Brandal eyed the dark cityscape, perched on top of a pitched roof. Rain fell and plastered his dark hair to his forehead. It was hard to see for the water running down his face, but he wouldn't stop looking. He was too scared to give up and go back without the rogue's head. The roof was slippery in the rain, but he held on to the chimney as the wind tugged on his black coat.

Glissai moved down below in the streets, going from one block to another in their search for the rogue. Brandal warned her if he saw any Eldon patrols or city guards approaching. They advanced, Brandal jumping between the houses and her running below. Now and then they spotted people and checked them out before moving on.

They had only stopped the search to slake their thirst, leaving a dead pair hidden under a large hedge in a park, and to kill some annoying guards that got in their way. Then they'd moved on, keeping careful watch around the harbour and Riverside. They were sure the rogue would attempt to return to the area as soon as he could. They wouldn't allow it.

´See anything?` Glissai's voice called from below.

He stared into the rain and listened carefully. He didn't see anyone and called back down for her to keep going. Then he stood, carefully balanced on the roof. Taking off at a slow run, he sped up for a jump and flew over the gap to the house on the other side of the street. The landing was tricky and he slipped on the roof tiles but managed to grab on to the ridge of the roof. He pulled himself back up with a grunt and stood, balancing on the narrow ridge.

Glissai was much better than him at climbing roofs, but she was stronger and it was better that she was on the ground. The rogue more often traversed the streets as far as they had seen, and if Brandal met with the vampire hunters he was unlikely to get away. Glissai had a much better chance.

They'd been out for hours already, and most of last night too. They had help from others in their clan, their friends, and some who were simply interested in getting rid of the rogue for their own safety's sake. They had spread out into a thin, but fairly effective net around the district. Brandal and Glissai searched along the routes they knew the rogue often took.

Time crawled as they searched in the downpour. Then Brandal spotted someone walking down the streets, disheveled and in tatters, dirty, dark, and bloody. The figure's smooth, silent movements betrayed him. This was no commoner. Standing up to see better, he peered through the rain. It must be him, he thought. Carefully stepping to the edge of the roof, he jumped down beside Glissai.

She twisted around as he landed. ´What?` she asked as she saw his smile.

´I found him,` he said proudly and pointed. ´Just one block away.`

Excited, they set off at a run. They wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. He had caused them too much trouble already.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Voices, far away, faint. He should be worried, but couldn't force himself to care. They were so small and insignificant. Grinding noises, something being moved. Light. He should wake up but the heaviness was too great, it wasn't time yet. More voices, louder, followed by more scraping and grinding noises. The boxes by the door. Not important, not now. A sudden cry out, shouting. Stronger light. Had to wake up. The sun hadn't set yet, it was still above the horizon. So heavy.

´Who are you? What're you doing here?` A sharp voice.

Had to wake up.

´Are you drunk? Get up! This is ours.` Another darker voice.

Ranloo slowly opened his eyes to a blurry world. Everything distant, far away.

´That's right, get up and get out.` The first voice again, loud and unfriendly.

Something poked his leg. A kick? Hard to focus. Ranloo blinked and focused on the person in front of him. A man, maybe twenty-five years, a full blond beard and long curly hair, tall and strong. Another figure behind him, darker hair and beard. Similar looks, but older. They grasped big knives in their hands, maybe short swords. Ranloo shook his head, tried to think.

´Get out of here now, thief!` the older man yelled.

The younger man leaned in closer, made a disgusted face and waved the big knife in front of his face. ´You stink! Get out of here or I'll cut off your ears!`

Ranloo tried to stand but failed, something in the way. He remembered and grabbed the clothes and the edge of the carpet, moved them aside. Then he forced himself up, braced against the wall, slow and heavy, unsteady. Fear stirred. Why was he so tired? The sun? He squinted towards the doorway. It wasn't fully dark yet. Terror clutched at him with cold hands.

The sun hung low beneath the rainclouds, a few stray beams making the rain glitter, painting the rooftops in golden light. The dreadful killing light. He stared at the golden glow with wide eyes and backed away, pressing himself against the wall.

´Get!` The young man moved in, grasped Ranloo's dirty tunic, and pulled him towards the door.

Ranloo was too scared and tired for this. And too ravenous. He couldn't think. He'd barely eaten the other night, and the man's nearness triggered him. More awake, Ranloo fixed the man with an intense stare, his stomach hurting fiercely. The man pulled at him, tried to force him out.

´No!` Ranloo yelled, not sure how harmful the indirect light of the sun would be. The sun-medallion had burned him with a glancing hit. Surely the sun would be worse? He grabbed the man's hand and pulled it off him, backing away again. Panic threatened to overcome his reason completely. How many people were there? So hard to think. He looked out the doorway again. The young man in the shed, the older one outside, and a woman watching at some distance. Three?

´Don't touch me,` he warned the man who moved forward again.

´You need to leave, right now,` he shouted. ´This is ours, and you can't just break in and steal things!`

´I haven't taken anything,` Ranloo replied in a shaky voice. The intoxicating smell of the man made him tense. He wanted to bite, wanted it so badly. His fangs extended painfully, throbbing.

The man snarled and grabbed his tunic again, pulled him closer. Ranloo followed the tug this time and, almost without knowing what he was doing, locked his arms around the man, pinning his arms against his body, rendering him unable to wield the knife effectively.

´What in the abyss are you doing!` His voice rose to a high pitch. ´Let me go, you freak!`

Ranloo sank his teeth into his neck and drank, hearing yells and screams from far away. Couldn't care less. He needed energy. The blood was rich and strong, the heartbeats fast. The man struggled and slashed Ranloo's thigh with his knife. But the light wound barely bothered him. The man's struggles weakened, the knife fell from nerveless fingers, and his heartbeats pattered irregularly, like a bird's fluttering wings.

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´Please,` he moaned before he fell unconscious, only held up by Ranloo's strong arms.

Ranloo didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Barely aware of his actions, he only knew he needed it, wanted it all. The man was forcefully pulled away from his embrace. The older man roared and slashed at his face with a knife.

Still sluggish from being awake too early, Ranloo didn't dodge fast enough, and the blade cut along the side of his face, narrowly missing his left eye. With a cry, he yanked his head back.

´Gods have mercy,` the man breathed as he met the vampire's glowing eyes and bared fangs. ´Get the guards,` he yelled to the woman behind him. ´Get the paladins. Get help! Vampire!` He backed off, the long knife raised in front. Then he slammed the door shut.

Ranloo stared at the door, not entirely sure what had just happened. But he was more awake now and the cries about paladins and guards horrified him. He had to get away from here, preferably before they came back. But the sun was still up. Could he make it out there, he wondered, feeling his face with a hand. A long cut ran from his temple to his jaw. It was already healing, but stung and dripped blood from his chin. He cursed. How was he going to get away from this? Why did people have to keep doing this to him? Why was he being punished by the gods like this? Had he angered them somehow, he wondered in dismay.

A thud made him turn back to the door. Were they trying to keep him in until the guards came? He needed to escape but had to wait for the sun to set first. Another thud rattled the door. They were definitely barricading it with something. He would be hard-pressed to get out that way. Unless he waited until they opened it for him. Looking around the shed, he wondered if he might be able to escape through the walls. They weren't very strong.

He grabbed an old rusty knife from a shelf and looked around for more weapons. There was a hammer. He picked that one up too. It felt heavy. Good. He smiled grimly to himself. This wouldn't be easy. He broke off a leg from the chair in the corner and picked up a small box with nails. Then he waited, hoping the sun would set before the guards came. Or worse, the paladins. Seating himself on the carpet, he stared at the door anxiously, listening for sounds.

Time crawled, but the longer he waited the stronger he felt. The sun had almost set. Outside he still heard a few people walking about. They spoke in hushed whispers so he couldn't make out their words. The pattering of rain on the roof of the shed wasn't helping either. Increasingly nervous, he rolled the blue die in his hand. What if they brought a priest or the vampire hunters? He stood, readying to break out as soon as the sun had fully set.

The clattering of hooves and raised voices caused a tremor to run down Ranloo's spine. Too late, they were here.

´Please,` he whispered and pocketed the die. ´Let me survive.`

He grabbed a pot from a shelf and poised it on his shoulder, ready to throw. He didn't want to hurt people, but they kept insisting on forcing him. It made him furious. If they had let him be, he wouldn't have harmed almost anyone. Curse them. Curse them all!

Scraping noises outside. They were moving whatever was blocking the door. He took a deep breath, readying himself, more scared than he liked to admit. He hated being scared. He'd always been brave, and good at staying out of situations he couldn't control. But as a vampire, he'd been forced into situations he couldn't handle a lot. He hated it with a fervour. He had to get stronger. If he survived this, he'd try to get stronger somehow, in any way possible.

The door creaked open.

A city guard was revealed, flanked by two others wielding long halberds. Their sharp points glinted evilly in the light from sputtering torches in the hands of other guards and people surrounding the shed. Ranloo's stomach constricted, his vision narrowed.

At least the rain made it hard to burn the shed, Ranloo thought grimly and launched the pot at the first guard. It shattered in his face and he fell back with a grunt. The two guards next to him jumped aside. Wasting no time, Ranloo threw the hammer at one of them as he stepped towards the doorway, his halberd leading the way. The hammer struck his shoulder and he screamed, dropping the polearm. Grimacing, Ranloo tried to avoid the other guard's jab. The shed was too small to maneuver and the weapon cut deep into his right arm, snagging his tunic. He was pulled forward with the weapon and stumbled out of the shed. Just as they were designed to work.

Ranloo yelled, in part fear and part anger. He flung the box of nails into the guard's face and he jerked his head back from the small missiles. Ranloo seized the halberd and yanked it loose from his tunic as another guard advanced on him with a raised torch.

Ranloo's eyes widened as the torch descended towards his head and he dodged, dropping the halberd. He desperately wrestled the chair's leg out towards the guard. The man sidestepped the clumpsy attack with a snarl and swung the torch at him again. Ranloo blocked it with his arm, sparks flying everywhere, stinging his face.

A sharp pain seared Ranloo's back, a swordslash from yet another guard. Distracted by the torchbearer, Ranloo hadn't noticed him. Snarling, he spun on the man. In his pain and anger, he forgot to use any of his own weapons. He evaded another swing, walked inside the opening behind the blade and grabbed the guard by the throat. He lifted the man clean off the ground to the gasps and shouts of those around and hurled him into the wall of the shed. The guard crumpled to the ground, moaning and coughing.

Ranloo didn't pay him any mind, he was trying to get out. He charged the next in line and tried to hit him with the chair's leg. The man parried the blow with his sword and the leg broke off. With a curse, Ranloo threw the broken piece at the man who ducked it. This guard was good, Ranloo thought. Then he was forced to back off as the man came at him with a rapid series of slashes and cuts. Ranloo backpedaled, barely evading the blade. A scuffing at his back made him realize he'd been surrounded. Panicked, he spun around just in time to see a sword plunging towards him. The sword stabbed deep into his side.

Screaming in agony, Ranloo's knees folded. The guard yanked the sword out and blood spurted over Ranloo's hands and clothes, painting the ground a dark red. He gasped, thinking he was going to die. Dying in the rain, broken and dirty. Ungraceful. Rage swept over him and he got back on his feet. Cursing loudly, he flung himself on the guard and bit deeply into his throat. Unbalanced, they fell. He didn't have time to feed, but he could hurt him. Ranloo bit down hard and tore out a chunk of flesh, spitting it out on the ground. The guard roared, his blood flowing like a river. Ranloo grabbed his head with both his hands and battered it against the ground until he no longer moved.

Ranloo stood and bellowed at the others. Hands leading, he tore into them, clawing and biting like a cornered animal, no longer feeling the stabs or cuts, no longer caring who lived or died. A red haze blanketed his vision, he wanted to kill everything. He broke arms, twisted necks and bit hands, he threw them and kicked them. He forgot to flee and went berserk, killing everything that moved. He didn't even notice when he killed the unarmed people standing around to watch. He lashed out at everything, wanted to hurt and kill. The heavy smell of iron permeated the air and the rain spread blood over the ground like a red blanket.

Panting and bleeding Ranloo stood in the middle of the carnage, dead and broken bodies all around him, finally quiet. The people watching had fled the scene as soon as they realized he wasn't stopping for anyone. He bled from multiple wounds. His clothes hung in broken tatters from his strong but wounded frame, completely ruined. For a while he stood, staring blankly at the scene in front of him. What had happened, he wondered in shock. He couldn't remember most of the battle. A groan made him spin around and fix his glowing eyes on a wounded guard on the ground, the rusty knife he'd found in the shed sticking out of the man's leg. Snarling in fury, he stalked up to the guard and hoisted him to his feet.

´No, no, no, no!` the guard whimpered and weakly tried to keep him away with his hands.

Ranloo ignored his pleas and bit into his neck. He needed the strength, needed to heal. He drank until the guard stopped thrashing and went limp. Ranloo let him go, watching him fall to the wet ground with detachment. Everything hurt, everything was pain, inside and outside. His heart and conscience ached, his body throbbed from the many wounds, and blood seeped into his tattered clothes. Exhausted and with his eyes fixed on the ground, he turned to leave the courtyard when he heard clattering of hoofs from the street. Snapping his head up, he focused on the riders in dismay. Two knights in shining golden armour. Eldon paladins.

He had to leave. Now.