The basement was cool and dim which was completely different to the glaring sunlight that filled the house above. Eric sat on the cold concrete floor, his back pressed against the wall. The weight of being alone again dragged him into thoughts of his wretched existence, one he wished he could escape.
Outside, the owner's body lay sprawled in the garden, face twisted in shock. Eric had been slow and messy. He still felt the fading rush of adrenaline from the kill, but it was already dissipating. The body would be found soon, but cleanup wasn't his priority. The sun was high, and although the upstairs windows were tinted, the basement was the safest place for him to avoid its searing rays.
He closed his eyes, letting the silence envelop him. There was a strange peace in hiding, retreating into the shadows. But the peace didn't last. His heightened senses caught a faint sound, barely perceptible but there—a creak, subtle yet out of place.
Eric's eyes snapped open. He stilled, listening intently, every muscle tensing. The house should have been empty—he'd made sure of that, and the immortal had left hours ago. Yet now, soft shuffling reached his ears, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Someone was moving upstairs, carefully, as though trying not to be heard. His senses picked up at least three others outside and one inside, their movements cautious.
A low growl rumbled in Eric's throat. He crouched in the shadows, his instincts sharpened. If someone was here, they either didn't know who they were dealing with—or they did and had come prepared.
The footsteps grew closer, the rhythmic creak of wood under heavy boots revealing the intruder's confidence. This wasn't a terrified intruder; this was someone methodical.
It was probably less than a minute before the basement door creaked open, and faint light filtered down the stairs before being blocked by a tall figure.
The man descended, each step purposeful, the quiet clink of metal echoing with his movements.
Draped in a long, black leather coat reinforced with buckles and straps, he wore tactical gear meant for battle. Vials of silvery liquid glinted in the dim light, and weapons hung from his belt—crossbow, stakes, blades. Eric's eyes caught the gleam of silver. Around the man's neck, a cross dangled, a weapon meant to burn creatures like Eric.
The hunter's face remained shadowed beneath a wide-brimmed black hat, but his cold, steely eyes reflected determination. This was no amateur—this was a professional hunter, someone who'd hunted beings like Eric for years, if not centuries.
Eric's lip curled into a growl.
The hunter paused at the foot of the stairs, scanning the dimly lit basement. He knew Eric was there. Slowly, his hand reached for a stake on his belt.
"I do not wish to hurt you," the hunter said, his voice calm and mechanical, as if rehearsed. There was no emotion, no malice—just cold efficiency. His eyes locked onto Eric's form, though Eric remained in the shadows.
"Come willingly," the hunter continued, stepping forward slowly, "and this will be quick. Painless."
The stake he held however told a different story, its tip gleaming in the faint light. Despite the hunter's calm words, his grip tightened, his stance poised for violence.
Eric's eyes narrowed. He hated the way the man spoke to him, as if he were nothing more than a rabid dog. But the hunter's body language gave nothing away.
"I don't want to hurt you," the hunter repeated, though his grip on the stake remained firm. "But I will if you force me to."
Up until a few days ago, Eric had been human. Now, his heightened senses picked up every sound, every movement. He could hear the faint creak of leather from the man's boots, the subtle shift of his hand over his weapon.
This was real. Not a movie, not some horror flick where the hero triumphed. It was happening to him.
Eric swallowed hard, eyes flicking to the stake. His mind raced. "Painless?" He let out a nervous laugh.
The sound of Eric's voice hung in the air, weak but defiant. He wasn't a fighter, not like the immortal who had torn through the humans effortlessly. Eric had always been the observer, even back when he was human. He had learned early on how to mimic emotions he couldn't feel, becoming a master at faking compassion. Every act of kindness, every word of comfort was just a role he played—a hollow performance.
Now, standing in the basement, facing the hunter bound before him, he felt nothing. The man looked at him as though he was nothing but dead meat. Eric knew he should care. He knew he should feel the weight of the situation, but there was only cold indifference.
The hunter's voice cracked as he spoke. "You're one of them now... aren't you?"
Eric's gaze flickered, and he instinctively softened his expression, pretending to care, the way he always had. "I didn't ask for this," he lied, letting his tone convey a false sympathy. He took a slow step forward, mimicking uncertainty, like someone who was torn between two worlds. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
But deep down, he knew that no matter what he said, no matter how much he acted as though he cared, it was all empty. He had played the role of the compassionate man for so long it came as second nature—so much so that sometimes he almost fooled himself. Almost.
The hunter glared up at him, searching Eric's eyes for a shred of humanity. Eric gave him a pained expression, stepping closer as if he was considering mercy. "I'm not like them," Eric continued, the lie slipping smoothly from his lips.
The hunter remained still, as if calculating Eric's every breath.
"I shall not repeat myself, come willingly and I shall not harm you."
Eric's eyes flickered to the gleaming weapons hanging from the man's belt. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to stay calm, refusing to let the hunter see his fear. He stood slowly, making sure his movements were seen as weak.
"Funny," Eric muttered, the dryness in his throat making his voice rasp, "I've heard that one before."
The hunter's expression didn't change, though his grip on the stake tightened. He took another step forward, closing the gap between them.
"Stay back," Eric growled, though the command lacked the force he wanted. He felt trapped, cornered in the basement with only one way out, the stairs blocked by this cold, mechanical killer.
The hunter paused, his cold eyes narrowing as he studied Eric. There was no fear in him, only determination. "Your kind always say that. Always think you have more time, more power." His voice dropped, becoming colder. "But I have seen what you truly are—an abomination, a stain on this world."
Eric tensed, preparing for the inevitable attack. "I didn't ask for this. I never wanted to be—"
"*It doesn't matter what you wanted,*" the hunter interrupted sharply, his voice laced with disdain. "Vampires are a plague. It's my life's mission to rid the world of every last one of you. The witch may have her plans, but I don't serve her. I serve the cause."
The mention of a witch sent a jolt through Eric. Witches? If they were real, what else was hiding in the shadows of this world? Dragons, werewolves—creatures he had always dismissed as mere stories. Now, those myths seemed disturbingly possible. His mind raced with dark possibilities but he forced himself.
"I don't know anything about your cause," Eric growled, his voice filled with tension. "I'm not part of whatever sick game you think I am."
The hunter gave a cold, humorless smile. "Yet here you are, hiding in the dark, with a fresh kill rotting in the garden above."
The truth of his recent actions hung in the air, undeniable. But it wasn't who he wanted to be. "That wasn't—" he started, but the words caught in his throat. Excuses wouldn't matter to someone like this.
The hunter took another step forward, his fingers brushing the stake, ready to strike. "It doesn't matter if you killed for survival or pleasure. You're still a parasite, and I will end you just the same."
Eric's muscles coiled, his mind racing as he calculated his options. He knew he was at a disadvantage. The hunter was trained, equipped with weapons that could easily destroy him. But he wasn't dead yet. His eyes flicked to the stairwell, then back to the hunter's poised stance.
"And the great immortal sin," the hunter continued, his tone dripping with venom, "Azrael, the Devourer—they say he's out there because of abominations like you. He may be the witch's new plaything, but mark my words, you all will fall. Every single one of you."
Eric froze at the name and he knew instinctively that the man was referring to 'Alaric',the one who haunted his every thought. The hunter's words hit like a punch to the gut, confirming his worst fears. Even Alaric, with all his power, was part of this hunt, whether as a target or a weapon. But Eric shook his head, frustration boiling over.
"I don't have anything to do with Alaric!" Eric snarled, his voice rising. "I only met him by chance, nothing more. I don't follow him, I don't owe him, and I sure as hell don't want anything to do with him."
The hunter's cold gaze remained fixed, unblinking. "The moment you crossed his path, you were marked. You can't see it, but it's there—a part of you claimed by him. Alaric's taken a liking to you, and that mark binds you to him, whether you realize it or not. His world has already claimed you. And now, that makes you my prey."
Eric's chest tightened, his eyes flaring a deep, menacing red. A wave of anger surged through him, boiling up from a place he couldn't control. "I don't belong to anyone," he growled, his voice trembling with rage. "Especially not to that psychotic asshole."
The hunter took a step back, the dark force within Eric suddenly erupting with a violent intensity that mirrored the presence he had felt around Alaric. A chill crawled down his spine, the same primal fear creeping over him, as if he were staring into the eyes of a monster far more dangerous than he'd imagined.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Both men stood still, neither willing to make the first move. Eric's breath came in shallow, controlled gasps as he eyed the man blocking his only escape.
Finally, the hunter's hand shot forward, faster than Eric expected. But Eric, fueled by desperation and survival instincts, leaped back into the shadows, his heart racing as he prepared for the fight of his life.