Eamon knew, deep down, that he could not fight the killer vampire alone. He was strong—far stronger than most—but not strong enough to face that creature without help.
"Wait, Arthur!" Eamon's voice rang across the clearing, sharp with urgency.
Arthur halted mid-step. His shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn around.
Eamon took a breath, forcing the words out. "I will tell you why I couldn't give you my blood last night. But you must promise me… you must swear you won't tell a soul about it."
Arthur turned, his expression carved with suspicion. His voice was cold, bitter. "What is it? What possible reason could justify betraying me when I was bleeding to death?"
Helena stepped closer to Arthur, her tone soft, almost pleading. "Arthur… maybe we should listen to what he has to say. Please. Let's hear him out first."
Arthur's eyes flickered with hesitation, but his jaw remained set. At last, he gave a curt nod. "Fine. Tell me, Eamon. Tell me the reason for your betrayal."
Eamon's hand trembled slightly as he reached inside his shirt. His fingers brushed against the cool metal of the locket Arvin had given him. Slowly, he pulled it free and held it out for them to see.
The simple locket gleamed faintly under the light of the afternoon sun. But as Eamon slipped it from his neck, the air around them shifted.
A suffocating darkness burst forth like an unseen wave.
Arthur's eyes widened. His skin prickled with goosebumps. The very air grew heavy, pressing down on them like a crushing weight.
Helena gasped, her knees buckling beneath her. She clutched her chest as if the very essence of evil was squeezing the life from her. Her body shook, and she collapsed onto the grass. "W-what is this…?!"
Arthur's voice broke with unease. "This… this aura… it feels like death itself."
Eamon said nothing. His face was grim as he clasped the locket in his hand once more and slipped it back over his neck.
The suffocating pressure vanished instantly. The forest seemed to breathe again.
Arthur staggered a step back, still staring. "What was that? Who exactly are you, Eamon? Why do you carry such… such evil power?"
Eamon met his gaze, his own eyes shadowed with pain. "Because, Arthur… I was cursed. Cursed by the heavens themselves."
Both Arthur and Helena froze. The words hung in the air like thunder.
"What?" Helena whispered, her voice trembling.
Arthur's suspicion faltered, replaced by shock. "Cursed…? By the heavens?"
Eamon's throat tightened, but he nodded. His voice was steady, though quiet. "Yes. I wasn't born with this power. It was forced on me. I was marked, infected by a curse darker than anything you can imagine. My blood carries it. It destroys everything it touches."
He took a deep breath, then began to speak. The truth spilled out—how he had been cursed, how it twisted his life, how every drop of his blood carried death. He told them about his curse, about the locket, about the only way to free himself: consuming the blood of the Obsidian Seraphs.
Arthur and Helena listened in silence, their faces pale, their hearts heavy with each word.
When Eamon finally finished, the forest seemed quieter than before, as if even the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Helena's hands trembled as tears welled in her eyes. She stepped closer to him, her voice breaking. "Eamon… I'm sorry. You've been carrying all this pain alone… and we—Arthur and I—we doubted you. We mistrusted you."
Arthur's expression softened, the bitterness draining away, replaced with regret. He lowered his head. "I… I'm sorry too, Eamon. I thought you refused me because you saw me as a monster. I thought you didn't trust me. But now I understand." His voice grew tight with guilt. "Your blood is cursed. If I had consumed even a drop… it would have killed me."
"Yes," Eamon said quietly. "My blood would have burned you from the inside. It could have hurt you… or worse."
Arthur clenched his fists, his voice hoarse. "Please, forgive me, Eamon. And… please fight with me tonight. Help me destroy the killer. I can't do it without you."
Eamon placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "We'll fight together. And this time, we won't lose."
Arthur lifted his gaze, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. "I have one request, Eamon."
"What is it?"
Arthur's fists tightened around his daggers as his voice dropped. "If we defeat him… if we win tonight… you can drink his blood for your curse. But after that, I want to kill him myself. That monster… he is the one who killed my father."
The air grew still.
Eamon and Helena stared at Arthur, stunned.
"What?" Eamon's voice was filled with disbelief. "He killed your father? How do you know this?"
Arthur's eyes were dark, filled with fire and sorrow. "His name is Winston. He told me himself. Yesterday. He knew my father's name… and he boasted about killing him. My real father. He stole him from me before I ever had the chance to know him."
Helena's eyes filled with tears. Without thinking, she stepped forward and gently held Arthur's hand, her touch soft with sympathy. "Arthur… I'm so sorry. No one should have to carry such pain."
Arthur's jaw trembled, though his eyes burned with rage. "That's why I can't let him live. No matter what, I will be the one to end him."
Eamon exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Alright. After I take what I need for my curse, he's yours. I understand, Arthur. If someone had murdered my grandfather, I'd want revenge too. So I won't stop you. Take your justice. But promise me this—once it's done, once your vengeance is taken… come back. Return to who you are. Don't let that hatred consume you."
Arthur's lips pressed together, but he nodded firmly. "I promise."
Helena wiped her eyes and looked at the two of them. "Then that's settled. Both of you—come here."
Eamon and Arthur stepped closer, confused, but Helena suddenly wrapped her arms around both of them, pulling them into a tight embrace. "You're both stubborn, reckless idiots," she said, her voice shaking but warm. "But you're my stubborn, reckless idiots. So promise me… promise me you'll both come back alive tonight."
Arthur hesitated, then let out a faint laugh. "Fine. I promise."
Eamon smiled faintly. "I promise too."
The three of them stood together, their hearts bound by pain, by trust, and by resolve.
As the afternoon stretched on, they began to plan. They went over tactics, talking about Winston's speed, his tricks, the way he had fought the night before. Every possibility was weighed, every weakness considered. They knew it wouldn't be easy, but they were determined.
When the sun dipped toward the horizon, Helena finally packed up. She looked at them both with worried eyes. "I'll head back to town with Skarn. I'll handle the soldiers."
True to her word, when she reached town, Helena slipped a note to the guards, spreading false information that the killer was sighted in a nearby village. She did it calmly, her heart pounding, knowing that every lie she told was to protect Eamon and Arthur's fight.
Back at the cliffside, the sky darkened into twilight. Eamon and Arthur sat in silence, sharpening blades, steadying their breath. Words were no longer needed; resolve burned bright in their eyes.
The forest grew quiet as night descended.
Then—
They felt it.
A presence. Cold. Familiar. Malicious. The bushes rustled violently. Birds burst into the sky with frightened cries. And then, from the shadows, Winston stepped forward.
Arthur's hands flew to his daggers, his teeth bared. Eamon rose, drawing his sword in a single, sharp motion.
The night air grew tense. The earth itself seemed to shudder.
The battle was about to begin.