The old temple had once been a refuge—a place where grieving where counseled and the hungry were fed but that was years ago. Now, even the mice had abandoned it. Something in the air felt wrong, poisoned with Blaze living among its ruins.
Aldren tried to shift his weight on the cold stone floor, but the rusted chains bit into his wrists. His white cassock was torn and bloodstained, dirt streaking his normally pristine appearance. Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the taste of copper in his mouth—he kept his chin raised. He'd die before he'd cower.
A few yards away, Blaze sat on a chunk of fallen masonry, elbows on his knees like he was having a casual conversation. But his eyes never left Aldren, studying him with the kind of focus that made your skin crawl. "You know what I keep thinking about?" Blaze's voice was conversational, almost friendly. "How your little light show back there should have killed me. Any smart monster would've run after getting burned like that."
Aldren spat blood, his throat raw. "Should've finished the job when I had the chance."
"Maybe." Blaze shrugged, standing to pace around the broken altar. Moonlight caught the ring on his finger—an ugly thing that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat. "But I wanted to understand something. About people like you."
Near the wall, Kael shifted uncomfortably. The younger vampire had been unusually quiet since they'd dragged the bodies into the corner, his usual swagger replaced by something that looked almost like guilt. "This feels wrong," he muttered. "We should just... finish this."
Blaze's head turned sharply. "Wrong how?"
Kael's jaw worked silently for a moment. "He's not some bandit or thug. He's..." He gestured helplessly at Aldren. "He was trying to help people."
"And look how well that worked out for him." Blaze's smile was all teeth. "His God let his followers die screaming. Let him end up chained on my floor. Where's the divine intervention now?"
Aldren's laugh was bitter, painful. "You think faith works like a transaction? Light a candle, say a prayer, get what you want?" He met Blaze's gaze steadily. "I've buried children who never hurt anyone. Held the hands of good people while they died of diseases I couldn't cure. Faith isn't about getting rescued—it's about choosing hope when rescue doesn't come."
Something flickered across Blaze's expression—surprise, maybe even respect. But it was gone in an instant. "Pretty words. I bet you've given that speech before. To the families of those dead kids, probably."
Aldren flinched, and both vampires caught it.
"There we go." Blaze crouched down again, close enough that Aldren could smell death on his breath. "How many times have you stood over a grave and promised the grieving that their loved one was 'in a better place'? How many times have you wondered if you were lying?"
"Every time." The words came out as barely a whisper. Aldren's composure cracked, just slightly. "But doubt isn't the opposite of faith. It's... it's proof that faith costs something."
Kael looked away, his hands clenched into fists.
Blaze studied the priest's face, reading the exhaustion there, the weight of years spent carrying other people's pain. "You're tired," he said, and for the first time, his voice carried something that might have been genuine understanding. "Tired of being strong for everyone else. Tired of pretending you have all the answers."
Aldren's breathing had grown shallow. The medallion around his neck still held a faint glow, but it seemed dimmer now, as if his doubt was leeching away its power.
"I could make it stop," Blaze continued. "All of it. The questions, the responsibility, the crushing weight of other people's expectations. No more watching good people suffer while you try to explain why God allows it."
For a long moment, the only sound was Aldren's labored breathing. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady again, though tears had carved tracks through the dirt on his face.
"You're probably right about everything," he said. "Maybe I am a fraud. Maybe I've been lying to myself and everyone else for years." He looked up at Blaze, his eyes bright with unshed tears but unbroken. "But I'd rather be a fool with hope than a wise man without it."
The ring on Blaze's finger pulsed brighter, responding to the priest's anguish. But instead of satisfaction, Blaze felt something unexpected—a hollow ache in his chest that had nothing to do with hunger.
He stood abruptly, turning away. "We'll continue this tomorrow. When you've had time to think."
As he walked toward the exit, Kael fell into step beside him. Neither of them looked back at the priest, still chained among the ruins of what had once been sacred ground.
The temple still smelled like the community it had once served—old incense mixed with the lingering scent of Sunday dinners shared in the parish hall. Now those smells competed with dampness and the metallic tang of dried blood. Blaze had lit a small fire in the old brazier, more for atmosphere than warmth. The flickering light made everything look unstable, shifting, like the ground beneath certainty itself.
He'd been watching Aldren for hours, letting silence do most of the work. Every time Kael suggested they end this, Blaze waved him off. This wasn't about killing—it was about understanding something that had been eating at him since his transformation. How do you break something that claims to be unbreakable?
"Can I ask you something?" Blaze's voice was casual, almost friendly. "What happens when a church closes down?"
Aldren raised his head with obvious effort. His voice came out as a dry rasp. "The building may crumble. Faith lives on."
"See, that's what everyone says." Blaze stood, began pacing. "But I grew up Catholic. Went to St. Anthony's until I was sixteen." He ran his fingers along a crack in the stone wall. "When they closed it down—not enough parishioners, not enough money—they stripped everything valuable first. The stained glass, the bronze fixtures, even the pews. What was left wasn't holy. It was just... empty."
Something in his tone made Kael look up sharply. This was more personal than usual.
Aldren's eyes followed Blaze's movement. "Your church failed because it was built on earthly foundations. Ours—"
"Is different?" Blaze crouched in front of him. "Then prove it. Pray. Right here, right now. Show me what real faith looks like."
The challenge hung in the air between them. Aldren's throat worked, and for a moment he looked very young—like a boy called on in Sunday school who hadn't done his homework.
Slowly, he bowed his head. "Lord of Light, I... I ask for your guidance. Give me strength to—"
"Louder." Blaze reached out and grasped the silver pendant at Aldren's throat. His palm hissed where it touched the blessed metal, but he didn't let go. "If your God is real, He should hear you, right?"
Aldren's voice cracked as he raised it. "Please, show your servant mercy. Deliver me from this darkness—"
"Do you feel anything?" Blaze's grip tightened on the pendant, his face contorting with pain from the burn. "Any warmth? Any presence? Or is it just you, talking to yourself in an empty room?"
From across the chamber, Kael shifted uncomfortably. He'd grown up believing in something too—different gods, older ones—but the principle was the same. Faith was supposed to mean you weren't alone. The silence here felt absolute.
Aldren's breathing became shallow. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. "He... He's listening. He's always listening."
"Is He?" Blaze leaned closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're having a one-sided conversation with the ceiling."
"The Light doesn't always answer immediately," Aldren said, but his voice wavered. "Faith means trusting even when—"
"Even when He ignores you?" Blaze twisted the chain slightly, not enough to strangle but enough to remind Aldren of his helplessness. "Even when good people suffer and He does nothing? Even when children die and He's mysteriously absent from the funeral?"
Aldren's composure finally cracked. "You don't understand! It's not about getting what you want. It's about—"
"About what?" Blaze released the pendant suddenly, letting Aldren slump forward. "About making excuses for an absent parent? About pretending indifference is love?"
The priest's shoulders shook. When he looked up, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "He's not absent. He can't be. If He is, then..." His voice trailed off.
"Then what?" Blaze's tone was almost gentle now, like a therapist leading a patient to a breakthrough. "Say it."
"Then everything I've done has been meaningless." The words came out as barely a whisper. "Every comfort I've given, every promise I've made, every time I've told someone their suffering has purpose..." Aldren's voice broke completely. "It would all be lies."
Kael found himself looking away. He'd expected defiance, maybe anger. Not this raw, naked fear of meaninglessness.
Blaze sat back on his heels, studying the broken man in front of him. The cruel satisfaction he'd expected to feel wasn't there. Instead, there was something that felt uncomfortably like recognition.
"Maybe," he said quietly, "the comfort was real, even if the source wasn't. Maybe helping people doesn't require divine permission."
Aldren looked up at him, confusion mixing with despair. "What?"
"I'm saying maybe you got it backward. Maybe the good you did came from you, not from some distant deity who may or may not exist." Blaze's voice was thoughtful now, working through something himself. "Maybe that's enough."
The fire crackled in the silence that followed. Aldren stared at him, tears finally spilling over. "But if there's no Light... if there's no purpose beyond this world... what's the point of any of it?"
Blaze was quiet for a long moment, his own certainty shaken by the question. Finally, he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe that's what we're all trying to figure out."
In the shadows, Kael frowned. This wasn't how these conversations usually went. Usually, Blaze broke people and fed on their despair. This felt different. Dangerous, somehow.
"Master," Kael said carefully, "perhaps we should—"
"Leave us." Blaze's voice was sharp, final. "Both of you need to think."
As Kael retreated to the far end of the temple, Blaze remained crouched before Aldren, two lost souls sharing the weight of unanswered questions in a place where neither of them belonged.
By dawn, Aldren looked like he'd aged twenty years in a single night. The physical injuries were bad enough—bruises mottling his skin, dried blood crusting his torn robes—but it was his eyes that told the real story. They'd gone flat, lifeless, like windows in an abandoned house.
Blaze had been watching him for the past hour, saying nothing. Sometimes silence was the cruelest thing you could give someone—time to think, to realize how completely their world had collapsed. Kael paced in the shadows, clearly wanting this over with, but smart enough not to interrupt.
Finally, Blaze moved closer. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle. "Do you still think He's listening?"
Aldren's throat worked, but no sound came out. He stared at the floor between Blaze's feet, unable to meet his eyes. The absence of an answer said everything.
"I didn't think so." Blaze felt a pang of something—not quite regret, but close enough to be uncomfortable. He pushed it aside. "I'm sorry it had to be this way."
And he was, in a strange way. There was no satisfaction in watching someone's faith crumble, only a hollow sense of recognition. He'd lost his own beliefs once, though not like this.
Blaze gestured to Kael, who reluctantly approached. "Help me move him."
"Move him where?" Kael's voice was careful, uncertain.
"The altar." Blaze pulled Aldren to his feet, supporting most of his weight. The priest didn't resist—couldn't, really. "We're going to end this."
They laid Aldren on the stone altar where countless offerings had once been blessed. The symbolism felt heavy, wrong somehow, but Blaze couldn't stop now. The hunger was too strong, the ring's influence too insistent.
Aldren's lips moved in what might have been a final prayer, but no sound emerged. His eyes found Blaze's one last time—not defiant anymore, just tired.
"I know," Blaze whispered, understanding passing between them. "I'm tired too."
When it was over, Blaze stood over the body, feeling empty rather than satisfied. The blood had been bitter with despair, leaving him nauseous instead of strengthened. This wasn't victory—it was just waste.
Kael cleared his throat. "What now?"
Blaze looked at the two surviving zealots cowering by the entrance—young men who'd probably joined the church to feel important, to be part of something larger than themselves. Now they huddled together like children after a nightmare.
"You're going home," Blaze told them, his voice flat. "You're going to tell everyone what happened here. Tell them their priest is dead. Tell them the Church couldn't protect him."
One of them, barely old enough to shave, began to cry. "Please, we—"
"I'm not going to hurt you," Blaze said, and meant it. "But they need to know. They need to understand that their faith won't save them any more than it saved him."
The zealots nodded frantically, desperate to leave this place of broken promises.
As they stumbled away, dragging Aldren's body between them, Kael watched his master carefully. "You're not what I expected when I first met you."
Blaze turned from the altar, wiping blood from his mouth with a trembling hand. "What did you expect?"
"A monster, I suppose. Someone who enjoyed this." Kael gestured at the ruined temple, the bloodstains, the lingering smell of death. "But you look sick."
Blaze was quiet for a long moment. The ring on his finger had gone dormant, its whispers satisfied for now. Without its influence, he could think more clearly—and what he saw in his recent actions didn't sit well.
"Maybe that's the difference between evil and necessity," he said finally. "Monsters enjoy the cruelty. I just... endure it."
Hours later, when the zealots reached Greywick with their grim burden, the town erupted in shocked whispers. Father Aldren, their spiritual anchor, their proof that goodness could triumph—dead at their church steps, his holy symbol driven through his heart like a spike of mockery.
Some wept. Others raged. But most felt something worse than either emotion: doubt. If their most devout servant could fall, if their Light could be snuffed out so easily, what protection did any of them have?
By evening, the name "Crimson Shadow" was no longer whispered as rumor but spoken as fact. A real threat that had proven itself against the best they had to offer.
In the ruins of the old temple, Blaze sat alone on the altar steps, staring at his blood-stained hands. He'd wanted to break the Church's hold on the town, to prove that their faith was hollow. He'd succeeded—but the victory tasted like ash in his mouth.
Power, he was learning, was a lonelier thing than he'd expected. And some prices, once paid, could never be refunded.
The broken church had become his throne, just as he'd planned. He only wished he wanted to sit on it.