Father Ben took the cool liquid - the same soothing spray he’d used earlier - and began to clean the remnants of the foul solution from my skin. The liquid felt like relief distilled into droplets, its chill sinking into the raw, burning patches on my chest and easing the pain into nothingness. Then came the next part: he produced a metal funnel, gently guiding it between my lips before pouring the liquid down my throat.

The first swallow sent a shiver through me, cold spreading outward from my chest, chasing the hunger and pain into the recesses of my mind. The second swallow was easier, and by the third, I felt... normal again. Well, as normal as someone could feel after discovering they were some kind of vampire.

I leaned back, catching my breath, my throat raw from all the snarling and screaming. “Father Ben,” I croaked, my voice a rasp.

“Yes, Declan?” he replied, his tone calm, steady. Too steady.

“What did you mean by ‘vampire undead’? Like, for real? Are we talking movie rules here? Am I gonna have to chug human blood and avoid the sun, or... what?”

Father Ben paused, his silence heavy. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “Thankfully, your change is not yet complete. You have not consumed human blood or flesh, which means your destiny is still your own.”

I straightened, hope stirring somewhere in the back of my mind. “You mean there’s a chance I can be cured?”

He hesitated before undoing the straps holding me to the table. The metallic lining in the leather left faint impressions on my wrists, which I rubbed absently. “There is only one method I can think of,” he said, his voice cautious, “and it is no easy task.”

“What is it? Tell me,” I said, sitting up.

“You must slay your sire before the twelfth hour on the last night of the full moon.”

I blinked - or would have, if I could see. “That’s... specific. What happens if I don’t?”

Ben sighed, the sound weighty. “As the night of the full moon approaches, you will find it harder and harder to resist the hunger. Your beast will grow stronger, seeking to consume you from within. Should you fail to slay the vampire who sired you, your only choices will be to either feed and embrace your transformation fully... or become a mindless revenant.”

The words hung in the air, cold and final. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of disbelief. “But I don’t know who sired me. I don’t remember anything about that night.”

“You mentioned Club Twilight,” Ben said. “That narrows the field somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” I repeated. “And how do you know all of this? What kind of priest are you?”

“I am a Friar of the Order of the Unseen,” he said, his tone solemn. “The last surviving member of my order, as far as I know. We dedicated ourselves to the study of - and, when possible, the elimination of - the unholy creatures of the Unseen.”

“So, what, you’re a vampire slayer?” I asked, the edge of disbelief creeping into my voice. “Am I going to be your next target?”

“Not yet,” he said simply. “But should you fail in your task, you would become a threat to humanity. And I would be forced to eliminate that threat. No offense meant, of course.”

“None taken,” I said dryly. “Good to know I’m on a timer. Okay, so I just need to kill the vampire who turned me. How do I do that? Wooden stakes? Garlic? Sunlight?”

Ben chuckled softly. “Some of those methods are more effective than others. The surest way is decapitation or fire, as both tend to be universally fatal. Sunlight is excellent as well, but getting a vampire to willingly walk into it can be... challenging.”

“And how do I figure out who my sire is?” I asked, exasperation creeping in.

“That,” Ben admitted, “is more complicated. As you don’t remember the night in question, we will need to rely on other means.”

“You mean trial and error?” I asked, incredulous. “You want me to hunt down every vampire in Vegas and hope I stumble on the right one?”

“It’s an imperfect method,” Ben admitted, “but sometimes, it is the only method.”

I groaned, running a hand through my still-damp hair. “There’s gotta be another way.”

Ben was quiet for a moment before speaking again. “You mentioned a woman at the club. A damsel in distress, as it were.”

I frowned. “Yeah. You think she’s connected to this?”

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“It’s a possibility. The circumstances that led to her needing rescue may indicate she has knowledge of the goings-on at the club. If you can find her, she may provide the answers you seek.”

“Great idea,” I said. “But how do I find her?”

“You said you were drawn here, to this church,” Ben said. “Perhaps that same instinct will guide you.”

I focused, trying to tune into the pull I’d felt earlier. Sure enough, the strange, magnetic sensation was still there, faint but insistent. “It’s still there,” I said slowly. “I’ve been ignoring it, but it’s still pulling me... somewhere.”

“Good,” Ben said. “That pull may lead you to her - or to your sire.”

“Wait,” I said, realization dawning. “If I follow this thing and it leads me straight to my sire, then what? Do I just walk up and introduce myself before cutting their head off?”

“If it comes to that,” Ben said simply, “then yes.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Cut off their head and burn the body. No pressure.”

A sudden alarm pierced the quiet, its shrill call echoing through the subterranean room. I flinched, the sound setting my teeth on edge.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, my voice rising.

Ben moved quickly, his footsteps purposeful as he approached a nearby console. The soft tapping of keys filled the space, followed by a low, thoughtful hum.

“A proximity alert,” he said. “It appears several creatures of the Unseen have triggered my perimeter alarms.”

I stiffened. “Creatures? What kind of creatures? Vampires?”

“Yes,” Ben said, his tone grim. “And yet... the alarms did not sound when you arrived. Curious.”

“Why?” I asked. “What’s so curious about that?”

Ben turned, his voice laden with an unsettling mix of curiosity and certainty. “Because you are not simply a vampire, Declan. You are... something else. An enigma.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” I muttered. “So what do we do now?”

“We do God’s work, my boy,” he said, his voice steady. “Prepare yourself.”

Ben moved with purpose, his movements steady and deliberate. The faint scrape of cabinet doors opening and the hollow thud as they swung against their frames resonated through the cavernous room. Each noise bounced off the walls, creating a layered echo that gave me a strange, three-dimensional awareness of the space around me. The air shifted subtly, bringing with it a faint metallic tang and the cold, oily scent of well-maintained weapons.

The clink of metal against metal followed, sharp and precise. I could almost feel the weight of the objects he was handling through the resonance they created - a heavy crossbow, its mechanism clicking faintly as he checked it; a sword, its blade whispering softly against its sheath; and glass vials, the faint clatter of their contents a high-pitched counterpoint to the heavier sounds.

“Preparing for war, Father?” I said, my voice low, the words half-joking but tinged with tension.

“We prepare for the work,” he replied, his tone calm but resolute. “Call it war if you like, but what we face is far older - and far darker - than the wars of men.”

The air in the room grew thicker, charged with something I couldn’t name. It was as if the very atmosphere pulsed with anticipation, a silent hum threading through my chest. My enhanced senses caught every shift, every subtle vibration. The faint squeak of leather straps tightening on a weapon harness reached me, followed by the dull click of a latch being secured.

And then, something deeper stirred - a presence, faint but undeniable. It wasn’t a sound, exactly, nor a smell or touch. It was more like a ripple, brushing against the edges of my awareness. It sent a shiver through me, a signal from some hidden part of myself I didn’t fully understand. My senses stretched, probing at the edges of the feeling, but it eluded definition.

Ben approached, his steps measured and deliberate. The faint creak of his boots against the stone floor gave me a sense of his exact position, even without sight. He pressed something into my hands - a hilt, wrapped in leather worn smooth from use. The weapon felt balanced, solid, its weight comforting in a way I hadn’t expected.

“This is yours,” he said simply. “Treat it well, and it will do the same for you.”

I ran my fingers along the blade, tracing the cold, unforgiving edge. It hummed faintly under my touch, as though responding to the latent energy coursing through my body. A faint metallic tang lingered on my fingertips, mingling with the scents of oil and old steel.

“What else do you have in that armory of yours?” I asked, trying to mask the unease clawing at my chest.

“Enough,” Ben replied. The sound of his hand brushing over the tabletop followed, and I heard him pick up another weapon - a heavy object, its components clicking softly as he tested its mechanisms.

“Crossbow,” he said, as though reading my mind. “Simple. Efficient. Unforgiving.”

I caught the faint creak of the bowstring as he adjusted it, the tension in the air shifting ever so slightly with the motion. He moved away again, his footsteps fading momentarily before returning. The sharp pop of a cork being removed from a glass vial reached me, followed by the faint scent of something acrid and holy.

“Holy water,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Not as reliable as it used to be, but it still has its uses.”

I heard the clink of glass as he placed the vials down, each one emitting a faint chime as it met the stone surface of the table. The acrid smell mingled with the metallic tang of the weapons, creating a cocktail of readiness and foreboding.

And beneath it all, that strange ripple persisted, tugging at the edges of my awareness. It wasn’t coming from Ben, nor from the weapons he was gathering. It was something else - something outside. The pull I’d felt earlier, the one that had guided me to this church, was stronger now, more insistent. It coiled in my chest like a living thing, urging me toward the unknown.

“Feel it, don’t you?” Ben asked, his voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts.

“What?” I asked, startled.

“The pull,” he said, his tone heavy with meaning. “You may not fully understand it yet, but it’s there. Calling to you.”

I swallowed hard, the taste of iron still lingering on my tongue. “Yeah,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stronger now.”

Ben’s movements stilled, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the alarms still echoing faintly in the background.

“That pull,” he said slowly, “may lead us to your answers - or your end.”

“Comforting,” I muttered, gripping the sword tighter.

“You’ll need more than comfort where we’re going,” he replied, the faint sound of a weapon being holstered punctuating his words. “The Unseen do not wait, and neither should we.”

“Let’s get to it, then,” I said, gripping the weapon tightly.

Ben smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit.”

The alarm blared on, its call an ominous herald of what was to come.