Lieutenant Aubry was at a loss for words as she caught glimpses of the street brawl.

Each fleeting glimpse slackened her jaw and widened her eyes. Blood smeared and spilled across the ground, painting the snow in crimson streaks.

Her usual stoic expression blanched, becoming as pale as the snow around her. Her gaze unfocused, a tingling sensation pervaded her chest, restricting her breathing to small, sharp inhales of freezing air. A demonic roar, more animal than human, suddenly shattered her lightheadedness.

The sound jarred her back to reality, her thoughts scrambling to rationalize the noise. It came from ahead and it was close. Had she misheard? Were there wolves or large wild animals native to this area that could make such a sound? There had to be. There was no other logical explanation. She mentally nodded, assigning the sound to the suspect's enraged yelling, the wind, and her own distance from the scene. This plausible explanation calmed her racing heart, allowing her to refocus on the task at hand—intervening in an ongoing assault between two males.

What in god’s name were they doing out in this weather at this time of night?

A man’s shout and a wave of snow crashing over the driver’s door interrupted her thoughts. Startled, she cursed and ducked behind the door, tucking her sidearm to her chest. Throwing her shoulder into the door, she waited out the buffeting wind and snow, eyes closed, head tucked down. The door rattled and bucked against her, but her weight on her back foot and angle into the door kept it relatively steady. As the force passed, her eyes flew open, and she peeked through the missing-glass window.

The poor illumination of her car’s headlights revealed a scene that caused her mouth to gape and her eyes to rapidly blink as though she were seeing things.

An Asian man in a military vest stood over a young man who appeared to be more blood than clothing. The Asian man, missing an eye, had an expression of pure rage contorting his otherwise handsome face as he brutally slammed fist after blood-stained fist into the young man’s face, yelling all-the-while. And the young man fought back the entire time!

Aubry openly stared, wide-eyed, as the young man's head repeatedly bounced off the snow-covered asphalt. The ground itself cracked under the impacts. But instead of passing out or even showing signs of a concussion, the young man seemed unfazed. He drove a fist into the Asian man's stomach—once, twice, three times—his arm moving so fast Aubry swore she saw afterimages.

Her authority as an officer felt utterly irrelevant. Her mind blanked, unable to process what she witnessed. Drugs didn’t do that; alcohol didn’t do that. What was happening? What could she even do? Then, the pair moved again.

The Asian man roared through the punches, coiling in to absorb the blows before hammering both fists down on the young man’s head.

Aubry gasped, recoiling as though she’d been slapped, her shaky palm covering her mouth. That roar was familiar.

The Asian man grabbed handfuls of the young man's hair and slammed his head into the ground. A heavy right hook followed, folding the young man sideways. An elbow strike to the same spot loosened his position astride the young man’s chest. The Asian man was bucked off, sprawling through the snow. He braced himself with an elbow, head hung low, groaning in pain. His chest heaved, breath sounding like a forge’s bellows.

Aubry froze, muscles weak and numb. This was her chance to intervene, to stop the madness. But no matter how much she wanted to step out from behind the door, a primal instinct kept her rooted. She didn't dare breathe, lest she draw the attention of these predators. A cold heaviness expanded through her core as she watched the young man slowly rise to his full height and roll his shoulders.

The sounds of cracking and popping emanated from his body as he limped towards the downed Asian man, shedding clumps of blood and snow as he passed through the headlights of her car.

A powerful urge to appear small gripped Aubry, hitching her breath and crumpling her posture. Her shoulders slumped and a tightness in her chest forced tiny, shaky breaths to lodge in her throat as she was forced to lean her weight against the door. The lightheadedness returned, and the gun in her hand felt like a useless toy.

Then, the report of suppressed gunfire snapped her out of her spiraling dread. She couldn’t believe her ears, and her eyes followed suit, witnessing the impossible.

The young man staggered back as round after round tore into his chest, sending him stumbling and falling to one knee as he supported himself with a hand.

He was still alive.

The Asian man stood slowly, breathing heavily and swaying as if on the verge of collapse. His face, however, betrayed no pain. A dark sneer pulled over his features, his jawline set as his eyes flashed with contempt and determination. He spat blood to the side, thrust out his chest, and shouldered the rifle’s stock with a grimace as he trained it onto the young man’s head.

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A woman in ruined, wet clothes that clung tightly to her figure stood on the highest roof corner of the police precinct. Her coldly beautiful demeanor and alert, sparkling emerald eyes made her as unapproachable as she was stunning.

Her eyebrows knit together as she silently observed the bloodbath below, her jaw set and lips pressed into a slight grimace. The middle finger and thumb of her right hand tapped against each other in a fidgeting rhythm. Her expression shifted between pensive and restless, her eyes darting back and forth between the three people on the street. Her gaze lingered longest on the young man.

At her side, a raven perched on the rooftop corner, its emotionless eyes reflecting deep concern. The bird's head flicked between the street and its master, tilting in an attempt to decipher the confusing emotions on her face. It wanted to help, encourage, or fix the situation but couldn't understand the problem. Feeling that its master didn’t want to be approached, the raven turned away and mimicked her, observing in silence.

A strong gust of wind blew a thick covering of snowy powder across the precinct's rooftop, creating an opaque haze.

When the snow screen vanished a second later, so had the woman.

Only the raven remained, unmoving and silent.

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'No. He wouldn't—'

Aubry’s mouth opened to shout a warning, but her words dried up, scattered on the wind like ash. She watched in petrified horror as bullets tore into the young man's torso and limbs, his body jerking in sync with the gunfire. The final round struck his cheek, whipping his head to the side, spraying blood and bone fragments across the snow in an obscene arc. He sagged, swaying drunkenly on his knees, strands of torn flesh and muscle dripping from his face, his jaw hanging at an awkward angle.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"My god...he killed him..." Aubry barely suppressed a gag, nausea gripping her stomach. She felt like a passenger in her own body—scared and powerless. Her heart pounded violently, bile burned in the back of her throat. She realized she’d forgotten to breathe and took a short gasp, an uncontrollable shudder sweeping through her. She felt trapped, like she was inside a tiger enclosure. She wanted to leave. She needed to get out.

The young man raised his head into the headlights, his face a horror movie poster come to life. The bullet had shredded everything below his cheekbone, revealing a mangled mass of tendons, teeth, and an uneven jaw oozing blood down his neck.

Aubry recoiled, her mouth quivering, eyes wide. She stumbled backward over her feet, unable to stifle a gasp of horror.

The young man's head turned toward the sound, the skin and muscle of his ruined face knitting together.

Their eyes met.

Aubry's vision tunneled, extending into an infinite tube with two glowing red eyes at the end. The surrounding world disappeared. She felt overwhelming fatigue and hollowness. Time slowed. Nothing else mattered…nothing...nothing...

"Kill," a voiceless command echoed in her consciousness.

Ye Bao’s mouth twisted in scorn as he slotted in a new magazine and racked the rifle's charging handle. He stared down at the vampire’s kneeling figure with narrowed, smoldering eyes. It was finally over. He’d won.

"Ugly motherfucker," he spat, sighting the vampire’s head and applying pressure—

Bang!

A gunshot shattered the silence.

Ye Bao’s eyebrows knitted in confusion before widening. He took a slow step forward, then another, his eyes blinking rapidly. Blood gurgled in his throat, spraying across his rifle. He looked down in confusion, swayed, and stumbled. Gagging on blood, he tried to breathe, let go of the rifle, and turned around.

Bang!

A bloody, gaping hole appeared in his forehead, the back of his head exploding in a ghastly mixture of blood, bone, and brain matter. A thick trickle of blood rolled down his nose, into his eye, and down his cheek. A single, bloody tear. His mouth dropped open, his head slowly lolled back, and his body followed, collapsing to the ground. Unmoving.

The policewoman lowered her sidearm, her lifeless, vacant gaze staring into the distance.

"Come."

Her sidearm thudded into the snow. A dull expression on her face, she started walking towards the young man when a tall, humanoid shadow appeared behind her.

"Enough," a guttural, feminine voice growled. A shadowy arm wrapped around her chest, pulling her back, adjusting its grip so the forearm was around her neck.

The policewoman tried to resist, raising her arms to protect her neck, but it was futile.

A second shadowy hand placed itself against the back of her head while another forearm slid under her chin, tightening around her neck. The hand pushed her head forward, tilting her neck down.

Emerald green eyes glowed in the dark over the policewoman's right shoulder as she choked and beat at the offending forearm. The beating grew weaker, turning into pawing, then finally, she lightly held the forearm before her fingers slipped free. Her arms dropped to her sides as her head and body went limp. The shadowy forearm vanished from around her neck.

The policewoman collapsed face-down into the snow like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

The shadowy figure disdainfully sniffed at the unconscious policewoman, then locked eyes with the man across the street. The figure stepped out of the swirling snow and darkness into the dim glow of an overhead streetlight.

"Kneel," Zoé commanded with a snarl, pulling on the first-stage Blood Bond that linked them. She would intimidate her Childe into submission for a simple execution.

A nagging worry in the back of her mind noted that this man was too strong to be hers. But the connection didn’t lie. He was of her blood and Clan, carrying her gift. An untenable situation.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She would finish this tonight. One way or another. She couldn’t afford anything else.

The remaining injuries on her Childe’s face and body finished regenerating as he slowly stood, half a dozen flattened bullets falling from his chest and arms. His wary eyes trained on the woman standing across the street.

His irises glowed a warm, crimson red.

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The interior of the cavernous, underground laboratory was bathed in a fluorescent, sterile white glow that reflected off of the many metallic surfaces and sleek equipment.

The woman in the red dress stood beside a nearly complete specimen, her coldly beautiful demeanor accentuated by her obsidian eyes.

The ordinary man who had once been laid out on a metallic table now stood beside it, transformed into something utterly alien. Over seven feet tall, his body rippled with muscle beneath thick, segmented bone plating covering his torso and limbs. Wicked bone spikes jutted from his elbows and down his spine. Exposed skin was layered with callused flesh displaced by the creation of bone armor and spikes. His eyes were closed, and his ears were misshapen masses.

She was about to work on his hands, debating between bone-talon fingers or tapering the arms into bone-bladed swords when she sensed another presence attempting to influence her fledgling's consciousness. She cocked an eyebrow, her fragmented consciousness relaying the intrusion.

"How fascinating," she murmured, her obsidian eyes turning crimson. "So this must be mommy dearest." A cruel smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Another insignificant ant desired to claim what was hers. The situation amused her.

"And dressed like a whore, no less. Hmph."

She summoned one of her most trusted servants.

"You summoned me, Stăpână," came a smooth masculine voice with a Romanian lilt.

"Ten milliliters of Neurosalifen Dycemorphidrol. Vault one," she commanded, crouching beside the creature to examine its hand more closely. The fabric of her tight red dress stretched to its limit.

She tapped the creature's hand. Grotesque, organic noises emanated from the convulsing hand as bone and muscle shifted beneath the skin. The skin at the tips of the fingers split open, revealing elongated bones that extended over three inches past the nails, forming stiff, unbendable talons. Her eyes narrowed, displeased with the result. They weren't wicked enough, not intimidating enough. She could rectify this. Everything had to be perfect.

She slowly rose and turned as a thin column of pure shadow manifested a few meters behind her. It vanished, revealing a tall, moderately built man with blonde, wavy hair framing a chiseled, menacing face. Piercing amber eyes and a dark-gold beard complemented his well-defined nose and full lips. He held a stoppered glass vial filled with a vivid lilac liquid.

The woman walked over and took the vial from his extended hand, her movements smooth and cat-like. "Thank you, Tavian," she acknowledged before returning to the workstation.

Tavian bowed deeply before the same column of shadows enveloped him, leaving the woman alone in the laboratory. She held the vial up to eye level, considering it.

It was an extraordinary concoction, her most outstanding work to date. A rarity requiring expensive reagents, specialized reaction vessels, and mastery of Koldunic sorcery and vicissitude lost to history.

She pondered her decision. Was she being unreasonable in her ambitions for a newly risen fledgling? She had dozens of highly qualified servants and loyal warriors who would gladly lay down their lives for her.

But something instinctually drew her to this fledgling. He seemed capable of shouldering her ambitions. It intrigued her that she could feel this way about a complete stranger. And if there was one thing she enjoyed, it was a mystery.

She made up her mind. Unstopping the vial, she downed its contents. Placing the empty vial into a test tube rack, she closed her eyes.

A stern, concentrated expression appeared on her face as she manipulated her internal organs to process and absorb the liquid within seconds. It was an arduous process, but once she set her mind on a course of action, not even Caine himself could dissuade her.

With great difficulty and concentration, she used the concoction to solidify the psychic connection tethering herself to her fragmented consciousness within the fledgling. A brief bolt of pain lanced through her mind.

Her actions defied the natural order, a perversion of sorcery and science honed over centuries. Through this reinforced connection, she transferred muscle memory and instincts from hundreds of life-or-death situations to preserve the fledgling's life and ensure he stood a fighting chance.

Her fragmented consciousness responded, entering the fledgling's mind and opening it to the torrent of information. The process completed in seconds.

Finally, she opened her eyes, revealing erratic crimson swirls mixed with obsidian. A small trickle of blood leaked from her left ear.

"Mm," she grunted softly, a regal expression on her face. Unfazed by her casual abuse of the world order, she wiped away the blood, examining it on her finger. She sniffed it before sucking it away.

"Now, that was quite unpleasant," she muttered, returning to stand beside the creature. It remained still as a statue, unbreathing, simply existing. She looked at the bone-taloned fingers, then at its spikes and armored bone plating.

"Sword-arms, then," she decided.

She tapped the creature's hand.