Lurking in the darkness under the shelter of a wall, he waited. He seemed surprised when he realized the distance he had put between himself and his pursuer during the sprint.
"Is that kid fast or am I slow?" he pondered. Either way, he had to wait a few minutes to catch his breath.
His ears twitched at the sound of footsteps on the wet rock approaching him, and soon enough, he saw him.
"Tch, how does that brat run so fast?" the man grumbled. He bent over, hands on knees, the torch in his right hand the only thing visible. Unaware of the shadow moving behind him, he wiped sweat from his brow with his left sleeve.
Unexpectedly, he suddenly felt a weight on his back, and two firm yet gentle arms tightened around his neck. He saw the girl clinging to his back; due to their height difference, she had jumped and now used her legs to hold onto his abdomen and avoid falling.
They struggled for a few moments. Unable to shake her off by pushing or grabbing, the man resorted to hitting her as best he could. He elbowed her ribs, tugged her hair, and even, taking advantage of their proximity to the wall, slammed his back against it and consequently against the tick clinging to him.
The tick, in question, could only grit her teeth and tighten her grip. The rib shots had been the most painful; he was sure some were cracked or fractured, but not certain. The blows against the wall had knocked the wind out of him and left him dizzy, and soon his vision blurred due to his own blood dripping from his head. Still, she didn't let go; a trapped rat, she had no other choice.
Gradually, with each passing second, the man lost color and began to see blurry. Knowing he might die like this, he didn't hesitate any longer; he took the torch and, without fear of burning himself in the attempt, struck his attacker forcefully in the face.
The fire caught the boy off guard; the heat on his face was searing. He couldn't help screaming at the top of his lungs, trying to mask the pain. Even with bruises, burns, and bruises, he didn't let go.
He had to endure the tremendous pain of the torch flames a little longer, but it ceased as quickly as it came. The man weakened, his hand fell, and a second later, his body followed.
Now on the ground, she still didn't release him. Unsure of what she was thinking—some kind of violent emotion or adrenaline rush from having her life in jeopardy—she continued strangling him until he stopped breathing.
When she was sure the man wouldn't rise again, she stood up and tried to calm her rapid breathing. Trembling, she touched her face, noting strange wrinkles. She felt her ribs and a sharp pain stabbed her. Running her hand through her long hair, she noticed how blood stuck to it.
Only now, seeing her bloody hair, did she realize it wasn't even hers—almost seven times longer than it had ever been, silky, white, and beautiful.
Shaking her head, her mind clouded and her thoughts wandered to places that weren't important right now. Only the constant pain of the burn on her face kept her grounded in reality and prevented her from passing out.
She turned the man over with difficulty. Her gaze stopped at his neck for a moment for some reason. She inspected it, searching for something that might help her, and found a kind of purse filled with unfamiliar golden coins. Then, she removed his shirt and there it was—a bloodied dagger. It seemed the struggle had caused him to stab himself with his own weapon, and now the dead body was bleeding.
When she smelled the blood, her eyes dilated, her face flushed, and her clouded mind couldn't contain her body's instincts. Straddling his abdomen, she couldn't help herself; she sank her fangs into his neck.
As if sipping from a straw through her teeth, she slowly sucked the blood. With each sip, her clouded eyes regained their shine, and her face flushed more and more.
She reached a point where she managed to clear her foggy mind, but she didn't stop. The taste was intoxicating, like an incredible wine aged for years, and with each sip, the pain in her body diminished.
Minutes passed, and the tick continued to do tick things. Her burned skin was healing, and the pain in her ribs and head no longer existed. She would have continued for hours, but the body's blood was not endless. She could no longer coax out more, stubbornly trying to suck a few more times unsuccessfully. With a frustrated look, she reluctantly withdrew her face from her victim's neck. She wanted more.
She shook her head, trying to clear it, only then understanding what she had done. She looked at her work with a shocked expression: the man, once brimming with vitality, now lay disturbingly still and gray, his skin like a raisin on the ground, dead and bloodless.
What had crossed her mind to do such a thing, she wondered, not understanding her situation.