They ran. Elara was a phantom, a black-clad shadow flowing through the city's concrete canyons with a speed that was barely human. Leo's lungs burned, his legs screaming in protest, but he forced himself to keep up, fueled by terror and a desperate, surging hope. She was a hunter on the trail, and he would not be left behind.
The scent led them to the industrial outskirts, to a vast, skeletal structure that loomed against the night sky—an under-construction super mart. It was a hollow cathedral of steel beams and concrete floors, the perfect lair for a new monster.
As they crept toward a gaping, unfinished entrance, a flicker of movement in the periphery caught Leo's eye. He glanced over and froze. Leaning against a concrete pillar, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a temporary construction light, was a man. He was dressed in a flamboyant, old-fashioned red suit, with a pair of large, round red glasses perched on his nose. The man looked funny, out of place, and impossibly, achingly familiar. Leo's panicked mind struggled to place him—some very famous musician who sang funny, popular songs. The man gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod in their direction.
"Elara, look—" Leo whispered, turning to point.
He looked back. The pillar was empty. The man was gone. There was no sound, no sign he had ever been there. The stress must be getting to him. A dream, a hallucination. There was no time. Shaking his head, he ran into the mart after Elara.
Inside, the space was cavernous and echoing. The air was thick with the smell of dust, damp concrete, and blood. In the center of the vast floor, illuminated by a few harsh work lights, the scene was laid out like a twisted play.
Mike and Sam were on their knees, bleeding from cuts on their faces. Two of Kross's new vampires held them in iron grips, their fangs resting lightly on the boys' necks. And sitting on a stack of wooden pallets like a king on a throne, was Kross. He was healed, whole, and radiating an aura of triumphant, malevolent power.
The moment he saw them, Elara's form blurred. She was a bolt of vengeance, ready to strike.
"Ah-ah-ah," Kross chided, waving a casual hand. The two vampires holding her friends tightened their grips. Mike and Sam both cried out in pain. "No sudden moves."
Elara froze mid-stride, her body a coiled spring of lethal intent.
"I knew you'd come," Kross said, rising to his feet and stretching luxuriously. "You're predictable. Protective of your little pets." He strode towards her, his eyes blazing with red-hot hatred. "I want you to stand right there. Don't move a muscle. Don't even think about healing too fast. Or they both die."
Leo watched in horror, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was a trap, and they had walked right into it.
"You see," Kross purred, circling Elara like a shark. "The problem with you creatures, you women, is you don't understand order. You disrupt things. You need to be taught your place."
He stopped in front of her. "And I am a very good teacher."
His first kick was a brutal, driving blow to her stomach. The sound of the impact echoed in the vast space. Elara grunted, her body absorbing the force, but she did not fight back. She stood there, her jaw clenched, her eyes locked on Mike and Sam.
"What's wrong?" Kross taunted, grabbing her by the hair and slamming his knee into her side. "Not so tough now, are you? Where's all that strength?"
He began to beat her. Kicks, punches, brutal strikes with the edge of his hand. He was a man possessed, pouring all of his humiliation, his rage, his shattered pride into every blow.
And she just stood there. She took it all. Her body rocked with the impacts, blood trickled from the corner of her lip, but she did not raise a hand to defend herself. Her regeneration was working, knitting her flesh back together under the surface, but the pain was real, the humiliation absolute. She was enduring it, paying a price in agony to keep her friends safe.
Leo was frozen, tears of rage and helplessness streaming down his face. He was watching the strongest person he had ever known be systematically broken, and there was nothing he could do. This was Kross's true victory—not just to hurt her body, but to force her to submit, to destroy her spirit while her terrified, helpless friends were forced to watch.