“May God Win This Time”
“My life used to have no meaning. Countless losses attempted to break an incomplete mind. Too early to shape it, too late to be disregarded. I never cried nor did I ever smile, knowing each precious thing was as fragile as it was finite. One might call it a delusion to help a sprout stand in spite of the storm, but it merely became unperturbed.
I was not a stranger to romance, wealth, or pedestals sculpted for my distinctiveness alone, yet I lived oblivious to the abyss never shifting its gaze from me.
Until that day had come. It finally looked away, and I discerned the weight of dreams.
The flesh was nothing but a chalkboard.
The blood was but a lesson.”
Year 686 after Lucifer’s liberation.
The sole of a dark-brown gaitered boot stomped the cobblestone road. Dirty water splashed all around it as the man in the foreboding attire continued striding. A torn cape, a wide-brim hat, and a notched-lapel vest—all pine green—were not something to stand out. In a land where cold rain was one’s frequent companion, covering your body was only natural.
“The Vampire-Hunting Guild”. The grand, but unkempt, building divided the back-to-back houses of the slums from the center of Fiona, the capital of the Lauto Empire. With a heavy sigh, the man entered the last street before his destination.
“Good sir! Oh, good sir!” A pleading voice resounded from behind a gray brick house. “I wish you the finest day, my great savior!” A slim figure crawled to the man’s feet.
“It’s still morning.” He responded in a hoarse manner, forcing the beggar to look up. Below the wide hat, a pair of hazel irises shone. A carrot-ginger beard, coupled with long and straight hair, gave the man an arrogant but mature look.
“F-Forgive me, good sir! I have lost my legs to a vile disease, and now there’s not much for me to live for…” Leaning on his hands, the begging man pushed himself upright. The tattered clothing lay mounded on itself; the body went no further than his waist.
The ominous silhouette vanished. The gray-blue clouds hit the beggar’s eyes, but a metallic ringing disrupted the stillness even more. A golden coin rolled up to his greasy palms.
“Many thanks to you, good sir! May God win this time, and may He be on your side!” The happiness in his cry was almost genuine.
The ginger man continued walking under the dim and foggy streetlights, yet, near the Guild’s entrance, he turned to an olive-skinned woman in a light-blue uniform.
“There is a renegade acolyte between the houses 34 and 36. Eighth circle.”
The guard almost jumped.
“Are you confident? Did the person attack you?” Her tone was swaying between concern and cautiousness.
“Me?” A smug grin appeared on his pale face. “You don’t know me?”
The uniformed woman frowned.
“I’m afraid I don’t. Sir, I need to…”
“Eugene.” His face became serious again, and the guard’s question was gone. “Now, prepare your rifle. In ten seconds, the renegade acolyte will appear next to that oak bench.”
The guard, although indignantly shaking her head, pointed the barrel of her carbine. It was aimed at where Eugene’s gloved hand indicated. She held her breath as a faint golden glow condensed around her palms. At the same time, a jet-black whirlwind spun in the ginger man’s eyes.
The air tore.
A torrent of black fog surged from between the buildings where the beggar hid. His body flew onto the street, with a pair of legs rising directly from the solid stone foundation. Formerly missing limbs materialized out of thin air. The guard pulled the trigger. The golden bullet pierced the vagrant’s temple. No life remained to leave his body when Eugene turned to the other warden, smiling but silent.
“Good morning, Yuri.”
The second guard smiled, stroking his own gray beard.
“Good morning to you, too, Eugene.”
Gusts of wind were replaced by chatter and squeaking wood after Eugene closed the door behind him. The main building of the Guild reeked with sweat and alcohol, forcing the visitor’s face to contort. Around him, the vast great hall was divided into the registry, the bar, the armory, and the infirmary, and that was merely the ground floor. Despite the early time of day, many mercenaries were already filling their throats with exclusive beverages and fancy tidbits. While some laughed to shake off the fear of impending missions, the others wept, wallowing in grief.
The closest tables fell quiet as Eugene passed them, either from fear or respect. His fist, in a leather glove, knocked on the frame of the registry.
“Who’s th… Oh.” A chubby woman with curly hair turned to the visitor. On her chest, a symbol of a circle impaled by interlocking triangles displayed her affiliation. Lit up by wall gas lamps, piles of chaotically sorted folders and parchments sat between her and the window.
The ginger man spoke solemnly, but quietly:
“Darkbloom.”
“Consultation chamber three,” the clerk responded momentarily. Leading the vampire hunter to an isolated room, she made sure the mortise lock was set firm.
“So it wasn’t a joke?” the man asked, not yet seated at the square mahogany table.
“Who would dare?”
The clerk sighed. Her lips were puckered in mysterious sadness.
“It is exactly how you were informed. Mayor Conrad wants to hire you directly. He insisted we proceed without the Guild’s awareness.”
“Tch.” Eugene placed his hat on the table. “That means no regulations and no guarantees. Who I work with, what I bring, and what sacrifices I should be prepared for. For a simple bodyguarding mission, seems a bit too special.”
“So does the reward.”
The woman pulled a hard paper card, as though trading it for the headpiece. The hunter’s eyelids twitched when he saw the number on it.
“Also, I don’t know the exact meaning, but he advised you bring yo’ best gear. Best case, multiply the digits by ten.”
“Bullshit.” The ginger man looked the clerk in the eye. “What for?”
She shook her head. “I guess for forcing you to work with other hunters an’ witches!“
Raising one eyebrow, Eugene leaned back on the chair.
“That's all the documents you provide?” He waved the card, as if mocking the just-as-confused clerk. Yet, she only shrugged before seeing the wide-brimmed hat picked up and the chamber empty.
Pacing back through the same corridor, he caused many mature hirelings to hush their tone. Although most alluring rumors always slipped through the jabbering.
“Not raids, they're heists! Planned, connected! Why else would they shush us like that?”
“All of us are witnesses. An explosion brighter than a thousand Suns, yet nothing was even scratched!”
“Them artifacts, the Church doesn't approve… But what else should we do if the headquarters were really infiltrated?”
Eugene closed his eyes. Separated from the blinding noise, he opened the door.
Cold droplets. Slicing streams of air. Filthy speech drifting above just as filthy alleys. Even later, in the comfort of his own lavish fireplace, days switched with nights rapidly. Valets and housemaids came by to trim the lamps and tidy up the cottage; the squeaking parquet acted as mere accompanying ambience. Silverware, silk, and golden goblets in Eugene’s hands were overshadowed by bullets and blades in his mind. Enhanced by the glaring anticipation, reality faded to haze.
Until the bottom of a crystal glass hit the soft antimacassar. The bubbly, exotic champagne was swaying in tawny lights. Dim was the sky on the other side of the opulent window.
He stood on a patterned carpet. A steel clanking rang below Eugene’s wide shoulders. He finished the preparations by placing a round, red crystal in the pocket of his leather belt.
“The fifth is the last,” he mumbled heavily.
Next to the pouch of intricate artifacts, a half-meter-long wooden rod was hanging on the belt. It was barely thin enough to fit in one’s grasp; the intertwined ink-black branches squirming softly. The opposite, left side of the leather accessory was holding a holster with a silver revolver. The engravings on its long barrel glimmered even under the cape with torn edges.
Eugene took a coin out of the pocket in his brown vest.
“Caw!”
Next to a boot stand, a demonic raven flapped its wings. The hanging perch seemed too small for the creature, yet the blood-red eyes were dancing in joy. Once the ginger man put the coin in its beak, the bird vanished, warping the air around it. Not even a quarter of an hour had passed when a carriage arrived at Eugene’s cottage. He quickly downed the remaining champagne and left his home, tawny lights dissolving.
“Sylvia Borough. I will disembark ten minutes before we reach the plaza. Keep moving until you’re there.” The vampire hunter commanded the gentleman who held the reins of a pair of Percherons. He received a warm nod from him, denoting familiarity with the passenger. A dull glow ran from the horses’ hooves to the cab’s great wheels. By the time the carriage came to a halt, the traveler was nowhere to be found, though the golden trinkets on the seat lifted the driver’s unease at once.
Under the blurry moonlight, Eugene made his way. The dirty slums and busy bazaars were now gone. Empty roads, surrounded by green, were switching from elevated ridges to dipping curves. Not many houses stood along them, but those that did were outlined by the grandest fences. To call them home was to prefer lavish palaces to settled lodges. Even so, one manor was vastly different.
An imposing, two-story mansion with a geometric mansard was towering before the hunter. The gate lay open, three guards greeting the famous man. West of the main path, rows of delicately cut bushes were dormant. East of it, a gloomy birch garden was rustling around a stargazing tower. Marble fountains, bespoke bronze benches, granite pavements—all fell obscure compared to the Golden Tree. The heart of the borough, the relic of unseen origins. Its overhanging grandeur was bathed in golden light that seemed to come from nowhere yet embrace every leaf. Captivated, Eugene entered the round foyer.
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“Look who it is!” A pale, blonde man in a fancy suit welcomed the guest. His rich appearance was only interrupted by a silk eyepatch. “Forgive me for all this confusion. Please, let’s dine.”
Taking his hat off, Eugene didn’t drop a word. He noticed the courtesy of Mayor Conrad, unnatural for someone of that status. The grand hall behind the foyer was also strangely empty.
“Oh, fuck. So he is desperate.” An annoyed, but masculine voice met Eugene in the doorway. He silently followed the mayor to the Dining Room, but spoke up the moment he saw the swearing man.
“Still calling garbage a garb, Julius?” The ginger hunter smirked. His insult was addressed to a very distinct man who waited beside the long table. He was wearing a gray, chain-patterned suit over a red shirt; his silver-dyed hair and beard trimmed perfectly. With no words, his taste was proclaimed superior.
“Cut the disrespect.” The third, softer tone stole Eugene’s attention. He glanced along the spacious room, and the situation became clear. Two witches, six acolytes, and an exorcist were staring at him. If everyone present took a chair, only two would remain empty.
The ginger hunter sat below the chandeliers. “All of you? I thought this was a private mission.”
“Apparently, it isn’t! But the Guild still doesn’t know!” The enthusiasm came from the youngest fellow in the Dining Room. Dressed in black and white attire with a headband, he exuded inexplicable happiness.
Similar joy resounded from the foyer.
“..no, no, it is our fault for being late. We’re glad to be of use to someone like you.”
“Oh, please, it’s just that the food is better hot. I am in no hurry.”
A pair of uniformed men passed the doorway on the far side. They carried several bags of luggage, the owners of which soon appeared.
“So that’s how it is…”
One of them—a remarkably muscular fellow—let his eyes roam before letting the last person enter. It was a woman whose outline was tall and defined, her dark skin shining bright. They were not just a formal union, but also a romantic one.
“What a nice view!” Mayor Conrad clapped his hands in delight. “Let's commence.”
Snapping his fingers twice, he invited a pair of uniformed soldiers into the room. He reached for a solitary chair and sat there as if overlooking the guests. The guards menacingly stood near the wall behind. Yet, he began chatting as though celebrating a holiday.
“Enjoy yourselves!”
The tension lessened. Whatever was to come later, now it was a chance to embrace the comfort. Bright panel wallpapers appeared even more gorgeous with the night between the draperies. To help chandeliers illuminate the room, candlesticks towered between the plates. Fruits, fish, meat of every kind, and stewed vegetables set a good start for future cooperation. Even Eugene, who infamously preferred seclusion, partook in the conversation from time to time.
“Oh, pardon me!” The man with the eye patch snapped his fingers again. “You surely know of my recently opened winery. One piece of my joy today is its blooming success! I want to share an exclusive fruit of my work with all of you.”
A slim woman brought a silver tray to the table. On it, twelve crystal vessels were placed around a glass bottle. Once everyone had a portion, Conrad cheerfully swung his hand.
Eugene took the first sip.
“Hmm.”
His lips quivered. Frowning, he kept the glass where it was, but his eyes swiftly jumped from one guest to another. To his surprise, almost everyone was doing the same. The mayor was not anticipating compliments; he was anticipating something else.
“Listen.” The young hunter with the headband smirked. “If you want to poison an acolyte, it has to smell like roses.” His unfinished glass hit the table. “Our bodies are not human anymore. Good try, though.”
An uncomfortable silence followed. The seemingly weak exorcist spat the wine onto the floor, but he was the only one to do so.
“I am deeply sorry! But you have passed my little test.” Finally, the smile on the mayor's face became genuine. “You are completely safe, but I am glad you have such sharp senses.”
“What is in the wine?” Julius, the man in the fancy suit, spoke with aggravated concern. “We have no guarantees from you yet, but you're placing some filth in our drinks?”
“E-Exactly!” The younger fellow returned to his senses. “There are also witches here! A-And Tobias. They could've died!”
“You are safe.” The purple-haired woman proclaimed from the other end of the table. She was one of the two sitting closest to the mayor. “It was indeed just a check, one I have helped with. Soon it will all make sense.”
“Soon?” Eugene voiced his confusion.
A loud ringing interrupted him. The golden pendulum clock struck eleven in the evening.
Conrad stood up. “Yes. Forgive me, my ambitions may have overshadowed my hospitality.”
Around the mayor, Eugene sensed an unusual presence. A transparent barrier was cast by an unknown acolyte.
“The task for all of you has already begun. You will understand everything in less than an hour. Though, while I'm still here, let me assure you - the promised reward was not a deception.”
“While you're still here?” Eugene addressed the important piece.
“Indeed. I am not the subject of your mission.”
Feeling stiff, a portion of hunters moved their chairs backward. Since there was no trust, there had to be freedom.
Thin pale fog rose from the silver tray. Twelve yellow envelopes appeared on it.
“You will be able to open them at midnight. My advice - do not make any conclusions until you have finished reading.”
The mayor hurriedly left the room. All guests stood up, suspicion replacing former confusion.
“Hey, you two.” A tall vampire huntress called the two guards who still occupied the wall. “What is happening? Tell us.”
One of them gracefully bowed. “I am afraid it's not possible, Lady Sabrine.”
“Then I'm leaving.” The relentless woman started walking towards the doorway. Her right arm, entirely composed of hellish metal, swayed along the thick braid on her shoulder.
“I agree. This is bullshit.” Eugene straightened his back. On the one hand, the mayor was a respectable person of royal blood. On the other hand, he was simply a client who openly disrespected those he had hired.
A uniformed man blocked the foyer.
“Move away.”
“Not possible.”
This time, his face was concealed by a layer of black fabric.
“Who the fuck are you anyway?” Eugene began to argue while the other hunters spectated from behind. “You’re not from the Guild, you’re not a mercenary, and you’re not a fucking housemaid either. I said move the he-”
A bright blade almost scratched Eugene’s neck. It belonged to a glaive the faceless man summoned from thin air. Swirling blue liquid danced on the steel, releasing bright charges.
“No. No, no, no. We have other options.” The muscular hunter stepped forward. Despite his imposing voice and numerous tattoos, he appealed to reason. “Ex-commander Xavier Argone. Nice to meet you.”
The glaive was retracted. Instead, the guard shook the hand of the former commander. Eugene sighed, still deciding between diplomacy and violence.
“I kindly ask you to obey the mayor’s commands. Until twelve, all mercenaries must remain inside.”
Xavier frowned, glancing at the group.
“Ahem. Anything else for us to be aware of?”
“Not yet.”
The conversation was cut short. A few whispers ran through the room, but a loud step interrupted them. Eugene approached the grand staircase in the Main Hall.
“The fuck you doing? Gonna run away?” Julius inquired, fixing his fancy jacket.
“Scouting.” The ginger man was not amused. “Join me or stay here begging.”
“I will go after him.” A warm, almost teasing voice resounded again. It was the same woman who helped the mayor set up the bizarre test. Her puffy trousers jumped with each rapid step as she conquered the staircase.
A viewing gallery above the hall connected the two floors. In normal circumstances, tired visitors would spectate the ball from there, but now it was merely a strategic route. Eugene glanced at the western wing of the upper floor and only found the doorways to the bar, next to the corridor between the Master Bedroom and the lavatories. At the opposite, south-eastern edge, the second corridor lay, one with many doors. It piqued the hunter's interest, and he quickly paced under the gas lamps.
The purple-haired woman lost his silhouette. She wasn't hiding her presence, but approaching someone like Eugene would have to be done carefully. She ran forward and saw a round wooden table. It was positioned strangely, at a corner where the corridor took a left turn. Puzzled by the eerie piece of furniture, she heard a sound of a door closing.
“There you are.” She smirked. Her lips and nails, painted bright red, gave her a remarkably cunning look.
She leisurely reached the end of the corridor. More than a dozen closed rooms were skipped, but she knew exactly where the long-haired man was. She gently opened the door. Besides a bed and a closet, the space was empty.
“Huh?”
She stepped inside. Her legs lost ground.
The darkness began swirling under her feet. Light-headed, the woman saw a dark fog surge. Three jet-black spears were launched upwards from between the cracks in the floor. Yet, instead of piercing her, the spearheads wrapped around her torso and neck. She felt as if she were bound by titanium chains. A gloved hand grabbed her mouth from behind as the door closed.
“Tell me everything you know, Violet.”
The hoarse voice did not make her move a muscle. A mechanical click reverberated.
“Now.” A cocked revolver pressed the curly hair against the woman’s temple.
“Pfft.”
Still paralyzed, Violet released a laugh into Eugene’s palm. Sighing, he freed her lips.
“Seriously? You thought that would work? And how can I speak with my mouth shut?”
“Forget it.” Eugene put his gun back into the holster. “I know you’re not capable of fear, but wouldn’t dying make you sad? Even a bit?”
“If you wanted to interrogate me with sadness, you should’ve brought a pair of crying puppies or something.”
Eugene snapped his fingers. The gas lamp on the wall lit up in company with the candles. Thankfully, the pink curtains prevented the image of the bound woman from being displayed to the world.
“So.” He sat on the neatly made bed opposite Violet. “The wine was laced with witch blood. I suspect it was yours.”
“Yes! Can you now let me go?” With great effort, she tilted her head.
“Not until you tell me what you know.”
“It’s written in the letter! There is no way the strongest hunter is that impatient.”
Eugene took the glove off his left hand. With a tired look, he closed the distance to the captive witch.
“Acolytes of the Eighth have many ways of making one talk, even if they are not afraid. There is a lot of darkness inside you, Violet.” With a gentle swing, Eugene picked the cloche hat off the woman’s head.
“Tell me about the mayor, and everything the two of you are planning.”
5 minutes till midnight.
A charred imp was circling between the exhibits in the Fine Art room. Small enough, it landed on the exposed shoulder of a male hunter. The imp’s color changed to cedar, like the skin of its master. The creature melted into the flesh of the hunter, and he moved his wide collar back to his neck.
“Julius, aren't seals like these your specialty?” The man swung the pink envelope in his hand.
“It's their specialty too.” The suited man was standing near the blocky window. “No Devil Art can break these seals. Especially if they are limited by time.”
Julius turned to the man in the robe. The latter's face was rather sunken, despite the generally youthful appearance.
“Ay!” The cry of an aged voice echoed from the Main Hall. “You two gonna be here or nah?”
Hands in his pockets, the suited hunter walked out. His pouty companion followed.
The group stood in the middle of the hall, each member holding their envelope in anticipation. The foyer was now closed; no guards were to interfere with the mission. Eugene and Violet went down the staircase.
“Where have you been?” The blonde huntress inquired. She was the second and the last witch in the mansion.
“Discussing matters.” Violet shrugged her shoulders. Then, a spark appeared in her eyes. “By the way! The thing in the wine was my blood.”
“Huh?”
“Huh?”
When many felt cold, crawling shivers, Eugene simply raised his eyebrows. The young hunter with the headband shook his head.
“But that can only mean-”
The clock struck twelve. There was no clock in the space, but a strong feeling strangled the acolytes from within.
“Dozens… No, hundreds!”
Steps, whispers, cracking fires. Many gazes penetrated the walls from outside. Those who served devils easily sensed the extreme commotion, be it around vacant roads or in neighbouring manors. Just a minute ago, there was nothing but void in its place.
Witnessing the abnormally puzzled acolytes, the only exorcist felt himself shaking. His bony fingers rapidly tore the pink paper.
“Hurry and read, for the love of God!” His panic helped others to come to their senses. Everyone, except for the young lady in navy and pink, started to read the promised instructions.
“We shall not falter before them.
- The mansion is now surrounded by vampire hunters, exorcists, and military battalions.
- As of the time I am writing this note, there is a vampire among you.
- You have to find them and kill them in nine days. If not done by then, everyone and everything inside the mansion will die at the hands of the siege.
- Anyone attempting to flee is deemed a vampire.
- For contact, approach the gates from 11 to 12 AM. At other times, approaching them or the gates is considered an attempt to flee.
- All corpses must be brought to the gates with a wooden stake in their heart.
- The initial reward will be multiplied by the number of survivors at the end of the mission. The final amount will be provided to each of you.
- If the situation becomes too extreme or too unstable, we might launch our forces prematurely.
The mansion contains all the necessities to survive until the end of the mission.
May God win this time.
Mayor J. Conrad”