The air in Blackthorn was thick with a sense of impending doom, heavy and suffocating as Liora sprinted through the dimly lit corridors. Her breaths came in shallow bursts, each one echoing the pounding of her heart. Shadows danced along the walls, twisting into shapes that seemed to claw at her, mocking her attempts to escape.
Behind her, the sounds of chaos erupted—growls like thunder, crashes that shook the ancient manor, and the unmistakable clash of supernatural power. Dante's voice rang out, sharp and commanding: "Stay back!"
But the darkness held more than echoes.
A figure emerged from a narrow passage, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the chase. His hollow eyes glinted with a cruel light, his pale lips curling into a mocking smile that revealed sharp fangs.
"Bravery will only get you so far, little dove," he purred, his voice a low, venomous whisper. "But I'll give you credit—it's rare to find a human so… enticing."
Liora froze, her hand gripping the dagger so tightly her knuckles ached. She swallowed hard, her throat dry as her mind raced. "Stay away from me," she warned, forcing strength into her voice that she didn't feel.
The vampire chuckled, the sound low and chilling. "And what will you do with that little blade? Cut me? I promise you, it won't be enough."
In a flash, he lunged. Liora barely managed to sidestep, slashing blindly as she moved. The blade grazed his arm, tearing his sleeve but leaving his pale skin unmarred. The rogue hissed, his smirk replaced with a snarl.
"You've got spirit," he growled, his eyes narrowing. "But spirit alone won't save you."
Before she could react, another vampire stepped from the shadows, flanking her. This one was taller, with an even more menacing presence, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
Liora's pulse thundered in her ears. Two of them.
She backed away, her mind screaming for escape, but her body frozen in place. The first vampire tilted his head, studying her like a wolf might a lamb.
"Run, little dove," he mocked. "It'll make the hunt more fun."
Liora's feet finally obeyed, and she turned, sprinting toward the only direction left—deeper into the manor.
The vampires pursued her, their laughter a cruel melody that echoed through the halls. No matter how fast she ran, they seemed to close the distance effortlessly, their movements impossibly fast.
She rounded a corner and stumbled into the library, its vast shelves casting long, ominous shadows. Her chest burned from exertion, her hand trembling as she raised the dagger.
The first vampire appeared in the doorway, his grin widening. "Such a fragile thing," he murmured, stepping closer. "Do you even realize how breakable you are?"
A sudden rush of cold wind blew through the room, extinguishing several candles. For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, like a shadow incarnate, Dante appeared between her and the vampires. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, his expression a mask of fury.
"Touch her, and it will be the last thing you do," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble that sent chills down Liora's spine.
The rogue vampire laughed, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Ah, the lord of Blackthorn himself. Come to protect your little pet?"
Dante didn't answer. He moved with blinding speed, slamming into the rogue with a force that sent him crashing into a bookshelf. The other vampire lunged at Dante, but Dante twisted, driving his clawed hand into the attacker's chest and hurling him aside like a ragdoll.
The library became a battleground, the clash of supernatural strength shaking the very foundation of the manor. Books and debris rained down as Dante fought with deadly precision, his movements a blend of grace and raw power.
But the vampires were relentless, their attacks coordinated, their hunger for destruction palpable.
"Liora," Dante barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Run. Now!"
She hesitated, fear rooting her to the spot. "I can't just leave you—"
"Go!" he roared, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Liora stumbled toward the exit, but before she could reach it, the rogue vampire broke free of Dante's grip and appeared in her path. His face was a mask of fury, blood dripping from a gash across his cheek.
"Not so fast," he hissed, reaching for her.
Liora raised the dagger instinctively, slashing wildly. The blade struck his hand, and he recoiled with a snarl, but it was enough to give Dante the opening he needed.
With a guttural roar, Dante tore into the rogue, his claws ripping through flesh with terrifying efficiency. The second vampire tried to intervene, but Dante turned on him, his strikes feral and unrelenting.
The room fell silent except for Dante's ragged breathing. The vampires lay motionless, their bodies crumpled and broken.
Liora stared, her chest heaving, as Dante turned to her. His eyes burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine, but there was something else there too—concern.
"You're hurt," he said, his voice softer now as he approached her.
"I'm fine," she whispered, though her trembling hands betrayed her.
Dante reached out, his fingers brushing hers as he took the dagger from her grip. "Stay close," he murmured. "This is far from over."
The tension in his voice was unmistakable, a promise of more danger to come.