Kiss of the vampire
"The Girl with the Sharp sword"
Mission 33: Brand of Pride!
Two years before the present, Aldrine was nothing more than a man with power, wealth, and greed. The capital knew him as a well-dressed politician, but behind closed doors, his pockets were stuffed with stolen tax money. Projects meant to rebuild towns became nothing but numbers on paper, and the poor who begged for help found only empty promises. He thrived on deception, his smile a mask that concealed his ambition to rise higher than anyone else.
One late evening, as he reviewed false reports in his lavish study, a shadow fell over the room. The candles flickered, and before Aldrine could speak, a voice cut through the silence.
"You think too small, Aldrine."
A tall man stood by the balcony door, his presence sharp and cold, his crimson eyes catching the light. Lancer. The name was whispered among nobles and feared among hidden circles. Aldrine froze, his hand tightening on his quill.
"Who are you to enter without permission?" Aldrine asked, forcing confidence into his tone.
"I am someone who sees what you could become. A man like you wastes his talents hoarding gold while the world rots. I intend to reshape it. To create a new, peaceful world… but peace comes with a price."
Lancer stepped closer. His calmness was almost regal, but there was a weight in his words that pressed against Aldrine's chest.
"What is it you want from me?"
"Loyalty. Influence. Your corruption hides ambition, not weakness. You understand power, and you desire more. I can give you that. Join me, and you won't just rule a district—you'll help decide the fate of kingdoms."
Something in Lancer's voice tempted Aldrine. Greed stirred like a sleeping serpent in his gut. Power beyond politics? A world where he could ascend higher than crowns and laws? He leaned back, the thought consuming him.
"And what if I refuse?"
Lancer smiled, faint but dangerous. "You won't. Men like you can never settle for scraps once they've seen the banquet."
That night, Aldrine agreed, not yet understanding the gravity of his choice.
---
A year later, the emissaries came. The meeting was held in a secluded estate far from prying eyes. Three figures in black cloaks sat across the table, each marked with a sigil Aldrine didn't recognize but felt instinctively threatened by. Their voices were calm, deliberate.
"You've been chosen," the lead emissary said. "Lancer has seen potential in you. Tonight, you will no longer be a mere politician. You will bear a fragment of his will."
Aldrine kept his composure, but his palms were slick. "What does this mean?"
"It means power. But it also means allegiance. You will carry the mark of Pride—the first Sin. With it, you will have strength beyond human limits, but it will demand everything you are."
One of the emissaries produced an ornate brand—a thin rod tipped with a glowing sigil, pulsing like a heart. The room seemed to grow heavier, the air tightening. Aldrine's breath quickened as they approached.
"This is irreversible," they warned. "The mark will bind you to the Lord of Vampires himself. Pride will fuel you, but it will also devour you if you falter. Do you accept?"
Aldrine hesitated for only a heartbeat. The hunger for more—always more—won.
"I accept."
The brand pressed into his flesh, searing pain like molten metal cutting through bone. He clenched his teeth, refusing to scream as the sigil burned into his skin, crawling across his veins like living fire. In that moment, he felt it—a surge of raw, intoxicating strength. His mind sharpened, his ambitions crystallized. He was no longer a man of paper laws and stolen coins. He was something greater.
As the pain faded, the emissaries knelt slightly.
"Welcome, Aldrine. Bearer of Pride. From this day forward, you are no longer bound by mortal chains."
Aldrine looked at his branded arm, the mark still glowing faintly. A slow smile crept across his face.
"Then let the world see what true power looks like."
Few months later.
The meeting took place in an isolated manor on the outskirts of the capital—a place forgotten by most, swallowed by thick forests and an unnatural silence. It was here that Senator Aldrin found himself seated across from Lancer, the Vampire King, a figure whose very presence carried weight and menace.
Aldrin adjusted his coat, trying to keep his composure, though the air itself seemed colder around Lancer. "You didn't summon me here for pleasantries, I assume," Aldrin said, his tone calm but guarded.
Lancer leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes reflecting the dim candlelight. "You've been busy, Senator. Your research into chimeras—humans, vampires, ghouls, wendigos, aswang, all merged into abominations of power—has not gone unnoticed. You are trying to bridge the impossible."
Aldrin allowed himself a thin smile. "Knowledge is survival. I study to understand what others fear."
"Good," Lancer replied, his voice smooth but edged with something predatory. "Because the world is about to change. The Hell Gate is no longer just a story for frightened priests. I have found it. And more than that…" He leaned forward, a glint of triumph in his gaze. "I hold the keys. Ghellee. Elisia. Two of the nine guardians have already fallen into my grasp."
Aldrin raised a brow. "And you intend to free what's behind those gates? The guardians are not legends to be trifled with."
"They are obstacles," Lancer corrected, his tone like iron. "Each gate holds a primordial weapon. Tools that can bend the world itself. Once I have them all, no one—man or god—will stand above me. Not the Church. Not the hunters. Not even your kind."
The senator's fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood of the table. "Ambitious. But dangerous. You're speaking of war on a scale no one can predict."
"War is inevitable," Lancer said. "The divide between humans and vampires will not close itself. I will rule this world, Aldrin, but I do not wish for a world drowned only in blood. Which is why I ask you…" His gaze fixed on the senator, unblinking. "Will you stand with me? Will you help me bridge the gap between humans and vampires, so that when the old order burns, something greater rises from the ashes?"
The silence stretched, the candle flames trembling as if aware of the weight of the moment. Aldrin's expression remained unreadable, but his mind raced.
The underground corridor was colder than the mansion above, the air stale and heavy with the smell of rust and something faintly organic. Denver and Deyviel moved in silence, weapons ready, their footsteps echoing faintly against the concrete.
They stopped at the end of the passage—a massive metal door sealed tight, reinforced with thick locking mechanisms and a digital keypad.
"Man, this thing looks like it's hiding the Ark of the Covenant or something," Denver muttered, crouching to inspect the panel. "Let me see if I can—"
But before he could finish, Deyviel stepped forward. His fingers moved quickly over the keypad, like he'd done it a hundred times before.
Denver blinked. "Bro, since when did you—"
"Not now," Deyviel said flatly, eyes hard.
A heavy clunk echoed, and the locks disengaged.
Inside Deyviel's mind, a memory flickered.
This is it. The place Ben talked about… but that wasn't in this timeline.
He remembered the first loop—Ben Rayleigh's voice echoing in a dimly lit briefing room.
"As I entered, I didn't just open the door… I destroyed it. And when I saw what was inside, my skin crawled."
Ethan's voice followed in his memory. "What did you see?"
Ben had opened his mouth to answer—and Deyviel remembered the weight in his expression just before he spoke.
Now, standing here, that same weight pressed on his chest.
The door hissed open.
The smell hit first—sterile chemicals mixed with something coppery and wrong. Then the lights flickered on, row by row, revealing a sight that froze them in place.
Capsules. Dozens. No—hundreds. Each one filled with something that could barely be called human. Limbs twisted unnaturally, skin too pale or too dark, eyes shut or distorted, mouths slack or too wide. Some had fangs, claws, or strange ridges along their spines. Others were frail, almost childlike, with wires embedded in their flesh.
Denver's voice cracked. "The hell is this?!"
"Human and monster experimental hybrids," Deyviel said, his tone low and tight. His jaw worked as he clicked his tongue in disgust. "This is where they've been hiding it… heartless bastards."
Denver quickly grabbed his radio, voice tense. "Captain, this is Denver. We found something. You're gonna want to—"
Static. No response.
Denver frowned and switched channels. "HQ, this is Denver. Ethan's not responding. We've found something big, repeat, something big. Multiple experimental subjects, hybrids. We need a QRT here ASAP."
The reply came after a brief pause, the operator's voice urgent.
"Copy that, Denver. QRT is being dispatched. Your orders are to search the area for further intel and confirm the captain's status. Be advised: hostile activity is likely."
Deyviel gave one last glance at the capsules before tightening his grip on his sword. "Let's move. Whatever this is, it's just the surface. And Ethan might already be in deep trouble."
Kliev's blade flashed, splitting an aswang clean across the chest, its shriek drowned by the guttural howls of the swarm. The forest clearing was alive with movement—dark shapes darting between trees, glowing eyes in every direction.
"Tch, they're so many!" Kliev spat, his boots sliding back on damp earth as another creature lunged.
"Yeah, like almost a whole army's been dumped on us!" Andrew grunted, firing a round into a hybrid's head. The bullet punched through, but the damn thing still twitched, forcing him to put another in its chest before it dropped.
Christine's spear whirled like a silver arc, keeping the front clear. "Focus! We need to hold them off until the Q.R.T. arrives!" she barked, voice steady despite the chaos.
Alicia's staff crackled, arcane sigils glowing as a barrier formed briefly, halting a group of hybrids. "This shield won't hold long!" she warned, sweat already beading on her temple.
"Yumi, left flank!" Cymac shouted, intercepting a crawling beast that tried to slip past. Yumi spun low, her short blades cutting through its legs, then finishing with a stab through its skull.
"Emily, status?" Kliev demanded, cleaving another hybrid in half.
"Three wounds, nothing deep! But ammo's running low!" Emily reloaded, hands shaking but steady enough. Her rifle coughed, dropping another aswang trying to circle them.
The creatures didn't hesitate. They threw themselves at the group with rabid hunger, bodies piling as fast as they fell. For every one they dropped, two more took its place. The noise was a nightmare of tearing flesh, gunfire, and steel.
Christine parried a swipe, sparks flying. "They're trying to pin us here. Somebody's controlling this horde."
Cymac narrowed his eyes, scanning beyond the swarm. And there, just at the edge of vision, was a figure—too still, too calm—watching.
Kliev's sword clashed against a hybrid's claws, sparks flying as the creature snarled in his face. "Tch, they just keep coming!" he spat, shoving the beast back and slicing through its neck in one motion.
Cymac grunted as his axe cleaved a mutated aswang in half, blood spraying like ink. "It's like a damn nest exploded on us! There's no end!"
"Less complaining, more killing!" Andrew barked, his pistol barking fire, each shot precise but the horde barely thinned. Emily stood behind him, hands glowing faintly as she healed the scratches and bites appearing on their bodies, sweat already matting her hair.
Alicia's twin daggers flashed, carving through tendons and throats, her movements sharp and ruthless. "Someone's controlling them. They're too organized for a swarm."
Yumi's bowstring thrummed, each arrow finding its mark. "She's right. Look—" She pointed toward the ridge.
Through the chaos, Christine's vision sharpened on a tall figure standing calm amid the carnage. A crimson cloak danced around him, the gleam of silvered armor glinting beneath the moonlight. His eyes burned faintly red, and in his hand was a staff tipped with an obsidian claw.
"Balthazar," she muttered, voice cold.
The name seemed to ripple through the group, tension tightening like a drawn bow.
Balthazar raised his hand lazily. The ground rumbled. From the shadows, more hybrids crawled forth—twisted mockeries of wolves, bats, and men, their snarls blending into a nightmarish chorus.
"Hold them off until Q.R.T. arrives?" Balthazar's deep voice carried over the battlefield, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You won't last that long."
The horde surged, faster and deadlier, like puppets pulled by an unseen string.
"Move!" Kliev roared, slamming his shield forward, breaking the first wave.
Christine's fingers tightened on her weapon. "We cut the head. Take him down, and the horde collapses!"
But the air grew colder, and Balthazar's smirk deepened. "You think you've seen my full hand?" He slammed his staff into the ground. The earth split, and something far larger began crawling out—a hulking chimera, stitched together from countless corpses, roaring like a beast from hell.
The ground shook as the horde pressed in tighter, claws scraping the broken cobblestone, snarls echoing off the ruined walls. Kliev's blade spun in a tight arc, severing an aswang's head clean from its shoulders. Its body barely hit the ground before Cymac's hammer crushed another into a crater of bone and gore.
"Damn it, they're everywhere!" Andrew shouted, sliding under a lunging hybrid, firing point-blank into its jaw.
Emily's voice was sharp and calm, cutting through the chaos. "Stay close to Alicia and Yumi. Christine, back them up! We need to keep formation or they'll pick us apart."
Alicia's rapier flashed like silver lightning, piercing through a vampire hybrid's chest. "Tch, their regeneration's faster than normal. They're feeding off something!"
Yumi loosed a volley of glowing arrows, each finding its mark in eyes, throats, and joints. "It's not just random. Someone's controlling them."
Christine sliced an advancing ghoul clean in half with her greatsword, blood splattering her armor. "Then whoever it is better pray they're far away, or I'll—"
The earth rumbled again, but this time it wasn't from the charge. The sky dimmed unnaturally, and every hybrid froze for a brief moment—like puppets on strings being tightened. Then, with eerie precision, they moved as one, encircling the group.
"...Oh no," Cymac muttered. "This is organized."
---
POV SHIFT – Balthazar
High above the battlefield, on the broken spire of an old cathedral, a figure stood in the moonlight like a conductor before an orchestra. Balthazar's pale hand hovered lazily, fingers twitching as threads of crimson light stretched from his knuckles to the creatures below.
He smirked, watching the panic build among his prey. "How quaint. Little mice cornered by my pets."
With a flick, the hybrids lunged again, this time working together—wolves herding, bats striking high, vampires darting low. Every move was deliberate, a cruel dance designed to exhaust and terrify.
"They're skilled," Balthazar mused aloud, tilting his head as Christine's greatsword cleaved through three at once. "But skill means nothing when the field itself belongs to me."
His voice carried across the battlefield, smooth and mocking. "How long can you last, I wonder? Will you break before the rescue arrives? Or shall I peel you apart one by one, like petals on a flower?"
Below, the hybrids moved faster, the air thick with their snarls. But each sound was a note, each strike part of a rhythm only Balthazar heard. To him, this wasn't war—it was art.
He shifted his stance, letting his left hand rise. The blood threads flared brighter. A new roar shook the battlefield as something larger began to stir from the shadows behind the horde.
To be continued..