Chapter 1 - Death and Rebirth

Lugo stood behind his bar counter, grinning like a child who had just found a new toy. And in a way, he just had. The night was cold and wet, which meant there weren’t many travelers on the road. But lady fortune had blessed him tonight; prey had wandered into his den.

His regular patrons—a ragged collection of lesser vampires, bandits, and mercenaries with a distinct lack of morals—would be more than enough to dispose of his guests. Then, they could get to counting out their hard-earned valuables.

Just from a glance around the taproom, three lives appeared to already be surrendered to his friend’s blades and fangs. At one table sat a pair of ancient nuns, likely on a religious pilgrimage. Lugo wondered which of the twelve archons they followed. He had followed the Red Warden himself.

One solitary traveler sat up at his bar, a young noblewoman by the looks of her fine fur cloak and soft leather boots. She wouldn’t last long. Rural Artora was no place for the likes of her to be traveling alone. A shame, Lugo thought. She was beautiful: tall and slender, with an unblemished complexion, deep blue eyes, and long silky black hair. A catch like her had more than just one use.

With more discretion, he examined the other three strangers in his inn. Them, he would need to watch out for. Two of the strangers were sitting together at a table near the entrance. Merchant folk, he assumed. They dressed in bright, colorful robes foreign to Artora, and their complexion was much too tan to be local. After all, the sun never shone down on Artora. Merchants never traveled unprotected. They would at the very least have daggers hidden under those spacious robes of theirs.

His last guest sat alone. She was the only other young woman, although clearly made of different stuff compared to the noblewoman. Her hair was hidden under a tricorn cap, and she wore the hide of a beast over her shoulders—a fashion trend that had gained traction with junior officers in the Artoran army. She would’ve been pretty if not for the multitude of stitches that crisscrossed over her face. He knew her type well, an out-of-work soldier or perhaps a guard under the tenure of a local noble.

Lugo had been observing her since the moment she took a step into his inn. She moved like a fighter, always light on her feet and alert. For this one, his friends might find that she wouldn’t part with her life so easily.

Unfortunately, his friends didn’t possess the keenest of minds. They’d see a pair of wealthy, helpless merchants and a silly girl playing at being a man.

“Excuse me?” the noblewoman called out to him, rousing Lugo from his musings. “More beer, now.” She had a firm, clear voice that seemed to fit perfectly with her noble upbringing. It made him like her even more. Lugo had been surrounded by washed-up serving crones and stupid farmer girls for years. A little variety to his diet was appreciated. The noble girl, he decided, was for him to claim. Lugo wet his cracked lips. He was going to enjoy draining her.

Lugo grinned, then nodded. “Rain, get out here!” he hollered at the kitchen. “With another pitcher!”

Just a moment later, Rain emerged from the kitchen door, his scrawny arms bearing a tray of beer and biscuits. He was a frail-looking boy, raven-black hair framing a pale, delicate face. Regardless of how well Lugo fed the boy, he never seemed to gain any meat to his bones. Not even worth the effort of turning. So, he kept the boy around as help.

The noblewoman looked up at Rain. “You’ve got a funny name, boy.” She paused and turned to look at Lugo, her crystal blue eyes impossible to read. “He’s not from these parts, is he?”

Lugo crossed his burly arms. “Aye, I suppose,” he answered gruffly. “He’s indentured to me, and that’s all you need to know.”

She shifted her attention back to Rain, who was setting the tray down on the counter before her. “Here’s your beer,” he said, his voice soft and breathy. “And some biscuits, if you’re feeling a little peckish.”

“My name is Eloise,” the noblewoman said. “Where are you from?”

Rain stared blankly.

The noblewoman, Eloise, sighed heavily and touched the boy’s arm. “When a lady asks you a question, you answer. So, I ask again, young boy, where are you from?”

Lugo raised a bushy brow. She had not introduced herself with a surname, but judging from her soft-spoken yet firm accent, Eloise was undoubtedly from wealth. Still, he had never heard of a noblewoman asking questions to a servant boy.

Rain looked back at Lugo, but the innkeeper only shrugged. Soon enough, he would have his fangs in her neck. What harm was there in a little capricious curiosity before that?

“We traveled around a lot,” Rain said, fidgeting in place. “But our roots were always from beyond the Vale. After my father died, we stayed in Gransvelt for a time, but we ran out of money. My mother was pregnant, and she needed a way to get back to her homeland. It’s considered bad luck to raise a child away from the Vale. So, I did what needed to be done.”

What a bunch of drivel, Lugo thought bitterly. The gutter rat was just trying to look good in front of the noblewoman. As if anyone would ever sell themselves into slavery. Lugo promised himself he’d give the boy a good thrashing once he found a free moment.

“You’re quite the brave boy,” Eloise said, leaning over to lift Rain’s chin. “Open your mouth, boy. Show me your teeth.”

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A rush of panic swept over Lugo before he calmed himself with a deep breath. The boy was unmarked, just an ordinary mortal. “Now, I won’t have you harassing my servant boy. He’s a good child and far too busy for your games.”

Eloise turned to look at him again. He cringed under her calm, steady gaze. There was something off about her eyes. They were too blue, he realized. Practically alight with a mysterious light. Lugo reached under the counter, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his falchion. It would be more than enough to deal with the busybody who seemed to be staring into the depths of his very soul.

“I wouldn’t try-” At that exact moment, Eloise was cut off by a scream.

Lugo’s attention whipped in the direction of the scream. He cursed himself for losing control of the room. Rookie mistakes like that were beneath his decades of experience.

One of Lugo’s regular patrons was on the floor, clutching his bloodied hand close.

The beast-hide woman stood over him, and she held a dagger in each hand. “Don’t touch me,” she said, her scarred face deadpan and calm.

The room exploded into a flurry of activity. Lugo’s friends jumped to their feet, their own blades out. The nuns broke out into shrill, ear-piercing screams. Seconds later, their incessant noises were silenced. Lugo vaulted over the counter, his blade flashing toward Eloise’s neck. But the noblewoman melted into the shadows, leaving it to slice through nothing but air.

Damn! Just my luck. Running into a witch now of all nights. Lugo glanced over at the beast-hide woman. She made it look easy, her daggers making quick work of anyone foolish enough to stand and trade blows. It appeared he needed to deal with her personally.

Lugo only got two steps in before one of the merchants charged at him with a knife. He easily side-stepped the feeble attempt at a thrust and slashed his attacker through the throat. The merchant went down gurgling.

“You beast!” cried the other merchant, who held out a palm-sized crossbow with trembling hands.

Beast? Me? Pests. Livestock. Fueled by rage and irritation, Lugo felt his body grow hot. He was a perfected being, elevated above the likes of fragile, mortal humans. Slabs of meat like them only existed to feed him.

The crossbow loosed, but Lugo would not be wounded tonight. It phased through his body, embedding itself in a cask behind the counter. The century-old vampire grinned, drinking in the slack-jawed merchant’s terror.

“Y- you. . . you’re. . .” the merchant trailed off, backing away fearfully from Lugo. “Stay away from me!”

“I’m what?” Lugo asked, licking his fangs. “Tell me, meat. What am I?”

A clear voice rang throughout the room, “a mere parasite is what you are and will ever be.”

Lugo turned his gaze to the voice. It was the bloody beast-hide woman. His friends had either all been cut down or ran off through the front door to escape. His taproom was ruined. The furniture smashed, and the wooden floorboards spattered with crimson blood. He had grown rather fond of this particular hunting ground. So, all the more shame that he would have to move on.

“You’ve preyed on innocents long enough,” the beast-hide woman said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “My name is Celia Candoric, and tonight, your reign of terror comes to an end, Lugo Kilhkove.”

Lugo barked out a sharp laugh. He had heard of the Candoric Clan and their fall from grace. They were laughingstocks among the vampire-slaying communities. “With that surname, you’re no ordinary soldier. I suppose a remnant then? Eager to restore your clan, are you? Well, it’s no accident you stumbled into my inn tonight. Here’s what’s going to happen, girl. You’re going to tell me which archon-forsaken bastard ratted me out. Then, I’m going to make you into my thrall. We can discuss what happens after that later.”

The Candoric girl didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she pointed the tip of her dagger toward Lugo’s heart. “You talk too much.”

Red Warden burn me to ash! The girl’s blades were sanctified silver. Lugo could make out their putrid stench even from halfway across the room.

His abilities would be of no use in this fight.

“And I think you talk too little-” Sharp pain flared up from Lugo’s back. He reached around and tugged at the hilt of a knife implanted in his spine. Bollocks. His flesh had already begun to heal around the blade. Wincing, he tugged the knife out in a single go. Damn it. Rain’s knife, the very one Lugo had given him months ago.

“My boy, is that any way to repay your master?” Lugo didn’t even need his eyes to make out the presence of the young boy cowering behind him. “I feed you hearty meals. I clothe your pathetic weak body. I put a roof over your fucking head. And you stab me in the back?”

“I don’t want to do this,” Rain whispered, tears forming at the corner of his almond-shaped eyes. “But I can’t just keep watching anymore. Please, Lugo. We can stop all of this.”

Lugo sighed. Then, gored the boy through his heart. We? “What did I say about using my name?” The light in Rain’s eyes grew dim, and his thin body shuddered once before crumpling to the ground like a puppet whose strings were cut. “Gutter rats need to know their place.” With that out of the way, he turned back to the Candoric girl. “I thank thee kindly for waiting. Now, where were we?”

“You weren’t close to the boy?” the Candoric girl asked.

“Hardly,” Lugo drawled. “Just another wretched clump of shit I picked up off the side of the road.”

He took a step forward, but something snared at his ankle—a pale hand belonging to Rain. Lugo frowned. In the last moments of his life, the boy still chose to defy him. It took a single stomp to break his wrist and a few more to completely crush his hand.

The Candoric girl watched on silently, her face betraying no emotion.

Seeing as there was nothing more to be said, Lugo lunged across the taproom, his falchion aimed at the girl’s neck. But the Candoric girl danced away from his blade. And danced away again as Lugo sliced and slashed through the air. Lugo was no swordmiester, but he had decades of experience practicing his bloody craft. So, just why in the blazing hells couldn’t he hit her?

This young woman—who only came up to Lugo’s shoulders, parried and evaded every single one of his blows. Damn her! The Black Archon strike her down! Why can’t I hit her?

“You move like an amateur,” the girl muttered, swiping at Lugo’s ribs. He barely spun out of the path of her dagger. “I’m surprised you managed to make it this long.”

“Shut up,” Lugo snarled. “I’m Lugo Kilhkove, and no second-rate bitch is slaying me tonight.”

I’ll end this right now, he thought, meeting the Candoric girl’s gaze with a dark glare. Lugo still had one last trick up his sleeve, one that had never failed him before. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His sunken eyes flashed red, the same shade of red as the blood pooling at his feet. The Candoric girl froze as if her entire body was encased in a thick layer of ice. Good, the bitch had made eye contact.

Slowly and deliberately, he approached her and cupped her cheek with his hand, stroking one of her scars with his thumb. A pity, he thought. She would’ve been beautiful if not for the mess of a patchwork over her face.

“Good girl, perhaps now you’ll-” He felt his stomach rip in two, the agonizing sensation of steel slicing open his flesh. “What-” Lugo took a step back and stared blankly at his organs slipping out of his body. “What- what the hell did you?”

“I’m impressed,” the girl said softly. “But only slightly. Petrification isn’t something just any run of the mill vampire can master. Unfortunately, there’s a rather damning drawback to the technique. Would you happen to know it, Lugo Kilhkove?”

Lugo nodded dumbly, falling to his knees. He could feel the fire consuming his insides. “Th- the te- technique won’t work on. . . kin. But you- you can’t be. . . unless. . .”

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen,” the girl said, kneeling before Lugo. “I’m going to take your boy, Rain. And, I’ll be needing your heart as well. I’m afraid there isn’t much else to discuss, seeing as your demise is imminent.”

Delicately, she placed the tip of her dagger at his heart. Lugo could do nothing but watch in horror as she carved into his body.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

The girl smiled, sardonically, as if he was a child asking an adult a silly question. “I’m just a passing Hunter,” she said. “And the one who’ll finish off your ilk for good.”