This chapter is a little bit longer than the rest. Sorry
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Greywick was a town that never slept, it just got drunker. Even in the deepest hours of the night, its lifeblood was a slurry of noise: the roar of laughter from a tavern, the sharp crack of dice against a wooden table, the sudden, muffled cry of a man finding trouble in a dark alley. But a new sound had threaded its way into the usual chaos. It was a quieter sound, a rustle of fearful whispers passed from one person to another like a disease.
"It's another one," the cobbler muttered, his hands fumbling with the shutters on his stall, his eyes darting into the shadows.
His neighbor, a baker whose apron was still dusted with flour, leaned closer. "Missing's not the word," he said, his voice low and grim. "Drained. Like a wineskin someone's sucked dry."
Three nights had passed since the knight captain, Garrick, had vanished. In those three nights, the whispers had grown teeth. The stories started to agree: a thing that wore the shape of a man but moved like smoke, with eyes that burned like embers in the dark. A predator that hunted anyone foolish enough to walk the streets alone.
Perched on the sagging peak of a rooftop, Blaze listened to it all. The night air was thick with the smell of cheap ale, mud, and fear. His senses, now unnaturally sharp, caught every fragmented rumour as if the words were being spoken directly into his ear.
"They say it's a vengeful spirit…"
"Spirits don't leave bodies behind…"
"I heard it was a beastfolk curse, come down from the mountains…"
"A curse with a man's face…"
Blaze leaned back against a crooked chimney, the stone cool against his back. A faint, knowing smile played on his lips as Kael's boots crunched softly on the roof tiles beside him.
"They're terrified," Kael growled, sinking into a low crouch. His eyes held a faint red glow in the moonlight, a reflection of the gnawing hunger inside him. "They're terrified of you, Master, and they don't even know your name."
Blaze's gaze drifted over the crooked maze of torchlit streets below. "Fear is a tool," he said, his voice a low murmur. "But unfocused fear is useless. It makes people scatter and hide. It needs a shape, a target."
Kael's lips peeled back from his fangs in a hungry grin. "And the church is here to give it to them."
Blaze didn't reply. His attention was fixed on a procession moving through the marketplace. Men in clean white tabards, stark against the town's grime, held banners stitched with the blazing sun of their faith. They weren't knights or inquisitors, just watchmen and low-ranking zealots, but they moved with a purpose that made people get out of their way.
Leading them was a man in simple, unadorned robes, his only ornament a silver sun medallion that lay flat against his chest. His head was shaved, his face thin and severe, and his eyes burned with the hard light of absolute belief.
Blaze's smile sharpened. "The priest has come to play."
Even from this distance, the wind carried fragments of the man's sermon.
"…the Light does not sleep, though you may…"
"…a corruption has taken root in our very streets…"
"…we must be the flame that scours the shadows, for they breed only death!"
The priest's voice, though not loud, was sharp and clear, cutting through the town's usual clamour. People were drawn to him, some crossing themselves with genuine reverence, others scoffing from a safe distance.
Kael's claws flexed, scraping against the roof tile. "Let me end him," he hissed. "One bite. It would be over."
"Patience," Blaze chided softly, never taking his eyes off the scene below. "A fire needs air to grow. Let him fan the flames of their terror. Let him make them believe they have a shepherd. A flock is so much easier to control than a scattered mob."
He rose smoothly to his feet, the night air wrapping around him like a familiar embrace.
Down below, the priest's voice rose, filled with righteous fury, ringing through every street and alley of Greywick.
"The Nameless Vampire walks among us!"
Blaze's smile widened then. It was a slow, thin, and terribly dangerous thing. The game had been set. The pieces were moving. And his opponent had just called him by name.
His name was Aldren, but in a town like Greywick, names didn't matter as much as titles. They called him the preacher. He'd come to town on a dusty mule with nothing but a leather bag and a spine made of pure conviction. No knights, no banners, no gilded symbols of the Church's authority.
And that, Blaze knew as he watched from the rooftops, was what made the man so incredibly dangerous. A paladin in shining steel was a target. This man was an idea, and ideas were much harder to kill.
From his perch in the shadows, Blaze watched Aldren work. The man's robes were worn thin at the elbows, his sandals frayed, but everything about him was clean, cared for. His hands weren't the soft, manicured hands of a city bishop; they were chapped and calloused, the hands of a man who fixed his own harness and chopped his own wood. When he spoke, his voice carried not just the practiced words of scripture, but the unshakable weight of someone who had lived and bled for them.
"…the Light is a fire that shows us the monsters hiding in the dark!" Aldren's voice rang out over the marketplace, and the small crowd shuffled closer, their faces upturned and hungry. "And what do we see in Greywick? Our neighbors vanish in the night. Our children are found with skin like ice and a terror in their eyes that no fever can explain. A shadow has fallen over this town, a sickness that whispers lies in your ear!"
A nervous energy rippled through the people below. Blaze could feel it, could almost taste it on the air. It was the subtle tightening of throats, the sour tang of fear beginning to mix with their sweat. A few men scoffed, but most just pulled their cloaks a little tighter, their eyes drifting to the dark mouths of the alleys.
Aldren felt it too. He pressed on, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "Do not be fooled by those who tell you this is the work of common thieves or some stray beast. No. This is an ancient evil, one the Church has fought since the beginning of time. It is the Child of Night. The Vampire!"
The word struck the air like a hammer on an anvil. A sudden, sharp silence fell over the square. Even the town drunks stopped their slurred jeering. These were border folk; their grandparents had stories of the purges, of entire villages put to the torch to cleanse the vampire taint. The word wasn't a myth to them. It was a memory.
A thin, cold smile touched Aldren's lips. It was the smile of a surgeon finding the source of a disease.
"I am not here to scare you, my flock. I am here to save you. The Nameless One is here, living among you, hiding in plain sight! But you are not alone. The Light is with us, and we will drag this creature from its den and burn it to ash!"
The cheer that went up was shaky, more fear than faith, but it was a start. Aldren had found their fear, and he was giving it a name and a face.
Beside Blaze, Kael let out a low growl. "He's turning them against you with nothing but words. He's poisoning the very air we breathe."
Blaze's gaze remained fixed on the preacher below. "He's not poisoning it," he murmured, his voice a low hum. "He's focusing it. Their fear was scattered, aimed at shadows and whispers. He's gathering it all into a spear… and pointing it at me."
"And you're letting him?" Kael sounded incredulous.
"He's making himself the shepherd," Blaze said, a dangerous glint in his crimson eyes. "And when the wolf comes, the sheep will run to him. He's useful. For now."
Down below, Aldren raised the silver medallion around his neck. It caught the torchlight and flashed, a brilliant star of pure white that stung Blaze's eyes even from this distance.
The cursed ring on his finger pulsed, a hot throb against his skin. A thought, not his own, coiled in his mind like a serpent. Kill him. Kill him now, while he is alone. Let them find their preacher in pieces and see how strong their faith is then.
Blaze quieted the voice with an act of will. The hunger gnawed at him, a beast clawing at the bars of a cage, but impulse was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Aldren had just declared war. A very public, very loud war.
But Blaze would be the one to choose the battlefield. And it would be a place where the Light could not reach.
Blaze slipped deeper into the city of Greywick, his suspicions confirmed.
The first sign was a crowd outside a tavern called the Spitting Sow. The air crackled with their anger, and their shouts were sharp like shattered glass. Blaze and Kael stayed in the shadows under a nearby awning, watching.
A man was on his knees in the mud, his face bruised and bloody. Three others stood over him, holding crude clubs.
"Swear it, Tolen!" one snarled, his spit flying with each word. "You were out late last night, weren't you? By the river? That's where the preacher said it prowled."
Tolen coughed up blood, shaking his head. "I was...dammit...I was with Mirra. Ask her!"
"Liar," another snapped. "Your eyes look strange. Look at them! Don't they look strange?"
The crowd murmured, already convinced.
Kael shifted, his unease radiating from him. "They'll kill him."
Blaze said nothing, his gaze sweeping over the mob. Half-drunk mercenaries, a few women craning for a better look, and a pair of Greywick guards, too amused to intervene. None of them saw the man as a human anymore. In their eyes, he was already a monster.
"I'm no vampire! Please!" Tolen pleaded hoarsely.
His words only made them angrier. The crowd jeered, and one of the men with a club swung hard, the sickening thud of cracking ribs echoing in the narrow street.
"See? Doesn't bleed right!" someone yelled as Tolen spat dark blood into the mud.
Kael growled low in his throat, but Blaze laid a hand on his arm. The younger man froze at the touch.
"Watch," Blaze murmured.
And they did.
The mob's frenzy grew, feeding on itself. Each accusation was louder than the last until one man lifted a broken bottle and plunged it into Tolen's side.
The victim screamed once before collapsing, twitching in the dirt. The crowd scattered, some laughing, some uneasy. All of them certain they had done their duty.
No prayer, no blessing. Just silence as they dispersed, leaving the corpse in the mud.
Kael's hands clenched into fists. "They killed one of their own. For nothing."
"For a story," Blaze corrected softly. He crouched over the body, his eyes on Tolen's vacant stare. "A whispered word from a man in robes, and suddenly they see monsters everywhere. Faith is the leash. Fear is the chain. The priest just tightened both."
Kael stared at him. "And you'll use it."
Blaze's lips curved into a slight smile. "Of course. Why kill a man yourself when the town will do it for you?"
He stood, his cloak settling back into place. Already, two scavengers were dragging the body toward the river, muttering about "keeping the streets clean." No one would question it. No one ever did.
Blaze melted back into the alley. Aldren's sermon was dangerous, yes—but it had cracked Greywick open. And Blaze was nothing if not skilled at slipping through cracks.
After the priest's sermon, Greywick felt like a different place. The streets were just as crooked, the taverns smelled just as bad, and the stench of animals waiting to be slaughtered still hung in the air. But something had changed. The usual boisterous laughter was gone, and no one cheered when they won a game of dice. The women who sold themselves on the streets kept looking over their shoulders, and even the street fighters broke up their brawls quickly when the guards came around. The priest hadn't just scared people; he'd made them paranoid.
Blaze moved through the city like a shadow, his hood pulled low. The marketplace where the priest, Aldren, had spoken was still humming. Merchants whispered about the warnings. Mothers held their children tight, mumbling prayers. Men made nervous jokes about sharpening sticks "just in case." And everywhere Blaze went, people's eyes lingered on strangers for a moment too long, as if anyone could be the monster in disguise.
Kael walked beside him, clearly uncomfortable. The beastman's ears twitched at every hushed prayer. "They're hunting ghosts," he muttered. "The priest said a few words, and now every drunk sees red eyes in the dark."
Blaze smirked faintly. "That's what's so great about fear. One spark, and it spreads into all the little cracks you never saw. He's doing my job for me."
"Our job?" Kael asked, frowning.
Blaze didn't answer. He watched a pair of Greywick guards. They weren't joking around like usual, weren't playing dice to decide who stood watch. They stood straight, hands on their spears, scanning the street with a focus rarely seen in this town. And behind them, two cloaked men whispered to each other, quickly splitting up when Blaze got too close. Yes, the priest's message had hit harder than anyone realized.
"Master," Kael said, as they slipped into an alley, "this makes things harder. More eyes, more suspicion. Feeding will…"
"Feeding will be easier," Blaze interrupted softly.
Kael blinked. "Easier?"
Blaze stopped, turning to face him. The shadow from his hood hid most of his expression, but Kael could feel his intense gaze. "Fear tears people apart. It makes them look for enemies in the wrong places. They'll start accusing their neighbors, turning on each other. When things are chaotic, everyone's suspicions just become noise. And in all that noise…" Blaze's lips curved into a faint smile, "…a hunter can move around easily."
Kael fell silent, a look of unease in his eyes.
When they stepped back onto the main street, Blaze noticed something else: rumors traveled faster than the truth. Drunks in the taverns had already twisted the priest's words.
"—swears he saw red eyes down by the river last night—"
"—no, no, my cousin says it was a shadow with claws—"
"—I bet it's just one of those beastfolk monsters gone wild—"
Blaze mentally collected each story, like a craftsman gathering his tools. Every rumor was a weapon. Every frightened whisper, a thread he could use.
But amidst all the whispers, one thing was clear: the priest had changed everything. He had shined a light into Greywick's shadows, and Blaze was standing right in it. This meant two things. First—he had to be careful. He couldn't move as freely as before. He would need to be precise when he hunted and subtle with his schemes. Second—it was an opportunity. For the first time, the townspeople weren't looking away out of apathy; their eyes were wide open. And open eyes could be blinded. Open ears could be swayed.
Blaze pulled his hood lower and slipped back into the alleys, already planning his next move.
As Blaze moved deeper into Greywick, he saw what he had told Kael was true. The first sign was outside the tavern called the Spitting Sow. A crowd had gathered, their shouts angry and sharp. Blaze stayed in the shadows of a nearby building, Kael at his side. A man was on his knees in the mud, his nose bloody and his lip split, surrounded by three others holding rough clubs.
"Admit it, Tolen!" one of them yelled, spitting with each word. "You were out late last night, weren't you? By the river? That's where the preacher said it was."
The man on his knees coughed up blood, shaking his head. "I was—dammit—I was with Mirra, ask her!"
"Liar," another man shouted. "Your eyes look weird. Look at them! Don't they look weird?"
The crowd murmured in agreement, already believing him.
Kael shifted uncomfortably. "They'll kill him."
Blaze said nothing. His eyes scanned the mob. Half-drunk mercenaries. A few women trying to get a better look. A pair of Greywick guards, too amused to step in. No one saw the man on the ground as a person anymore. In their minds, he was already a monster.
The man on his knees screamed, "I'm not a vampire! Please!"
His pleas just made them angrier. The crowd jeered, and one of the men with a club swung it, cracking the victim's ribs with a sickening thud.
"See? He's not bleeding right!" someone yelled when Tolen spat dark blood onto the mud.
Kael growled under his breath, but Blaze put a hand on his arm. The beastman froze at the touch.
"Watch," Blaze murmured.
And they did. The mob's rage grew, feeding on itself. Each accusation was louder than the last until one man broke a bottle and stabbed it into Tolen's side. The man screamed once, then fell, twitching in the dirt as the crowd scattered. Some laughed, some were uneasy, but all of them were sure they had done the right thing. No one said a prayer. No one offered a blessing. Just silence as they walked away, leaving the body behind.
Kael's hands clenched. "They killed their own. For nothing."
"For a story," Blaze corrected softly. He knelt over the body, looking into the dead man's vacant eyes. "A few words from a man in robes, and suddenly they see monsters everywhere. Faith is the leash. Fear is the chain. The priest just tightened both."
Kael stared at him. "And you'll use it."
Blaze's lips curled into a faint smile. "Of course. Why kill a man yourself when the town will do it for you?"
He stood up, his cloak falling back into place. Already, two people were dragging the body toward the river, mumbling about "keeping the streets clean." No one would question it. No one ever did.
Blaze disappeared into the alley once more, his mind sharper than before. The priest's sermon was dangerous, but it had cracked Greywick open. And Blaze was a master at slipping through the cracks.
Fear had been simmering in Greywick, and by the fourth night after Aldren's sermon, it was ready to explode. All it needed was a spark.
That spark came as a procession.
Blaze watched from a rooftop as Aldren led a small mob through the streets. They weren't knights in armor, but ordinary men clutching clubs, axes, and old rusty swords. They wore crude white armbands with the sunburst symbol drawn on them. Torches hissed and spat, casting a flickering golden light over the cobblestones.
"Tonight," Aldren's voice boomed, "the shadow that stalks us will be brought to judgment!"
The people of Greywick leaned from windows and doorways, a hesitant crowd following at their heels. Some jeered, others prayed, but most simply watched, eager for a show.
Beside Blaze, his spawn, Kael, crouched low, a snarl on his lips. His fangs gleamed in the torchlight. "He's calling for you. Daring you."
"Yes," Blaze murmured, his gaze fixed on the crowd. "This isn't a sermon now. It's theater."
Below, Aldren held his medallion high, a polished silver coin catching the light. The zealots around him raised their weapons, their voices a ragged chant. "Light! Light! Light!"
Blaze felt the cursed ring on his finger throb, a searing heat against his skin. A familiar whisper slithered into his mind: Burn them. Tear them. Drown their cries in blood. Their light is brittle — break it.
For a moment, he almost gave in. His hunger clawed at his throat, and his muscles ached to leap down and tear into them. But he held back. A true predator doesn't lunge at bait.
He followed from above, a dark shadow trailing the torchlit mob as Aldren led them deeper into the town's winding back alleys. The zealots shoved open doors, questioned half-drunk tenants, and dragged men into the street to check their eyes. All the while, Aldren's sharp gaze swept the crowd as if he could sense something no one else could.
When they reached the warehouse district, Blaze felt the change. The torches' glow bounced off stacked crates, and their shouts echoed against the empty stone walls.
Aldren stopped dead. His head turned, not toward his mob, but to the rooftop where Blaze was hiding.
Kael tensed. "He sees us."
Aldren raised his medallion. "There!" His voice cracked like thunder. "The shadow watches! Children of Light, do not falter — the Vampire hides above us!"
The mob roared, thrusting their torches high, their faces a twisted mix of fear and fervor.
For the first time, Blaze let a genuine smile spread across his face. The show had reached its climax. It was time for the predator to step onto the stage.
He rose from the rooftop, his cloak unfurling like black wings, his crimson eyes burning in the darkness. Gasps rippled through the crowd — fear, awe, and dread all in one.
"Yes," Blaze said softly, his voice carrying through the mob like smoke. "The vampire walks among you."
The torchlight wavered. Several zealots hesitated, but Aldren's voice cut through the chaos. "Stand firm! The Light burns all shadows — even this one!" He thrust the medallion forward, and the silver flared with a blinding brilliance.
A white-hot pain seared Blaze's eyes. The cursed ring blazed against his skin, a hiss in his skull. He snarled, leaping from the rooftop and landing in the street with a crash of stone and splinters.
The mob scattered, but the zealots rushed forward.
Blaze moved like a storm. A cudgel swung — he caught the man's wrist, crushed bone, and sank his fangs into his throat in a single fluid motion. The taste of blood hit him like a jolt of fire, doubling his strength. His claws raked across another zealot's chest.
But the silver medallion burned. Every time Aldren raised it, Blaze felt his skin blister, smoke curling from his arms. His body screamed to retreat, but his hunger screamed to devour.
"Light!" Aldren's voice rang out over the chaos. "Drive him back!"
Kael dropped from the rooftop with a snarl, intercepting two zealots. His claws tore through flesh, but his eyes were locked on Aldren, burning with hate.
Panting, Blaze licked blood from his lips and stalked toward the priest. Each step felt like walking through fire, and he welcomed it.
"Your Light burns, priest," Blaze growled, his voice a low, guttural mix of human and beast. "Let's see if it can withstand the dark."
The crowd screamed as vampire and priest met in the torchlit street.
It was a hot night, and the street was like a furnace. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and fear. Aldren's silver medallion pulsed with a blinding light, searing Blaze's skin with every beat of his heart. The priest's followers, torches in hand, circled the two of them, but kept their distance. They knew this was a fight between two forces of nature, not for them to interfere with.
Aldren looked at Blaze and spoke with a steady voice, "Monster. The Light has marked you. You can't hide in the shadows anymore. The Light ends you tonight."
Blaze laughed, a cold, unsettling sound that made even the zealots flinch. "Ends me? You're in Greywick, priest. A town rotten with greed and sin. You speak of Light? This place belongs to the shadows. And the shadows belong to me."
He lunged forward, but the medallion's light flared and an invisible chain wrapped around him. A searing pain shot through his body, blistering his forearm where the light struck. But he pushed through it, pain making him stronger.
Aldren thrust his hand out, chanting. A beam of white light erupted from his hand, hitting Blaze's chest and throwing him backward through a stack of crates. Splinters exploded everywhere as the crowd gasped and cheered.
Then, from the wreckage, Blaze's feral laughter echoed. He rose, his chest smoking, his eyes glowing like molten coals. "Is that all? The Light burns, yes. But it doesn't kill. Not yet."
Blaze moved forward as two zealots rushed him. Kael, a creature of the night like Blaze, tore them apart, splattering the stones with blood. The mob screamed and scattered, but couldn't bring themselves to run. They had never seen something so unholy.
Aldren's jaw tightened. He raised the medallion higher, its glow intensifying. Blaze hissed, shielding his face as his skin sizzled in the glare.
A voice slithered into Blaze's mind, "Take him. Drink his blood, and his faith is yours. His Light will die in your veins."
For a moment, Blaze almost lost control, but he caught himself. The priest wanted him to be reckless, to fall into a trap. Instead, Blaze smiled.
"You preach of Light, priest, but your followers... they've already turned on each other. You did that for me."
The words were a blow. Some of the crowd shifted, guilt in their faces as they remembered the lynchings. Aldren's control over them faltered for a moment, and Blaze struck.
He dove low, claws sweeping up. Aldren just managed to block with his medallion, the silver sizzling against Blaze's arm. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. But Blaze's other hand clamped around Aldren's wrist, crushing the bones. The priest gasped, his chant broken.
Blaze whispered in his ear, "Your Light doesn't burn me, priest. It feeds me."
He slammed Aldren to the ground. The medallion's light dimmed. The zealots cried out, but Kael stood between them and their master, daring them to move. Blaze's fangs hovered inches from Aldren's throat.
"Shall I prove it? Shall I drink your faith dry in front of them?"
The crowd held its breath.
Aldren, bloodied but not broken, spat in Blaze's face. "You cannot drink the Light. The Light is eternal."
Blaze's smile was cruel. "Then scream for it. Let's see if it answers."
His fangs sank into Aldren's shoulder. The priest's cry tore through the town. The medallion flared once, a desperate burst of radiance that seared Blaze's lips and tongue, but he didn't stop. Blood, hot and laced with power, filled his mouth. He tore himself from Aldren's flesh, his eyes blazing. He grabbed the priest and threw him at the feet of the mob.
Aldren writhed weakly, his medallion now a faint glow. The crowd stared, frozen between faith and fear. Blaze spread his arms, his cloak unfurling like wings.
"You call me Nameless Vampire," his voice rang out. "Then remember this name: Crimson Shadow. Tell the Church their Light failed here. Tell them Greywick belongs to me."
The mob broke. Some fled screaming, others dropped to their knees, sobbing. A few zealots, survivors of Kael's attack, dragged Aldren's body away. Blaze stood in the blood-soaked street, triumphant, the shadows of Greywick bending to his will.