I Killed the the Vampire King.

A long, primal scream of rage tore through the silent aftermath of battle, echoing off the shattered remains of the fortress and the barren, blood-soaked fields beyond. It was a visceral sound, filled with a depth of anger and haunting despair that seemed almost tangible in the heavy air.

As the echoes faded, the lone warrior who had emitted the scream was a grim sight; his left arm was gone, severed above the elbow, with dark blood oozing from the ragged stump. He collapsed into the mud, exhausted and injured, the churned earth beneath him soaked with the blood of combatants.

Clutching his sword with his remaining hand, he propped himself up, his body trembling from loss and fury. Each tear that fell mixed with the blood and dirt on his face, creating a mask of sorrow.

Slowly dragging his wounded body across the battlefield, he approached the corpse that had caused his torment. There lay the slender man in black obsidian armor, the vampire who had plagued his land. The armor still gleamed darkly under the dimming light, contrasting starkly with the vampire's pale, lifeless skin.

Standing over the fallen vampire, the warrior's breaths were labored, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. This was the monster who had destroyed his home and murdered his family. Now, the face that had haunted his dreams was finally still.

As the rising sun peeked through the clouds, a profound transformation unfolded. The bodies of the fallen vampires began to dissipate into the air, turning to dust. The sunlight seemed to cleanse the land, banishing the darkness. One by one, the vampires were washed away, leaving behind only the human warriors.

In that moment, amidst the wreckage, a bitter satisfaction filled the hollow of his victory. The death of the vampire did not restore what had been lost, but it brought a grim peace to the warrior's heart—a peace forged from the finality of justice served.

The warrior collapsed onto his knees, his battered body no longer able to bear the weight of his armor or his anguish. There, in the mud-soaked earth that had drunk the blood of his friends and foes alike, he broke completely. Tears streamed down his grimy cheeks, unchecked and unrestrained. Each sob shook his frame, raw and harrowing, echoing the desolation of the ravaged land around him.

He cried like a child lost in the wilderness of his despair, his sobs the only sound in the haunting silence that followed the battle's fury. The pain of his physical wounds paled beside the agony of his shattered soul. He had lost everything—his family, whose smiles he would never see again; his friends, whose camaraderie and courage had been snuffed out before his eyes. Everything that had given his life meaning was gone, ripped away by the cruel hands of fate and war.

As he wept, his tears mingled with the earth, a poignant testament to his loss. Each drop carried the weight of memories, of laughter and love now forever silenced. The grief was overwhelming, a torrential downpour of sorrow that threatened to drown him in its depths. In this moment of utter despair, the warrior’s heart bled not from his wounds, but from the unbearable ache of his irrevocable losses.

With a final, soul-wrenching scream, he cried out into the desolate expanse, "I killed him! I have killed the Vampire KING" His laughter followed, maniacal and raw, echoing off the remnants of what once was. It was a sound born of pain as much as triumph, carrying across the barren fields like a chilling wind.

"Do not worry, world, for he cannot torment another soul again!" His voice cracked under the strain, each word a stark contrast to his unsettling laughter, reverberating through the air with a mixture of relief and madness.

"I, who has lost over and over, who has lost friends and lost family, give to the world this gift of peace." His declaration, steeped in sacrifice and sorrow, trembled through the ruins, each syllable a testament to his indomitable spirit. Despite the devastation surrounding him, his promise was defiant, an offering born from the deepest wells of his grief.

As he spoke, the tears that streaked his dirt-streaked face mingled with bursts of crazed laughter, cleansing some of the pain that had clung to his soul. In this moment of profound despair and triumph, the warrior’s mixed cries of laughter and anguish offered a sliver of hope, a fragile belief that his immense losses were not in vain and that his actions might herald a new dawn of peace for a weary world.

The warrior’s mixed cries of laughter and anguish suddenly halted at the sound of clapping. Startled, he whipped his head around, searching for the source of the applause that pierced the eerie silence of the aftermath. His heart pounded fiercely, adrenaline coursing anew through his weary body.

Clap... Clap... Clap...

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

The sound grew steadily louder, each clap crisp and deliberate, echoing through the desolate battlefield. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, disorienting him as he tried to locate its origin. His remaining hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, his senses heightening in anticipation of another hidden threat.

Clap... Clap... Clap...

The noise drew nearer, the intervals between claps shrinking as the unseen applauder approached. The warrior stood tensely, his eyes darting across the remnants of the fortress, the piles of rubble, and the shadowy places where danger might lurk. His mind raced, wondering who could have survived the carnage and what their intentions might be. The atmosphere thickened with tension, the slow, steady clapping a stark contrast to the chaotic violence that had preceded it.

 "Forgive my intrusion upon your solitary reflection, yet the spectacle compelled my attention. A singular man proclaims a gift of peace to the entire world, never having ventured beyond the bounds of this accursed continent. Such audacity, one might surmise, belongs only to the nobility."

The warrior's head whipped around, his eyes darting across the desolate landscape to locate the source of the voice. When his gaze settled, he saw a figure that seemed startlingly out of place amidst the ruins and carnage. There, squatting on the rubble beside the slain vampire king, was a slender man dressed not in the garb of battle, but in attire befitting a noble at leisure—a tunic, impeccably clean and starkly white against the backdrop of destruction.

His pants were simple, black, and equally unblemished by the chaos around him, absurdly pristine in the bloody aftermath. His silver-white hair, tied messily in a bun, fluttered slightly in the wind, lending him an almost ethereal quality. The man's skin was deeply tanned, but it was his eyes, a piercing, bright red, that held the warrior's attention. They glinted with an otherworldly intensity, imbuing his casual yet noble demeanor with a sense of command.

"Who are you?" the warrior demanded, his voice rough with fatigue and suspicion as he grabbed his sword by the hilt.

The man looked down from where he squatted next to the dissipating body of the vampire king, his expression unreadable yet tinged with a curious amusement."It is utterly perplexing," he responded, his voice maintaining a calm yet laden with genuine bewilderment. He gestured towards the slowly vanishing form of the vampire king. "Truly, it defies understanding how you have managed such a feat

His pointing finger traced the air towards the corpse of the king, which was vanishing much slower than the others had. The scene seemed to hold his interest not just casually but as if he were trying to unravel a complex puzzle laid out before him. His demeanor was calm and composed, starkly contrasting with the warrior's evident weariness and battle-hardened vigilance.

The slender man stood gracefully, his gaze locked on the dissipating form of the vampire king, then slowly turned to face the warrior. His voice was soft but carried a cold, analytical edge as he spoke, each word deliberate and unhurried.

"You stand here, a solitary figure amidst such devastation, and it's utterly confounding. How is it that you, seemingly insignificant and frail, continue to draw breath? By all accounts of nature and fate, you should have perished long ago in this cruel world."

He paused, his eyes scrutinizing the warrior as if seeing through to his very essence. "You are but a man—flawed, weak, a mere speck in the grand tapestry of existence. And yet, here you stand, having felled a tyrant that even the mightiest feared to confront. It defies logic, it defies the natural order."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur, almost contemplative. "How can someone so seemingly inconsequential hold the power to alter the course of history? What peculiar twist of fate allows you to persist, to fight, to triumph where countless others have fallen?"

His words hung in the air, a mix of wonder and disdain, challenging the very existence of the warrior before him.

Confusion clouded the warrior's expression as he grappled with the man's probing words, trying to discern the intent behind them. Before he could formulate a response, the scene abruptly shifted. In an instant, he found himself hoisted into the air, the cold grip of the man's hand tightening around his throat. The warrior's feet dangled helplessly, his hands clutching at the man's wrist, struggling for air.

The man's eyes bore into him, cold and analytical, as if he were an insignificant insect caught under a microscope. There was a chilling detachment in his gaze, a scientist's curiosity about how this seemingly ordinary human had managed to achieve the impossible. "How?" he whispered, the word barely audible over the warrior's choked gasps. "How have you done this? What makes you so special, so different, that you could end a reign of my terror that has stifled this land for ages?"

The pressure on the warrior's throat increased slightly, the threat of imminent death hanging between them like a tangible weight. Yet, the man's grip was controlled, not intended to kill immediately but to emphasize his dominance and his burning need to understand an anomaly that defied his expectations. The air grew thick with the tension of the moment, the balance of life and understanding precariously tipping in the breeze of their breaths.

Gasping for breath and grappling with the tightening grip around his neck, the warrior managed to choke out a few desperate words, "No... no vampire can walk among the sun, it’s impossible..."

With a chilling calmness, the vampire simply lifted his hand to display a ring adorned with a ruby, unlike any the warrior had ever seen. Encased within the gem was a face— the warrior realized with a jolt of horror. It was his own head, severed, held in the grasp of this formidable figure. The realization dawned on him: this was no mere nobleman or survivor; this was the true vampire king, cloaked in mystery and power.

The king smirked, a sinister twist of his lips, as he watched the warrior's face contort with realization. His cold laugh echoed softly, reverberating with the promise of dark revelations yet to come.

Thank you for reading :)