Heroes to Hunted

Despite my hard-won triumph, Vincent still savored the taste of Joseph's blood as if it were a delicacy.

"Get away from him..." I growled. My footsteps faltered and my mind felt sluggish from exhaustion. Still, I grasped the dagger I had snatched from the captain with unsteady fingers.

With a fierce determination, I hurled the weapon toward Vincent with all my might. It spun in the air before the honed blade plunged deep into his flesh, causing the pure red of his suit to be tainted black from his oozing blood.

Vincent let out a groan, his jaws no longer locked onto Joseph's neck in a killer's embrace. Instead, he staggered backward, his hand clawing for the weapon that now protruded from his spine.

"What might this be?" he intoned, his voice smooth and measured, devoid of any trace of anger or fear, as he carefully extracted the blade from his back. He quietly groaned, then pulled it to view in front of him, examining it with a keen interest.

A jolt of agony pierced my side as I awaited him to turn around and confront me, a reminder of my wound. Exhausted, I braced myself, my gut clenching and releasing, waves of torment radiating through me.

'Gotta patch myself up, but I can't...' a cough wracked my frame, and creeping unease settled in.

The prospect of confronting the fullkin loomed, more daunting now with my battered and bruised body. Then, a sound emanated from my pocket - the clink of glass on glass.

A spark of hope ignited within me as my hand fumbled in my trouser pocket. 'That's right! I've got those disgustingly amazing potions!'

Meanwhile, Vincent turned to me with a tilted head. "Might I inquire, did you lose this?" he held up the dagger to the lantern light, its edge coated with a mixture of the captain's and his blood. Then, his steadied eyes narrowed on the fresh corpse behind me. "Ah... I suppose you're an adversary," he shrugged with apathy and dropped the dagger, uncaring about his slain ally.

"Yeah, you're supposing right," I chuckled, trying to keep him busy with conversation as I withdrew a small vial, its vibrant red contents swirling alongside my arm's tremors. "Just give me a second, would you?"

Though I made that request jokingly, Vincent shockingly obliged with a gentlemen's bow. "As you wish," he smiled with a posture of elegance as he patiently awaited me. "Take all of the time you need, Sir."

As I reached for the bottle, a hint of suspicion crept into my thoughts. 'Is this guy really letting me do this?' I eyed him doubtfully but decided not to dwell on his motivations and focused on my task.

With a quick twist, the sponge cork popped out from the vial's neck and flew across the room, landing on the floor with a soft tap.

Without hesitation, I downed the potion, bracing myself for the sickly-sweet tang that coated my tongue. The metallic taste mingled with the syrupy zest, and I battled the urge to retch. But I knew this was my only chance of survival, so I forced a smile and swallowed the tincture.

The moments that ensued were as excruciating as they were relieving. My dying flesh sputtered to life, weaving intricate strands back together. It stung, seared, and throbbed, but the agony soon faded, taking the wound with it.

I skimmed my fingers over my once-pierced skin to find my wounds were a distant memory. Like a dream, they had faded away to nothingness, leaving not a single scar or scratch behind as proof of their existence.

I exhaled a breath, my weariness dissipating as I braced myself for the fight ahead. My hand closed around the hilt of the captain's longsword, its elongated, crimson-covered blade shimmering from dim light. "I'm ready," I affirmed, the words strained but resolute.

Vincent's concerned expression was unexpected, given his fearsome reputation as a fullkin. His countenance radiated refinement and courtesy, belying the predator lurking within. "You're prepared? Are you sure?" he asked, his smile the height of suavity.

"Yes. Let's fight alre-" I started, but before I could finish, Vincent dashed forward with incredible speed, much like the fullkin I had faced in the manor. However, unlike her, Vincent exuded an air of seasoned battle-hardiness. The devastating precision of his attack confirmed this.

He appeared next to me, his palm rocketed into my ribs with a tremendous force that shattered bones like twigs.

The crunch of splintering bone echoed through my body, accompanied by the sound of my labored breathing as I gasped for air.

'Wha-' was my panicked thought as I rag-dolled across the room, propelled by the sheer force of the strike. Finally, I came to a jarring halt, followed by a distinct crackling sound, as I collided with the unyielding bars of a nearby prisoner cell, their metallic clang ringing across the walls and rattling in place.

I staggered to my feet, coughing violently, my vision trembled and faded in and out of focus. "Wha-what happened?" I managed to gasp. Then, twisting my head, I focused on my assailant.

Vincent's glaring yellow eyes pierced through the darkness like torches, watching me with contempt as I struggled to catch my breath. "Oh, you humans," he shook his head in belittlement, "It bewilders me how you manage to survive in such a harsh world with such fragile bodies. It's truly an inspiration to us all!"

He extended his arms into the darkness, one wielding his silver-engraved cane. The tips of his predator's fangs became barely visible as he curved his lips in a calculated smile. The air around him seemed to thicken, heavy with a sense of foreboding.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir," he said in a voice that dripped with a polished and practiced civility. "My name is Vincent Graves. Fullkin, Son of Viktor and Zofia Graves, Duke of the Mire, and," he paused, bowing low, his shadow stretching across the ceiling and walls like an ink stain, "quite a gentleman, I assure you."

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