“Moving in? When this is all over, I’ll tear you bone by bone and make sure you can see and hear it all with your own two eyes. Neither the Arcanum nor the meddling Mesmer will save you. Your skin will be a tapestry on the wall of my draining room; your flesh will be jerky for the pit ghouls; and your heart or the shriveled-up excuse of one will join my collection in a jar. The Baron as my witness, I’ll fulfill my words or burn under a wrathful sun.” Rubien slowly chanted. He didn’t seem or sound angry, but the lords had an uncanny ability to control themselves.

It was an impressive promise. Sunday had to admit that much. If he survived he would be sure to absorb some of that attitude and put it to use when he was in a position of power.

Reacting was unnecessary, but he still gave a thumbs up and a dumb smile to the vampire lord.

His only protection remained the unknown powers of the Hunter sent to trap him in this place. Sunday doubted he could kill the lords even if they couldn’t fight back. He could, of course, unleash a bunch of moths on the rest of the vampires and take down as many as he could, but risking Vyn’s safety was unwise. The vampires wanted him living, but if one snapped and went too far the frail human would be done for.

It was a tough situation to figure out.

“Say, do you think the Baron knows what’s up?” Sunday asked, ignoring Rubien’s glare.

“The Baron is above petty squabbles such as this. If he deigns us worthy of his presence, we’ll know,” Oswald said. “Do you think the darkness will stay long?” he asked as if chatting with an old friend.

“A couple of days at least,” Sunday replied. Three days and then I’m toast. If the Hunter’s monster doesn’t end me, those fuckers will.

“Fascinating. Has that happened before?”

“No.”

Oswald kept asking questions as if nothing was bothering him, while Sunday observed the regeneration of the one torn in half.

It was interesting how each drop of blood tried to find its place, slowly crawling like rainworms on the ground. If even the lowliest of vampires had such strong regeneration, how had Sunday, of all things, managed to kill a lord then?

Could it be that the darkness had weakened Versum so much, that a simple soul moth had been enough? It was certain that even if he used three of them, he wouldn’t be able to single-handedly end a vampire lord with his true and tried moth slap strategy.

Oswald kept firing off simple questions, and Sunday saw no reason to not be an ass about it. He gave short worthless answers that would’ve driven anyone insane, but the vampire lord had suddenly grown the patience of a saint as he muttered to himself and kept prodding. He was growing more and more fascinated with the situation by the minute.

Sunday considered trying to kill Rubien and see where that led just for the hell of it, but the vampire was still slowly healing and kept his distance, despite the threats. Did he know he was weakened? Probably. Perhaps feeling vulnerable was a foreign feeling to a creature as powerful as the vampire lords. The two had put down his soul months, but Sunday knew they found them dangerous enough.

No matter. There were better things to do with his time than pick fights.

I need to get Vyn out of here. Sunday thought. He can go get me more spells, ask for some help or something… I wonder how much Mera’s words weigh with the vamps. They seem to hate her, but if she makes an appearance…. Surviving the duel is the first thing I need to do. I’ll need to get the shield spell from the Arcanum, but then that leaves… how many slots?

“Spells,” Sunday whispered, making Oswald swallow his next question and quiet down expectantly. He hated their keen hearing.

Spells 3/5

Phantasmal Fall

Omen of Duality

Visage of the Berserk Moon

Sunday smiled. He had hoped for more than a single slot. Two was great, although it wasn’t three. He wasn’t that greedy though. While his essence had grown a lot, his needs were rapidly growing too. He needed to further explore the correlation between the Berserk Moon and other spells, and what that could give birth to. He needed to also form closer connections with his spells. Bonding was a key to unlocking a spell’s potential in the hands of the proper mage, and he had a bonded spell that… was not very great. Its effects were good against weaker opponents, but the vampire lords could shrug it off in seconds.

Could Sunday, perhaps, squeeze some more potential out of the spell?

It was paramount for him to seriously think about how to best utilize his last slot with such short notice.

It was out of the question asking the Arcanum for more spells, especially since he couldn’t do it in person. Sending Vyn was his only option for now. Of course, he hoped that for once being tailed by Mera and the Arcanum would give a positive result for him, but he doubted they would’ve kept it up in the vampire district, after seeing how strong the actual vampires were.

Flowing Flesh and the spear named Fearful were his two other options. Neither was great. He didn’t know the first thing about spears, but… he also didn’t know much about swords. He had just suddenly become capable of using one. A strange development. None of his talents explained it, nor did his spells involve anything of the sort.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

It was like waking up one day and realizing you could play the piano. It was a foreign feeling though, as if he was borrowing someone’s expertise. His limbs had been unused to the movements of the sword when he had used it to fight off Versum.

Still, suddenly being turned into a sword master was hardly any help. There were too many vampires to count, and he doubted this was all of them. There had to be hundreds if not thousands. The district was a small city within a city, containing a force that could level the rest of Blumwin if they so desired. Perhaps not without difficulty, but Sunday didn’t know much about the limits of the Arcanum’s powers, and what spells could do against vampires. He doubted there were many spells similar to his moths out there.

The vampire lord next to him was babbling something under his nose, deep in thought. The rest stood in place with bored expression. Nothing fun or exciting was going on, but few still threw hungry gazes toward Vyn.

“If I tell you more of what I know about this phenomenon,” Sunday began, “will you allow Vyn to leave?”

Oswald turned his hook-like nose toward Sunday and fell silent for a few long moments. There was a desire for knowledge in his eyes, but it did little to obstruct the apathy built over eons of blood-drinking existence.

“No,” he said.

That’s a surprise. Sunday had hoped that curiosity would trump whatever it was that Vyn represented.

“May I ask why? Aren’t you curious?”

Oswald laughed, “Of course we are. However, this concerns the Baron’s interests and his desires trump all else. Halline’s brother will be a guest in our homes. He will live here, and be looked after as one of our own until the day comes that his sisters step foot in the region once again. Versum’s thinking was good, but now that he’s gone someone else has to take over. Why not me?”

Rubien hissed from the side, but he only glared. The regeneration was picking up speed, although the missing flesh seemed like it would take a lot of time to regrow.

They’re oddly loyal considering how they treat each other. Can I break through them and let Vyn run? No, that’s stupid. I can’t even leave this place. They can catch up to him and put him somewhere else. At least they’re honest.

“Time will answer it all. We have time, don’t we?” Oswald smiled. It was barely past midnight, and Sunday doubted dawn would allow him to leave. The hounds came at night, and the darkness too. Perhaps there was hope? He knew sunlight wouldn’t kill the vampires outright, but it would weaken them.

He grunted and walked up to the steps of the manor before he sat down next to Vyn. The two remained silent, looking around the gathering of vampires.

“We’re fucked, huh?” Vyn asked.

“Does it remind you of that time in the brothel you told me about?” Sunday shot back.

Vyn laughed, “Somewhat. She was meaner than those bloodsucking bastards… Ah, good times. Traumatic, but good… You know, my sister once killed a lord in single combat.”

Sunday’s eyebrows shot up, “She did? Is she a mage?”

“No. She is just a normal human. But she’s… very talented.”

Ah. The great equalizer. Sunday still didn’t fully understand his talents, although… His eyes gleamed. This was an opportunity to grow his strength further. Two villages worth of rumors had given him enhanced strength and better healing. What if tales of his deeds spread around the vampire clans too? Couldn’t that work even better?

What can I do to make them remember me? I’ve already killed a lord… The next few hours were spent in silence. The two lords conversed with each other and waited for something. Perhaps the strange situation was worthy of the Baron’s attention?

“You know… thanks for coming. I didn’t expect it, honestly,” Vyn said after a moment.

“Don’t sweat it. I felt suicidal so I decided to give it a go.”

The night shimmered with glittering red pieces, like jewels floating in the wind. The dark-red, almost brown steel appeared in the air and started shifting around, making the vampires flee in panic to all sides. They knew what that was a sign of well, apparently. The two lords frowned, and Sunday saw Oswald mutter something to a nearby vampire, who rushed off into the darkness.

The ground moved dangerously as more of the Mesmer Steel penetrated the stone and soil as if they were not there. All the tiny drops merged together until they formed the shape of a woman. Steel became flesh, slowly, like someone was carving a living person out of it, and soon Mera stood before them. Only her vitals were covered in Mesmer steel but the rest of her skin remained bare and smooth as if she was not a thousand years old.

She smiled at Sunday and then turned to the two lords.

“Mesmer,” Oswald began with a slight bow. “It’s an honor for you to visit us. Do you perhaps seek an audience with the Baron? Or are you perhaps here to protect these… criminals?”

Mera looked at him for a few moments. Her eyes drifted to the nearly fully healed Rubien. She smirked. The steel below her bloomed and started spreading until it was a circle around the steps of the manor.

“What I do is not of your concern,” she gently said. “Let’s go, Sunday.”

Sunday scratched his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that…”

“Oh?”

***

Sunday watched Mera disappear. From start to finish, she had paid no more attention to the vampire lords, and they too refused to engage with her. He didn’t know if he was imagining things, but it was almost as if they were afraid of her. It was a strange situation.

Mera had listened to his telling of the events, not questioning any of what Sunday said. He had expected at least somewhat of a reaction when he told her he was trapped by forces out of this world for a few days, but she seemed accepting of that too.

And now, under the fearful gazes of the tens of vampires, she left and took Vyn with her by wrapping him around with Mesmer Steel and making him disappear. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too traumatized by the experience. It was a burden off of Sunday’s shoulders. He had asked her to bring back some spells to him, including the one in the Arcanum, so he would be more prepared when the time for the duel came.

Now he was left alone in the middle of the night amidst a bunch of pissed-off vampires who couldn’t harm him. Mera had trusted that too, which was unexpected, but perhaps she had been observing him.

Without Vyn being in danger, Sunday felt as if he had been unchained. It was a license to piss them off as much as he wanted without any immediate consequences. He decided to go all out when it came to the vampires and burning any non-existent or potential bridges. What he had seen in Versum’s home was enough of a reason. And they were just waiting around to kill him, after all. It was silly to just stand and do nothing. He had mentioned his plan to Mera, and since she hadn’t protested, it meant she didn’t care.

Or perhaps she was just very good at hiding her own insanity.

“So, it comes to my attention that I’ll need to take over this place for the next couple of days,” Sunday began loudly as he stood up and reached for his soul space and the spells dwelling within.

The Vision of the Berserk Moon sprung into existence behind his head and rippled from the amount of essence he had poured into it.

“What are you meaning to do?!” Rubien hissed. His hand was almost done regrowing.

“Rethink your actions, boy!” Oswald warned.

“I have. It’s time I kick you off my lawn, you old bags of shit.” Sunday responded in turn. Let’s see what my limits are.

He summoned soul moths directly, which took more essence but significantly less than combining life and death after casting. The blood moon tripled the amount, and the abominations that flew out were more ghosts than bugs.

More than twenty berserk moths descended on the crowd of vampires.