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Nate fixed his gaze on Victoria.
It wasn't just that he was looking at her—he was piercing through her. He could see the faint tremor in her lips, the tightness in her jaw, the icy gleam in her eyes that held no trace of moisture, yet brimmed with pure, visceral fear. That dread reached him like a strong, intoxicating perfume.
He inhaled slowly, as if savoring the scent of her terror, then shifted his eyes toward a more distant point. With slow, heavy steps that seemed to absorb the sounds of the factory, he walked toward the newborn he had ripped the arms off just minutes earlier.
The wretch crawled like a wounded worm, awkwardly dragging himself across a floor scarred with footprints and long-dried dark stains. His breathing was ragged and anxious, each movement a careful attempt to avoid making noise, as though that might save him.
The silence in the room grew heavier with each of Nate's steps. Only the dragging of the crippled body and the distant drip of some liquid in a corner of the factory could be heard.
Nate reached him just as the mutilated vampire was about to touch one of his severed arms. A large shadow fell over him. The newborn turned his head, and upon seeing Nate, his eyes went wide.
"Please… please…" he stammered, voice cracked by panic. "I'll do whatever you ask… I'll obey…"
Nate studied him in total silence for a few seconds. His eyes were cold, void of even the faintest trace of compassion.
"I told you there would only be one chance," he murmured. His tone was low, yet his voice carried like a deep echo that everyone could hear.
He set his boot on the injured vampire's back, pressing firmly until he was completely immobilized. Then, with a movement as precise as it was brutal, he crouched, seized his chin, and in one swift pull, tore off his head.
The sound was dry and devastating—a deep crack, accompanied by the crunch of bone and tendon, reverberating through the room like an electric shock.
Several newborns flinched. None dared look up; some squeezed their eyes shut as if they could vanish. Nate let the head fall to the side like a useless object and began walking again.
Victoria, who had witnessed it all, felt her chest tighten. She turned her head in every direction, desperately searching for an escape route. Usually, her instincts would give her a sign—a tingle pointing toward the safest option—but now there was nothing. Absolute emptiness. As though every exit had closed before she could even think of it.
Nate kept advancing toward her, his footsteps echoing like drumbeats at a funeral.
"If you start running now… I'll catch you in the forest, a few kilometers from here," he said, his voice so cold it seemed forged from steel.
He took a couple more steps. The distance between them shrank, and Victoria felt that with each lost centimeter, another thread of oxygen was stolen from her.
"If you escape now… I'll catch you before you reach the road."
Fear climbed her spine like an icy animal crawling toward her nape. Her muscles wanted to react, but they wouldn't obey. Nate was close enough now for her to hear his slow, controlled, predatory breathing.
"If you run now… I'll stop you before you even leave the factory."
The alarm in her head went off all at once—an internal scream forcing her to take a step back. Her body reacted, if only by pure instinct. But it was too late. Nate was already in front of her.
He tilted his head, examining her. From his height, Victoria looked small and fragile. For an instant, a flicker of pity crossed his mind… but it vanished as quickly as it came. Compassion had no place here. In its stead, a silent fury began to rise—dense enough to warm the air between them.
Nate felt the rage burning inside him, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted to see her break—not just physically, but mentally. He wanted her to understand, second by second, that there would be no escape.
For a moment, an image flashed in his mind: his grandmother's face. Her wrinkled hands, her serene smile… and the certainty that Victoria had ordered her death as though she were removing an insignificant piece from a board. That memory brought no sorrow—only a sharper edge to his anger. If she hadn't hesitated to kill an innocent, he wouldn't hesitate to repay her in kind, with interest.
With Victoria standing before him, Nate tilted his head again, watching her with a calm far more dangerous than any scream.
"Not going to run?" he asked, his tone deceptively innocent, dripping venom beneath the surface. "But you don't look like you're going to fight either… How curious. When James was begging for his life, he said You'd be ruthless."
That last remark sparked something in Victoria's chest. Rage cut through her fear, pushing it deep into her subconscious. Her muscles tensed, and in an instant, she lunged at him.
With a sharp snarl, she began slashing—each strike fueled by strength and desperation. Nate dodged effortlessly, moving with a fluidity that seemed to anticipate her attacks. Yet something about her style caught his attention: these weren't polished strikes or calculated moves, but feral, rapid, erratic blows—like those of a cornered animal willing to bite until its last breath.
Nate stayed on the defensive—stepping back, twisting his torso, letting her claws cut nothing but air. He even allowed a few strikes to graze him—scraping his shoulder, grazing his side—as if offering her a crumb of hope.
And when he saw that spark in Victoria's eyes—when she thought she could beat him, when she believed the balance was tipping—then he acted.
A brutal, swift, precise counterstrike: a reverse kick to her abdomen that knocked the breath from her lungs. The blow lifted her slightly before sending her crashing to the factory floor.
The sound of the impact echoed against the metal walls.
Nate didn't give her time to recover. He stepped forward and, without blinking, planted his boot on her lower back. The pressure was so great that a dull crack rose from her spine. She tried to shake him off, claw at the floor, twist to break free—but it was useless.
She was completely immobilized.
Victoria screamed with an almost animal fury, her voice bouncing off the metal walls of the factory. The echo distorted her words, as though the structure itself was answering her rage. She writhed under the unyielding pressure of Nate's foot, fighting to break free with desperate force.
"Don't just stand there! Help me!" she roared, her burning gaze sweeping over each of the newborns.
No one moved. They remained frozen—some with fists clenched, others staring at the floor. The smell of rust and dust thickened the air, mingling with the tension that held them in place.
Nate didn't spare Victoria a glance. His attention shifted toward a trembling figure in the line—a young girl so still she seemed to want to melt into the floor. At her feet lay the severed head of the newborn, thrown in earlier, lifeless.
"Hey… you." Nate's voice was neutral, not raised.
She lifted her face slightly, revealing wide, frightened eyes. Deep down, Nate felt a faint pang of compassion, but his expression remained unchanged.
"You're going to go outside. There's a vampire waiting for me. You'll tell him to come in."
The girl hesitated, biting her lip as if weighing the risk. At last, she nodded silently.
When she took her first step, Nate spoke again—this time in a low, dangerous tone that slid through the air like an invisible threat.
"At human speed. If you run… he'll think you're trying to escape."
A shiver ran through her. She nodded again and walked toward the door—hurried but controlled. The old hinges squealed as it opened, the metallic sound echoing until the door shut behind her.
A few seconds of heavy silence passed. Then she returned, eyes fixed on the floor as if afraid to raise them. Behind her stepped Vladimir, his silhouette framed by the light outside before he slipped into the factory's shadows.
His gaze swept slowly over everything: the kneeling newborns, the shadows shaping their faces, the oppressive silence that reigned. Finally, his eyes settled on Nate—on the way he held Victoria down without the slightest effort. A faint smile curved his lips.
"You called for me, Nathaniel?"
Nate nodded and raised his voice so all could hear, his deep tone filling the space.
"I'll be clear. All of you here can be considered criminals by vampire standards."
A barely audible murmur passed through the newborns. Some looked up briefly, only to drop their gaze again.
"You've drawn too much attention. And the Volturi—the absolute authority of the vampire world—will come for you."
The word "Volturi" dropped like a stone in a pond. The already tense air thickened, turning nearly suffocating.
"But," Nate continued, "those who choose to surrender will have a chance. This is Vladimir—one of the few in all history who has evaded the Volturi for over a millennium. He will lead you… and whatever he says, you will obey."
He paused briefly, letting the weight of his words sink into each of them. Then his voice sharpened.
"If any of you try to run… I will personally hunt you down."
The newborns didn't reply. They didn't need to—the fear spoke for them, hanging in the air like a dense fog seeping into every corner of the factory. They remained motionless, shoulders hunched, eyes glued to the ground.
Vladimir studied each one, counting slowly, until his steps brought him beside Nate. In the industrial gloom, the vampire's eyes gleamed with a calculated glint—like the hidden edge of a weapon.
"I didn't expect this success, Nathaniel. Honestly, I thought at some point you'd need my help," he said, letting a faint, almost imperceptible smile curl his lips. "But I see you've exceeded our expectations. Twenty newborns… quite a good acquisition."
Nate didn't take his eyes off the woman trapped under his boot. His expression showed no emotion, and his voice was so cold it seemed to drain the warmth from the room.
"How long will it take you and Stefan to make them controllable?"
Vladimir didn't flinch at the tone or the lack of eye contact. He allowed himself a pause, carefully choosing his words.
"Perhaps a few months. This isn't the first army we've trained."
Nate nodded slowly. He increased the pressure of his boot until a dry crack echoed from the concrete beneath Victoria.
"Take them. When they're ready, we'll meet again."
Vladimir regarded him, and for a fleeting moment, disappointment crossed his gaze.
"Seems like you're eager to get rid of us just as we start cooperating… but very well. You'll find that time moves differently now that you're immortal. We'll meet again sooner than you think…"
Nate looked up, ignoring the remark.
"They are not to feed on humans. They must remain unnoticed. Teach them to hunt animals like the Cullens, or feed them medical bags. And I want all twenty alive. Not a single one is to be lost… if you fail, I will no longer support you."
A sharp glint flashed in Vladimir's eyes—too quick for most to see, but not for Nate.
"As you wish," he muttered with a curt gesture. "Just hope you're not wasting your time…"
He turned and headed toward the exit. He gave no further orders; the newborns followed silently, forming an obedient line that slid into the shadows. Some, as they passed Nate, dared to glance at him—seeking in his gaze one last warning to crush any temptation of escape. He answered only with a cold, sidelong inspection.
At the door, Vladimir stopped. With dark humor, he tossed one last remark over his shoulder:
"When you're done, don't forget to burn the bodies."
His gaze swept over the scene: the mangled remains of fallen newborns, fragments scattered across the stained floor, and Victoria—panting, still trapped beneath Nate's boot. Her voice was a broken thread, begging not to be left behind, but in the factory's shadows, her plea seemed to drown beneath the sound of the door closing behind the departing army, which didn't spare her a single glance before leaving.
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-Author's notes: If you can, please support with Powerstones or a good review (I have too many where you complained that I wasn't OP lol)