The next day, Daemon and Jason drove out of the compound gate in a convoy of black SUVs blending into the night. Despite his reluctance about Daemon's plan to hunt vampires, Jason had devised a strategy: scout the area first and then decide on the attack based on the number of vampires.
However, Jason still couldn't shake his unease about Mortis' plan... over the years, he had witnessed some high rank cartel member uncanny ability to predict vampire movements, a skill honed through years of studying and fighting them and clandestine encounters with beings beyond mortal comprehension. Despite his reservations, Jason knew Mortis powers could be their only hope against the vampire as they don't have any more power member anymore.
Mortis claims this path leads us closer to victory, but at what cost? Can I afford to trust in his visions, or will my hesitations become a weakness that jeopardizes everything we've fought to achieve?
When Daemon, Jason, and twelve cartel members arrived in Ding Ding Town, it was already night, almost nine PM. Ding Ding Town, a medium-sized town some parts of cities had small forests and rugged mountains, it had a quaint, rustic charm with cobblestone streets, historic buildings, and a tight-knit community. Yet, tonight, the town was cloaked in an unsettling stillness, a stark contrast to its usual charm. The moon, shrouded by ominous clouds, cast a pale, ghostly light over the deserted streets.
Driving around, they noticed that like all towns in the city, there were criminals moving about, which was why most citizens were indoors before eight. However, there were still people outside enjoying their lives.
As Daemon and his team track the vampires through Ding Ding Town, rumors swirl among locals about an impending power struggle within the vampire hierarchy. Whispers speak of a strong charismatic vampire lord challenging the old order, while clandestine meetings hint at alliances forming with other supernatural factions.
As they drove around the Town Square the heart of Ding Ding Town where locals gathered for markets, festivals, and social events...Daemon's eyes were sharp, catching every movement, every whisper of the night that he noticed something unusual.
Using his gaze. "Look there," he said showed towards a rooftop.
Jason when he looked saw it too multiple shadows darting across the rooftops of houses with an unhuman speed.
"I see... so your information was good," Jason commented. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he saw that some of the cartel members had started to shiver upon spotting the jumping vampires.
There... the vampires move with purpose, yet not without coordination. Mortis' Whisper might be onto something.
'My information from the Whisper seems worth it now,' Daemon thought while looking at the vampire. 'I hope his item works,' he thought.
He knew the success of this hunt mission hinged on the efficacy of an item given by the Whisper it was a gamble Daemon hoped wouldn't falter.
thought. "Stick back. Let's just follow them for now" he said.
Jason did as Daemon instructed, relaying the order over the walkie-talkie to the other SUVs. They slowed down and watched as about twenty shadowy figures of vampires jumped from roof to roof. One of the vampires at the back noticed them but did not react like the other wild and uncontrolled vampires.
Thing was of why Vampire move in the night beside there weakness of sunlight, fitting into the World vampires occupy a complex position within society. They are both feared and revered, existing in a delicate balance with other supernatural beings and human factions.
After minutes of following the vampires, they all entered a forest at the edge of the town. "Where are they heading now?" Daemon muttered.
Jason overheard him. "The Forest of Echoes. It's a place that many locals avoid after dark," he said.
"They say there are multiple types of creatures in there," he explained. "but since no one has ever gone inside, no one knows if it's true," Jason added with a note of unease.
Jason's words hung heavy in the damp forest air, their echoes mingling with the rustling leaves overhead. Legends whispered of spectral apparitions and elusive beasts haunting the depths of the Forest of Echoes. From wraiths said to lure travelers into twilight, to ancient guardians sworn to protect sacred groves, each tale painted a canvas of primal fear and otherworldly wonder.
Daemon stayed quiet for a bit, staring at the forest. "We have to go in anyway," he said.
"What do you mean, Daemon? Are you really trying to get us killed?" Jason shouted.
As Daemon was getting out of the SUV, he suddenly felt Jason's hand on his shoulder. Daemon looked over his shoulder, and when Jason met his gaze, he saw death in Daemon's unblinking eyes. Jason released his shoulder, noticing his own shivering hand covered by a flowing shadow mist that then returned to Daemon's Tenebris Lacerna.
Daemon got out of the SUV, and Jason followed after a moment, with the rest of the cartel members doing the same, not following Daemon but Jason.
"We will continue following them, and depending on what they're doing, we will attack or leave," Daemon said coldly.
"Okay," Jason said, not looking at Daemon. He turned to the cartel members. "Gear up and get ready to move out," he ordered. 'Mortis seem really determine to do this...however at the same time emotionless and cold he doesn't care for other even when it could lead to death' he thought.
just like how he killed Emanuel while I did say that they could fight I didn't say to kill each other.
Jason was right about Daemon while being the embodiment of death made him cold by now as he got stronger losing his humanity more he started to become ruthless and sadistic however his emotionlessness was earned on his own starting from his passed life then amplifying more now left Daemon emotionally detached and numb to the suffering of others.
"Yes, Manager," the cartel members responded.
Despite seeing how the cartel members were not under his control, Daemon didn't care. After this fight, they would definitely respect him, and if it didn't work, his strength would overcome their fear.
After the cartel members geared up with body armor on their chests and cloth covers on their necks, each armed with pistols and knives, Daemon spoke up again. "Wait a minute before we go... group up," he ordered.
The cartel members stayed still, side-eyeing Daemon. "I said group up, you dumbasses... I'll kill you before the vampires could," he ordered louder, his hands rest casually on his Tenebris Lacerna, a silent reminder of his strength. His eyes sweep over the group, ensuring compliance through the sheer force of his presence.
With Daemon's deathly presence now more intense, though not to the point of weakening them, it caused shivers, and they all circled around him. Daemon nodded and then took out a glowing clear crystal containing a silver liquid from his Tenebris Lacerna.
While explaining, he poured the liquid onto the men's guns. "This is Silver Wisp. Vampire bodies are as strong as armored cars. With this, it can easily penetrate their bodies. However, if you want to get past their immortality and kill them, shoot their hearts or head. Otherwise, body shots only weaken them," he said.
Daemon had obtained the Silver Wisp from the Whisper. It soaked into the bullets, making them enchanted and able to penetrate wood, stone, steel, and dirt.
The Silver Wisp was said to be a relic forged in the crucible of forbidden rites, shimmered with the essence of lunar magic of a god, rafted by enigmatic alchemists of a bygone era, its silver-laced elixir bore the Nyx energy of moonlight itself anathema to the cursed blood of vampires
Then everyone started moving into the forest. The atmosphere was eerie, with constant strange sounds echoing through the trees. The cartel members kept aiming their weapons at the source of the noises, but whenever Daemon looked or listened towards the locations, there was nothing.
'Are there actual creatures here, or is something replicating the sounds of creatures? It's not far-fetched, given the sounds are coming from multiple directions, barely spaced apart,' Daemon thought.
After a few minutes of walking through the constant fear of being attacked by whatever creatures were making the noises, Daemon and the others came across a clear path leading to an old mill.
From a distance, the mill looked abandoned. "Why would they come here? This mill is rumored to be haunted... Are they meeting up for some blood bags?" Jason speculated.
The old mill had long been rumored to be haunted and had now become a common meeting place for those engaged in secretive or illicit activities.
"Only way to find out is by getting closer," Daemon said, his tone steady but edged with a hint of impatience. Beneath his words h wanted to quickly uncover the truth and seize control of the situation before it slipped beyond his grasp.
This time, Jason didn't protest and followed Daemon into the forest. After a few moments of walking, the group reached the tower mill. One of the men, using a flashlight, saw something that shocked them to their core.
"What the hell is that?" the cartel member shouted.
His shout alerted everyone to see what he was looking at, and what they saw shocked them as well. It was a man hanging by his hands on the old, now non-spinning tower mill. The shocking part was that the man was skinned; only his muscles remained, left to hang, the skinned man hanging from the mill was a grim reminder of the town's haunted history. Such mutilations were rare, often attributed to the darkest of the supernatural entities. within the vampire community. In the world.
"Who could do such a thing in this town?" one cartel member said.
While the cartel members spoke loudly, Jason knew he had to quiet them down because vampires have better hearing than humans and most supernatural creatures.
"Quiet down and focus on what we came here to do. Whatever happened here, happened," Jason said.
Skinned... a message? Or a warning? Such acts bear the hallmark of vampire cruelty, but this level of mutilation... it speaks of a deeper vendetta.
While Daemon had his hand in his pocket, he watched the hanging man. 'Skinned and left to hang... By the look of his body, from the moisture, he didn't die too long ago... Did the vampires do this? Impossible, he had to have been skinned by a professional not to mess up one bite,' he thought. Then he noticed the man's teeth. "A vampire," he muttered.
Such acts were often a message, a display of power or a warning from rival factions.
"Is that the reason they're here... but why leave him hanging if he's dead?" Jason said.
"This is more than just a killing," Daemon said, his voice calm and thoughtful. "It's a statement. Look at the precision the way the skin has been removed without damaging the underlying structure. This isn't the work of a mindless butcher; it's the work of an artist. Someone who understands the fragility and resilience of the human form."
Jason looked at him, bewildered. "An artist? Daemon, this is a massacre!"
"Every sinew, every tendon delicately stripped away, leaving only the essence of suffering." Daemon voice slowly had some creepiness into it his eyes still on the hanging man. "True, but art often comes from the darkest places of the human soul. This... this is a macabre masterpiece. The way the body is displayed, it evokes a reaction, forces us to confront our mortality. It's a grim reminder of how thin the veil between life and death truly is."
One of the cartel members, visibly shaken, muttered, "What kind of monster would do this?"
A shiver ran down Daemon spine as he paused, eyes fixed on the man's empty gaze. "The skill required... to preserve the agony in every nerve, to expose the raw humanity beneath the skin," Daemon mused, his breath fogging in the cold night air. "This is a masterpiece of terror,
Daemon turned to him to the cartel member his gaze piercing. "A monster, no. But a mind that sees the world in shades of shadow and light, much like an artist. This scene is meant to invoke fear, yes, but also to convey a message. We're dealing with someone who finds beauty in death, someone who turns horror into a form of expression."
He stepped closer to the hanging body, his Tenebris Lacerna trailing behind him like a shadow. "Every cut, every tear, is deliberate. This isn't just about killing; it's about sending a message to anyone who dares to challenge them. It's a performance, a spectacle."
Jason swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. "And what do you see in this... performance?"
Daemon's eyes glinted with a mixture of fascination and grim resolve. "I see a warning. A declaration of power and control. Whoever did this wants us to know that they command death as an artist commands a brush. And they want us to understand that we are merely the canvas."
Jason took a couple steep back then he felt something under his feet looking down upon an old letter tucked inside an abandoned farmhouse. The faded ink reveals secrets of a bygone era, describing a time when vampires and humans brokered fragile alliances under the moonlit skies. The letter, signed by a long-forgotten noblewoman.
Meanwhile, in the shadows of the echo forest looking down at Daemon and the others was a vampire elder contemplates should he attack Daemon and the other first before they attack.