TW : Violence, character death, blood, objectification and unwanted sexualisation (nothing happens dw), dysphoria, body mutilation, (self) amputation
They still treat him like he's a child. Not that he really blame them, they've been doing that for most of their lives, next to them he's just a rookie. Still, he knows his strengths, knows his weaknesses. He knows what to look for before they attack, when the woods are silent and the air full of static.
His eyes look on the left, the right. He's with two older hunters, Ioan and Bogdan. They've been hunters longer than he's been alive, he knows he can rely on their experience and knowledge. Yet, something doesn't feel right tonight. Even for a hunt, everything is too calm, too silent. Vampires naturally make the living creatures around them run away, the stentch of death noticable to most animals.
The smell is stronger that night.
Left, right, still nothing. Had one of the other groups found a nest, they would've, should've informed the rest of them by now. Feral vampires stay close, hunt as a group and fight for the food later.
A sound, barely noticable hasn't it been for the silence that's envelopping them. Virgil raises his sword in the direction of the sound, eyes locked to the shadows. Ioan looks in the other way, makes sure it's not trying to trap them and strike from the back. Bogdan is silent but his grip is firm, his scared jaw tense. Wait for it to strike first, let them think you're the hunted.
Then show your own fangs.
Barely a sound is heard when it strikes, claws first, towards Ioan. Barely human anymore, probably didn't have a good feast in weeks. Yet it stands, not a sound from its mouth as its left hand is severed, limp on the ground.
It doesn't even bleed anymore.
One strike is all it takes for Bogdan to end its fate. One swift mouvement through the heart of the creature, black ooze covering the blade rather than the crimson blood of a living thing. It doesn't slowly disintegrate into ashes or fade away with grace. No, it just ceases to be, what was its knees touching the ground first. It'll go up in flames once the sun touches its corpse, in just a few dozen of minutes.
Ioan mumbles something, Virgil guesses it's a prayer. For the lost soul maybe, maybe for Bogdan who's using a part of his vest to clean his blade. But the three men all feel something wrong.
"The smell is still here."
He barely speak, barely whispers, but it's enough for the older men to agree in silence. Something not right, something's missing, something's-
There's blood on the grass before Virgil hears anything.
There's blood on his boots. On his coat. On his face.
And standing over Ioan's body, a vampire. Tall, silent. Perfectly healthy, short haired and smiling with blood on its gloves.
How did they miss it. How could it hide from them.
Bogdan reacts first, sword flying in the creature's direction. Kill first, before it kills you. You'll grieve once safe.
More blood stains the grass as Bogdan's arms fall on the ground, the sword still gripped tightly in his hands. The man doesn't have any time to scream in pain when the vampire's hand crushes his throat, his cries reduced to a pathetic noise. Yet Virgil sees what he wants to yell in his eyes.
But something tells him it's exactly what the vampire wants. For him to run, to be scared. For him to become the pray he pretends to be.
So he stands. Sword in hand, heart beating so loud he almost doesn't hear it speak in a soft spoken voice, too sweet and delicate for its nature and the blood on its hands.
"You're not running sweetheart ?" He wants to vomit, but he stands. Stares at it until it laughs. "Well, that's unusual."
It goes toward him, letting Bogdan's barely conscious form fall to the ground, letting it whine as he's loosing too much blood. He'll die soon.
He'll die too, Virgil realises. That vampire is well fed, its cheeks almost pink with warmth, his form too human. Its well fed, not looking for a meal. Its looking for amusement.
A bloody hand sets itself on Virgil's right cheek, slowly caressing the three scars that sit here. Just a bit closer and Virgil could strike its heart, kill it and avenge his compagnons but-
"One move and I'll rip your jaw apart." Virgil knows it means it. The red eyes in front of him cruel and curious. "You're very pretty... How old are you darling ?" He stays silent, but the feeling of claws in his jaw makes him awnser.
"My, my, so young and yet so hurt already..." It smiles, a fake cry, an apology that doesn't try to be convincing. "Tell me, what did you think you'd do here ?" It takes the cross that sits around Virgil's neck in its hand, staining it with blood as well. "Hurt some ghouls ? Clean the mess ? Really, a shame."
"You're saying this like I'm not hunting too. What, it true ! I hunt for fun. Just like any human could."
It drags its hand lower, its fingers meeting leather strong enough to stop any teeth from piercing it, no matter how sharp, around the boy's neck.
Just a few minutes. The dawn is near. He thinks, at least. It should be.
"You hunters and your idiotic "bite-proof" outfits..." It rolls its eyes and smiles, its fangs shining in the darkness. "Should I tell you where it is not ? I feel quite hungry looking at you."
A shudder pass through Virgil's body, his nausea coming back stronger than before. He knows what it means, sees how it's looking at his chest, his legs, his arms, his hips. Feels the familiar way his body yells to rip everything out, or to rip what's looking at him.
But for now he can only wait to strike.
Maybe the vampire thinks it has already won and that's why it lets Virgil keep his sword, steady in his left hand.
He feels a fangs caress his right hand before he moves, more like a reflex than real though.
Maybe he thinks about something.
A tired smile. Eyes that are just as tired behind glasses.
The pain in his hand is burning as black ooze falls on his blade and blood runs from his palm.
It laughs, eyes wide, unbelieving. The wound does not close, the silver of the blade burning the creature as if it was the sun.
Virgil rips his shirt and quickly creates a tourniquet above his wrist. His veins turn to ooze under it, the venom stopped where the blood stops flowing.
The vampire launches towards him.
He's covered in black liquid as the vampire's head roll on the ground.
He rips another part of his shirt, the leather underneath his only shield as the sun slowly rises. His blade is clean, sharp as always.
Another part of his shirt is ripped, a clean one, and he stuffs it in his mouth. He plants his blade to the ground, and put his arm under where it should cut.
He barely scream behind the gag.
Blood and onze come out of the severed limb.
He gets his sword back. Get the gag out.
The vampires burn quickly. His limp arm does slowly.
He feels the blood on him.
He's barely conscious when the day patrol finds him stumbling in the forest.
He's brought to his father's house. He hears whispers, cries, panic.
It's his only though, as the dark claims him.
He swears, to whoever will hear him.
