The next morning, the air inside the cave felt heavy, cold, and deathly still. Despite the silence, the faint and steady sound of the stream outside reached them, the water rhythmically bubbling as it flowed over the smooth rocks. John sat in a silent vigil. By now, his own body had mostly healed. The bruises and cuts on his face from the day before had vanished, leaving his skin clear but pale from a lack of sleep. However, his clothes remained a mess. They were dirty and stained with the mud and grime of their desperate escape.
His entire world was narrowed down to the wound on Elena's shoulder. Things were not getting better. In the dim light, the jagged bite marks looked angry and swollen. Dark and ropy black veins snaked away from the wound, crawling across her collarbone like ink spreading through water. Even the blood that had dripped onto the stone floor looked wrong. It had taken on a terrifying darker and almost tar-like color.
Slowly, Elena's eyes fluttered open. She was immediately hit by the heavy silence and the crushing ache of her body. She saw John right away, his face drawn with exhaustion as he sat positioned right next to her. She attempted to move, but the simple action was met with a rush of searing pain.
She forced her gaze down to her shoulder. The sight of the deep wound told her more than any words could. Elena gently reached up and touched the bite with her index finger. When she drew it back, the blood was undeniably darker and thicker.
A bite from a werewolf, she thought. A cold certainty settled in her gut.
When John noticed the subtle movement of her hand, he instantly rushed closer. Relief and anxiety warred on his face.
"Where are we, Young Master?" Elena managed to ask. Her voice was a rough whisper.
"We managed to escape," John said. His voice was quiet but firm. "I ran as fast as I could. I did not know where to go. I just knew we had to get far away from that man, and I found this cave by the stream."
Elena looked confused despite her pain. "But... how did that man not chase us down? I do not think, at this stage, that the Young Master can outrun that kind of enemy."
John's mouth curved into a proud and weary smile. "I will have you know, Elena, that I am very smart. The dagger I stabbed him with yesterday was coated by the silvereye spider's venom. I knew I was going to have a need for that thing eventually. I just did not know it was going to be this soon."
When Elena heard his explanation, a genuine and light smile touched her lips. Knowing the boy was not only brave but capable of such resourcefulness brought her a small amount of comfort in the dark.
"Why did the Young Master not head for the Crimson castle? I am sure you would have made it back faster than running into the deep forest," she asked. There was a small note of tactical confusion in her voice.
John's smile faltered and turned into a wry grimace. "Well, I was in a state of panic, okay? I did not think rationally. Also, I did not know exactly how fast the silvereye spider venom was going to work, and I thought he was going to give chase right away. But that venom probably worked best when you kicked him through all those trees." John's enthusiasm briefly returned as he remembered the fight. "Seriously, Elena, that kick was amazing."
As John became momentarily excited thinking about the brutal scene, Elena let out a soft and pained moan. The sound pulled him back to the devastating reality of their situation. John became instantly serious again.
"Elena, how are you feeling? Your wound is not closing. I tried giving you blood, but it did not help at all. Do you know what the problem is?" he asked. The desperation was returning to his eyes.
She nodded slowly. The small movement sent stabs of sharp pain through her neck. "Yes. That man who attacked us is a werewolf. He bit me in the shoulder." She paused to gather her strength, her breathing shallow. "They taught us at the Crimson castle many years ago that a bite from a werewolf is a slow death for our kind. The venom starts by slowing down our regenerative abilities. Eventually, it stops our healing altogether. Once we can no longer heal, the poison spreads through the blood until it kills us. I never thought I would experience it firsthand. It also explains how physically powerful he was. It was my first time seeing a werewolf."
A deeply worried expression settled on John's face as he realized she was describing a terminal illness. "Now what should we do about the venom? Should I try to suck it out?"
Elena shook her head slowly. The small movement brought a fresh wave of agony that tightened the muscles in her jaw. "No, Young Master. The venom has already spread too far through my system. You must leave me here and find a way to get back to the castle alone."
"No! I would never leave you," John countered immediately. His resolve was as hard as stone. He grabbed her cold hand and held it tightly, as if he could pull the life back into her. "There must be a way to save you. Tell me how."
Elena's gaze became distant and resigned. She looked toward the mouth of the cave. "There is an antidote to a werewolf's bite at the Crimson castle, but we will likely not make it in time. And the man who attacked us is still out there. He is probably going to smell us out eventually."
John carefully helped Elena sit up. He positioned her against the cold stone of the cave wall, trying his best to make her comfortable despite her injuries. "He is not going to smell us out, thank God. It rained heavily yesterday while we were running. My guess is that the rain washed our scent away completely."
"That is good," Elena whispered. A small flicker of hope appeared in her tired eyes. "Master, I think we should wait until they send help. I am sure Master Thomas delivered the news of the mysterious man who attacked us. They will most likely send men to look for us."
What Elena said gave John a momentary surge of hope, but his optimism was quickly shattered by the brutal reality of the timeline. He had traveled far too deep into the forest during his panic. It would take a search party far too long to navigate this terrain and find them.
"Elena, do you think you can last for three days?" John asked her. He tightened his grip on her hand, his knuckles turning white.
Elena met his gaze. The dark, sickly shade of the venom was now clearly visible beneath her skin, making her look like a porcelain doll that was beginning to crack.
"To be honest, Young Master, I do not think I have a couple of days left," she said. Her voice was flat and hollow. "The way the poison is moving, I am probably going to die tomorrow."
John felt a brutal tightening in his chest, a sensation of cold iron wrapping around his heart. He felt a sickening wave of grief, but beneath it, a sharp and jagged urgency took root. He reached for the storage ring on his finger. With a small flicker of intent, he pulled out the two remaining plastic bottles of blood.
He remembered how Thomas had finished the first bottle yesterday on the trail, marveling at the plastic cap before drinking it all in a few gulps. John wished he still had that third bottle now. He knew he needed every bit of strength for the task ahead. He uncapped one of the bottles and drank it down quickly. He felt the thick, metallic liquid hit his system, sending a jolt of energy through his veins. His senses sharpened, and the deep exhaustion in his limbs began to fade. He then placed the final bottle carefully by Elena's side on the cave floor.
"I am going to save you, Elena," John declared. His voice did not waver. It rang out with a fierce determination that echoed off the damp stone walls. He rose quickly to his feet, his shadow stretching long and thin across the cave floor. He turned toward the mouth of the cave without looking back.
"Young Master, where are you going? It is not safe outside!" she called after him. Her voice was a ragged plea, thin and brittle.
John paused at the edge of the light. He turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her. "I am leaving the last bottle with you. Drink it if you can. Do not worry. I will be back."
He stepped out of the cave, leaving the soft and desperate sound of Elena calling his name behind him.
The world outside was thick with the scent of pine and wet earth. John moved with a cold and surgical focus. He first found cover, pressing his back against a massive oak tree as he scanned the vicinity. He used his heightened senses to ensure they were completely alone. Once satisfied, he moved down toward the riverbank.
The sound of the water was a constant, rushing roar. He began searching through the river stones, looking for a rock with a specific density and shape. As he moved, he spotted a small herd of deer drinking upstream. For a moment, he considered hunting one to give Elena more fresh blood, but he shook the thought away. He calculated that the struggle would take too much time. He had a different, more urgent goal.
After a few minutes of scouring the mud and silt, he found a flat, heavy piece of grey stone. He then located a larger, rougher boulder nearby and began to work. He pressed the flat rock against the rough surface, grinding them together with a sound like bone scraping against bone.
Because of the bottle of blood he had just consumed, his body finally had the fuel it needed to function at its peak. The vital energy from the blood surged through his muscles, replenishing his stamina and clearing his mind. This labor would have taken a normal human hours of gruelling effort, but for John, it took only minutes. He worked with a feverish intensity, his hands moving in a blur. He continued grinding until the center of the rock was thin and broad. He carefully shaped the front tip into a rounded point, creating a stone tool that was surprisingly sharp.
Next, John searched for a tree of the right size to serve as a handle. The forest was dense and dark, so it did not take him long to find exactly what he needed. He pulled his fixed-blade knife from his storage ring and hacked the small tree down with a few powerful strokes. Finally, he reached down and tore long, thick strips of fabric from the hem of his light and creamy white hoodie. He braided the soft material together to make a primitive rope, securing the sharp stone head tightly to the wooden handle.
He held the finished tool in his hands. It was a crude yet effective primitive shovel.
As he looked at the tool, a sudden memory of his life on Earth flashed through his mind. He felt incredibly lucky and whispered a quick thanks to the creators on MeTube. He thought back to the time when he had been obsessed with watching videos on how to survive in the wild. He used to stay up late in his room, watching experts build tools and shelters from nothing but mud and wood. At the time, he never would have thought he would actually put those skills to use. He never imagined his life would depend on things he had watched for entertainment on a screen.
With the shovel now complete, John finally finished his work. But just as he moved to stand, a piercing scream ripped through the air from afar.
It was Elena. The sound was full of pure and unadulterated agony.
John's heart immediately began to hammer against his ribs. He turned and sprinted back toward the cave. His sneakers skidded and slid on the wet, muddy terrain, but he didn't slow down. He was moving on pure adrenaline and the energy from the blood he had consumed earlier. He reached the entrance in seconds, his sneakers nearly losing their grip on the smooth cave stone.
When he burst into the dim interior, he stopped dead in his tracks. He could not believe what he was seeing.
====
Meanwhile, hours later, a figure in black moved silently through the forest. Caden, the vampire tracker, arrived at the high trail where the initial ambush had begun. He stood at the edge of the steep drop-off, his deep crimson eyes tracing the path of the struggle. He could see where the earth had been torn and where bodies had tumbled down into the shadows of the ravine.
Without a sound, Caden descended the slope, moving with a predatory grace that ignored the treacherous terrain. He reached the bottom, stepping onto the muddy bank of the rushing river where the fight had reached its peak. The scene, despite the heavy rain from the day before, told a clear story of brutal and jagged violence. He halted near the water, his eyes calmly assessing the carnage. He saw the physical destruction everywhere: shattered undergrowth, gouged earth, and the splintered remains of several small trees where Elena had finally sent the monster crashing into the forest.
His enhanced senses, specifically trained for decades in the art of tracking, allowed him to pick up the faint and coppery scent of vampire blood. The deluge had not been enough to wash away the essence of the wounded, though the trail leading away from this site was a different matter entirely.
He moved with quiet and terrifying efficiency toward the water's edge. Caden stopped there, narrowing his focus to scan the entire area with hyper-acute detail. That was when he noticed a slight and metallic glint on the ground near the rushing stream.
Without relying on a visible run, he simply disappeared from his position. He instantly reappeared, crouched near the riverbank as if he had been there the entire time. He walked to the exact spot he had observed and found a dagger half buried in the damp soil. He picked up the weapon, inspecting the hilt and the fine edge of the blade. He immediately noticed the residual and sickly yellowish residue near the tip.
A low sound of recognition escaped him. "Silvereye spider poison," he mused aloud. His voice was smooth and devoid of emotion. He turned the weapon over in his hand, his sharp mind racing through the possibilities.
He quickly settled on the more likely conclusion. "It is probably John's. Why would an attacker, a being powerful enough to cause this level of damage, use a small dagger coated with poison on a kid if he came to kill him quickly?"
To Caden, the dagger was a weapon of desperation and a final resort. This realization changed the nature of his hunt. It meant John had fought back and survived. However, as Caden looked away from the river and toward the dense, dark wall of the forest where John had fled with the maid, he knew his task would be difficult. John had run for hours in a state of blind panic, moving aimlessly through the storm. The trail was messy and erratic, stretching miles into the deep wilderness.
Caden then looked in the direction where multiple trees were cleanly broken. This was the path where Elena had kicked Jones with a massive blow. It showed the path of the fierce struggle and the eventual escape. He moved along that path with a predator's focus.
He arrived at a spot where the mud was scuffed and flat. His tracking skills told him someone had stayed still here for a long time. The evidence proved he was right. The poison had worked. It had created a necessary and lifesaving delay.
Caden looked out over the lonely forest. A flicker of hope appeared in his deep eyes. "Do not worry, John," he whispered. His voice was clear against the wind. "If you are alive, then I will find you. Hold on a little longer."
He lifted his gaze. He began to track the faint signs of the escape path. He was a silent hunter now. He followed a trail that was hours cold but still held the secrets of John's desperate flight.