It was midnight. The only sound in Maria's small hut was the soft breathing of her two sons, Tom and Jack, as they slept beside her. Tom, the elder of the two, was only 9, and his brother Jack, just 8. The night was still, and Maria felt at peace, unaware of the nightmare that was approaching.

Outside the hut, a C-rank adventurer stood guard. Maria had hired him to protect her and the boys, thinking a swordsman would be enough to protect her . He yawned, leaning lazily against the door, the weight of sleep tugging at his eyelids. The slums were quiet tonight, eerily so.

In the distance, the swordsman saw figures emerging from the shadows. Leading the group was an elegant man with silver hair, Nightowl. Behind him lumbered a massive figure—the fat man, Moby, who had earlier welcomed Simon and Michael. With them were five more thugs, their rough faces barely illuminated by the dim street lanterns.

The swordsman's grip tightened on his sword as they approached. "Leave now," he warned, his voice low but firm. "I may not be able to take you all, but I can scream for help. The guards will be here in minutes."

Nightowl cast a languid glance at Moby, a sly grin spreading across his face. "They didn't mention a bodyguard," he remarked, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "Poor soul. Looks like fate just dealt him a losing hand."

The swordsman, ignored, prepared to shout for help. But before a sound could escape his throat, an immense pressure seized his face. His vision blackened as Moby's colossal hand engulfed his head like a child clutching an apple. The swordsman's muffled cries were silenced by the sheer force of Moby's grip, his mouth and nose completely sealed.

Panic surged through the swordsman. He stabbed at Moby with his sword, the blade glancing uselessly off the man's bulk. Slowly, painfully, Moby tightened his grip. The sound of cracking bone filled the air as the swordsman's skull caved under the pressure, his struggles becoming feeble twitches. Moments later, his head was nothing but a crushed mass of blood and flesh. Moby let the lifeless body drop to the ground like a broken doll, blood pooling around the shattered remains of the man's face.

Nightowl barely spared a glance at the corpse, raising his hand with a casual flick as he conjured a sound barrier around the hut. "We wouldn't want any unwanted interruptions," he said, his voice smooth and nonchalant, as if he were merely discussing the weather.

With a sudden burst of force, Nightowl kicked the door, splintering it into pieces. The noise jolted Maria and the boys awake. Before they could comprehend what was happening, Nightowl and his men were inside, filling the small space with a suffocating presence.

Moby sneered, his eyes landing on Maria. "You must be Maria. You're coming with us," he said, his tone laced with malice.

One of the thugs lunged forward, seizing Maria and slamming her to the ground. She struggled, terror in her eyes as she glanced at her sons. "Run!" she screamed at them, desperation in her voice.

Tom, wide-eyed and shaking, couldn't bear to leave his mother. "Let go of her!" he cried, rushing at the thug with clenched fists. But he was only a child, and before he could even get close, Nightowl stepped in his path.

Nightowl's face twisted into an expression of pure pleasure. He grabbed Tom by the throat, lifting the boy effortlessly off the ground. "Mmm," Nightowl purred, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he leaned in closer. "You smell absolutely delectable. I can hardly contain my excitement to taste your blood."

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Jack, too terrified to move, stood frozen, tears streaming down his face. Maria's heart broke seeing her boys in danger, but she was powerless, pinned beneath the thug's weight.

Nightowl bit his own tongue, the sharp teeth drawing blood. With a devilish grin, he used the blood to draw a symbol on Tom's neck, a crimson sphere that seemed to pulse with blood magic.

Tom gasped as Nightowl released him, crumpling to the ground. Nightowl then turned his gaze to Jack, who whimpered in fear as the vampire approached. "Please," Maria sobbed. "Take me instead. Let them go, they're just children."

Nightowl chuckled darkly, a cruel smile creeping across his face. "Oh, don't fret. You can thank your father for this little predicament. He sold you all out for a handful of coins. But rest assured, the boys' deaths will be swift-quick enough that they won't even know what hit them. As for you, Maria, I have far more... Wrost in mind."

He lifted Jack as easily as he had lifted Tom, drawing the same blood symbol on his neck.

The room filled with a red glow as the symbols on both boys' necks began to shine. Maria's blood ran cold as she watched, helpless. "No… no…" she whispered, horror-struck.

Within seconds, Tom and Jack collapsed, their small bodies writhing in pain. Then, it started. Blood began pouring from their eyes, their noses, their mouths, even their ears. Maria screamed, the sound primal, as her children's blood was siphoned from their bodies. It floated in the air, twisting and swirling until it gathered into a large, perfect sphere of crimson liquid. The boys' lifeless bodies lay on the floor, drained of every last drop of blood, their skin pale and gray.

Nightowl waved his hand, and the blood sphere floated into a small pouch at his side. "Such a delightful treat," he said, patting the pouch as if it were a prized possession.

Maria's mind snapped. The sight of her sons' dead bodies shattered something deep within her. She let out a blood-curdling scream, and in that moment, something awoke inside her. A surge of mana exploded from her body, throwing the thug pinning her to the ground aside. With fury fueling her, she stood, her fists glowing with raw power.

Without hesitation, Maria swung at the thug, and his head burst under the force of her mana-infused punch, sending a spray of blood and bone across the room. But she barely registered the carnage. Her focus was fixed on Nightowl, her fury burning so intensely that everything else faded into oblivion

She charged at him, her fists raised, ready to kill.

Nightowl didn't so much as blink. As Maria threw her punch, his hand shot up, catching her fist mid-swing with a grip that felt unbreakable. When she aimed another, his free hand easily snatched that one too, locking her in place. "You really thought that would work?" Nightowl sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. "You're just another body to be sold. Our buyer won't care how broken you are... as long as you can still breathe

,

With a sickening crack, Nightowl yanked both of Maria's arms from their sockets, ripping them from her body. Blood gushed from the wounds as Maria screamed in agony, collapsing to the floor. The pain was too much. Darkness clouded her vision as she fell unconscious.

Nightowl stood motionless, Maria's blood splattered across his face, a serene expression on his twisted features. With eerie calm, he raised one of her severed arms, tilting it slightly as the thick, crimson blood dripped onto his waiting tongue.

He closed his eyes, savoring it with a soft, pleased hum, his lips curving into a cold smile. The blood soaked into his suit, but he didn't seem to care, lost in the pleasure of the moment. "Moby," Nightowl's voice was soft but commanding, his gaze distant, as though this scene barely held his interest. "Heal her. Can't have her dying just yet."

Moby, pale and trembling, fumbled through his pouch, retrieving a glowing vial. Too terrified to meet Nightowl's gaze, he uncorked the potion with shaky hands and rushed over to Maria's mutilated form. "Right away, boss," he muttered, pouring the contents over her torn flesh. The magical liquid hissed and bubbled as it seeped into her wounds, slowly knitting her mangled body back together. As Moby worked, he shot a nervous glance at Nightowl, who was still savoring the last drops of blood. The vampire's face remained disturbingly calm, the chilling image of a predator biding its time