Chapter 3
Roxana
The boy before me acted immediately. As if this was a dance he'd performed multiple times before. He weaved through the enemy as if he were playing a game of tag, except they couldn't even touch him. He moved with a swiftness that carried poise in every step. One arm behind his back as he slashed through his foes with precision.
"You have no place here, outsider!" Mara shouted. She lunged forward like a feral beast, her nails sharp like daggers which she pointed straight for the boy's throat.
But without even an ounce of fear, he parried her attack and quickly disabled her, kicking her back and knocking her into the remaining Skalls looming behind who didn't dare to approach.
Their shift in demeanor was instantaneous. They were ravenous and frenzied, but now they second guessed their actions. All because of this stranger who dropped down from the night sky like a guardian angel dressed in black.
"And you have no right to call me such a thing," he replied, placing the edge of his blade to the tip of her chin. "This place is no home—it's a nest. A breeding ground for rats like you. The true outsiders are the ones who plague our nation from the inside."
"How dare a human like you call us rats! You're inferior to us!" Mara's once lovely blue eyes burned crimson with rage.
He chuckled darkly, the silver of his blade gleaming cold beneath the moonlight as he pressed it tighter into her throat. "You seem to be confused. You act as if you've evolved, but you haven't."
His gaze swept over the villagers— those I once knew. "You're all just broken humans who sold your souls to devils. You'll never be equals to your masters. You're all slaves. Nothing more."
"Liar!" Mara shrieked, her voice ragged. She trembled beneath the edge of the boy's blade. "We did this for the promise. The gift of eternity. Our sacrifices weren't in vain. We will become immortal. That's what they promised us!"
The boy tilted his head slightly. He didn't blink. Didn't flinch. His voice, when it came, was low— almost tired.
"You really believed that filth?" he said. "That immortality could be earned by slitting a few throats and licking blood off the floor like dogs?"
The blade in his hand dipped just enough to graze skin, and Mara hissed, red blooming beneath the silver.
"You think you transcended," he continued, scanning the hunched, wide-eyed faces around them. "But you're not vampires. Not even close."
He let the words hang there for a moment before driving them in deeper, colder.
"Vampires are born, not made. Bred through bloodlines older than your crumbling bones. You're just humans who traded your souls for a taste of something you'll never understand."
Mara opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with a look.
"You're not chosen. You're not sacred. You're not even cursed. Just stupid."
He turned slowly, casting his voice to the others that lingered in the shadows, to the once friendly villagers now too terrified to meet his gaze.
"You are livestock who mistook the slaughterhouse for a church."
The Skalls shifted uneasily. Some trembled. Others clutched their bloodstained garments, as if trying to hide the evidence of what they'd done.
Mara's expression twisted into something wild and broken. "No," she breathed. "We earned this. We were told—"
"You were told lies."
His voice dropped to a near whisper. Cold, certain and unforgiving.
"And now," he said, drawing his blade back, "your only salvation—"
The Skalls shrieked as they stepped back, their feet stuck as if deciding to run or face annihilation.
"— is death."
The words echoed like a verdict, final and unrelenting.
He raised his sword higher, and in that heartbeat I saw it—
The end.
Of Mara.
Of everything we used to be.
My body moved before I could stop it.
"No!" I cried!
I threw myself between them, arms outstretched, blocking his path. My breath came hard, chest rising and falling as I stood between the blade and the woman who had treated me like her own daughter, then betrayed me like a stranger.
The boy froze. His blade hovered mid-air, steady as stone. The gleam of it caught the light, sharp enough to split truth from memory.
I could feel the weight of his presence, cold as moonlight, and as menacing as the dark.
"She doesn't deserve this," I said, voice shaking." Not like this."
"She was going to sacrifice you. She even murdered her child. Who knows how many she's killed before," he replied, flatly. "She's no better than the beasts I've sworn to kill."
"I know what she did!" I clenched my fists, refusing to look back at Mara, whose silence screamed louder than any apology. "But once… she was kind. Once, she laughed. She was my friend—No. She was my family. I can't forget that. I won't."
"You're protecting a monster."
"I'm protecting what's left of someone I once loved." I shook my head. "Killing her like this won't make you any different than them."
A silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. The boy's eyes— brown but almost amber under the glow of lanterns— bored into me like frostbite.
"Move," he said.
I didn't.
He didn't raise his voice or threaten me. Just gave me a final warning wrapped in ice.
"I said," he repeated, slower this time, "move."
For a moment, he said nothing. He only stared, the sword in his hand barely twitching. Then slowly he rose his blade again.
My breath hitched. I thought—no, I knew that he was going to strike me. I closed my eyes.
And then, steel rang.
Wind shifted past my cheek, a slash of air that never touched me. Behind me, there was a wet, horrible sound. A gasp that never fully formed.
I turned.
Mara stood there, or what was left of her, her eyes wide in shock. Her hand had been halfway to my throat, claws outstretched. The blade had caught her in the chest, clean and final.
Blood sprayed out like a red mist when he retracted his sword, splattering my face—and his —like a mark of war.
Then she collapsed, just as dead as Emmy back in the bakery.
The boy stood in front of me, flicking the blood off his blade as if it was just covered in mud. His face was blank, in fact, it was like his eyes were empty. He felt no remorse for the life he just took.
I stared at him in horror, realization slowly sinking in of what just happened.
"She just tried to kill you," he said simply. "Again."
I couldn't speak. I covered my eyes but still peaked between my fingers, fixated on Mara's corpse.
"I warned you." He added, not kindly. "Don't mistake mercy for strength. It's the only reason you're still breathing. Because I know these monsters more than you ever could."
He wiped his blade under his arm and gave me one more look. His eyes met mine—not cruel, but resolute. Final.
"Have you seen enough?" he asked quietly. "Are you ready to let me do my job?"
I didn't answer.
"Because I won't stop," he went on. "Even if you beg. If you can't bear to watch, stand behind me. Cover your eyes and ears. But don't try to stop me again."
He said it as a fact. His mind was already made up. I didn't want to argue anymore, I was so tired. I was ready to wake up from this nightmare. I gave in and allowed him to finish it.
I hesitated, then nodded slowly.
My feet moved on their own. I stepped behind him, every breath shaking. My hands clamped over my ears, my eyes squeezed shut so tight it hurt. But it didn't block it all.
The sounds came anyway.
The clash of steel. The inhuman screeches. The thud of bodies hitting the floor.
Each one louder than the last. Each one a crack through my memories— shattering the illusion they had placed on me. Their fake kindness, the realization that I never meant as much to them as they meant to me.
I bit my lip, trying not to cry again.
It was over quickly. But it didn't feel quick. It felt like I was drowning in their sorrow.
And then— silence. The kind that presses into your chest and makes you wonder if you'll ever breathe the same again.
When I finally opened my eyes, the street was littered with bodies. All of them. The people I once shared stories with and cared for and who cared for me. Who called me a saint.
Gone.
The boy who was not much older than me— stood in the center, sword low at his side, unmoving.
It made me wonder just who the hell he was. What had he been through to become such a… beast. That killing was practically a second nature. I had never met someone like him. I didn't know now who I was more afraid of. Him, or the Skalls.
He turned to me, slow and careful, practically bathed in blood.
"It's done," he said.
But all I could think was:
So is everything I knew.
My legs gave out.
The weight of it— what I'd seen, what I'd felt, what I'd lost— crashed down all at once. My knees hit the cobblestone hard, but I barely felt it. My arms wrapped around myself as my breath caught in my chest, refusing to go in, refusing to come out.
My vision blurred. My hands trembled.
There was blood on my palms. Not mine, but theirs.
They were all gone. Every single one of them. Emmy. Mara. The baker with the kind smile, the old man who whittled with a dull knife. The mother who I helped give birth to her twins. All of it— this town, this life— gone like smoke curling from a snuffed-out candle.
I couldn't breathe. My heart galloped like it wanted out of my chest and my throat was closing. The world spun around me.
I think I was crying or maybe screaming. I wasn't sure.
Then I felt a presence. A weight in the air, shifting close. Boots crunched gravel. Cloth rustled. A moment later, hewas by my side. Not standing above me like some judge on high but crouched low.
The boy's hand hovered for a second before it settled between my shoulder blades like a weighted blanket.
"You're okay," he said softly. Almost too softly for someone who just painted the streets red. "You're not in danger anymore. Just breathe."
I couldn't.
"In through your nose and out through your mouth." His left hand slinked to my back, rubbing me gently. His sword was placed on the ground to ensure that he was not a threat to me.
His voice wasn't commanding now. It wasn't cold, or sharp, or laced with judgment. It was patient and kind.
I hiccupped a breath. Then another. He rubbed slow, steady circles into my back like someone who had done this before.
"I know it hurts," he murmured, his head bowed close to mine. "I know it doesn't make sense. You don't have to say anything. Just breathe."
I did as he said. Not because I trusted him, not yet— but because I needed something solid to hold onto. And for some reason, he was the only thing that didn't feel like it might vanish the second I blinked.
It was the first time I saw him. Not as a weapon, not as some terrifying holy executioner, but as a person. As a human as anyone could be.
He stayed there with me while I broke. He didn't tell me to stop. Didn't tell me to be strong. He just stayed.
And I hated how much I needed that.
My breath slowed. Not quite steady, but not as ragged as before. The shaking in my hands dulled till they were calm. My heart still thudded like it had nowhere else to be, but at least I could feel it again. I was still here. Somehow.
He didn't move from my side. Just kept kneeling there, the weight of his hand still warm and relieving. When I dared to look at him, I expected the cold-blooded killer I had seen only moments ago.
But what I saw caught me off guard.
His face was still caked in blood—spattered across his cheek, smeared beneath one eye, His dark cloak was torn at the shoulder, and his collar was stained with gore. But his expression… There was no cruelty in it. No wrath. Just exhaustion, and something else too. Compassion.
As if beneath the monster he had to become to protect me, there was still a boy beneath that rugged exterior.
"You feeling better now?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, my throat still too raw to trust my voice.
He offered his hand—gloved and bloodied— and I hesitated only for a moment before taking it. His grip was firm, but careful. He pulled me to my feet as though I were made of glass.
For a second, I thought he might let go, but he didn't.
"Your name is Roxana, isn't it?" he asked, glancing down at me.
I blinked, startled. "Yes. How do you know that?
"I've been watching you," he said. "For a while now."
My stomach twisted, but there was no malice in his tone. Only regret.
"I would've come sooner," he added, releasing my hand. "But I had to be sure you were the one I was looking for." He looked away, almost like he didn't want to say it.
"I'm sorry I came too late."
I stared at him, stunned. I didn't expect him to say that. Didn't think he was even capable of saying something like that.
"What's your name? Since you already know mine." I asked.
He was quiet, then shrugged slightly. "Just call me Zero," he said. "That's what everyone else does."
Zero.
The name felt strange on my tongue. Sharp, like his sword. Distant, like the weight he carried behind his eyes.
I looked at him, really looked at him. "Why did you come for me?"
He met my gaze then—steady, unwavering, the faintest warmth beneath his tough shell. "I've come to take you home," he said.
A pause.
"To your real home."