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The Romanians insisted they wait until sunset.
"When the sun begins to fall," said Vladimir in a low but firm voice, "that will be the ideal time to attack. The less light there is, the less attention we draw."
Stefan brought him a change of clothes, carefully folded over a tattered armchair in the corner of the room.
"Your clothes are destroyed. These will fit better."
Nate examined the garments: dark pants, a black soft-fabric shirt, a thick jacket, and worn but sturdy boots. All in muted, almost military tones. He put them on without a word, noticing they were very similar to what the Romanians wore. An unofficial uniform. But he said nothing.
"I need to move a bit," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Being cooped up is suffocating. I'll go out to the nearby forest."
The Romanians exchanged a brief glance.
"We'll come with you," said Stefan. It wasn't a suggestion.
Nate didn't protest. He left the house, pushing the door with an effortless motion. The place they had been staying in was barely a structure anymore—old wood, peeled by dampness, lost among twisted trees and wild vegetation. There were other similar constructions a few meters away, equally abandoned, equally sad, like skeletons forgotten by the modern world.
The wind carried new scents.
People.
Humans walking distant trails, perhaps a lost hiker, maybe someone camping in the woods. They smelled intensely. Sweet. Warm. Tempting.
Nate couldn't help but close his eyes and inhale deeply. The blood he had drunk wasn't enough to quench that burning, almost animal desire that ignited every time the scent of humans reached him. Vladimir noticed the gesture and smiled, tilting his head slightly.
"Smells good, doesn't it?" he murmured with a dark amusement in his voice. "That's how it begins for all of us."
Stefan stepped closer, as if he meant to say something more. But Nate turned sharply, his body tense like a coiled spring. His gaze was hard, determined.
"No," he said coldly.
And then he ran.
The speed with which he moved was inhuman. A dark blur among the trees, a whisper through the grass, a shadow the wind barely caught. The Romanians didn't follow immediately. They shared a quick look, recognizing something between them that needed no words. Then, without a command, they sprinted after him. Their movements were equally silent, equally lethal.
Nate, for his part, had no clear destination.
He only knew he needed to run. To test his body, stretch his senses, learn the limits of his new existence.
He moved deeper into the forest with firm steps, making sure he went far enough to be out of sight. The air was thick, heavy with moisture, and the silence was broken only by the crunch of leaves beneath his boots. There were no trails or signs of civilization. Only ancient trees, standing like forgotten columns, completely surrounded him.
Once he felt it was safe, he finally stopped. He studied his surroundings with a mixture of focus and fascination. The stillness of the forest had something sacred about it, as if it breathed with him.
Seconds later, the Romanians emerged from the shadows, keeping their distance. Vladimir and Stefan simply watched him without a word, their faces unreadable.
Nate removed the dark jacket they had given him and let it fall carelessly to the ground. His arms, marked with stone-like muscle, tensed as he flexed. He walked toward the nearest tree, examined it for a second… and then struck it.
The trunk exploded with a dull crack, splinters and bark flying in all directions before collapsing with a crash. Without pause, Nate pivoted and delivered a brutal kick to another nearby tree, toppling it just as easily. He breathed deeply, but wasn't winded. Each impact drew a smile to his face—satisfaction, even euphoria. He struck more trees, rocks, and even hardened patches of earth. He didn't do it just to destroy. He did it to feel. To test himself.
Vladimir and Stefan exchanged a brief look. There was no surprise on their faces, only a measured silence. They were evaluating him.
Eventually, Nate stood amid the wreckage of his brief rampage. He turned to face them, his eyes still alight with excitement.
"I'm tired of hitting things that don't hit back," he said, his voice deep. "Come on, Vladimir. Test me."
The Romanian remained still for a few seconds, as if weighing the risks. Then he stepped forward, his expression unchanged. He walked until he stood just a couple of meters from Nate.
That's when Nate noticed the size difference. The Romanians were strong, yes, but small in comparison. Where he was an imposing statue carved from marble, they were agile shadows honed by centuries.
Tension settled over the clearing like a brewing storm. There would be no unnecessary words. Only the brutal language of bodies.
Vladimir was the first to move. No hesitation—just a firm gaze toward Nate and a subtle nod. He took a position, feet apart, body low, arms extended, ready to strike. His movements were clean, precise, almost elegant. He glided over the earth like a shadow trained for decades. And without warning, he launched the first blow.
It was direct, sharp, palm extended, aiming like a spear at Nate's chest. Nate didn't move. He observed the attack with unsettling calm, eyes following the motion before it even landed. With a simple twist of his wrist, he deflected it effortlessly.
Vladimir didn't stop. He chained a series of rapid strikes, almost invisible to the human eye. Each aimed at vital points: neck, ribs, jaw, and solar plexus. But to Nate, it was like watching a poorly rehearsed dance. His body reacted on its own; his mind barely needed to process it. Every strike was anticipated, blocked, and diverted with the ease of someone who didn't need to think to win.
Vladimir's style was fast, lethal. He struck with his palms like each blow was a dagger. But Nate realized something alarming: not only could he keep up, he could see everything coming. It was as if Vladimir's body screamed his intentions before he acted.
For several seconds, Nate remained defensive, analyzing. The ground cracked underfoot, and leaves flew with every dodged blow. He could have ended the fight at any moment. He could have brought him down from the first exchange. But he didn't, not out of arrogance. He did it to understand. To confirm he was on another level.
Vladimir spun, aiming for Nate's neck. Nate took a single step back, tilting his head just centimeters, letting the strike pass through the air. Then he feigned a mistake. Over-rotated his torso while blocking, as if he'd lost balance. Vladimir saw it immediately and smiled.
He lunged with renewed speed, thinking he'd found a real opening.
That's when Nate moved.
With a full-body pivot, he redirected Vladimir's charge and, in the same motion, grabbed the back of his neck with one hand.
The impact was brutal. He slammed him into the ground with a force that shook the earth. A dull thud echoed through the trees. Vladimir was pinned, face to the ground, body immobilized. He kicked, struggled, and tried to break free with strength and technique. It was useless. It was like a mountain had fallen on him.
Stefan, who had been watching with inhuman stillness, took a step forward. His eyes, until then cold, flickered with a spark of doubt—maybe concern. Instinct told him to intervene. But just as his foot moved across the dirt, Nate looked at him. He didn't speak. He just smiled. A calm smile—without mockery or cruelty—but filled with power.
Then, just as effortlessly as he'd pinned him, he let Vladimir go.
He rolled to the side, gasping, his pride more shattered than his body. Silence fell over the clearing, thick as invisible fog. Nate stood calmly, brushing the dirt from his hands.
And for a few seconds, neither Romanian dared to move.
Nate smiled, satisfied with the feeling of his enhanced physical abilities. Even in his human days, no one had ever bested him in fair combat. Now, as a vampire, it all felt almost ridiculous. He took a few steps back, assessing his opponent's condition. Vladimir was already standing, his expression hardened by humiliation. There was something almost tragic in his eyes—as if centuries of experience and martial refinement had vanished in a single moment.
"Now both of you," said Nate with a rough voice, no trace of politeness.
The Romanians exchanged a look that sparked with restrained excitement. Stefan was the first to speak, still smiling.
"You're being a little arrogant, Nathaniel."
Vladimir completed the sentence with a predator's grin. "But we'll give you the pleasure of knowing defeat."
They became a blur. Attacking with a synchronicity honed over time, one from the left and the other from the right.
But Nate moved faster.
Instead of retreating, he advanced, intercepting the first strike with his forearm and landing a crushing blow to Vladimir's chest that launched him several meters back into a thick oak. The wood splintered. Vladimir rolled, then got up almost instantly.
Stefan came from behind, but Nate spun on one foot and grabbed his arm, flipping him over the shoulder as if his body weighed nothing. The crash shook the ground, dust rising around them.
The forest trembled with each clash. No blood. Only hardened bones and ancient structures collide with supernatural violence. Every blow Nate landed left small, visible cracks on the Romanians' skin. Their inert flesh cracked like porcelain under that brutal force. Vladimir, back on his feet, charged with a war cry, but Nate intercepted him with a kick to the stomach that lifted him off the ground, sending him crashing into a moss-covered rock that split in two.
Stefan didn't stop. He dropped from the branches with a dive attack, aiming to crack Nate's skull—but Nate turned just in time, raised an arm to block, grabbed him by the throat, lifted him, and hurled him into a tree trunk meters away. The impact left a dent.
For a moment, everything was still, save for the faint rustle of leaves. Then both Romanians rose at once, clothes torn, bodies cracked—but eyes ablaze. They didn't look angry. On the contrary. They looked thrilled. Like predators finally finding someone who could hunt them back.
Without a word, they spread out, circling Nate. Each took a side, forming a deadly angle. Without warning, they attacked at once, like twin blades aiming to slice him in two.
Nate didn't move until the last second.
When they were close enough, he stretched his arms and grabbed both by the head, one in each hand. Using his own axis as leverage, he spun and smashed them into the ground, creating a crater on either side of his body.
The sound was brutal. A dull echo lost in the trees.
But there were no screams.
Only laughter.
First from Stefan, who, even with his cheek pressed against the ground, let out a deep, almost incredulous laugh.
"I knew it!" he exclaimed between laughs. "You're a complete monster, Nathaniel!"
Vladimir was the first to stand, shaking dirt from his hair. A visible crack ran down his left cheek, but he smiled with a savage expression.
"No one has ever defeated us that easily. You truly are worthy to be our champion."
Nate watched them, brow slightly furrowed. He wasn't tired. Not even winded. Just focused. He walked steadily back to where he had left his jacket. The crunch of leaves under his boots was the only sound breaking the forest's heavy silence. He bent down, picked up the jacket, and put it on again, brushing dry dirt from the sleeves. He buttoned the collar slowly, as if the recent brutality hadn't affected him at all.
"That's enough," he said in a deep voice, without looking at them.
The Romanians had risen again, their bodies already free of the cracks Nate had inflicted, as if the flesh quietly reordered itself. But their expressions had changed. No more mockery or arrogance—only silent respect and a flicker of contained euphoria.
"Now take me to Victoria," Nate ordered. His voice was sharp. Cold. Iron. The thrill of his new power dissolved like smoke inside him, replaced by something more urgent, more visceral... the image of Alice in danger.
Stefan stepped forward, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
"We already told you—it's better to wait until the sun starts to fall. We'll draw less attention than wa—"
Nate interrupted him without words. Just a look.
His eyes were burning coals: red, heavy, irrevocable. The threat wasn't spoken, but it felt like a blade gently resting on the throat.
Stefan froze. For a second, he even seemed to swallow—an almost useless act for someone like him.
Vladimir, with a half-smile, turned to his companion. They exchanged a wordless glance, like soldiers sharing a joke before heading into battle.
"As you wish, Nathaniel," he finally said, with a trace of dark amusement. "At the very least, it will be a spectacle worth watching."
Nate didn't respond. He was already moving between the trees. His steps weren't rushed, but each carried the urgency of a countdown. The forest's stillness seemed to part before him, reverent, as if nature itself sensed that something dark was being unleashed.
The two vampires followed without another word, slipping between the trunks like ancient shadows—eager to witness the fury of their creation.