stomach, but from the depths of his soul.
Then suddenly—a memory flashed, clear and agonizing. His family. His wife. His children. They were in danger! Without a moment's hesitation, Jack lunged towards the doorway, a powerful urge compelling him to act.
—SWISH!
A rough, cold hand clamped down on his wrist. The old man.
"CALM YOURSELF!"
Jack struggled, his eyes pleading, filled with urgency. "I HAVE TO FIND THEM! I HAVE TO SAVE THEM! PLEASE, LET GO!"
But the old man held firm. "I WILL HELP YOU! BUT YOU MUST LISTEN TO ME!"
Jack froze, his breath ragged. He looked into the old man's weary but earnest eyes. There was no hatred there. No contempt. Only a stark truth.
But… the surrounding survivors did not share that gaze. They began to whisper, venomous murmurs spreading through the damp air. "GET HIM OUT OF HERE! GET LOST! OLD MAN, GET OUT WITH HIM! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO BROUGHT THE END OF THE WORLD! THAT'S RIGHT! THE LEGENDS ARE TRUE! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO CAUSED ALL THIS!"
They had forgotten who had just saved them from the brutal Vampire Lord's blade. They had forgotten who had fought for them, protected them from the darkness. All was twisted by primal fear.
"Human hearts…" The old man sighed softly, his gaze lowered, silent. Those bitter accusations, he had heard them his entire life. But at this moment… his heart only cared for one person. Jack.
He gripped Jack's cold hand firmly, his eyes resolute. Jack trembled. He felt lost, like a newborn in a strange and terrifying world. He didn't know who he was, didn't know what had truly happened. He only knew one thing for certain—he didn't want to kill anymore. He didn't want to be the monster that the horrifying memories etched in his mind portrayed.
And amidst the chaos and the bitter accusations—there was a pair of eyes silently watching him. A girl, her head covered by a tattered scarf, stood huddled in the crowd of screaming survivors. She said nothing, showed no fear, and didn't curse him like the others. She simply stood there. And watched Jack. Her gaze was sharp, emotionless, like an icy blade. No one knew what she was thinking, no one knew what she was waiting for. Only one thing was certain—she had noticed Jack.
And it was no coincidence.