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Disclaimer: If you recognise it, surprise, I don't own it.
Chapter 113- Knives and Fire.
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Alright, after a good night's rest, I am feeling better than ever and ready to take on whatever vampires may get in my way. Surprisingly, nothing happened after I left that bookstore, and I was easily able to get back to my hotel. I wished the internet was a thing so that I could do all my research from the safety of my hotel room, but unfortunately, that isn't possible. The internet isn't going to be here for a good twenty years, at least to the standard I want. So, the question remained, how was I going to gather information on this new threat and this mysterious artefact.
Well, I headed to the local library. Needless to say, I had already discovered how useless and idiotic the locals are and how much they fear the D'Arcana. So, I decided to do my own snooping and research for once without interacting with anyone else, but of course, therein lay the problem. I can't read Italian. I can speak it; it isn't too hard to do when you have mind magic. I just helped myself to the mind of a local and their knowledge of the language, and then when I speak, what I want to say in English gets filtered through a little thing inside my mind that translates it to Italian, and that's how I speak.
But in that scenario, the content comes from me, is translated into another language, and is then sent out. In this new context, I am trying to read something in Italian, take it in, and then translate it into English for me to understand, which is incredibly more difficult. It would be easier for me to hire a translator, but then again, I wouldn't be sure I could trust them and they would learn what I am researching. No, it is better to handle it myself. Which led to a significant portion of my day being spent in the library with a random book, trying to modify my mind magic so I could read it. A lot of experimentation was needed, but even at my most successful, the Italian words would half merge with English and end up with gibberish that I didn't understand.
After yet another unsuccessful attempt, I sighed and rested my head against the table, taking a moment to lament my existence and the fact I was wasting my time on this crap. I just closed my eyes in delight at the sight of nothing and the sound of nothing as I took a moment to breathe. But then, I felt something. It wasn't a sound or anything I could actually describe, but something was calling to me. I lifted my head and looked around, but there wasn't much to see aside from the empty library and the full bookshelves. I got to my feet and started to move, eventually going through a side door and outside.
I left behind the place of learning and went outside, heading into a narrow, winding alley. I spotted a shadow in the corner of my eye, and when I looked, it was gone. I quickly moved, turning the corner and spotted the silhouette moving around another corner. I followed. Whoever it was, they moved with a restless energy, their dark robes trailing behind them, and I could hear them whispering against the cobbled stones like ghostly secrets. The figure glanced back, his eyes flicked nervously up to the rooftops as if he expected shadows to leap down and seize us at any moment. When he finally came to a stop, it was beneath a weathered archway where the atmosphere pulsed with salt and an elusive essence—magic, thick and cloying, woven into the very fabric of the night.
"You should not have stayed," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper but resonating with an ominous weight that pressed against my chest like a heavy shroud. "The air here is poisoned with ambition and blood. The time is nigh; there is no longer any time for you to leave." It was the old man, the bookshop owner who I had last seen yesterday. And yet, now, he is very different from the last time I saw him. He is frail, on edge, constantly looking around at things that are not there. His eyes are bloodshot, and he honestly seems like he is at the end of his tether.
A chill slithered down my spine, even as the night air wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The distant roar of the sea echoed in my ears, the rhythmic surge of waves crashing against the timeworn rocks, but something felt amiss—like the ocean itself was holding its breath, bracing for the storm to come. I met his gaze, searching his weathered face for answers as if his lines and creases could reveal the truth. "If it's too late, then there would be no harm in me in telling me what you know." Before you can't tell me anything. I don't say that, but it's clear to me this guy isn't long for this world; he is reaching the end of his life, which is probably why he is placing all of his faith in me.
The shopkeeper's gnarled fingers knotted tightly around the edge of his cloak as if grasping for safety in a turbulent sea. "The D'Arcana Clan," he whispered, each syllable heavy with dread. "They are close to attaining the Lunar Heart." A gust of wind rustled my hair, and the weight of his words enveloped me like a fog, thick and suffocating. So you are telling me a family whose influence seeped like dark roots through the hidden underbelly of this world is close to attaining this all-powerful, magical artefact, and I'm just finding out about the artefact while they are so ahead. A tangible embodiment of fear made my skin prickle, and I didn't like it.
"The Lunar Heart, tell me everything you know. And about the D'Arcana clan." I echoed, the name vibrating in the air as if just speaking about them was affecting the world. His eyes darted left and right, scanning for unseen threats, before he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "You know what it is capable of. Ancient. Dangerous. A relic imbued with the ability to command the tides and manipulate the very phases of the moon. An artefact that could unravel the delicate balance between sea and sky. With the D'Arcana Clan after it, the world was is already skirting the edge of calamity." I nodded, the realisation striking me like the crack of thunder
"They are more than a mere crime syndicate," the shopkeeper continued, his voice barely rising above the wind's mournful wail. "They are a dynasty, intertwined with dark magic and blood rituals as old as the city itself." He exhaled sharply, his face a mask of solemnity. "Their charm is a façade. Their civility is an illusion. And their leader—" Here, he stalls, as if afraid to speak the name. His fad somehow gets an even more deathly pale parlour, getting even closer to oblivion. Then, he firms himself with a hand on the wall.
"Lucian D'Arcana." He spoke his name like it was the devil, and the alley seemed to darken, shadows clutching at the edges of my vision. The shopkeeper swallowed hard, fear flickering in his eyes. "He believes it is his birthright to wield the Lunar Heart." As his words settled like ashes in the air, something shifted around us. A sharp, distant sound—a soft scrape of leather against stone, the nearly silent rustle of a cloak slipping through the shadows. The shopkeeper went rigid, and I sensed a lurking presence, just beyond the threshold of my awareness, poised for a leap.
"They will stop at nothing, Gilderoy." He lunged forward, his hand on my wrist, his grip tightening, urgency palpable like a drumbeat in the night. "They have already spilt an ocean's worth of blood for it over the centuries. They will not stop, not now that they are so close." I yanked my arm away, my thoughts racing like storm clouds colliding. The alley suddenly felt constricted, the sky pressing down as if it were alive and aware. I had come in search of answers, and now those answers loomed larger than I'd anticipated—but it carried a steep price. Remaining here any longer meant testing fate, daring the patience of those who offered no second chances.
I should leave. I knew that. No matter the slight to my ego or my feelings, survival was important, and I should leave and go back to England. I knew that. I did. But then, why did that feel like the last thing I wanted to do? Why did every fibre of my being refuse to leave these shores? Why, for once in my life, did I feel such a drive inside me? Is this purpose? Is this what I have been missing? Maybe leaving England is actually helping me, as there, Harry Potter is the main character and the hero, but here, there is no hero. No one to stop this evil vampire mafia family, no one except me. No one else can do it. No one except me.
The shopkeeper hesitated, weighing whether to speak further, but then he saw something in my eyes, and he shook his head, eyes darkened with worry. "It is too late. They already know of your presence and that we have met." The old man coughed wetly and then reached into his robes.
"Gilderoy, if you- GAH!" A knife is suddenly embedded in the chest of the old man, and it is only my instincts and will to survive that keep me alive as I narrowly miss the knife that was headed for me. As soon as I saw the knife in the old man, I jumped to the side, hugging the wall as quickly as possible, meaning the knife that was headed for my head originally just ended up stuck in the ground, easily slicing into the cobbled concrete. So, it must have been enchanted weaponry, and no magic was used in that attack. I had enough of a magic sense to at least sense when it was used, and there was nothing. The knives were thrown with pure physical force and so fast that the assault was instant.
I watch as the old man falls to his knees and then collapses onto his back, his hand holding his wound. And then I hear faint whispers from him and witness a slight green glow from the hand pressed against his wound. That is interesting, but I don't have time to dwell on it, as there is an assassin around here. I have my wand held firm in my hand as I look up and around, trying to spot anything in the shadows. From the way the knife meant for me was stuck in the ground, it clearly came from someone at a higher altitude, so they must be above somewhere. But they are truly living up to their job as an assassin, as I don't see anything.
And then I saw something shimmer in the air, and I jumped to the left, avoiding another knife that was coming at me. Seeing the direction it came from, I reacted instantly and swung my wand there. A jet of flames left my wand, heading directly for that area. The reason for this spell was twofold. First of all, it was fast and deadly, with a chance of setting my opponent on fire, and also, it lit up the area so I could hopefully see my assailant. The fire blasted the underside of a roof up above, but it didn't actually hit anything, and all I saw was a dark figure zooming away from the fire, not able to discern anything properly.
I waited a moment, and then another knife came flying at me from a different direction. I again dodged and responded with the same spell, but the same thing happened. And then there was a whole deluge of knives coming at me, all from different angles, and each one aimed for a vital place on my body. This person was very much going for the kill, but all they were doing was using knives. This kept up for about a minute, the assassin throwing knives at me and me either dodging or blocking with a shield spell. But there is one thing this told me, whoever was attacking me they were not a wizard. They were using no magic, and they were attacking with only their physical body, a tremendous physical body that was able to move as fast as a hippogriff and throw with the force of a troll, but not magically.
After another dodge, I responded in the same way, but this time, my spell was Confringo. I had lulled the assassin into a false sense of security, and with that, they were unprepared for my faster and more explosive spell, which was able to strike a moment after they moved and exploded. The assassin did manage to escape the brunt of the dame, but they were still blasted, and they slammed into the side of the alley up above me before falling down to the ground, flames licking at their form. Still, he manages to recover mid-air and slams into the ground in a superhero pose, the ground cracking and spiderwebbing underneath him.
He stays in that pose for a moment, and I take the chance to observe him. He's in his late twenties, built wiry but tough, the kind of lean muscle that makes him quick in a fight. His face still holds some boyish charm—a strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, dark, mischievous eyes—but there's something wrong about him. His skin is slightly pallid, as if he's always standing under bad lighting. His movements as he stands up are just a little too smooth, his presence a little too quiet, like he's there one second and gone the next without a sound. This made me think that if I were to blink, he would suddenly be out of my sight, so I wouldn't close my eyes and keep them firmly on his form.
His eyes set on me, and he smirked, but then a look of confusion replaced the smirk when he saw my smirk. He shouldn't have looked into my eyes (damn, I feel like Itachi Uchiha). Instantly, I dive into his mind and try to take control, but something inside him fights against me. Something is trying to stop me from controlling him, and I can't find the strength to break past it and take control of this man, so I decided to use what time I have to derive as much information as I can from him, searching for any information important to the man.
Meet Luca' Lo Strappo' Bellini, a low-level enforcer for the D'Arcana clan, the kind of guy you don't notice until it's too late. He used to be a muggle delinquent, a low-level charming but ultimately small-time crook until a made man took notice of him and brought him into the family. He was bitten, and from that moment on, he became a vampire. He was trained to lean into his instincts and become a killer, specialising in assasination and cleaning up messes.
Luca doesn't have the refined taste of the old-school vampire dons. He's hungry, always a little restless, always fidgeting—rolling a toothpick between his lips, cracking his knuckles, running his tongue over his teeth as if something inside him is trying to break loose. He doesn't do the big deals, the high-class meetings. He's the guy who gets sent when someone needs a reminder—when they need to hurt. His name, Lo Strappo, means 'The Tear'—not like crying, but like ripping something apart. He got it because he doesn't do clean kills. He likes first to immobilise his targets with a single knife and, after that, take his time to play with them, to sink his teeth in, to feel the flesh give way under his hands.
His feeding isn't elegant. It's a mauling. I watch a memory of it, witnessing as his jaw unhinges just a little too wide, his teeth sinking in deep, and he holds his victims in a grip they can't shake—until he's full. He doesn't kill unless he has to. It's messier that way, and the bosses don't like mess. But the ones he feeds on? They don't forget. They wake up feeling wrong—weak, feverish, haunted by dreams of something whispering in the dark. Luca is a foot soldier. A hound for the higher-ups. He cracks skulls, breaks bones, and when he's given permission—when they let him off the leash—he feeds. But he's young. Impulsive. Not fully in control of the thing inside him.
Like today, he was told to observe and report, and try to beat the foreigner into submission and send him running back home, but the beast inside him wants to feed, and he has never tasted foreign meat. The old man was ordered to die, but everything else that has happened has been his decision, and he is hungry. That is all of the information I am able to glen before I have to retreat from his mind, sensing something protecting it and turning its gaze on me, a gaze I narrowly evaded by retreating from Luca's mind.
Now, back to reality, I watch as the man pauses and then chuckles. The toothpick in his mouth changes position as he smirks, lifting a hand up and tapping the side of his head. "No, no, not getting in here. It wouldn't make for a very good subordinate if I am so open. We are protected against your trickery." He idly pats away the flames on him as I nod slowly, taking a moment to breathe and feeling determination course through me. I took a step forward into the darkness of the alley. The cobblestones glistened underfoot, slick with ocean mist, the briny scent thick enough to cling to my lungs.
"Then, we will have to do this the hard way," I reply, to which Luca smirked, and then he was gone.
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Hey, guess what I said when I last uploaded? Here it is down below.
[Also, I'm gonna try and get another chap out in a few days and increase the upload rate, but I say shit like that all the time, so take it with a grain of salt. I am so inconsistent lately that I find it hard to believe I was uploading three fics consistently at one point.]
Well, that was a crock of shit, wasn't it? I really meant it as well, but as Io said, take it with a grain of salt. I should have said take it with a microscopic grain of salt because damn did I leave a while. No excuse really, I was busy doing a lot of manual labour since my family's house is getting renovated, getting ripped out and then newly plastered and painted and everything. But I'm sure I could have made time, but I am just so tired.
Maybe I will upload in a week, maybe sooner or maybe even later. Just know, I will try.
Upcoming Chapters:
Hero: Chapter 114- The Cry.
Super: Chapter 116- Voracious Vampire.
Legendary: Chapter 118- Regroup.
Galactic: Chapter 122- Allergic To Blood?
Mythic: Chapter 123- The Red-Headed Gophers.
If you want to discuss this or any other topic further, follow the link to my Discord.
The link to everything you need and my patronage:
https://linktr. ee/dragonfield
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That is all for now. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I will see you in the next one!
Stay safe, and have fun!