Interlude 4 - The Aftermath:

Vampires didn’t need to sleep. They simply hid from the sun during the day and that meant they’d return to the Undercity to report just before dawn. All the influential vampires from across the globe had been summoned and now resided in the halls —many of them were lost, but their enemies had been snuffed out.

“Where were the masters you were gloating about when we massacred your kind, then?” asked Carmilla. She sat on the throne, legs crossed, one hand holding a head with neatly combed hair and the other resting on the armrest. She wasn’t truly holding it, though. It was floating above her hand, hovering an inch above her palm, “Surely, your oh-so-great masters would have seen your plight to assist you if they were truly back.”

“I am not one to question my masters’ intentions,” said the head. His eyes were open but they did not contain eyes—it had been pulled out and inside it writhed maggots feasting on the dead flesh.

“Then you should make that a habit. If you had, you wouldn’t have dared to offend me,” said Carmilla. A mass of maggots dropped from the eyes but they halted mid-air and were pushed back into the eyeholes, “We can make a contract and your suffering can end.”

Demons didn’t die. Not truly. They were always alive, even if their heads were torn off or burnt away, they still ‘lived’. Their consciousness persevered and they would come back to life sooner or later. They regenerated fervently, able to rebuild their body even if it was being torn to shreds every single moment, and that was just what was happening to Asmodeus’ body.

It was being torn apart by Nosferatu, and the fact that he could still feel his body would undoubtedly mean he was in pain. Not to mention the maggots in his eye sockets.

“Oh please, I am a creature born of pain. The flames of hell have been burning inside me all my life. This is nothing but a slight hindrance,” said Asmodeus, “What about you, Carmilla? Do you fear pain? What you will feel when you fall to hell after your demise?”

She was quiet for a few seconds.

“I’m immortal,” she said, “Dracula was soft and careless. I’m not either of those. I’ll enslave all of humanity and rule the world with an iron fist. And I’ll rule for all eternity. I won’t be going to Hell.”

“That’s what Amarok used to say. Just a bit differently. He’s dead now, isn’t he?” asked Asmodeus. Those who had slain a true dragon had impenetrable skins and their claws could tear apart anything, including other dragons. And only others who’d killed a dragon could kill them, or perhaps another true dragon. They inflicted injuries that none could heal, even if they were demons or werebeasts.

“I granted him a swift death. I respected him, but I don’t respect you,” said Carmilla and she prickled her index finger with her thumb and drew her blood out from her body. Then she had it slither into his ears and had them solidify, then she had it swirl around his brain, stabbing and hacking through it, “You will never be granted death.”

“You’re afraid,” said Asmodeus in-between grunts. The hell flames scorched him at all times, but having his brain shredded to pieces wasn’t a comfortable feeling —especially if you could heal it only for it to get destroyed a moment later, “Aren’t you? You’re afraid that the gods are back. You’re afraid that they’ll usurp you. But I know what you’re afraid of most.”

“Perhaps you want to take a dip in acid,” said Carmilla before he finished his sentence, “You should know not to anger the one that can inflict so much pain to you, demon.”

“You’re afraid of the true dragons coming back,” said Asmodeus, a grin on his face, “Let me assure you, they will be back. And the Holy will be back. The angels will return and my masters will be unleashed upon the world. You’ll be the hunted again.”

Carmilla closed her fist and the skull was crushed, imploding inward. It’d reform in a moment, but she needed that brief respite.

Demons had a way with words. They twisted and contorted your beliefs. But she wanted to hear him grunt and she wanted him to renounce his masters. She wanted him to admit that he was wrong and that his masters weren’t truly back.

But deep down, she knew that he was telling the truth.

The System was trying to grant power to the humans and she wouldn’t allow that. They were meant to be cattle and would be treated as such. If it meant turning them into mindless blood bags, she’d do it. And it’d start in Broica.

She heard knocks on the doors of the throne room. There were three of them, made in quick succession —it was for emergencies.

“Enter,” she ordered and the door swung open, pushed open with brute force rather than Telekinesis. There were thirty knights with dark blue armor, designed to shield them from not only the claws of all that may dare to fight against them but even the sunlight. They were from the North where the hunters were far more active than in Broica —they couldn’t be too active in Nerea, for they could easily be snuffed out.

At the front walked a pale boy that looked to be around twelve, but for a vampire, their physical age betrayed their biological one. Behind him were thirty others, far larger than him, clearly adults. All of them wore dark blue armor that covered their entire body, protecting them from both the light and all manners of weaponry.

He was a noble from the Northern regions, Jonas. His territory encompassed more than half of Norway and Sweden if she was correct. One of the ten most powerful Nobles that still walked in the world of the living.

“Sister Carmilla,” he said playfully with a coy grin. He looked as innocent as any twelve-year-old but he was crueler than the oldest torturers that Carmilla had in her employ, “You look as wonderful as ever. And smell so too, but I think I can smell some filth. Do you have a new toy? Can I get one of them too?”

“Help yourself,” said Carmilla, a fake smile on her face. She couldn’t show weakness. Rather, she had to be arrogant, “You can have as many as you want.”

“Thank you, you are the best sister in the world,” said Jonas, but the smile faded and it was replaced with a more serious look, “What I don’t understand is, why that best sister would send me to commit suicide. Our terms were very clear, I assume. We come and have a little bit of fun and leave.”

“Pardon?” asked Carmilla. Asmodeus had started to form, but she snapped her fingers and the brain was splattered across the carpet. The bits that would have hit her dress were pushed aside by her masterful usage of Telekinesis.

“The Servants of the Holy, I mean,” said Jonas and raised an eyebrow.

Carmilla didn’t answer for a second, her playful facade frozen for a second. Her smile faded for a second.

“They are simply a myth, Jonas,” said Carmilla after she recovered, the smirk back.

“Tell me, sister, have you seen a vampire burn to death while wearing a Day Armor in the middle of the night?” asked Jonas with a finger touching his chin and eyes looking upward, “Burnt to ashes, even.”

“I cannot say that I have,” she said.

“Of course, of course,” said Jonas and nodded his head, “Because you haven’t met a Servant of the Holy before. I happen to have run into several back before the Crusades. I’d say a thousand and a three hundred years ago but I may be a century or two off if you’ll excuse that. They chanted their prayer and their blades started to blaze with holy flames. They then rend through anything and everything until they reach your flesh. And do you know what happens when it does?”

It was a rhetorical question.

“Well, you burn into ashes. Sounds familiar?” he asked —another rhetoric question, “Well, that said, I’ll be leaving. Deal with the Servants of the Holy yourself, sister. I will not be endangering myself nor my cute little knights for your agendas until you have. I still love you, though. You are the best sister in the world.”

She could defeat Jonas but not effortlessly. Impervious, her skin maybe, but she was still weak to many other things —being crushed, for one, and he could easily have the ceiling collapse if he wished to. It would be a double suicide but he would do it —he was a madman.

“Oh, also, where are the demon toys again, sister?” asked Jonas with a sweet smile. She simply snapped her fingers and a spirit appeared from behind one of the many paintings in the room. It looked to be made of black smoke and a skull seemed to be floating amidst that.

“Lead them,” she whispered into its ears and the spirit obliged.

It led the not-very-welcome guests out of the throne room and Carmilla looked at them leave.

It was intriguing how even she, the most powerful creature in the world of today, had so many fears and worries…

But if the Holy had returned…

“Afraid, aren’t you?” asked Asmodeus, finally reformed. He wasn’t truly back. Only the skull had formed but it could speak —vocal cords were optional for demons, “It isn’t too late. Give in to the dark lords and you can reign for eternity. Truly and utterly. Nothing can stop you if you serve them.”

Carmilla snapped her fingers and the head was blown to smithereens again. Brain matter and skull fragments fell to the ground, adding to the ever-growing pile of flesh and bones.

“We can make a deal or we can continue our games,” said Carmilla. Asmodeus was listening, she knew he was, “We have time.”

And she knew the answer to her question. She could just imagine him answering with a smile, saying that they, in fact, did not have time.

***

The riverside mansion that belonged to the Morris line was once home to many but decades had passed since then. The laughter of children as they ran around the mansion was a regular occurrence, but now, that was impossible. Everyone had moved away and Jeremy was left to watch the mansion all by himself —the Good Hunter.

All alone, he turned to alcohol for company. The life of a hunter was apparently boring if you did it alone and all of your companions were either dead or had moved on. And they had. Edmund was the last of the real hunters —the ones that wanted to hunt. At least from the Morris line. He was extended family but Jeremy considered him more of a Morris than Charlie or even Jack. Charlie was metaphorically a monster, but she wasn’t a good hunter.

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The hunting tradition would have died after he accidentally stumbled into a Noble and got his throat slit, with no one to watch his back.

The System brought with it many terrors, but it had also brought them closer. A drunkard like him would never be able to meet Chris and have a drink with him before the System. He certainly couldn’t have met everyone in the family without being shunned and turned away. Not after the incident.

But now they were here to meet him and selfish happiness slowly grew in his heart.

“Who are they?” asked Jason. That’s what the boy he’d saved from the vampires was called —a Brawler. That’s what his class was. He stood before a grainy old picture with over ten people standing side-by-side —darned traitors. They’d left him here to rot.

“The Hunters,” said Jeremy, lounging on a sofa. The others were here, acquainting themselves with the weapons once again. They hadn’t hunted for years and some hadn’t done that for a decade. But now? Now, it was a necessity. They needed him. Jeremy hopped to his feet and pointed at a rather young man with a nasty look in his eyes, wearing a suit —he’d mellowed out a long time ago, “I’d say twenty years ago. Look at that lad. That’s me. The guys on the first floor? Most of the guys are in there.”

“Is there a cool-ass society of hunters or something?” asked Jason as he walked around the room. It was the Trophy Room, as they called it. There were various trinkets from across the world scattered just about everywhere and put within glass cases.

“There is, but they ain’t cool,” said Jeremy, “Just dogs of the governments. They don’t hunt because they want to protect the world from monsters. They hunt to get paid. A bunch of cold assholes that can’t take no for an answer.”

Jason shrugged.

“What I’d expect from guys that kill monsters for a living,” said Jason as he looked around the room. He squatted down next to a large fang. It was as large as a lighter.

“Fangs of a Nosferatu,” said Jeremy, “Their fangs are usually large but this one had damn big ones. Put an arrow into its heart and pulled it out after it died. That over there is the hoof of a werebeast. It turned into a damn giraffe and lemme tell you, that’s not something you see a lot. Most of them are wolves or bears or something.”

“So the mindless ones have big fangs?” Asked Jason. He was being taught to be a hunter now. Him and the other three they’d saved. It felt good to teach someone. As if he was important and as if what he’s done his entire life wasn’t for vain. Chris was learning as well but from Charlie.

“Yeah. Get bitten by them and you’re pretty much dead,” said Jeremy with a shrug, “I guess not anymore, with all the System nonsense. I suppose some of you kids will be able to wrestle them into submission after you get a dozen levels.”

There was a noise.

Jeremy knew that noise well —it was the sound of bells ringing.

Someone had entered the premises. There were strings drawn all around and if you touched even a single one of them, all the hundred bells would start clattering. The strings were taut so no mere wind would do that. Even normal people walking into it wouldn’t do that most of the time. They’d have to get either cut off or pushed with enough force for them to start ringing.

Most of the time, the only ones that could do that were monsters.

But now?

Now it was just about everyone with a physically inclined Class.

Jeremy grabbed the crossbow with one hand. It was heavy and most would only be able to carry it with two. He was beyond that now. His Strength was on the level of athletes before the System, but now, he was stronger than most heavyweights. For someone with his size, that was impressive.

Swiftly, he made his way down the stairs and into the main hall. There were over twenty of them now, half of them family and half of them rescued. Some of the family was still unaccounted for, but Jeremy had made rounds and visited all the houses. There, he’d left what they’d need the most —Cruciform Daggers and a destination.

Some stood near the windows, peering out of it. Some of them were armed and ready. It was quite awe-inspiring as if he was a part of the Coalition. No… a better Coalition.

Jeremy walked up to the nearest window that wasn’t full and stared out.

The manor didn’t have very much land outside it, courtesy to the forest it was within. Four or so kilometers away from the manor was the emergency storage that he and Chris visited.

On the grass outside stood a werebeast. They could turn into a full-on animal that was a bit larger than an actual one along with some oddity, a human and everything in-between. The one that stood outside was a fully beast one —a fox.

It was large, almost the size of a large dog —foxes weren’t that large. That, and he was pretty sure they didn’t have glowing eyes.

And there was more than one.

In fact, there were ten of them.

“Is it an attack?” asked Jeremy, one eyebrow raised and the other furrowed. The only hunters in the room were him, Charlie, Jack, and Emma. The others were strangers or those who weren’t hunters. Most of the adults in the family knew about them but didn’t hunt —the ones that were older than twenty, that is. The ones older than thirty were mostly hunters.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” said Charlie. She was an Amazonian back when she was a hunter, but now, she looked just like every other office woman. Thin and lean, sure; but muscular? Not one bit. Her body was flabby now and without her Heart Factor, she was far less impressive. Even her hair was styled like an office woman’s —straight black hair that reached her back. At least she was wearing proper clothes —her old leather jacket and jeans that were in the mansion. They still fit despite her body. But Jeremy knew that in terms of experience, she was every bit the hunter she was, “They’re waiting.”

“You’re telling me they came here to meet us?” asked Jeremy and shook his head, “No, that’s not how it works. The Coalition is what they turn to. Not us.”

“I’m pretty sure they don’t have phones,” said Charlie, “And I don’t believe any monster has seen a Coalition member and lived. So they come to you.”

“We are not having this talk again,” said Jeremy. He grit his teeth, “If they can find them for a damned deal, they can find them for emergencies.”

“No, we are not,” interjected Jack. He was as stoic as before, still wearing a white shirt. Jeremy had to admit, he rocked the office worker look, with a straight jawline and all. If he was Jack, even he wouldn’t dress in anything but that, “Your petty angst is getting tiring, Jerry. Go meet them. They’re probably looking for you.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, it’s petty, innit? What’s petty is just leaving one day and founding some sort of organization without even telling me,” said Jeremy. His voice was raised —that was rare, “I wouldn’t even have stopped them. I’d have helped them.”

“We all know you wouldn’t have,” said Jack, staring at him with almost bulging eyes. That’s all it needed for Jeremy to punch him in the cheek, which he returned twofold with a kick to the guts.

It was always like that.

Put Jeremy and Jack in a room and you’d get a fight in less than five minutes. If they didn’t fight, it meant that the world would end in the next few seconds.

And Emma was used to that. She was Jack’s wife and had seen them fight more than a hundred times. They wouldn’t seriously hurt or kill each other, but still, they tended to go too far unless stopped.

The only way to stop them?

Hit both of them.

They were like children.

Emma simply shook her head and turned to Charlie. As always, she was watching with a smirk. Everyone enjoyed watching them fight, excluding Emma. She didn’t like it any more than seeing two kids fight outside. While she didn’t condone it, she often enjoyed the show.

“I’m… going out to meet them,” Emma whispered into Charlie’s ears and tapped her on the shoulder. It was embarrassing to have the family situation be so visible to monsters. But she knew that they meant peace. Otherwise, they’d have attacked them in the dead of night.

She pushed open the creaking door and walked out of the house. They looked almost pretty from close-up. Then again, she liked animals. The kind that wouldn’t keep pets but would absolutely visit their friend that had a pet on the way home to pet them.

Sometime after she left the house, it sounded like Charlie was stopping the fight.

But she had more important matters to talk about.

Whatever brought werebeasts to hunters without the intention of murder ought to be important.

“Umm, can you talk in your animal forms? I happen to not have seen any do that,” said Emma as she looked at them. It’d be awkward if she had to stare at a buck-naked person, “So?”

“Yes, we can indeed talk in our beast form,” said a deep voice. Emma instantly connected the voice to an old businessman. The werebeast sounded just like them, “You are one of the hunters, I assume, carrying the name of Morris.”

“I am and I am very sorry about what I’ve done. Before the contract, I mean,” said Emma with an apologetic smile. She’d killed over ten of them and had eaten the heart of four. It repulsed her just to think about it, but the Heart Factor was more than worth it, “But I don’t think you’re here to casually chat with me. Would you like to go in and talk about it over a cup of tea? All of you are welcome, by the way.”

She was a lawyer and being polite was her profession. Unless she was in the courtroom. Then she could be a tiny bit of an asshole. But alas, she’d have to be an asshole politely.

“This is quite alright, thank you,” said the fox at the front. He was a tad bit larger than the others, “I assume we have sounded the doorbell correctly. It’s not broken so that is a start.”

“That was polite of you,” said Emma.

So they hadn’t accidentally run into it?

Skill ‘Appraisal’ has been activated!

Name: Rick Clement

Class: Shifter Lvl 6

Title(s): N/A

Mana: 240 / 240

He didn’t have any titles.

That was interesting. Everyone Emma had seen had two or more, including herself. Then again, they were mostly rewarded for excelling at something or something that they wouldn’t have gained otherwise —she had been given a Monster Slayer title because she’d done that despite the difficulty and borderline suicidal nature of it.

But for a monster to kill another monster?

She supposed it’d be the same as having a title for being a killer, which she hadn’t seen anyone have. Jeremy had killed a human or two before and he didn’t have that. Maybe because it was easy and just about anyone could do that, capability-wise. Morality-wise, not very likely.

The cogs in her head started turning and she reasoned that it was only given to you to let you stand out from the rest —if everyone could do it, it would most likely not be a title. Or at least if not everyone bothered to do it. Everyone could hunt monsters capability-wise but only a few morons did that.

“We come to you to seek… help, or rather, deliver a message,” said the fox finally. He seemed to be hesitating and however that was possible, it looked like he was frowning —a frowning fox, “Many of our kind have been murdered in cold blood in the Undercity. None were allowed to leave to send us a message but we felt our kin die with our ancestral bonds.”

“The Undercity?” asked Emma.

She’d heard rumors of it. The Morris bloodline had taken up the duty of finding out about any and every kind of news related to the Undercity —they were the first line of defense against a united force of monsters. There had never been any of that in the history of mankind, but if there was any, that would spell an apocalypse.

For humanity, of course. Not the world.

“Yes, the City of Monsters-,” started the fox, but Emma interjected with a raised finger. He helpfully stopped after saying the last word he was speaking, which was ‘monster’.

“We do know about the Undercity. I meant the situation,” said Emma. The fox nodded in response and continued, but this time, he got to the juicy part.

“As you may know, the Undercity can only be accessed by the Children of the Night. That is only possible with the bridge network provided by the trolls who only let the Children of the Night enter. But that also means that if you are inside, you are at their mercy, never able to leave unless they let you,” he explained, “And if whoever wants to rule it were to appeal to the Troll King, then they could annihilate all our kin that were inside it. I see no other reason. It is under the command of a singular entity now.”

“Which is bad news for us,” said Emma, nodding. She kept herself calm. The voices may have urged her to act up, but they were gone now.

It was the worst kind of news.

“I trust that this requires your utmost attention and the interference of both the Vatican and the Coalition,” said the fox, and then after a small pause, he added, “I ask that you call for us when the time comes for the fight. We reside in the forests. Simply whistle like a cricket and we will be by your sides.”

In monster hunting, both sides knew what hands the other side was dealt but they didn’t necessarily know what hands were dealt to them. Monsters knew more about the Coalition than hunters and hunters knew more about the Undercity than the monsters.

It was ironic.

“That is greatly appreciated,” said Emma with a nod of her head, “Would you rather not join us inside, though?”

“With all the in-fighting, not particularly,” said the fox and they started to blitz away within a moment, turning into mere blurs. It didn’t mean they were moving fast. They moved as fast as they did without turning into blurs but they preferred to move that way. To them, time flowed faster when they did it.

In fights, using the blurring movement was dangerous for them. They wouldn’t have time to react, but for boring hours of travel, it was a great tool —one that Emma wanted to learn as well if she could.

Emma turned back to the house, hoping that they’d stopped fighting by now.

She had important news —and it seemed like she’d be the only viable messenger that could leave for the Coalition unless she somehow managed to bully Jack into going.