The serrated vampire dagger felt cold in Talon's hand, yet a feeling of warmth radiated on it.
It was the warmth of blood.
The blood of the Hands of Death ambush leader, now dripping on his hand before seeping into the Vampiric dagger.
The dagger did not utter a word, no matter how chatty it could become when it had a chance to indulge.
Talon's heart was beating out of his chest.
His throat was dry.
While his hands were shaking, regret wasn't something that he had the right to feel.
With a subtle thud, the hunter's body fell to the ground, blood heavily gushing from his neck, even after the dagger greedily drank his blood.
Talon was still grasping the dagger, his mind was empty, and only his beating heart could be heard.
The Revenant who lay on the ground grasped his bleeding wound with his right hand while grasping for air.
'Why… why did I do this?'
Talon soon realized the gravity of the situation.
