Dawn was the most detested moment for vampires.
Not from physiological fear of sunlight—for Elian, having lived over three centuries as "nobility," sunlight merely caused discomfort and power reduction, no longer lethal. What he despised was dawn's unavoidable, cyclical weakness.
—"Rest Day."
Every seventy-two hours, his bodily functions would forcibly drop to minimum, entering death-like deep rest. In this state, he had no consciousness, no power; his heart would completely stop, body temperature matching the environment. He would become a true "living dead" in legendary sense—fragile and defenseless. This was his sole, most fatal Achilles' heel in his long life.
When the first dawn ray pierced the bulletproof windows, casting pale spots on the floor, that familiar, bone-deep fatigue surged like tide.
Elian's movements showed their first imperceptible slowness.
"Hey, vampire."
Rafe's voice came from the dining room. Having just finished his all-night exertion, he was shirtless, stuffing his third bloody steak into his mouth, his vigorous vitality seeming ready to ignite the apartment's cold air. He noticed Elian's abnormality—that always-flawless face now carried a trace of sickly pallor.
"What? Stayed up too late reading and forgot your 'tomato juice' supplement?" He grinned mockingly. "Need me to donate some? Though my blood might be too strong—afraid you delicate nobles might get indigestion."
Elian ignored his crude provocation, walking to his bedroom door and grasping the handle. He turned back, using those gray-blue eyes deeper than usual to take one final look at Rafe.
"For the next eight hours, don't enter the west wing," his voice was lower than usual, carrying undeniable command. "Don't let anyone in. No matter what you hear, or... nothing at all."
With that, he entered his room, the heavy soundproof door closing with a "click," completely separating two worlds.
Rafe was momentarily stunned, then scoffed. He naturally knew vampires had "resting" habits—in his view, this was just cowardly behavior requiring hiding for sleep. However, seeing that always-superior creature show such fatigue brought him sick satisfaction.
He had the entire spacious apartment to himself.
Initially, he felt unprecedented freedom. He could blast deafening heavy metal music without concern; go shirtless in the living room, letting sweat splatter the floor freely; he could even silently flip off Elian's closed door.
But gradually, a strange "discomfort" he couldn't explain began spreading.
The space seemed... too quiet.
Without that repulsive yet perpetually present cold aura as reference, the entire apartment became like a truly massive, lifeless cage. He even found himself missing that creature's barely-there breathing sounds.
Restlessness surged again.
Just then, an extremely subtle, abnormal vibration transmitted through the floor.
Rafe's music stopped abruptly. He instantly stood straight, ears twitching, amber pupils contracting to alert vertical slits. Werewolf acute hearing caught deliberately suppressed high-frequency cutting sounds from outside the building.
Someone was breaching the building's external wall structure!
"Intrusion alert! Intru—"
The piercing alarm only sounded half-time before being cut off like a strangled duck. All electronic devices in the apartment flickered simultaneously, then went dark.
EMP electromagnetic pulse!
Rafe's heart sank. This wasn't ordinary infiltration but a premeditated, professional military assault! The opponents not only knew the safe house's structure but even its security system's core weaknesses.
The traitor's betrayal was far more thorough than imagined!
"Boom!"
A tremendous explosion—the living room's massive bulletproof window was blown open by some high-energy weapon. Dozens of agile shadows descended like nimble spiders on ropes, pouring inside.
Again—them. The Sacred Thorn Knighthood!
This time they came in force with more sophisticated equipment than before. The leaders carried specialized weapons capable of firing high-pressure silver liquid. Their target was chillingly clear—completely ignoring Rafe in the living room center, they charged straight toward the west corridor, toward Elian's room!
Of course.
Rafe instantly understood. This assault was calculated from the beginning. They'd precisely chosen Elian's weakest "rest day" to launch this deadly strike!
Countless thoughts flashed through Rafe's mind.
He could hide, watching Elian die. This would not only satisfy his revenge but also let him naturally take over the entire operation, leading werewolves to dominate vampires. This was the most beneficial choice for him and his entire race. He could even turn and flee through the blown window—no one would blame a warrior for "cowardice" when facing dozens of strong enemies alone.
He should do this. Logic told him he should.
However, his body moved before making any decision.
"Roooooaaaaar—!!!"
A suppressed, fury and wildness-filled howl erupted from Rafe's throat. The floor beneath cracked instantly, his muscles visibly swelling, amber pupils completely replaced by raging gold!
He didn't retreat but charged like an enraged lion straight at the dozens of knights!
He didn't know why.
Perhaps because warrior's honor wouldn't allow him to turn and flee when facing enemies.
Perhaps because he couldn't bear that insufferably arrogant vampire dying in such humiliating, defenseless manner. He wanted to defeat Elian personally, not through these human scumbags.
Or perhaps... simply because, in last night's hospital, that vampire had also saved his two brothers' lives in his own way.
Werewolves repay their debts!
Battle erupted instantly.
Rafe crashed into the knights' formation like an out-of-control tank. He ignored the silver powder bullets firing at him, letting the vicious metal burn his skin while using claws and fangs to tear front-line enemies to pieces.
The living room instantly became a gore-filled battlefield.
But the knighthood had too many members, and they cooperated perfectly with ruthless tactics. A silver-woven net fell toward him; Rafe roared, tearing it apart with both arms, but his arms were gouged with deep, bone-visible wounds, black smoke continuously rising from them.
Two knights flanked him, their high-pressure sprayers shooting silver liquid streams like venomous snakes at Rafe.
Rafe rolled frantically, avoiding the fatal attack. The silver liquid fell on expensive leather sofas, instantly corroding large holes with teeth-grinding "sizzling" sounds.
He was being suppressed.
He could feel his strength rapidly draining, silver poison invading his body. But he didn't retreat a single step from the corridor leading to Elian's room.
Like a mobile, bloodied fortress, he blocked the only passage with his flesh and blood.
"Remove the obstacle!" the lead knight captain commanded coldly.
Four knights with massive alloy shields formed a square formation like a moving wall, slowly advancing on Rafe. Silver blades protruded from gaps between shields.
Rafe let out a cornered beast's roar, grabbing a nearby heavy obsidian coffee table and hurling it at the shield formation with all his strength!
"Boom!"
The table shattered; the shield formation swayed but didn't collapse.
Now!
Rafe seized that momentary gap, his body surging forward, forcing himself into the formation.
In the cramped space, the most primitive, bloody hand-to-hand combat erupted. Rafe abandoned all defense, trading injury for injury, life for life. His claws tore one knight's throat while three silver blades simultaneously pierced his back and ribs.
Excruciating pain made Rafe's vision darken.
But he didn't fall. Using his teeth, he bit down hard on a knight's shoulder, then using his last strength, swung him like a weapon at the others.
The battle had lasted over ten minutes.
Half the invading knights were down.
And Rafe had reached his limit. Bathed in blood, covered in silver-burned, grotesque wounds, he knelt on one knee, supporting himself with a broken blade taken from an enemy, gasping heavily. Blood dripped from his chin onto the floor, blooming into sinister red lotuses.
Before him lay the knights' corpses.
Behind him was the corridor leading to Elian's room—the passage he'd defended with his life.
Five knights remained. Their captain looked at the hellish demon that was Rafe, showing wariness for the first time.
"Monster..." he said quietly. "Execute final protocol."
He retrieved a silver metal case from behind, opening it to reveal an ominous... silver-core bomb.
They would blow this place sky-high, taking both Elian and this stubborn werewolf!
However, just as he activated the bomb, he suddenly felt a chill behind him.
An extreme, soul-freezing pure murderous intent enveloped him.
He stiffly turned around.
Somehow, behind him stood a figure.
A pale-faced man in silk pajamas, barefoot, standing there soundlessly, his gray-blue eyes now deep as bottomless abysses, burning with cold ghostfire.
It was Elian.
He'd been forcibly awakened from rest by the violent battle.
The cost of forcibly interrupting rest was enormous—his body was weaker now than ever. But the aura emanating from his ancient bloodline was more terrifying than any other time.
"Those who disturb my rest," Elian's voice was soft and gentle yet cruelly bone-deep, "usually don't get a second chance."
Before the words finished, his figure vanished.
The knight captain felt only a blur, then an irresistible force gripped his throat. His proud strength and combat skills were laughably pathetic before this opponent.
"Crack."
A crisp bone-breaking sound.
Elian casually discarded the corpse like a broken doll. His gaze swept over the remaining four knights.
Those four battle-hardened knights, upon meeting his gaze, simultaneously felt soul-deep trembling and involuntarily stepped back.
They faced not a person.
But an elegant, furious... Death awakened from slumber.
...
When all dust settled, dawn light had completely illuminated this chaotic battlefield.
Elian dealt with the remaining enemies, but the aftereffects of forced awakening followed. Intense dizziness and weakness forced him to lean against a wall.
His gaze crossed the corpse-strewn floor toward the corridor entrance.
There, Rafe finally couldn't hold on and collapsed.
He'd lost too much blood, silver poison penetrating his organs. But his collapse direction still used his body to block the door to Elian's room one final time.
Elian stood there, quietly watching the unconscious, mountain-like figure.
For the first time in three centuries, an emotion he couldn't understand, define, or control quietly grew in his long-silent heart.
He slowly walked toward that final defense built of blood and flesh.