The doors and windows of the shed had been locked, inside and out, once as many citizens as possible were brought inside. William remained there to protect them.

He was aware that they were basically locking themselves in for when they would inevitably come knocking on their doors, that it was not ideal in many ways.

But, since they couldn't evacuate the citizens, this was the only real alternative.

Even though, if it went wrong, it would have basically been offering themselves on a silver platter to the enemy.

The Count had given no such order. He hadn't given any kind of order, as usual, other than for them to stay out of his fight with the monster that was going to attack the city. Something they were all happy to follow. No doubt about it.

Someone had to think of the citizens.

William just wished it hadn't been his turn to stay with them. He wanted to protect the people, but knowing that the lives of so many innocent people were basically in his hands... It was too much.

Not to mention that no matter how well he did here, or even if he didn't have to fight in the end with any luck, he could only protect an insignificant fraction of the innocents in this city at most.

He had spent years training, graduated with full honors, and had been proud to have made it this far. But most of all he had been happy to finally be of service. To help other people.

But...

He had never expected anything like this.

He hadn't signed up for a hell like this.

William sat on the straw, cross-legged, sword in his lap, just waiting. He glanced back over one shoulder.

At all the civilians gathered there. Shivering in the dark.

They had said nothing from the beginning. Surely they didn't trust him, and he wouldn't blame them. Not when he didn't even trust himself. Not here.

Not for this.

Maybe they'd figured it out. It wouldn't be hard. William took a deep breath. As if the world had been waiting for him to let his guard down, to relax in the slightest, the dead came at that very moment.

Banging on doors and windows, trying to tear everything down.

Soon the whole shed was shaking, it was almost as if it was going to fall on them. The only sounds came from the wood of the shed creaking and the civilians he was supposed to protect screaming, the attackers didn't make the slightest noise.

William jumped to his feet, drawing his sword.

I can do it. At least I can give them time to escape, worst-case scenario.

One of the windows burst. Through the hole slid a pale, dead arm. Covered in splinters, blood sliding between them, but neither pain nor blood loss seemed to be the slightest impediment. He gripped the edge of the board.

Did he mean to rip it off, single-handedly?

William swallowed spittle and lunged forward, pinning the dead man's hand against the wood. Leaving it pinned there. Part of him felt he was only delaying the inevitable, but maybe even that was okay. He didn't have to win. Just... resist.

So many people counted on him, if only because he was their last hope. So he had to be up to the task. He simply had to.

——

The fall of the building destabilized Jonathan.

And many other people, and some other building for sure, but he didn't give a shit. The important thing was that he lost his balance and naturally Dracula didn't hesitate to take advantage of it.

Before he could recover, he was on him. Fast. Fast as always, but at least he could see his movements.

Which didn't help him at all.

He took a punch in the abdomen.

One so hard it sent him flying all the way across the square, almost. The only thing that prevented it wasn't his own effort, controlling himself and sticking the sword somewhere to brace himself, or something like that. Nor was it because Dracula's punch wasn't quite strong enough.

The bodies. The bodies of soldiers fighting desperately all over the city.

Crashing into allies and enemies, halting his advance.

Dragging them to the ground with him.

That was it.

Jonathan grimaced as he tried to get to his feet. The punch had broken a few ribs, he was sure. What made it possible to kill Dracula also applied to him. All he needed was a good hit.

But as long as he didn't die, no injury was real. It would heal with time.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

He had at least that much.

His legs were shaking. He almost fell.

He threw his hand to the side. Catching the edge of the fountain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his blood sliding into the water of the fountain. Dripping slowly.

Of course. Count Dracula was already practically flying towards him.

Arms outstretched like the wings of a bat.

A bat with a broken wing, because the arm he had cut off hadn't yet regenerated.

He had to...

Clear his head. That he didn't draw, it didn't matter. That he was underestimating him.

That would only make things easier.

His punch had thrown him in the middle of the square, full of people fighting, as in the rest of the city.

This had exposed him to his army. But the same, naturally, went the other way.

Concentrating his will, which flowed through the empty husks of hundreds of undead, he made a specific one turn towards Dracula. And made use of one of the skills available to that person when he was still alive.

In the blink of an eye, a barrier was created, stopping his advance. The barrier was made of swords crossed with each other. Ghostly, as red and throbbing as freshly spilled blood, the gaps between the blades were barely large enough to glimpse him through.

It seemed Dracula had ordered them to stay away, so as not to spoil the fun.

Or they weren't willing to go near a fight between monsters like them, to get in the middle of that nightmare. In any case, his soldiers were different. They knew no fear. And he would use whatever it took to win.

The barrier of ghostly swords, though it made an impressive sight, wasn't his goal per se. It was supposed to be just the first step.

Once he was trapped, Jonathan would deliver the coup de grace, freeing himself and the world from that abomination forever.

However, the prison didn't last long.

It burst into a thousand pieces.

In other words, swords flew out in all directions, fast as bullets and perhaps more devastating. Killing friend and foe, but of course Dracula didn't care.

He had made it very clear.

That everything and everyone else was nothing more than an ornament.

That he would gladly offer it up as a sacrifice, if he got what he wanted. To calm him down. Talk some sense into him. Ha.

Jonathan would also sacrifice his soldiers without a second thought, of course. But that was because there was nothing there. Those that had even a spark of life had been sent away.

Dracula grabbed one of the fallen swords, instead of his own weapon around his waist, and plucked it from the ground.

Running towards him with it in his hand.

Jonathan ran to meet him and they clashed in the middle. Immediately a superhuman exchange of attacks and defenses ensued. Dozens of strikes and parries in ten seconds.

He could keep up with him, now. But even he himself was amazed that his body could move so fast.

At last Jonathan managed to disarm him, saw the sword flying away.

But even then Dracula did nothing but laugh and grabbed another of the swords lying around in a hurry, too fast for him to take advantage of that moment of weakness.

There were plenty of options. The square was like a graveyard now, with swords instead of crosses to mark the graves. All bad options, but he wouldn't care. He still wasn't taking this seriously.

This time Jonathan was the one disarmed. Roles had switched in the blink of an eye, but he knew how to get out of this one. He crouched down, gathering dust in his hands. Then he threw it into his enemy's eyes, blinding that monster if only momentarily.

That way, he had a clear path. He ran and retrieved the sword without trouble. He needed this sword to kill him. He felt it in his bones. It was the sword he had found on the other side of the bell's call. He had never believed in such things, but he had a powerful conviction that it had been fate.

Just as it was for him to kill Dracula. Driving this into his heart.

Jonathan decided that he would kill him even before he saw the need to draw his own sword.

The next clash, he hoped, the last.

A ghostly sword that didn't even belong to its bearer against a sword out of the ground, which had been waiting for him. Just like that pit in the ground and the buried secrets he had found in the darkness.

If this had to happen, so did all his suffering so far.

Also Elizabeth's death.

But he would overcome all that to rise above the ruins of Dunwich as the victor.

He felt his body filling with a mysterious energy.

Jonathan took a leap. Leaning his boots on the Count's face, and enjoying how humiliating that must have been, he jumped again. Covering ten meters in an instant.

Gravity brought him back to the ground as he made several full turns.

And the sword with him.

He could see it. Some kind of energy, vibrating in the blade of the sword. He had known it all along. He knew the sword was special. The color of the swords Dracula had taken were red. The color of the energy surrounding the blade of his was black. Pure black.

The blow connected, and it was strong enough to knock the sword from his hands.

Again. Again, yes.

But Jonathan wouldn't let him get the sword back, this was the end of it. He'd cut him in two. Like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Split him from cranium to prick, like the pig he was, all his entrails spilling out. That was what he was thinking as he fell, as the energy of his sword vibrated.

As he laughed and laughed like a child having fun, barely aware of the blood on the corner of his lips and his cheeks. it wasn't his anyway, hahahaha!

His feet never touched the ground.

Because...

Dracula's hand regenerated at an astonishing speed. The hand of the arm that had cut him in half, that is, the hand he had left behind in that building, not the hand where he had simply cut off a couple of fingers, oh no.

And that hand closed like a bear trap around his neck, stopping him abruptly.

A second later, less than a second, and it would have hit him. It would have killed him.

Shit.

He didn't have time to process it.

Dracula slammed him to the ground.

It dragged him over the stones like a sack of garbage. Gravel flew violently out on either side of him, while at the same time clawing at his back.

Then he was thrown.

Towards a tree.

His fall didn't stop when he hit the tree, because such an impact didn't come to pass.

Jonathan grabbed the tree trunk, swinging around it several times, until he could get his feet on the ground, stand up properly. Then he gathered strength, bending down, and ripped it from its roots as easily as a hurricane wind. He did not stop there.

He charged with the uprooted tree like a makeshift battering ram.

Towards and against Dracula. Pushing him back.

"Just die already!"

Pushing him into a burning building.