The night had settled over the manor, cloaking it in darkness. The servants had retired to their quarters, leaving the halls quiet and still. In Virgil's chamber, the soft crackling of the dying fire was the only sound, its fading light casting long shadows on the walls. Akita lay curled on the floor, her form barely visible in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and even, a sign that she had finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the day.
Virgil stood at the window, his gaze fixed on the moonlit landscape outside. His expression was expressionless , but a simmering intensity lingered in his dark eyes. The weight of his responsibilities as the leader of the tyrants pressed heavily on him, and tonight, he felt the familiar urge—an insatiable hunger for violence that thrummed in his veins. It was a craving he couldn't ignore, a dark impulse that demanded to be fed.
He turned away from the window, his movements smooth and deliberate. He glanced at Akita, her form shrouded in the thin blanket he had begrudgingly provided. A small part of him felt a twinge of something—perhaps guilt, or maybe pity. He quickly dismissed the feeling, reminding himself of her defiance, her refusal to submit to him fully. She was his slave, his to command, and any kindness he showed her was not out of compassion but necessity.
With a quiet sigh, he donned his dark cloak, its hood concealing his face in shadows. He slipped out of the room, his footsteps silent as he made his way through the manor. The air was cool, the night outside colder still, as he stepped into the courtyard. The sound of hooves and the soft murmurs of voices greeted him; his men were ready.
A group of figures emerged from the shadows, their presence barely noticeable in the darkness. They were the tyrants—his loyal followers, each one a skilled assassin in their lifetime until they were turned into Vampires. They moved with a lethal grace, their faces obscured by masks. They were feared across the kingdoms, known for their ruthlessness and efficiency. And they followed Virgil without question, respecting the strength and cunning that made him their leader.
One of the men stepped forward, a tall figure with a sharp, angular face. His eyes glinted with a cold intelligence as he addressed Virgil. "Everything is prepared, my lord," he said, his voice low. "The targets are in the city. The scouts have confirmed their locations."
Virgil nodded, his expression hardening. He had received word earlier in the day—information about the whereabouts of several slave masters who had once owned Akita. Not that he cared for her suffering; it was simply an opportune moment to sate his darker urges. Killing these men would be a twofold victory: it would eliminate potential threats and satisfy his bloodlust.
"Good," Virgil replied, his tone cold and commanding. "We'll make this quick. No survivors."
The men nodded, understanding the unspoken command. They mounted their horses, the beasts snorting and pawing at the ground, eager for the night's work. Virgil swung onto his own steed, a powerful black stallion. He glanced back at the manor, a fleeting thought of Akita crossing his mind. She would be asleep when he returned, none the wiser to his nocturnal activities. He would ensure she remained unaware of his involvement in the night's bloodshed. It was better that way.
With a sharp command, Virgil led his men out of the courtyard, the group melting into the shadows as they rode towards the city. The wind whipped around them, carrying the scent of the forest and the faint sound of distant nightlife. The city was not far, and their journey was swift, the hooves of their horses barely making a sound on the dirt road.
As they approached their destination, Virgil felt the familiar thrill of the hunt. His senses sharpened, his mind focused. The city lay sprawled before them, its streets narrow and winding. The moon cast a pale light over the buildings, illuminating the shadows that clung to the alleyways. The tyrants moved with purpose, splitting into smaller groups to cover more ground.
Virgil led his group to a decrepit part of the city, where the first target resided. The man's name was Kain, a notorious slave trader known for his cruelty. Virgil had done his research; Kain had been one of the men who had owned Akita, one who had inflicted countless scars upon her body and soul. The thought ignited a dark satisfaction within Virgil. Tonight, Kain would suffer for damaging what was his.
The group dismounted silently, securing their horses in a hidden alcove. Virgil signaled for his men to follow, his steps light and purposeful as they approached the rundown building. The door creaked open with a slight push, revealing a dimly lit interior. The scent of stale alcohol and unwashed bodies permeated the air.
Kain was inside, seated at a rickety table with a bottle in hand. He looked up, his bleary eyes widening in surprise as Virgil and his men entered. The recognition was immediate, and fear flashed across Kain's face. He stumbled to his feet, his hand reaching for a hidden dagger. But Virgil was quicker.
In one swift motion, Virgil closed the distance between them, his blade flashing in the moonlight. The dagger fell from Kain's hand, clattering to the floor as he clutched at his throat, blood gushing between his fingers. Virgil watched dispassionately as the life drained from Kain's eyes, the man's body collapsing in a lifeless heap. The tyrants moved swiftly, ensuring there were no witnesses left alive. It was a clean execution, efficient and silent.
Virgil wiped his blade clean, his expression unreadable. The thrill of the kill was intoxicating, but it was a fleeting satisfaction. He turned to his men, issuing a curt nod. "Let's move," he ordered, his voice cold. "We have more work to do."
The night continued in a similar fashion, with Virgil and his men methodically eliminating each target. The city streets ran red with blood, the shadows hiding the evidence of their gruesome work. Virgil felt no remorse, no hesitation. These men were monsters, and he was simply delivering justice in his own way. His thoughts occasionally drifted to Akita, the girl who had suffered at the hands of these men. He wondered if she would feel any relief, knowing they were dead. Not that it mattered—his actions were not for her benefit, but for his own.
As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Virgil and his men returned to the manor. The air was thick with the scent of blood, the memory of the night's violence lingering in the shadows. Virgil dismounted, his movements deliberate as he handed his reins to a stable boy. He dismissed his men, their silent nods acknowledging his command.
He made his way to his chambers, the manor still quiet in the early morning hours. He entered the room to find Akita still asleep on the floor, her form wrapped in the blanket. The sight of her brought a strange mix of emotions—irritation at her defiance, a twisted satisfaction in owning her, and a faint flicker of something he couldn't quite place.
He removed his cloak, hanging it on a nearby chair. The room was warm, the fire having been stoked by the servants in his absence. He stood over Akita for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied her sleeping form. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in slumber. But Virgil knew better. She was a fighter, a survivor. And he would have to be careful, lest she slip through his fingers.
With a sigh, he turned away, pouring himself a glass of blood wine from a decanter on the table. He sipped it slowly, the rich taste washing away the metallic tang of blood from his lips. As he settled into a chair by the fire, he couldn't help but reflect on the night's events. The killings had been necessary, a way to maintain his control and satisfy his darker urges. But they also served as a reminder of the power he wielded, the fear he instilled in others.
He glanced at Akita once more, a small, cruel smile playing on his lips. She was his now, bound to him by circumstance and the weight of his will. He would break her, mold her into something useful. But for now, he would let her sleep, unaware of the darkness that lurked just beyond her reach.
The night had been long and bloody, and as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, Virgil felt a sense of grim satisfaction. He had taken care of those who had wronged her, not out of kindness, but because it pleased him to do so. He would continue to shape the world around him, bending it to his will. And Akita, whether she liked it or not, would play a part in that.
As the manor slowly woke to a new day, Virgil leaned back in his chair, his mind already planning the tasks for the day ahead. He would see to it that Akita was put to work, that she learned her place. But for now, he would let her rest. The weight of consequences hung heavy in the air, and he was content to let it settle over them both.