«You have nowhere left to run.» A man in his thirties mutters with contempt.
He stands on a rocky slope at the foot of Mount Fuji, wrapped in the deep darkness of the night.
His soft brown hair matches his eyes.
In his hand he grips a flaming sword, burning as if made of solid fire.
A cigarette hangs lazily from his lips.
He points the weapon at a vampire with hair darker than the night sky and eyes glowing with a crimson light, wielding a massive blade forged from solid blood.
The vampire is gravely wounded.
Blood gushes from a deep cut across his abdomen, soaking his clothes and the ground beneath him.
His arms and legs are covered in smaller cuts, still bleeding.
The man before him, on the other hand, is almost completely unscathed.
Behind the vampire, a woman with long silver hair lies curled up on the ground.
Her body trembles.
Tears streak her cheeks as she cries in despair.
In her arms she clutches two little girls.
