The mist clung to the dense forest like a living thing, curling between the trees and shifting under the dim glow of the moon. From its depths, a lone figure emerged—a man draped in an ageless elegance, his form cutting through the fog as if it parted for him alone.
Kol Ivanguard stepped into an unfamiliar world, the scent of damp earth and ale-soaked wood filling his senses. His gaze lifted, scanning the small village nestled beneath the night sky. The distant hum of revelry—drunken laughter, slurred songs—painted the scene with an almost welcoming warmth.
But it was a warmth that did not touch him.
His sharp eyes traced the glow of torches lining the streets, their flickering light barely holding back the darkness. Villagers staggered through the dirt paths, lost in their own intoxicated merriment. It was a scene of carefree indulgence, but Kol felt the shift in the air—the subtle dissonance that told him he was somewhere entirely new.
「This place is not my world. But it is my problem now.」
With a smooth motion, he adjusted the scarf around his neck, brushing off specks of dust from his long coat. He had learned long ago that no matter where he arrived, appearances mattered. The world may change, but his presence would always demand a certain respect.
A sudden impact disrupted his steps. Someone had bumped into him—hard enough that the scent of cheap liquor hit him before the man's face did.
"Bah, watch it!" the drunkard slurred, waving a sluggish hand in the air. He was short, unkempt, with a bald head glistening under the torchlight. His dull, unfocused eyes flickered toward Kol, and for a moment, he seemed to register something wrong.
Kol tilted his head slightly, letting a slow, amused smile creep onto his lips. His fangs caught the light as he spoke, his voice a smooth hum of restrained amusement.
"I suggest you watch yourself, fool."
It took less than a second. The man's bleary expression twisted into wide-eyed fear, his drunken haze burning away under an instinctual terror. His breath hitched as he stumbled back, hands trembling.
"A-Ah, my apologies, sir. If you'll excuse me..."
He turned and scurried off, as fast as his unsteady legs would carry him.
Kol exhaled through his nose, the smile fading as quickly as it had come. He hadn't even needed to exert pressure—just a flicker of something primal beneath his words. Fear was an easy thing to cultivate when one knew how.
He took another step forward, weaving through the lively streets of Honeywell. A strange new world, an unfamiliar land…
But it made no difference. He would learn. He would adapt.
And soon, he would find out why the blood in this world called to him so strongly.
*Pzzt.*
A sensation prickled at the edge of Kol's awareness—subtle, yet distinct. A presence. Someone was watching him.
They were doing a terrible job of it.
He came to an abrupt stop, letting the night air settle around him. In his world, such attempts at stealth were barely noticeable, mere ghosts in the wind. But here? It was laughably blatant.
Without turning, he let his voice carry through the crowd, laced with amusement.
"Hmm? Do you need help hiding? I'm quite good at it—well, at times I can be."
A playful smile curled his lips, his fangs glinting under the torchlight as he waited for a response.
None came.
But amidst the shifting mass of villagers, one figure stood out. A hooded man, clad in dark robes, his face concealed beneath the beak of a raven mask. Even from a distance, Kol could feel his gaze—unwavering, fixed solely on him.
The crowd swayed, a sea of movement that momentarily obscured Kol's vision. When it passed… the man was gone.
Kol exhaled through his nose, his amusement deepening into something sharper.
「Ah, intrigued by a game of hide and seek, are we?」
Filing the encounter away for later, he turned back to the present matter at hand—he needed a place to think. Somewhere away from prying eyes. With a casual flick of his wrist, he reached into the moving crowd, catching hold of the nearest person.
His fingers curled around fine fabric.
A sharp inhale. A delicate tremor.
An elvish woman—her golden hair spilling over her shoulders—now stood frozen in his grasp.
A hush fell over the nearest onlookers. Some turned away, too drunk to care. Others simply watched, unwilling to intervene.
Kol ignored them, his voice smooth but firm. "Pray, direct me to the nearest spot where I may find repose and pass the time."
The elvish woman swallowed hard, her emerald eyes wide. "T-The Taphouse…" she stammered, raising her hands in surrender. "It's a common place for travelers to stop by… P-Please don't hurt me."
Kol let out a soft chuckle. "Many thanks. No need to worry; I am merely grateful for the kindness that still lingers in this world."
He released her with an effortless grace, slipping a few gold coins into her palm as he turned to leave.
She blinked, staring at the unfamiliar currency in confusion. "W-What kind of coins are these…?" she muttered, her fingers tracing the foreign metal. But before she could question further, she shook her head and vanished into the crowd.
Kol paid her no further mind. His destination was set.
The Honeywell Taphouse awaited.
-
The door to the Honeywell Taphouse creaked open, releasing a flood of warmth into the cool night air.
Inside, a lively symphony of tavern life played—a crackling fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls, the mingling scent of roasted meats and spiced ale, and the boisterous chatter of villagers lost in drunken merriment.
But as Kol Ivanguard stepped in, a subtle shift took place.
The laughter grew slightly subdued. Conversations dipped into murmurs. A few wandering eyes flickered toward him before darting away, as if instinctively wary of his presence.
Unfazed, Kol took a measured step forward.
The scent in the air assaulted his senses—a dense, intoxicating blend of sweat, alcohol, and something deeper. Something ferrous. A scent reminiscent of blood.
His crimson gaze swept the room, scanning for any lingering hostility.
There.
In the dimmest corner of the tavern, a lone figure lounged in the shadows—feet kicked up on the table, posture exuding carelessness yet betraying a coiled tension beneath. The man's clothing was… out of place. Not of this land. Not of this time.
And Kol knew, even in the crowded room, the man was watching him.
A small smirk tugged at the dhampir's lips.
How amusing.
---
Jack Ripper's Perspective
Shit.
Jack lowered his hood slightly, pretending to adjust it, though he knew damn well the weird bastard had already spotted him.
He could feel it—that unnatural gaze.
Sitting there, all poised and refined like he owned the room.
Jack exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat. His fingers twitched with a hint of origin magic.
This guy wasn't just some regular traveler.
Jack didn't like it.
---
Kol's Perspective
He chose a seat within range—not too close, yet not far enough to be ignored.
Casually, he settled into place, hands folded atop the table, allowing the night's events to unfold at their own pace.
The brief moment of quiet was soon shattered by a gruff voice.
"Ye gonna order somethin', or just stare mindlessly?"
Kol turned his head, his gaze falling upon a burly dwarven man, his thick beard speckled with bits of dried ale.
Kol parted his lips to speak.
"Something riche—"
The words never left his mouth.
Because in the span of a heartbeat, a blur of motion cut through the air.
A boot connected with his forehead.
Just as quickly, the figure vanished.
Kol barely had time to process the absurdity of what had just happened. A cloak billowed. A flicker of shadows. The perpetrator reappeared outside, perched atop a nearby rooftop, peering back into the tavern like a curious predator.
Kol blinked.
Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed the dust from his face. For the first time in decades, he was left in momentary bewilderment. "A peculiar greeting," he mused aloud, his amusement outweighing any annoyance.
---
Poe's Perspective
From a corner seat, a pair of silver eyes glimmered with intrigue.
A faint chuckle escaped Poe's lips as he witnessed the bizarre exchange.
"It seems there are some interesting people in this village." A smirk of excitement tugged at the edge of his mouth as he lifted a delicate porcelain teacup to his lips, sipping gracefully amidst the chaotic energy of the room.
While others might have viewed the interaction as a meaningless scuffle, Poe saw something else. He watched. He observed. He waited.
Kol, meanwhile, turned his gaze toward him.
"It's intriguing, truly."
Kol's tone was unreadable, yet Poe felt the weight behind it. "No need to conceal yourself; you're not the first to falter."
Poe's smirk deepened.
「Heh. This night was turning out to be quite fascinating.」
--
Poe tilted his head slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Hm? Did you say something, my fair traveler?" His voice was smooth, teasing. "Or did you prefer a greeting like your other friend earlier? I'd be happy to oblige a request from a common man."
Kol studied him, crimson eyes flicking over his finely tailored suit. Enchanted fabric, no doubt costly. Even in his long years, such craftsmanship was rare. A noble, perhaps? Or something else entirely? He sipped his tea, his lips curving into a toothy grin.
"Hm? I wouldn't advise attempting it. Yet, the allure is hard to resist, isn't it? Not an opportunity that presents itself every day. Come now, give it your best shot."
Poe chuckled, tapping a finger against his cup. "Curious. Most rabble would begin running. Apparently not you…" His smile widened. "Come forth, old man. I'm feeling generous tonight. Please, join me." He gestured to the empty seat across from him.
Kol exhaled sharply, then let out a low chuckle. "Well, why not? I haven't got much to lose." Rising from his seat, he strode toward the table with the ease of someone who had seen centuries pass. He pulled out the chair and settled in, resting his arms casually on the table.
"That's the spirit!" Poe's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Now then, you look like you're in dire need of something. I can tell. Consider it a… hunch."
Kol arched a brow, mirroring the boy's words back at him. "Hmm? Well, for one, what I need is a rather obedient individual. Consider it a… hunch."
Poe chuckled with amusement, taking a slow sip of his tea. "Ah, well played. Well, I'm not one to judge others' fetishes, but to each their own. I know a place that serves… your kind."
He leaned back slightly, silver eyes glinting. "Oh, yes. I can smell you from a mile away, dhampir."
A low, raspy chuckle rumbled from Kol's chest. "Well now, that's quite intriguing. Seems like you're not your average folk either." His fingers twitched slightly, an old habit—one born of restraint.
Poe's lips curled. "Hmph, my regal nature is hard to miss, I know." He studied the dhampir with keen interest before tilting his head slightly. "Are you all right, my vampiric friend?"
--
Nearby Rooftop
Jack's Perspective. Five minutes earlier.
The rooftops of the Honeywell district offered an unbroken view of the taphouse below, where the evening carried on with a steady rhythm—clinking mugs, muffled laughter, and the low hum of conversation. Jack kept to the shadows, his body low against the cool tiles, eyes flickering between the figures inside. The red-haired dhampir intrigued him, but he wasn't alone. Another man, dressed like a noble, had drawn his attention as well. The air around them felt different, like pieces shifting into place on a board he wasn't sure he wanted to play on.
Then, a muffled noise snapped his focus elsewhere. A distant scuffle. Something—someone—in the alleyway behind the temple. Jack exhaled sharply, switching his attention.
"Lama lama makin pelik tempat ni…" he muttered in primordial under his breath. (This place keeps getting weirder…)
With practiced ease, he crept toward the sound.
The alley was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the lanterns in the streets beyond. A masked figure had an orphan boy pinned against the damp wall, his dagger pressing against the child's throat.
"Tell me what you know, kid, or this does not have to go sideways."
The boy whimpered but held his ground, his little hands clenched into fists.
Jack settled into position above them, crouched low on the ledge of the building, dagger already in hand. He watched, waiting.
The masked man's patience, however, was running thin. "Oi, kid. I'm not fucking jokin' around." The blade licked the base of the boy's neck, a sliver of crimson beading against his skin.
The boy cracked. "The cove is behind the waterfalls... I don't know the passcode... please..."
A low chuckle from the masked man. "Thanks, kid. Now, it's nothing personal."
The dagger arced downward.
Jack moved.
The air shifted as he landed between them, catching the man's wrist in an iron grip. Shadows curled around his fingers, an unnatural chill seeping into the man's skin. For a second, he didn't register the danger. Then, his eyes widened. A strangled breath escaped his lips as blood spilled from his nose, his ears, his eyes. His body convulsed, muscles locking, then slackening as death took hold. He staggered back, choking on his own fluids, before collapsing in a heap. The alley fell into silence, save for the slow trickle of blood pooling around the corpse.
Jack turned to the boy.
"What cove, what waterfall, and what password?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last of his gold, letting it gleam in the faint light.
The boy's eyes darted between the body and the gold, his breath still uneven. But then, a small smile. "The cove lies behind the waterfall. Pass through there, and you'll enter the Cove of Shadows—at least, that's what they say. I really don't know the password, mister... but I know someone who might! That old uncle by the shore, he talks a lot about smugglers passing by a few days ago."
Jack considered the information. Good enough. He flicked the pouch of gold toward the kid. "Don't get robbed. Keep your nose clean, or someone like me will come for your life for real."
The boy caught it, eyes wide with excitement. "Thanks, mister! I will! I'll tell my folks about you!"
Jack was already vanishing into the rooftops when he called back, his voice sharp as a blade.
"Say a word, and I'll come for you."
--
Honeywell Taphouse, Present Moment.
"Are you all right, my vampiric friend?" Poe asked with mild concern.
The air in the Honeywell Taphouse thickened, tension crackling like a storm about to break. Kol's body stiffened, his breath ragged as the hunger took hold. His vision blurred at the edges, fading into crimson-tinged memories of battles past—rivers of blood, shattered bodies, the ecstasy of the kill. His hands trembled, veins darkening beneath his pale skin.
Blood.
Kill.
Drain.
A dagger cut through the thick atmosphere, a sudden blur of steel flashing toward Kol—except Jack's aim was off. A sharp crash echoed through the taphouse, followed by a startled yelp from a patron seated nearby.
"THE HELL!?" A deep voice bellowed. A moment later, the orc pulls out the dagger stuck to his neck and blood spews like a bursting fountain, causing him to collapse.
Jack let out a slow exhale, shaking his head.
「Again???」
Kol barely registered the misfire. His nostrils flared, his senses tunneling in on something far more potent—the scent of fresh blood. His hunger ignited, and his body tensed.
"Blood. I smell blood."
Jack didn't hesitate. Dark, swirling tendrils of magic coalesced in his hands—not the dragon's mana he once wielded, but something deeper, something colder. A familiar power, yet twisted into shadow.
Two streaks of umbral force lanced through the air. Kol blurred aside from the first, but the second struck him dead in the chest, sending him crashing into the wooden walls.
Poe reacted instantly, pulling his raven mask over his face as he slipped into a defensive stance. His heart pounded against his ribs.
「Damn it. I need to lead him out of here.」Poe thinked to himself.
Kol growled as he staggered to his feet. The patrons shrieked, panic erupting through the tavern like wildfire.
"VAMPIRE!!! RUN!!! GET THE GUARDS!!"
Chairs overturned, tankards smashed, and boots thundered against the floorboards as the taphouse emptied in a chaotic rush.
Poe moved to follow—only to trip over a stool, stumbling just behind the fleeing crowd. "Damn it."
Amidst the chaos, Jack melted into the shadows, slipping through the room unnoticed. The undead was going feral, his bloodlust threatening to consume the town. Jack wouldn't let that happen.
Emerging from the darkness, he lunged, grabbing Kol from behind. His touch seared with magic—not the radiant fire of the past, but something raw, something old.
He reached for the presence he once knew, the mighty dragon who had acknowledged his mana. His hand pressed against Kol's chest.
A whisper, ice-cold against the vampire's ear.
"Heel, undead."
Kol's breath hitched. Something unfamiliar curled in his gut, overtaking the hunger—an emotion he hadn't felt in centuries.
Fear.
The blood inside him howled, 'KILL HIM!!' But his limbs hesitated, his instincts recoiling.
Poe caught the moment of hesitation. Without wasting a second, he moved, slashing Kol's throat—then driving his blade straight into his heart.
Kol staggered. For a second, silence reigned. Then—
His body did not crumble into ash.
Instead, the black ichor inside him surged, regenerating, knitting his undead flesh back together.
Poe's eyes widened. "W-wait what? You're supposed to be dead."
Jack exhaled, watching the unnatural restoration unfold.
"Fucking vamp."
Jack watched Kol, his instincts screaming as the vampire's insatiable hunger soaked the air. He lunged, aiming to grab him, but Kol's form shifted, slipping through his grasp like smoke. The dagger he swung passed right through Kol, the mist of his undead form barely stirring. Kol's twisted smile widened as his bloodlust battled with a strange, paralyzing fear. Jack's grip tightened, but he could feel the hesitation in Kol's essence—a voice telling him not to attack.
Jack scowled, grinding his teeth. "Tch, think you're hot shit?"
The words barely left his lips when his eyes flared, a flash of crimson lighting his vision. He could feel it—the undead's form trying to vanish, his mist twisting, but Jack could track him, every movement, every shift in the shadows. His own eyes allowed him to see through Kol's tricks, his control focused.
Kol, already grinning madly, felt Jack's presence linger in the air like a heatwave. 'Interesting…' he thought to himself. He welcomed the challenge. His mist swirled thicker around him, and with a sickly chuckle, he disappeared, dashing out the door in a plume of darkness.
"Let's play a game of hide and seek, shall we?" Kol's voice echoed, almost playful, as he vanished into the night.
Poe, still in the chaos of the tavern, caught a fleeting gust of mist brushing past him. He turned sharply, watching it vanish into the streets.
Only one target remained.
His eyes met Jack's, the stranger's gaze cold, calculated. Poe hesitated before speaking, gauging the tension.
"Well, are you friend or foe?" Poe asked, his tone light, but wary.
Jack gave him an almost predatory look, his voice low and guttural. "I don't care. Are you dying today?"
Poe gulped, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. He gave a slow smile, trying to mask his nerves. "Friend, definitely a friend. Now, shall we go hunt a vampire? Whatever you are, he's certainly scared of you."
Jack eyed him with thinly veiled suspicion. Rich people always had a way of getting under his skin. He didn't care about friends or foes—not now.
"Get the vamp," he snapped, then moved quickly behind the bar, stashing all his remaining gold safely away in a hidden compartment where the barkeep could find it.
Poe gave a slight nod, the thrill of the hunt rising in him. "Sure thing." His smile grew, a sense of eager anticipation in his voice as he stretched his arms wide. "The hunt is finally on. Do give me a good chase, dhampir."
With that, he turned and exited the tavern, stepping into the night, the pursuit of Kol now set in motion.