“Come on,” the old man huffed, practically tripping over his own two feet as he hobbled toward the doorway. Six men were dead or dying around them. Nathan had killed four, Arnold two. His flames still had not returned to him.
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?” Arnold didn't even bother to turn around. He pulled open the door, its bottom scraping across the wood. Somehow, it had fallen off its hinges during the fight. “The boy.”
“Are we in any sort of state to save him?”
That got Arnold to turn around, face twisted in anger. He shoved a bloody finger in Nathan’s direction. It looked broken. “The only state that would keep me from getting to him is dead.” He turned back around, pushing his way past the door. “Now are you coming or not?”
Nathan wasn’t in the mood to argue. He shuffled toward the door, stepping over the body of a man, a sickle sticking from its forehead. Had he done that? Dust glittered down in the room, passing through the lance of starlight. It looked so serene. Hard to imagine the chaos and death that had been in this room not but moments ago.
His mind wandered as they traveled. They made much slower progress now. Being chased by a group of men bent on killing you has a way of really making one’s legs move.
I wonder how Cleo is doing? Last he’d seen of her, she was being attacked by two members of the Night Hunt. Obviously, she was still alive, as Nathan himself wasn’t dead. A frown crossed his face at the realization that a part of him, however small, was concerned for the woman.
She did come to save you, he thought. Yeah, but only cause if I die, so does she. She only wants to save her own skin. They slunk through a darkened corridor, the building eerily quiet. But she could have let Arnold die. She didn’t need to shoot that pale monster. Outside a window, Nathan spotted two men running through the yard, dark cloaks flapping. Although killing that thing was certainly in her best interests too.
Nathan slapped a palm over his face, dragging it down, pulling on his cheeks. He let out a groan. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“I do.”
“How? This place is a winding maze of doors, stairs, and halls. I think I heard enough from your conversation from Fallon, but I’d like some explanation on your connection to the Night Hunt.”
Arnold frowned, taking a long time to answer, until finally, he spoke. “I was a member of the Night Hunt.” His voice sounded begrudging. Like Nathan was digging into bits of his past that he thought best left buried deep. “A founding one, in fact, about forty years ago. Before it was in the sorry shadow of its former self that it is now. Fallon, myself, and Byron – David’s father – all founded it together. Back when devils, monsters, and the things mothers tell their kids about to keep them out of trouble all still walked the streets of the city. We wanted to make a difference. Help people.
“And for a time, we did. The three of us together, and a few others, slayed monster after monster, evil creature after evil creature. Hunting the things that stalked the night.” He sighed and shook his head.
“But then Fallon got hurt. Bad. Would’ve died, but Byron wouldn’t let him. The stubborn fool refused to give up on him. He researched day and night for a week trying to come up with a cure, and then – unfortunately – he did.” Arnold had stopped walking now, shoulders tense as he stared down at his feet.
“Vampirism,” Nathan breathed. There’s fucking vampires in this world?
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Arnold turned and Nathan met his eyes. They were deep and sad, full of regret. The man nodded, then continued. “Aye. It worked for a time. Fallon could still hunt with us at night, do good, help people. We thought things would just go back to exactly as they had been.” He scoffed and shook his head. “We were bloody fools.”
They turned down a split in the hall, stepping into one that had deep red carpet. Like a thick vein through the heart of the building. Wherever they were headed, they were growing near. Nathan could feel it in his gut.
“The bastard was killing people right under our noses. Every night for months, and we were never the wiser. Too blinded by our friendship.” Arnold took a heavy breath. “Once we found out… it was hell.”
There was a long, quiet pause as they continued down the hall. A long, still moment while Arnold’s fingers whitened around his ax.
“Guild broke into two factions,” Arnold continued, anger finding its way into the edges of his voice. Seeping in during the pauses between words. “My side, and Fallon’s side.”
“What about Byron?”
“He refused to choose. Insisted that we could still find a solution. Work things out.” He let out a depressing chuckle. “Fool. Byron brought him pigs and deer every day, thinking that would stave off his other, less savory, cravings. But it didn’t work. A monster is a monster. No changing it, no matter how hard you try.
“So I decided to take some matters into my own hands. Finish what we had started. Help people.”
“From your tone, I’m guessing it didn’t work.”
Arnold scoffed, picking up his pace as he moved through the halls. “I should’ve put a stake through the bastard’s heart the second Byron proposed vampirism,” he said, growing silent. They went down a set of stairs – they should be below the first floor now, some sort of basement level – and found a large metal door standing before them. “Enough talk. We’re here.”
The door was massive. Double sided, and looked to be made of cold, hard iron. Strange etchings that looked like scratches formed twisting patterns all over its face.
Arnold stepped forward, placing a palm against the left side door. His palm seemed to fit right into part of the etchings on the door, as if it were made for him. It probably was. A pale glow, like someone covering a lightbulb with their hand, emanated from beneath his palm. The streaks of light swirled, moving along the etchings until they filled the entirety of the scratches, like filling twisting channels with water.
“Be ready,” Arnold said, pulling his hand back. The knuckles had gone translucent again. “It’s been some time since I’ve been on the other side of the door. I’m not sure what we’ll find.”
“Did your magic return? The Threads?” Nathan asked. The old man turned to look at him with a funny look on his face. “You just didn’t use it before, but I see your hand.”
“Of course it returned.” Arnold grasped one of the large metal rings on the front of the door and started to pull. “How do you know so little? The Threads never leave you permanently. It just takes some time for the connection to be restored if you overuse them.”
I see. Then mine should be back now as well, or at least soon. Nathan felt for the magic in his body. I just need to be careful not to overuse it in the future. I’m sure that is something that can be trained to increase. It bloomed like a shimmering flame within his core. It was still weak, but undeniably present. He pushed it down to his hand and could feel the sensation like a warm prickling. A grin spread across his face.
His magic was back.
As quick as he could, Nathan dumped his nine new Stat Points from leveling three times in the same distribution as before. One for intelligence, two for everything else. He could figure out the smartest way to allocate them later, right now he wanted every advantage he could get.
The door pushed open, groaning loudly on its hinges. The sound reverberated throughout the hall and into the room beyond, rattling Nathan’s bones.
Nathan followed Arnold inside. It looks abandoned. They had found themselves in a vast, once glorious hall. Two long lines of columns stood at attention down the sides of the space, their white marble turned a dirty, gray black. Above, unlit chandeliers sat still, their candles burnt out, covered in cobwebs. Heavy wooden tables and benches had been pushed to the edges of the hall, rotted from disuse. Formerly rich and vibrant rugs were riddled with holes, eaten by moths, pissed on by rats.
And at the end of it all, barely visible in the shadows, was an altar with a boy lying on it, and a man standing behind it.