Kiss of the vampire "the Girl with the Sharp sword" volume 2
Mission 27: Fearless!
The moment the noble vampire's boots hit the marble floor of the theater lobby, the air itself felt heavier.
His name was Velmorth of the Dwarvein Family.
He stood tall, draped in a velvet black coat with blood-red lining. Pale skin like porcelain, sharp cheekbones, and crimson eyes glowing faintly beneath the shadow of his high collar. His slicked-back silver hair framed a face that was too perfect—inhumanly so. His gloved hands, poised and elegant, clasped behind his back as he surveyed the chaos with a smug, amused look.
A dark aura poured off him like thick smoke. It wasn't just strength. It was dominance. Hunger. Superiority. The moment he glanced around, every human instinct screamed prey.
"You call this resistance?" Velmorth chuckled, his voice rich and mocking—deep like silk over steel. "I had hoped for sport. But all I see are fleas scrambling under candlelight."
Ethan clicked his tongue. "Mizuno, call for backup—now. Cymac, you're with me."
Velmorth's smile widened.
"Oh? You bark orders like a mutt trying to protect its pack." He took a single step, and the tiled floor cracked beneath his polished shoes. "Amuse me, then. Let's see if your spine is as loud as your mouth."
With a low growl, Cymac rushed forward first, his chain-wrapped fists igniting with force magic. He swung—fast and heavy.
Velmorth moved like liquid shadow.
He sidestepped effortlessly, one hand still behind his back. His free arm blurred forward, palm hardening instantly—Blood Hardening: Crimson Bastion—and struck Cymac in the ribs. The blow didn't just connect; it sent the large man skidding across the floor, smashing into a row of plush theater seats with a crash.
"Cymac!" Ethan shouted, before leaping in with his blade drawn.
Velmorth raised an eyebrow. "Mm. Another one."
Their clash rang out—steel against hardened blood. Ethan's sword sparked against Velmorth's arm, which was now coated in a dark crimson layer, almost like a living armor. Every blow Ethan threw was met with a mocking smile or a smooth deflection.
"I've fought priests, paladins, even hunters. You?" Velmorth sneered. "You swing that blade like a boy trying to impress his dying father."
"Shut up!" Ethan roared, twisting mid-air and landing a kick to Velmorth's face.
The noble slid back half a step. Just half.
His smirk was gone. "...Cute."
Behind them, Denver and Alex were still battling the two lesser vampires in the theater hallway, the crash of bodies and shattered furniture echoing in the background. Blood stained the floor. Elisia had just finished evacuating another group of civilians toward the fire exit, her barrier magic shielding them from debris.
Mizuno, breath ragged, barked into her comms. "HQ, we've got a Noble-class! Repeat, Noble-class in the open! Need reinforcements now!"
Ethan, panting, steadied himself.
Velmorth lowered his guard finally, stretching his neck.
"Time to stop playing."
Velmorth narrowed his glowing crimson eyes, finally dropping the pretense of amusement.
"Very well," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see what you're hiding beneath all that barking, mutt."
He surged forward, blood hardening across his arms like jagged crimson armor. The floor buckled under the pressure of his movement.
Ethan met him head-on.
Their clash erupted in a violent shockwave—steel met blood, sparks flying as Ethan's spirit blade cut into Velmorth's guard.
But this time, Ethan didn't retreat.
He twisted his grip, feinted left, then swept low, forcing Velmorth to pivot back. The vampire noble's eyes widened slightly, the movement almost too fast for him to follow.
Ethan wasn't just strong.
He was experienced.
He'd fought monsters before. Worse than Velmorth. But he knew better than to underestimate one of the Nine Vampire Families.
Ethan's blade hummed with spiritual energy, leaving glowing arcs in the air as he slashed with practiced precision. Every strike was calculated, each movement refined by years of battlefield experience. He parried a hardened elbow strike and countered with a shoulder ram, pushing Velmorth back several feet.
Velmorth caught himself, scoffing, a hint of blood trickling from his lip.
"So... you're not just noise."
Ethan didn't answer. He charged again, faster this time, launching a flurry of tight, surgical slashes. His footwork was aggressive, relentless. His eyes sharp.
Velmorth matched him, his hardened blood adapting mid-fight. It shaped into curved blades around his wrists, clashing like red steel against Ethan's spirit blade.
Each impact echoed like thunder in the theater lobby. Seats rattled. Chunks of tile were blasted from underfoot. The few remaining civilians who hadn't evacuated yet were running in terror as Elisia erected a final barrier wall to protect them.
Mizuno, still on the radio, glanced up. "Sir Ethan is going all-out…"
Cymac, bruised but on his feet, spat blood and watched the fight with awe. "This guy's a monster... but so is our captain."
Velmorth grinned darkly, twisting his wrist as a red blade jutted out from his palm like a fang.
"I haven't fought a human like you in a century."
Ethan spun his blade and raised it beside his face in a defensive stance. "Then you're long overdue for a reminder."
He dashed forward again—this time fainting, sliding to Velmorth's flank, and driving his blade straight into the hardened shoulder.
The spirit blade pierced halfway through.
Velmorth howled, blood erupting in a crimson mist. He snarled and backhanded Ethan away, sending him flying into the wall.
But Ethan rolled mid-air and landed on one knee, spitting dust.
He stood, eyes sharp, breathing steady.
Velmorth was panting now. His cocky smile had dulled into something closer to recognition. Respect… and rage.
"You're different," Velmorth admitted. "You've killed nobles before."
"I have," Ethan said calmly. "And I'll do it again."
They stared at each other across the shattered theater floor.
The fight wasn't over.
It had just begun.
POV: Denver
The sound of Ethan's clash with the vampire noble echoed through the cinema lobby like thunder rolling over stone. Denver didn't have time to look—he had his own hands full.
The vampire in front of him grinned, blood still dripping from his fangs. This one wasn't like Velmorth—no high-collar suit or aristocratic arrogance—this one was a bruiser. Broad-shouldered, snarling, more beast than noble. His eyes glowed red, veins dark as ink stretching across pale, sinewy arms. A second vampire slinked behind him, thinner but twitchy, eyes darting as if waiting for the right opening.
"I'll take the dog," Denver muttered, pulling the clasp on his gloves tight. "You take the rat."
Alex cracked his knuckles, the scar on his eyebrow twitching. "Don't die before I'm done."
The hulking vampire roared and lunged. Denver met him halfway.
The theater hallway was narrow—rows of movie posters ripped as Denver shoved the vampire back into a pillar. The thing snarled and headbutted him, nearly dazing him, then slashed at his ribs. Denver pivoted, twisted under the claws, and drove a solid right hook into the vampire's liver.
A crunch.
The vampire wheezed, staggered—but didn't fall. Instead, it grinned with bloody teeth, grabbed Denver by the neck, and slammed him into the wall. The drywall cracked behind him. Denver coughed but grabbed onto the vampire's forearm, channeling ki through his hand.
Focus. Control. Condense.
With a shout, he burst a pulse of raw force into the vampire's arm. The limb snapped backward with a sickening pop. The creature hissed, reeling, but Denver didn't let up. He slammed his knee into the vampire's face once—twice—then spun and kicked him across the corridor into a row of overturned popcorn carts.
Denver wiped the blood off his chin, spitting to the side. "You really should've stayed dead."
---
POV: Alex
Meanwhile, Alex was dodging like hell.
The second vampire—lithe, with oily hair and twitching fingers—moved like a wasp. Fast, erratic, unpredictable. It lunged at him from the side, then vanished, only to reappear behind him in a blur.
Alex barely raised his forearm in time to block the claw strike, sparks flying from the metal lining under his jacket.
"You move like you've never bled before," the vampire hissed, voice like nails scraping glass.
"I just heal fast," Alex smirked, feinting low, then driving his elbow into the vampire's temple.
But the creature blurred again, flipping over him, kicking him in the back. Alex rolled forward, came up into a crouch, and hurled a throwing blade into the vampire's thigh.
It shrieked—not in pain, but in delight.
"I love when they fight back."
It charged. Alex met it with a chain-wrapped fist.
They collided in a flurry of claws, knives, and blood. Alex took a scratch across the cheek. His blade dug deep into the vampire's side. They spun, crashed into a snack display, rolling into rows of candy shelves. Blood sprayed as Alex twisted the blade deeper.
"Not. My. Type," Alex hissed, shoving the creature off with a knee to the gut.
It staggered, clutching its side. Alex flipped his last blade in his hand.
"You know," he said, panting slightly, "for a rat, you squeal real nice."
Then he charged.
---
Meanwhile, outside...
The building shook again.
A flash of red aura surged across the lobby. Ethan was still holding back Velmorth, their powers clashing like colliding storms. The noble's blood-armored fists cracked tile with every swing. Ethan's reinforced gauntlets blocked, parried, struck back in measured bursts.
But the real war wasn't just physical—it was about who would break first.
Velmorth grinned, blood licking down his chin.
"You're not bad, hunter," he sneered, raising a fist hardened like ruby stone. "But tell me—can you bleed like the rest of them?"
Ethan didn't answer. He just braced his stance, lifted his guard, and met him head-on again.
The cracked floor groaned beneath their feet. Ethan's blade clashed against Velmorth's hardened blood arm, sending out a shriek of metal grinding against an unnatural surface. Sparks flew. The vampire noble grinned, his fangs bared, lips curled with arrogant delight.
"You're holding up better than the rest, human," Velmorth said, voice deep and taunting. "But that won't change the fact... you're nothing but cattle with a stick."
Blood swirled around him like liquid armor, hardening and flaking off in jagged scales over his forearms and shoulders. His body radiated heatless pressure—an overwhelming presence that made the air taste like iron and dread.
Ethan exhaled, sliding back on his heels after deflecting a punch that cracked the theater's wall behind him. His shoulders rose and fell, a trickle of blood running down his chin from an earlier hit.
"I've killed your kind before," he replied calmly. "But you... you talk more than the others."
Velmorth laughed. It echoed like cracking glass.
"Aghhh~ You dare compare me to those mongrels? I am Velmorth Dwarvein, a high blood of the Nine! I was crushing kingdoms when your ancestors still played with fire."
Ethan's eye narrowed. "Then you'll make a good warm-up."
He surged forward again, sword humming with ki. Velmorth grinned and met him head-on—blood-hardened claws slashing in wide arcs while his feet barely touched the floor.
They moved like blurs—steel and crimson dancing violently in the shattered remains of the movie theater. Ethan twisted, sidestepped a spike of blood erupting from the ground, then slammed the hilt of his sword against Velmorth's temple—but the noble didn't even flinch.
Instead, Velmorth caught the blade mid-swing with a gauntlet of hardened blood and retaliated with a vicious backhand that sent Ethan tumbling across the floor.
"ETHAN!" Mizuno shouted.
She charged forward, spear in hand, but a wall of blood rose between her and the noble.
"Stay out of this," Velmorth growled. "Or I'll decorate the walls with your limbs."
Cymac grunted, activating a shield glyph as Mizuno gritted her teeth behind him. "We need to disrupt his control over the blood!"
"Trying," Mizuno said, preparing another incantation.
Then, a sudden burst of wind tore through the ruined rows of seats.
Velmorth's smirk twitched.
A shadow landed behind Ethan in a crouch.
"Sorry I'm late," Deyviel said, rising, eyes burning faintly with golden ki. "Someone had a snack in the bathroom."
Ethan spit blood from his mouth and let out a breath. "You look like shit."
"You should see the other guy," Deyviel said, cracking his knuckles.
Velmorth's eyes narrowed. He could feel it—the faint hum in Deyviel's core. Not magic. Not blood. But something else. Ki.
"A second one?" Velmorth muttered. "How curious. More rats crawling from the sewers."
Deyviel took a step forward, hand resting loosely at his side.
"Guess that makes you the overgrown snake hiding in the popcorn machine," he said casually.
Velmorth sneered.
"You'll regret your tongue, boy."
Ethan stood, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Deyviel. "You up for this?"
"Yeah," Deyviel said, eyes fixed on the vampire noble. "Let's put this bloodsucker down."
Velmorth laughed again, then roared—and the ground exploded beneath him as he launched forward.
Ethan and Deyviel split apart, dodging claws that shattered the ground where they stood. Velmorth spun mid-air, extending blood lances from his back like wings, flinging them toward Ethan. The swordsman parried some, dodged others—while Deyviel ducked under a swing and buried his palm into Velmorth's ribs.
A shockwave burst outward.
Velmorth grunted, blood armor cracking, but he retaliated immediately—his claws slicing upward. Deyviel backflipped and landed beside Ethan.
"He's fast," Deyviel muttered.
"And tough," Ethan added.
"But not invincible."
They moved together—Ethan taking the lead, drawing Velmorth's attention with precise sword strikes. Deyviel circled, watching, waiting, until—
"Now!" Ethan shouted.
Deyviel struck from behind—driving a knee into Velmorth's back, followed by a double palm strike to the spine, sending tremors up the vampire's body. Ethan followed with a slash across the chest—cutting through the outer shell of blood armor.
Velmorth snarled in pain. "You insolent—!"
He raised his hand, and blood surged from the wreckage, forming jagged spears in midair.
But Cymac's glyph lit up—sending a wave of kinetic force that knocked the incoming projectiles off-course.
"NOW, Mizuno!" he barked.
She launched her spear—piercing through Velmorth's shoulder. Not fatal, but enough to stagger him.
Deyviel didn't waste the moment—slamming a ki-imbued punch into Velmorth's abdomen that blasted him back into the theater screen.
The noble vampire coughed up blood and knelt in the rubble, eyes wide.
"…Interesting," he muttered. "You mongrels can actually bite back."
He stood again—cracks spreading along his hardened armor.
"I was going to make this quick," he growled, "but now... I think I'll savor it."
Ethan's grip on his blade tightened.
Deyviel exhaled slowly.
Mizuno and Cymac fell in behind them.
The real fight had just begun.
Blood clung to the broken tiles. The theater's walls shook again—this time not from screams, but from a sudden shift in pressure. Something heavy was building.
Velmorth's body hunched forward, crimson-black blood hardening across his forearms like gauntlets. "You humans…" he chuckled darkly, voice smooth and rich like fine wine, but poisoned with condescension. "Always struggling. Always clawing upward. It's charming in a pathetic sort of way."
Ethan panted, body bruised and bleeding, katana vibrating slightly in his grip. He was fast—but Velmorth could keep up. His blood hardening technique was like armor and weapon both. Every blow Ethan landed barely scratched the surface.
"Don't get cocky," Ethan muttered, raising his blade again.
Velmorth smiled. "Oh, I thrive on cocky."
And then came a blur of motion from the side.
CRACK!
A thunderous boom echoed through the theater as Deyviel drove a hammer fist directly into Velmorth's gut. The vampire noble's body bent inward, blood armor fracturing—not from outside pressure, but from within. The shock traveled through the hardened shell, bypassing its defenses and striking the organs beneath.
Velmorth's eyes widened.
"What—!?"
He stumbled back, coughing, clutching his abdomen. Cracks ran across the hardened blood plates like shattered glass.
Deyviel stood in front of Ethan now, blood on his knuckles and a casual stance that didn't match the raw force behind his last blow.
"You're hard on the outside," he said quietly. "But soft where it counts."
Ethan stared, stunned. That wasn't just brute strength… No—he channeled his ki into a focused impact. It traveled through the surface layer and detonated inside.
Internal destruction.
"Who the hell are you…?" Ethan asked under his breath.
"im Batman!," Deyviel muttered, rolling his shoulders. "and I'm here to kill this smug bastard."
Velmorth wiped blood from his mouth, sneering, though his smile had finally cracked. "Interesting. You're not ordinary… But that just means you'll make an even finer corpse."
He surged forward again—blindingly fast.
Deyviel met him head-on.
Their clash split the air like thunder. Ki and blood magic crackled as fists and hardened claws collided. Velmorth twisted his body mid-swing, forming spikes along his elbow and knees, but Deyviel weaved between them, each strike precise. His movements had weight and speed—but also rhythm.
Ethan didn't just watch this time. He lunged from the side, slashing low while Deyviel distracted him high.
Velmorth blocked Ethan's blade with a hardened forearm, only to receive a brutal uppercut from Deyviel—his other fist glowing faintly.
Another internal shockwave rippled through Velmorth's chest. His body jerked, breath catching, but he retaliated with a backhand that sent both of them sliding back across the ruined tiles.
Deyviel skidded beside Ethan. "He's strong," he admitted, lips curled slightly. "But we've got this."
Ethan gave a sharp nod, adrenaline surging. "I'll cut through his arms. You break his insides."
Velmorth stood tall again, cracks lining his body like a shattered statue—but his grin hadn't vanished. "Good. If you're going to die, at least make it entertaining."
They rushed him together.
A duo now.
A swordsman and a hammer-fist warrior—pushing the vampire noble back, blow by blow.
And for the first time since the theater was attacked… the tide began to turn.
Deyviel stepped beside Ethan, shoulders squared, his presence now heavier than before. Ethan glanced at him again, processing what he just witnessed.
"This the kid you mentioned?" Ethan muttered, half to himself. "The one Elisia said might be different…"
Deyviel gave a brief nod. "We're not done yet."
Velmorth's laughter echoed across the burning street. "Not done? Not done? Hah! I was merely… adjusting to the smell of garbage!"
With a feral grin, he snapped his fingers—and the blood around his arms thickened like armor, curling into wicked, jagged shapes. "Come then, little beasts! Let's dance!"
Denver slammed a knee into the vampire's gut, following it up with a spinning back elbow that should've knocked a grown man unconscious. But the creature barely budged, eyes glowing faintly under the broken lights of the street.
Alex charged in from behind, saber drawn in a reverse grip. "Now!"
The vampire grinned and ducked low, catching her blade mid-swing with a hardened, clawed palm. His grip crushed into the weapon like a vice.
"Children playing at war," the vampire sneered.
Denver roared and shoulder-charged the bloodsucker with a body slam, dislodging the sword and giving Alex a chance to roll aside.
"Play this," Denver spat, pulling out a condensed grenade from his belt.
He shoved it right into the vampire's gut.
Boom!
The blast flared like a miniature sun, flinging the vampire through the side of a parked armored truck. Sparks flew as the vehicle collapsed inward.
"Still alive?" Alex asked, catching her breath.
Smoke hissed from the wreckage.
A low chuckle echoed from within.
The vampire stumbled out, skin burned, part of his face regenerating in real time.
"Fun," the creature growled. "I haven't bled in decades."
Alex gritted her teeth. "You take left, I go right?"
Denver nodded. "Let's finish this fast. Ethan's fighting something worse."
They circled the vampire, who spread his arms wide like an open invitation.
"Come, then," he hissed. "Let's see which of you tastes better."
Velmorth leapt forward again, swinging a hardened blood-spear from his arm like a halberd.
Deyviel ducked, pivoted on his heel, then slammed his palm into Velmorth's chest—not a punch, just contact.
His ki surged like a ripple. Internal.
Hammer Fist: Pulse.
Velmorth's body seized midair.
Then Ethan followed up, drawing a short knife and slashing across the stunned vampire's back in a burst of enchanted flame.
The smell of seared undead flesh filled the air.
Velmorth howled and whipped around, striking blindly—but Deyviel and Ethan were already behind him.
"We're wearing him down," Deyviel said calmly.
Ethan grunted. "You're doing the heavy lifting, kid. I'm just keeping pace."
They moved in again, side by side, as Velmorth's aura surged in defiance.
And yet—for the first time—he wasn't laughing anymore.
Elisia's POV
The theater's interior was pitch black.
Dust clung to her throat, and the silence pressed down like a weight. Her only light came from her phone screen—dim, cracked, and flickering from low battery.
"Come on… just hold out a little longer," she whispered, gripping the metal pipe in her hand tighter.
She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't a fighter, not like Deyviel or Ethan. But when everything fell apart—when monsters poured into the city and the streets turned into a warzone—she couldn't sit back.
"Deyviel..." she murmured, swallowing down the panic.
Somewhere out there, he was fighting things no one should ever have to face. She didn't understand what they were—vampires? Beasts? Demons? It didn't matter. They were killing people.
She took another step forward, her boots crunching over broken glass. The shadows on the walls shifted with her light, dancing like ghosts across the crumbling paint.
A sound echoed.
Boots. Dozens of them.
Elisia turned, heart racing.
Then—voices.
"Check the west wing!"
"Make sure no survivors are left behind!"
"Watch the ceilings!"
Light suddenly flooded the hallway—military-grade flashlights and weapon-mounted beams slicing through the dark.
"Hey! Civilian!" a voice shouted. A woman in tactical gear ran forward. She had a Hunter insignia on her shoulder.
Elisia's knees gave out in relief.
"You're safe now!" the woman said. "We're reinforcements."
More Hunters poured in behind her. Elisia looked past them—and saw a figure stepping into the theater's entrance. Broad shoulders, high-ranked uniform, and the unmistakable presence of command.
General McDougal raised his fist, his voice booming through the corridor.
"Fear not! I am here!"
To be continued.....