"Lillian, look out!"
The 'child' pounced to bite its fangs on the adults, and as it was going for Lillian's neck—
Asver blocked it with his arm.
"Grahhh!"
"Asver!!!!"
"Go." Asver winced. "It's too late now. Alert everyone that vampirism has spread and done an immediate check for bite marks. Who knows how long Asvian had been infected or who else was bitten."
"But Asver, you—" Tears fell into Lillian's eyes as she tried to hug the both of them, but Asver push her aside as Asvian kept sucking on his blood.
"Don't come closer." Asver gave a smile, but his eyes were just as full to the brim with tears. "I'm sorry I was so careless to let this happen. Tell the Huntsmen that I'm sorry as well. I'll fix this, just go!"
Lillian knows what he was going to do to 'fix' this situation and she cannot accept it, but somehow, her legs managed to move and she ran back to the nearest digging site.
Asver did not let go of Asvian's head and just let the now nearly vampire child turn him as well. He then pulled them by the hair, causing even his flesh to be yanked off by those teeth, and proceed to hold the small child's neck on both sides with a firm grip...
"I'm sorry..... Go to heaven for me, okay? If God would allow it, I will follow with you and I'll finally have time to fulfill my promise to play with you." It took all Asver's power to do this. "Sob.... Sob.... I'm sorry, kid...."
SNAP! Pop goes the weasel.
Asvian laid limp on the ground, their head on an irregular angle.
Asver took the child that he had loved and cared for in his arms, and screamed. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
It doesn't matter that they were not related by blood. It does not matter if they barely spent a month with each other. Asvian was his own, and Lillian's and all the Huntsmens'. A symbol of hope like that patched-up stuffed weasel they carry along, still staying together despite the many stitches it has.
Asver could feel his own pulse quickening and his chest tighten. The child had nearly drunk him dry so his transformation will be coming sooner. He took out his dagger, and looked up to the sky....
"I don't even know if you are real. But I hope, you would be proud of me, despite not following all of your 'laws'. Despite committing the 'sin' of being myself." Asver took off his cloak and kneeled, bowing down three times. "I leave my life and the fate of my most beloved to you, O Lord. In Nomine Draconis."
He gave his final prayer before he plunged the dagger into his heart.
----------------------
Horses and Huntsmen rushed to the site of the incident, but there was nothing else to see. The moment Lilian told them, they already knew what to expect.
"He is a martyr." Rothfir got down from his steed and closed Asver's eyes. "Take the bodies and make sure they receive the most honorable burial."
"No!!!! Brother!!!!" The Huntswoman with the red hair wept at the sight and hugged the corpse.
The bodies were wrapped in cloth carried where they had last set up camp and everyone was told to stop digging up graves and was told to set up a pyre. It's so the bodies will be burned to avoid any chance of them returning from death as bloodthirsty monsters.
It is also considered the most honorable funeral rite, and mostly done for nobilities and generals who have sacrificed their bodies in battle.
Some were horrified of the sight, eyes bulging with fear that they may end up like this. Some were writhing in anger and guilt that they weren't able to see the signs and do anything about it. While some are resigned to this kind of fate, eyes downcast and losing what little hope they have.
Of course, some were also in denial and still could not believe what they're seeing. They have been protective of each other so far as survivors, indiscriminate, and working together. Sure, there were some tussles and misunderstandings here and there, but they watched out for each other's safety. How is it possible that vampirism reached them again?
Vicar Garien was one of those who were shocked. "What happened to Vera—"
"Do not call him that, Garien." Rothfir frowned. "His name is Asver."
"I'm sorry. I was used to.... his former name." Vicar Garien knew them personally since he grew up on the same Chapel after all, and he shares their grief.
He approached the crying woman and placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "If you would excuse me, Verise..... I must perform a blessing now and a funeral rite to make sure his soul is not affected by the vampire's malice and he may go to heaven where he and the child belong. My condolences, I'm sorry for the loss of your twin. I cannot imagine how it feels like."
At this, Verise suddenly stopped crying and her eyes went cold. She said mockingly: "And do you also have a blessing to bring back the vampires to the hell they belong to? Or were you priest only good at sprinkling 'holy' water?"
Vicar Garien, whose faith had been mocked by two Huntsmen today, tried to keep down his resentment and tried to sympathize with Verise. "I know that you are merely saying that as your heart is in a dark place due to grief and distraught. But, Verise... Remember that the one who had slain all the vampire lords is a priest himself."
Verise's eyes widened and she reluctantly stepped away.
"If not for Xendros' sacrifice to spend years of devoting to God's will of keeping away the dark forces, there would be no Huntsmen nor a book to guide you." Vicar Garien said as he performed the rite of the bodies wrapped in cloth.
"And... I believe God also valued this sacrifice made by our brother Asver, for how coincidental would it be that his time of sacrifice would coincide with our discovery of the Vampire Lord's weakness?"
Vicar Garien gave a small smile as he picked up the torch from a helper and lit up the pyre. Everyone was once again stunned by his words.
"You have found the right page?" A civilian asked, ecstatic.
"Yes, our group did. And a priest, who you people believe to be only good at sprinkling holy water, also translated it." Vicar Garien turned to the people and held out the piece of paper.
"A dead golden tree only stands because of the sap within, and once a thousand cuts were made, it will weaken and turn to dust. This does not apply to the laws of nature, no tree is golden nor would perish in such a way. Therefore, this must be an allegory to something. "
"A golden-eyed Vampire Lord." Rothfir concluded, arms crossed. "So the answer that you propose is a thousand cuts to Vladstin? But he heals easily."
"Then a thousand strikes must be done all at once to avoid the gash to be healed." Vicar Gariend said. "You Huntsmen could not do such a thing on your own even if you place three arrows on your bows."
Verise spoke up. "Then we must train everyone as well. Expand the armory and produce more blessed arrows. From now on, everyone must fight!"
The people murmured in agreement. Then they shouted with raised fists: "YES! WE WILL FIGHT AS WELL!"
Many of them are of weak constitution and are not fit to do such a thing, for they may be too old or too young, but they are willing to do their part if it would avenge all the deaths and suffering they have experienced.
"That is not enough."
The cheering soon died down when they heard this pessimistic voice. It was Lillian.
"The Vampire Lord is inhumanly fast, as quick as light itself. I've seen him get rations back and forth for Prince Leron before. His reflexes may be just as quick, and he has eyes everywhere." Lillian reasoned forlornly , pushing up her glasses. "Either through stealth or surprise attack, it would all be in vain."
The people's fire was snuffed out by these harsh truths, and they felt like they were back to the start again.
But Lillian wasn't finished. She gave a sad, glassy-eyed smile.
"Luckily, Asver had also solved this for us. You better make him a saint or I will not believe in Draconic anymore."
----------------------
A man stood at the edge of the cliff, staring at the wide blue sea. His canines were long and sharp, and a mischievous glint made his bright eyes the color of the setting sun even brighter. Maybe even brighter than the full moon that night, at the black mountains that were almost jagged obsidian.
Soon, this glint disappeared when he sensed something.
"Iblis galdetu aberasima?" He turned and asked the shadows behind him in a foreign language.
There was nothing but freezing air and mist, but he knew better. He can always sense it.
He can always sense him.
He looked above at the mountains dotted by the stars in the sky. He knew better. Those were not stars.
Those were the reflective shine from the moon of a thousand arrows aimed at him. Arrows made of glass and people in dark cloaks and masks to blend into the night.
"Xen." The man said. "Alpayi tatalkumender rien gaman sipatie?"
A deep voice answered him from the woods beyond in another language. "Vrai. Hygdae falsifor pesihome."
"Aki no spoeaken itst Ilvedian." The man shrugged. "Spoekan tu me no aki tongual."
The person from the shadows did not answer for a while and merely revealed himself. He was holding a bow and an arrow as well.
"Ah, aki tin, aki tin." The man with gold eyes and sharp teeth nodded. "Xen. Campi ser tui manse deir."
He spread his arms wide like a bird ready to soar, and face the cliff again. Wind blowing on his hair, the calm seas now raging and restless, and a bright smile on his face.
This gesture is easy to interpret of any person regardless of language. It is a sign of submission, of surrendering, of acceptance.
'Go ahead. Kill me.'
As a thousand cuts were made to him. The last one was straight to the heart by the person behind him, and he fell into the deep blue waters, never to be seen again.
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~BRIBE ME, PLEASE~
Ok, I'm getting desperate and pathetic so now I'm willing to accept bribes. I get jealous easily of other books that have a huge following and get sad everytime, thinking what's the point of writing if I feel like no one's reading/appreciate it.
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