The underground base buzzed with quiet urgency. Maps lay pinned across stone tables. Candles flickered low. Steel and leather clanked as fighters double-checked their gear, some whispering last-minute prayers, others sharpening blades with steady hands.
Thierry stood near the center of the war room, twin short blades strapped to his back, arms crossed. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd of revolutionaries—men and women who'd had enough of running.
"Alright," he said, stepping forward, voice cutting through the chatter. "We're hitting the mansion tonight. Three squads."
He tapped the worn map in front of him, fingers trailing across smudged ink lines.
"Squad One goes through the east sewer tunnel. It leads right under the courtyard. Don't make noise. Don't light anything unless you have to."
He looked up briefly, then continued. "Squad Two will distract the front. Use all your big flash magic and illusions—make 'em think we're throwing everything at the gate."
Someone smirked.
"Squad Three—my team—goes straight for the heart. Once they're looking the wrong way, we break through the side wall, take the mansion, and kill anyone still breathing. Especially the bloodsucker in charge."
A few heads nodded. Thierry glanced around the room once.
"No speeches. No drama. You know the risks. Stick to the plan, and we'll drink something warm by morning."
Someone in the back muttered, "If we're not the warm drinks."
A few chuckles.
Then—
BOOM.
The heavy doors to the base exploded inward.
Dust filled the air. Cries rang out. Wards cracked and shattered. Before the dust could settle, figures stepped through—slow, deliberate.
Undeads dragged themselves in first, eyes glowing with blue fire. Behind them came pale-skinned vampires, armored and ready. And then, the leader—tall, clean, smooth-voiced.
Darius.
His black coat trailed behind him, steps echoing through the rubble.
"You've hidden well, Thierry," he said, surveying the room like a guest at a party. "Months of sniffing out rats… and here you are. All packed into one hole."
He inhaled deeply.
"Smells like garlic and desperation."
Thierry rolled his eyes. "You talk too much."
With that, the room erupted.
Steel met claw. Fire met shadow. Screams clashed with war cries. The base turned into a storm of blades and blood.
Thierry moved through the chaos fast and clean, twin blades flashing. He met Darius head-on—light magic flaring from his arms, blades glowing like molten silver.
Darius grinned as he dodged the first strike.
"You've gotten better," the vampire said, voice calm. "Still too slow."
Thierry's second blade came from the side. Darius blocked it with his clawed hand—flesh sizzling at the touch of light.
"Your kind should've stayed in the shadows," Thierry muttered, pressing forward.
They moved fast—cutting, dodging, cracking the floor beneath them. Thierry's magic left glowing scars along Darius's chest and arms. Darius's claws tore through stone and sliced the edge of Thierry's coat.
But it wasn't enough.
One clean opening—Thierry feinted left, spun low, then drove both blades up through Darius's torso. Light burst from the impact. The vampire screamed.
Then, with a final twist, Thierry beheaded him in one clean arc.
Darius's body dropped. His head rolled once.
From the side tunnel, a woman jogged in, bruised but grinning.
"We did it. The mansion's surrounded. They didn't see it coming."
Thierry gave a small nod. "Good. Hold position till I—"
Then the vampire head laughed.
Even half-burned, jaw barely hanging on, it laughed.
"The Day of the Black Sun is near," it rasped, voice ragged. "And you'll all be dust before it ends."
Then—ash.
The woman blinked. "What the hell was that?"
Thierry frowned. "Day of the Black Sun?"
She shrugged. "No clue. Probably another vampire doomsday thing."
Thierry stepped over the ashes and sheathed his blades.
"We'll figure it out after we're done here."
He glanced back once.
"Let's move."
End of Chapter 2