Kazelle grinned, "Fucking Raccun…your memories aren't altered? You remember me."
"Why would my memories be altered? Ohhh, right right. You CARE, huh? Tough bastard king finally grew a heart huh? After mercilessly killing his own kin and causing rebels to try and overthrow him, I'm impressed-."
"Watch it, Raccun. I'm still your king. You can't beat me."
"Hell if I can't, then I'll commit myself right now with my own sword. And about those damned memories, you must've come across some Vampires who don't know where they come from, huh?"
"You know.."
"The ones who worked for Gorron came here, before you and him fought to the death. He ordered us to come here just in case, and to bring those little crystals. I mean, I don't work for that bastard anymore because I got what I wanted already."
"No wonder you went missing that day, I didn't see you ever again. You worked for that demon."
"Nah, not working specifically. He promised he could make me king if he killed you but once he told us to come to this mortal realm and bring the stones-."
"He knew he was going to die by my hand."
"DING DING DING! BINGO ASSHOLE! You've always been smart. Now then, you've come to stop me? Trying to be a hero?"
"I've been a hero since I've become the king of you, little shit."
"What EXACTLY did you save? You killed kin. Innocent kin. Wrong kin. ANY kin, it didn't FUCKING matter, you're a killer! And you're a thief-."
"Just because you weren't chosen by the Eye..means I stole it? You're just too weak, too stupid, too..idiotic? Yeah, that's the word I'm looking for. And for the kin I've killed, they deserved it. I was a king, I still am, showing grace shows fertility in a king, all the other kings were like that and bloodlines waged war against each other, I had to be different, install fear. And because of that, there were no wars besides the rebellion of kin that tried to rise against me."
"Tch! You say that now, but I'm climbing up the ladder. In this world, in a world where everything is different, I'm secretly becoming a king. You just don't know it yet. You're nothing here. Not a king, not royalty, nothing. I'm way higher than you in this new land, and this is what I wanted all along."
"Yeah? But you're still weaker, and I will reclaim my throne."
"Good luck getting back to the Crimson Spire; either I kill you, or you don't make it there at all because there is no going back, you're stuck here."
"I'm not. I have this human I'm manipulating here as a servant, she will accompany me with all of my needs."
"Huh? Ohhhhh. Dickham. Get it? I called you Dickham because you're a dick."
Beckham said, "Umm, whoa whoa who, I'm not his servant. And it's Beckham. What I wanna know is, who do you really work for? Because you hate that cult as much as we do."
"All will be revealed in due time, Dickham. Gunvalley is now closed off, no one can see or hear in here, it's only us. I've put up a cursed domain, no one can shatter it. So I guess..you two are just kinda stuck here."
"So you came back here after the first time, because more people had survived? More people you missed?"
"Actually, no. After I slaughtered the first group of humans, your little officers sealed off the neighborhood and began to close this area off, alongside some Vermillion Order pests with those red crystals. They stayed here all night for a few days to search for any clues of my whereabouts, until tonight, I came back, and killed all of them, and dressed them in wedding gowns. As a priest oversees the married couples, so do I oversee the people whom I can and will control as a king does, and you two will become like them. But first..haha..I want Kazelle, I'll deal with you next, Dickham."
Beckham thought, 'The Constabulary officers and Vermillion staked out here after closing this place off? How come I wasn't aware? That also had me wondering why bring the witnesses back to this place if they were doing a stake out? Yeah I knew they were here, but I knew nothing of the Gunvalley stakeout. It's almost like, someone in the government wanted everyone here dead, leaving no witnesses, and I wasn't informed. Eventually, the witnesses would have talked, or someone predicted something like this might've happened. Even at this rate, the Constabulary's and the Vermillion order lost members tonight. Whoever ordained this, must've known the risks, didn't want me knowing, and became prepared for this moment. Someone's trying to cover up their own tracks, a snake in the grass..slithering in an annoying way, its route.. the snake's finding its way back to the shadows after portioning the lifeblood of the earth.'
Beckham sighed, "Well, guess we're about to fight. Kazelle, kill him right quick."
Kazelle looked at Beckham, "I don't bark at your orders, female human. Those yappers on your face, they never stop moving do they?"
"You're talking about my-."
"-Your mouth, yes."
"I'm confused here, he wants to be a king of some sort, but I know he's going by orders, everything is too planned based on my conclusions in my head. If he's not with the cult, then.."
"He's with someone who hates the cult as well."
Kazelle made his scythe conjure into existence again, and he grinned maliciously, "I'm gonna have fun-."
SHIIIIING!
SPLAT!
Kazelle's body was cut in half, and both sides fell to the ground as a bucket of blood splattered all over Beckham.
Beckham froze in fear, her cigarette dropped out of her mouth, she couldn't move.
'Why can't I move? My legs, why can't they run? Dodge or something? Fucking move already, will ya? I thought I was fearless, not even scared of Kazelle, but when he gets sliced in half, I'm suddenly scared shitless. Was I hiding in my own fear? Father taught me not to be scared of anything, if I can't move after seeing a self proclaimed vampire king get sliced in half, does that make me scared? Weak..? Was I truly scared of Kazelle? Or any vampires? And tried to play it off?'
Raccun pointed his sword at Beckham, and smirked, "Aaw, look what we have here, a stuck up human bitch. All weak and fragile, you only have a golden gun to fight with. Go ahead and pull it out, let off a few rounds. You'll end up like Kazelle. I always wanted to rule, but when the bloodline kingdoms merged, and became one under Kazelle, it fucked it all up. Kazelle stole my opportunity, that stupid Eye chose him. If I can use that Eye again to get answers, by providing a blood sacrifice, then I'll do it. But since things have restarted for me, I won't. Yeah we used to hunt down the cult members and stop the rituals, using Darius to locate them in different towns in this corrupt city of New Babel, where loyalty, law, and deception are the bridges between all humans who dare step to it. Just imagine what the Crimson Spire was like, imagine how Kazelle ruled, it's almost similar to here, but with less anarchy rising from the people. Fragile humans like you are trying to take a stand against forces you can't beat, wanting to finish your fathers mission. You're a failure, Beckham. Just like Kazelle, he's a failure as a king, I deserved his spot! Look how easily he went down, his heart sliced open-."
"Hey."
"What-?"
BOOM!
A shot ran out, and a bullet had gone into Raccun's head, and he just stood there, acting like he didn't even feel it. His wound was healing already, and Beckham was standing there pointing her golden revolver at him, smoke rising from the end of it.
"That was cute." Raccun said.
"You said something about his heart being sliced open?"
"What are you blabbering about?"
"Well I mean, Kazelle told me his heart was in hell. And you didn't seem to decapitate him, so.."
Raccun turned around fast to Kazelle's body, thinking, 'Impossible!'
KATHOOM!
Kazelle was standing up, his wounds already healing. He was standing there with his fingers sharper than ever, his fangs sharper, drooling with spit and blood, and his eyes glowed red; a red and black aura surrounded his body, and he laughed, "HAHA! Oh yeah that's the stuff. King this, king that, weak this, weak that…is strength all that matters to you, you dumbass? Oh yeah..hehehe..I'm gonna have fun killing you..nice and slow.." He licked the blade of his scythe slowly, staring into Raccun's eyes, instilling a sense of fear within him.
Beckham backed away, thinking, 'This aura..it's making me sweat, the pressure is intense. If they are gonna fight, I gotta steer clear, and save that boy from the window. I spotted him minutes ago, like he was trying to get my attention, but I paid him no mind for his safety.'
Raccun dashed towards Kazelle, "Fuck you! Let's settle this once and for all! I'll show you I'm the rightful king!"
"HAHAHA! Let's do this, Raccun!"
Raccun, a vampire of ancient lineage and malefic power, stepped forth clutching his large red sword that hummed with curses long forgotten by mortals.
The vampire's presence bent reality, distorting the very streets of Gunvalley into twisted versions of their former elegance. Kazelle braced himself as the temporal dissonance washed over him, coalescing into pockets of warped space that sought to disorient and ensnare.
Their eyes met, and in them sparked the flames of imminent battle. With a fluidity born of countless conflicts, Kazelle lunged forward, his speed blurring his form as he drew upon his strength to match the vampire's infernal prowess. His blood congealed into glowing swords that danced around him, orbiting like crimson satellites hungry for carnage.
Raccun met the onslaught with his cursed blade, each swing releasing waves of dark energy that threatened to consume all in its path. The air crackled with arcane fury as metal clashed with forged blood. Kazelle matched Raccun's swings with the ferocity of his scythe, its blade shredding through the vampire's offensive with a raw power that belied the elegance of their deadly dance.
The vampire, not to be outmatched, raised his sword as if to cleave the moon in two, sending a curving slice of dark magic toward Kazelle. Reacting in a flash, Kazelle teleported, reappearing just behind Raccun, Red Revolver in hand. With a squeeze of the trigger, the air shrieked as the bullet sought its mark, hungering for the chaos of explosion and flesh.
Raccun, sensing the impending detonation, enveloped himself in a shielding curse, the projectile erupting against the invisible barrier. From the smoke, however, did not emerge a vampire shaken, but rather a visage of rage incarnate as Raccun slashed through the haze, his red sword crying out with the wails of the damned.
Their fight took them from the desecrated garden to the blood-stained streets, where the Black Scythe met the Red Sword in a symphony of destruction. Buildings crumbled under the unleashed forces, cobblestones shattered from the impact of their blows. With each encounter, Kazelle absorbed the residual magic, channeling it through his body, empowering his ripostes and evasions.
Kazelle unveiled his umbrella with a dramatic flare, the fabric snapping outward to intercept a rush of warped space from Raccun's blade. The umbrella consumed the magic, repurposing it into a devastating counter-attack. Red and black beams cut through the dissipating twilight, narrowly missing the vampire as he twisted out of reality's strict confines.
Back and forth they grappled with the fate of Gunvalley hanging in the balance, neither yielding nor advancing—an equilibrium of violence. Blood and shadow coalesced into a vortex of chaos, staining the once picturesque neighborhood with the indelible mark of their struggle.
With the neighborhood hanging on the precipice of ruin, the clash between Kazelle and Raccun continued, their battle escalating to a frenzy that seemed to defy the very laws of physics. Around and amidst the chaos, Beckham, her resolve as unyielding as her steel, carved a path through the throngs of the corrupted. Her gold revolver, a glinting harbinger of death, sang a dirge for each lost soul it laid to rest, its thunderous report echoing through the morass of decay.
She moved with an acrobatic grace, her body swaying and twisting through the grasping claws of the once-human abominations. In the distance, a fearful cry cut through the cacophony—tbr little boy, terror incarnate etched onto his pale face as the corrupted converged upon his trembling form. Beckham's heart, steeled by necessity, hastened her charge toward the imperiled child, each spent shell of her revolver seeding the ground with the fallen.
'Gotta move..faster..'
Back at the epicenter of the night's horror, Kazelle's and Raccun's silhouettes blurred into a whirlwind of violence. Resolute and relentless, Kazelle's scythe howled with a fury that shook the cursed earth, its blade tracing deadly arcs through the air—each a promise of annihilation. Raccun, with abyssal resilience, met every strike, his sword a crimson lash that rent the space between them, seeking to fracture Kazelle guard and will alike.
They fought through layers of reality, the battle now not just a physical contest, but an ethereal duel of wills where blood met curse, shadow dueled light, and destruction sought dominion over life. The night air was thick with their power, the ether itself trembling under the onslaught as each warrior summoned darker depths of their strength.
Raccun's sword clashed with Kazelle's scythe, the impact sending a shockwave that leveled the facades of the homes lining the confounded streets. Undeterred, Kazelle spawned another blood sword, its glow a sinister red, and drove it towards the vampire with lethal intent. But Raccun's reaction was swift; he sidestepped into a twisted veil of space, appearing behind Kazelle and slashing towards vulnerable flesh.
With a maneuver borne of preternatural reflexes, Kazelle spun, his umbrella unfurling in a defensive flourish to catch the oncoming blow—its occult resilience turning the attack upon its progenitor. Unleashing the absorbed power, he directed a maelstrom of red and black energy beams towards Raccun, forcing the vampire to retaliate with a barrage of his own dark magic.
The air was thick with malevolence as the two immortal adversaries faced each other amidst the ruin wrought by their bitter duel. Kazelle, with eyes that gleamed with both determination and arrogance, noted the creeping darkness that clung to his latest wound—a blackened graze from Raccun's cursed blade along his forearm. Understanding that the infernal taint sought to corrupt his very essence, Kazelle did not hesitate.
With a grim snarl of resolve, he swiftly brought his scythe to his arm and executed a precise cut. The corrupted flesh fell away, his blood igniting with an ethereal glow as it stemmed the flow and cauterized the wound. Raccun, with a twisted sneer, admired the cruel necessity of Kazelle's sacrifice but wasted no moment to launch another flurry of cursed strikes.
The battle ground on as Kazelle continued to defy curse with cleave. Each laceration from Raccun's sword that breached Kazelle's defenses was met with the self-mutilating purge of his own form. It was a dance of self-destruction and resilience—an unyielding storm against an unstoppable tide.
The once-majestic neighborhood became a charnel house as the cursed attacks of Raccun were rent asunder by Kazelle's relentless supremacy of will. Time and again, Kazelle's own flesh yielded to his scythe, ensuring the vampire's dark magic found no harbor within him, aiming to make him weaker. Sinew and shadow intertwined, as they exchanged visceral blows that spoke of eons of conflict, each reflective of the ancient beings they were.
Raccun's vampiric speed and the malefic arc of his corrupted sword grew ever more vicious, relentless, as if the sword itself hungered for the triumph of the curse. Kazelle met its every craving with the baleful might of his black scythe, and the riotous barrage of his Red Revolver, its bullets now siphoned from his own lifeblood's luminance, leaving trails of cerise in their wake as they pursued their quarry.
With each movement, Kazelle grew more formidable, his might amplifying with the magic he absorbed, his strikes becoming swifter, more savage. Raccun's twisted powers wove through space, tearing the very fabric of reality in attempts to ensnare Kazelle, but the warrior's resilience was as infinite as the stars above, tearing through the dissonance with his umbral blade and booming gunfire.
As the battle raged on, each combatant bore the story of their brutality. Kazelle, a mosaic of self-inflicted amputations and regenerative victory; Raccun, a fathomless specter of darkness, his cursed form defiant against the annihilation brought upon by Kazelle's relentless onslaught.
As the dawn sought to paint the horizon with hues of rebirth, Kazelle and Raccun launched towards one another for another, earth-shattering clash, a confluence of darkness and fury, a testament to their unequalled power and singular resolve to emerge as the harbinger of the other's demise.
Meanwhile, Beckham, her determination a blazing comet in the benighted vale of Gunvalley, reached the child just as the grotesque mob descended. With an expert shot, she disabled the nearest of the corrupted, her aim precise, her bullets gilded reapers in the dim light. She scooped the boy up with one arm, the other continuing to fire her gold revolver as she dashed through the turmoil, dodging the vile spawn of darkness that lunged for them both.
Her motions were a tapestry of desperation and skill, each step a defiance of the horrors that sought to claim them. With the child clutched close, she carved a path back through the pandemonium, her mind imagining a thousand routes out of this nightmare.
Kazelle's battle raged on, Raccun's form warping in and out of tangibility; their weapons a tempest of fervor and might. Shattered and reshaped landscapes bore witness to their vendetta, each fresh setting a canvas for their brutality.
They were locked in a dance that stretched into eternity, two forces of otherworldly power clashing in a storm of blood and shadow. Their echoes would resonate through the twisted corridors of Gunvalley forevermore, a testament to the night when darkness itself was challenged by the relentless will of a guardian cloaked in midnight.
Beckham slid under more corrupted people, blowing their heads out with her revolver, not missing a shot. That's what she was known for, never missing.
She made it to the house where the little boy was, and she said, "Hey! Come here!"
The little boy was scared at first, then Beckham proceeded, "You wanna live or die?!"
The boy gave in, and Beckham put him on her back.
She said to herself, "It's safer to be inside than outside. We're a pretty good distance from those vampire fools fighting, since this neighborhood is pretty damn big, the destruction hasn't reached this far yet. I just hope he can kill that bastard."
'Maybe killing him will stop the curse from possessing these bodies…not once did I think I'd end up in a situation like this, does that mean I'm doing the right thing?'
(FLASHBACK)
Years ago, under a sky tinged the color of old parchment and the wide expanse of New Babel's outskirts stretched before them, 8 year old Beckham stood with a stance far too mature for her tender years. Her fingers, small but steady, gripped the handles o a gold revolver while before her, a line of wooden targets, crudely shaped like men, awaited their inevitable fate.
Her father, a man of worn features and eyes that carried the gravity of untold stories, watched with a keen yet gentle gaze. His voice, a baritone symphony of wisdom and warmth, wove through the air as he guided her small hands.
"Fear," he began, pausing as Beckham lined up her shot, "is like this weapon. It's a tool, my dear, neither good nor bad. What matters is how you use it—to control or to liberate, to destroy or to protect."
Bang. The first shot. A wooden head rocked back, a testimony to her blossoming talent. She focused on the next, the weight of her father's teachings pressing upon her mind more than the toy revolver ever could.
"Discipline," he continued, stepping behind her to adjust her elbow ever so slightly, "is honing your will like a blade. Keep your eyes keen, your mind clear, and your heart steady. That's how you find your aim in life, never letting the chaos of the world blur your vision."
She exhaled, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and gently squeezed the trigger again. Bang. Another target fell into the dust.
Her father's hand rested upon her shoulder—not heavy, but imbued with an assurance that seeped into her bones. Beckham felt it all—a mixture of safety and the thrill of mastering something difficult.
New Babel towered in the distance, a city that whispered promises by day and howled with the winds of unease by night. "Corruption," he spoke the word as if it left a sour taste upon his lips, "is an ever-present shadow. It will tempt you, challenge you... but remember, the sun always casts a shadow, Beckham. It's light and darkness, side by side. Never fear the shadow, but strive to spread light where you can."
Bang. She didn't flinch as another target swayed before succumbing to gravity's call.
"And the world," he said, looking beyond the practice range to the horizon darkening with the future's uncertainty, "will change, often not for the better. It's the entropy of human spirit. But do not despair—change is also hope, the chance for new dawns. You, my child, will be the harbinger of those new beginnings, however dim they may seem."
Bang. The final headshot hit its mark, and Beckham turned to face her father, an unspoken question sparkling in her youthful gaze.
He knelt and brushed a lock of hair, the hue of sun-bleached straw, from her determined face. "And when that sunrise comes," he said, his voice dropping to the hush of a secret, a promise, "you'll realize that the greatest shots ever taken were not aimed at targets, but at dreams, at justice—for you, Beckham, are my hope, the light against the shadow of the world."
In that moment, Beckham understood the enormity of her father's belief in her, the depth of her purpose. It was endearing and beautiful, a connection forged not in steel but in the unyielding bond of father and daughter against the veils of darkness encroaching upon their world.
(FLASHBACK END)
'They're about to come into the house, surrounding it heavily. I'll have to hold here, hold them off until Kazelle wins. And as much as I hate to say it, Kazelle needs to win, like now. He wasn't joking though, Castila and Darius would not have survived, Raccun is definitely on par with him. A true rival to the vampire king.'
Beckham stood calm and steadfast, the golden revolver gleaming in her hand as the embodiment of her resolve. On her back clung a young boy, a survivor she had salvaged from the jaws of calamity—a beacon of innocence in a night drenched with malevolence.
Beckham's eyes, akin to twin forges of steel, scanned the fragmented integrity of the house she now defended. With each splintering crash against the door, with every shattered pane, the corrupted humans—a grotesque retinue born of the battle between Kazelle and Raccun—sought entrance, their intentions as ruinous as the war that raged beyond the walls.
"They're coming.."
She turned around to the little boy, asking, "Please close your eyes."
'Your parents might walk through here.'