The Hunter forever stalks those he doubts. A keeper of the sacred. A guard against another Fall. His immortal hounds tear apart the unworthy, the corrupt, and the unwilling to carry the burdens beyond life and death.

He seeks out the madness buried deep within that stems from weakness and bleeds into reality to destroy. A protector.

To fight against a hound, and to win, is to be a step closer to your purpose. Continue on, little wretch, but remember that you’re forever stalked.

Climb step by step, fight by fight, and know that you’re chosen for the greatest heresy and that each challenge is a lesson.

Sunday opened his eyes refreshed. Dreams of his soul space, of the yew tree and his spells had come like hazy pictures, lacking their usual sense of reality. He could remember the cold snow, like mites of ice biting at his soul. Strange fatigue covered his body like a blanket, but his essence was brimming. Cold yet furious, it seemed to reflect the mood of the one whose realm Sunday had seen before falling asleep.

As the world slowly came into focus, a voice came to him.

“You sleep a lot, for an undead,” the voice said. “And I’d have thought that you’d win easier, considering what you showed against me.”

Sunday blinked. He was sat in a lavish soft chair fit for a king at the head of a table. On his side was Rubien, frowning as if there was a pile of cow dung before his nose, and he was forced to take large whiffs of it.

“Thinking is not your strong suit, then.” Sunday retorted.

He enjoyed the sound of his own voice, even if it was a bit strained as if the vocal cords had grown distracted from their purpose. He was alive still. A step closer to his ultimate purpose.

“Careful, now. The darkness no longer watches over you,” Rubien threatened.

“But I do,” another voice joined.

Mera appeared as she always did. A feminine form swam out of a dark red drop of metal. She was as beautiful as ever, but the sharpness that came along with her presence left no doubts as to what fate could await those who stood against her. Shards spun around her like mirrors, showing glimpses of the world outside, observing faces Sunday hadn’t seen.

Rubien grimaced and showed his teeth, but didn’t respond. He seemed to know better.

“To threaten a dear guest in my home… Perhaps, you need some reeducation,” another lazy voice admonished. The Baron sat on the other end of the table on a chair that was somehow even more imposing and impractical than the one given to Sunday. A throne for those whose taste was stuck in a twisted gray nightmare filled with cosmic horrors. Its curved, jagged edges threatened the life of anyone passing too close to it. Depictions of horrors adorned the armrests and the frame, while at the very center - above the baron's head – sat the bronze face of a woman with half-moons for eyes. They were of flowing blood and yet held their form, vaguely reminding Sunday of his own spell.

Red seemed to be a constant theme.

Rubien trembled at the Baron’s remark. There was no bloodlust, no serious threat apart from something said in jest, and yet the lord lowered his head in shame and deference.

“I apologize for my behavior, Baron Bloodfang,” he said.

Sunday grinned. That’s what it was. That’s what he wanted to feel just once in his previous life. The chase of that respect. Or perhaps fear. The two were often mistaken for one another. And Baron Lauden Bloodfang had it.

If his destiny was to fight mad gods and get into petty conflicts with all he met, then perhaps setting goals for himself that transcended a pool of gold was a good idea. Gaining a place in the world, and status, was perhaps more fun than simply being rich. It would obviously come as he rose through the ranks, but would it compare to the ‘noble’ sitting before him?

For the first time, he noted the other vampire lords sitting around the table like statues. They were so frozen, that it was hard to perceive them. So dominant, so strong that even his triple buff had been just a distraction to one of them and yet now they felt unimportant. Weak. They were overshadowed by the Baron, and Mera, who floated next to Sunday on a chair of Mesmer Steel. Were there beings who could make the latter two feel the same way? It was an exciting thought.

“Dear Sunday, if I may call you that,” the Baron spoke and didn’t wait for confirmation. “I hope you don’t mind, but my home is many times better than what was once Versum’s abode and I thought it quite appropriate to allow you to rest here. Your dreams, whatever they may have been, made something inside me awaken, so I thought it only appropriate to offer my gratitude. For the show, and for the… sense of longing you’ve given me.”

“How long have I slept?” Sunday asked, ignoring the strange words of the strange vampire.

“A day,” Mera said from the side.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“And you kept me in the chair the whole time?”

“Was it uncomfortable?” The Baron asked.

“Well, no.” It’s just bloody weird. “It’s just… the thought of sleeping here while you all sit around is kind of creepy.”

Lauden Bloodfang smiled. “Oh, I assure you creepiness is something we do excel at. But we had a lot to discuss. I seem to have allowed some of my dear proteges to run rampant for too long and cause mayhem, for which I’m greatly troubled. You need to understand that our whole… society… rests upon a very fragile balance. While most vampires consider themselves superior compared to the mortals and other undead, and not unrightfully so, I’m a realist. I understand the power of spells more than ever, and now when one such as you walks the streets…”

There it is. One such as me. Fuck it, might as well use that to my advantage.

“Yes. You want to use me?”

“Not at all,” the Baron denied immediately. His hand was covered in various rings that drew Sunday’s attention. It was too much, but it did send a message about one's status. “I’ll help you in your quest. In return, all I ask is for you to consider my help, and to remember that not all vampires are as foolish as Versum, or even Rubien. The promise of eternity tends to bring the worst out of all of us, and the constant need to replenish our blood with that of the innocent doesn’t help… But! We’re more than monsters, and I hope you remember that. Even after so long I have dreams and aspirations, despite the opinion of most of the kin in Blumwin.”

The vampires suddenly felt… even lesser. Uncomfortable. As if they had been smacked in the face with their own opinions.

This guy is talking like he’s… kissing my ass? In the hope of a potential future? Oh my, is that what’s happening? A surge of childish excitement rocked Sunday’s mind and body. It was a partial fulfillment of his childish dreams to be somebody. Right here, right now, someone of status was talking to him as an equal. A Vampire Baron, a being so powerful it could probably kill most in the city, was trying to befriend him.

It had been difficult to appreciate the gravity of other such situations, be it the high-ranking members of the Arcanum in the face of Ironbond, or Mera who was an alien presence he still struggled to comprehend. He knew what a Baron represented at the very least, and the subservience of the many vampires each stronger than Sunday himself was obvious.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, trying to encapsulate the moment while controlling his facial expression. Still, a small smile escaped and spread across his face.

This all smells like a pile of shit.

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Baron Bloodfang. I’ll be sure to remember that,” Sunday said after a strange pause. “I expected a lot worse from you, considering the behavior of some of your… lessers.”

There it was. A hint of bloodlust sneaked past the almost worryingly tranquil presence of the Baron. And yet, it was not aimed toward Sunday but toward his own subordinates. If vampires had blood that could drain from their faces, then it would’ve done so right this instant.

“Past is in the past though,” Sunday added with a smile. He eyed Rubien with an unspoken challenge and found Oswald’s face in the gathered lineup of lords too. “I’m looking forward to a future of understanding.”

There was palpable relief in the air. It was as if heavy chains had dropped off the necks of the vampire lords surrounding the table and even the Baron allowed himself a small smile. Mera remained silent, but she seemed pleased with the developments.

This is great. It’s time something good happens…

“Now, shall we talk business?” The Baron said, clapping his hands. Undead attendants – not a single blood slave was present – brought chalices filled with red blood for the vampires, and another silver one filled with a shimmering translucent liquid for Sunday. Nothing was served to Mera.

The liquid smelled oddly like… cinnamon and oranges.

“Oh?” It’s a Christmas miracle.

“I hear you’re wanting to sell healing alcohol. And I hear that it can cure the addiction of blood slaves…” the words trailed off and quite a few pairs of eyes froze on Sunday, awaiting his words. None dared to release even the slightest sliver of animosity – a testament to the tight leash the Baron held on the lords if that had not been previously obvious.

“I do have such plans,” Sunday said. He was sure things wouldn’t devolve just because of that, but it was good to be careful. Is he going to dissuade me? Or perhaps try to steer me in a different direction? It’s not that I need the money anymore… No. More coins are always better even if they all end up being left behind when I move on to greener pastures. The world was probably vast. Sunday hoped it was since he had never had the opportunity to sightsee before.

“Wonderful!” The Baron clapped his hands. “I’d like to order one hundred barrels. Additionally, I’ll provide you with a space in the city and workforce if you need such. Moving your business out of that so-called ‘Empty’ Manor might serve you well. There will be resistance from the local brewers, but most of the big names prefer to hold property outside of the city. And perhaps keeping the nature of your creation on the down low might be a smart move too.”

“You’re very well informed,” Sunday said. It was not unexpected. The Arcanum had watched his every step, and so had Mera. The worshippers and the brainwashed had also found him everywhere he went. “And your offer is very generous. Why though? Isn’t curing the blood slaves against your interest?”

Rubien snorted, then looked down in shame. The Baron only smiled in return.

“I could see why you’d think that way. Blood slaves are, and will remain, a vital part of our community. It is how we’re created, and unless one wants a war, one needs to accept such truths. That doesn’t mean we do so indiscriminately. Our blood is to humans the sweetest euphoria, a touch of what we don’t offer easily and what they will most likely never know – eternity. However, dependence destroys their body, and their blood loses potency in time. Helping them is something we’re not quite good at. We’re selfish, again, by nature. Not to say that we hold no responsibility. It is difficult to care, though,” the Baron carefully explained. “Our image is important. If we have a way to help the blood slaves who no longer wish to be such, or whose health is at risk, then by all means we should. It will lessen our expenditure to find new ones without risking them being connected to someone who could make our existence difficult.”

Ah, so controlling the poison and the cure is better for them. My idea is being turned into a political tool that’ll further elevate the status of the vampires in the city. It’s a good deal though, and it is only sustainable while I remain in the city to make more healing booze. I could stop at any time… preferably when I have the power to stop them. Something tells me that’s not all he wants, considering he knows who or what I am…Time to play my cards right.

Sunday stood up and held his chalice high. “I think,” he said, “that this is the beginning of a wonderful and productive friendship.” And may you never fuck me over, you rotten leech.