After finishing his plate of juicy blood fruits, Angel collapsed onto the couch, the remnants of crimson still on his lips. His breath had steadied, but his thoughts were far from calm.
"How am I supposed to live like this...?" he muttered, staring blankly at the ornate ceiling above.
Malachi, who had been leaning against a bookshelf nearby, slowly walked over and took a seat beside him. The old vampire exuded both elegance and a strange warmth. He placed a gloved hand on Angel's shoulder, offering a small, reassuring smile.
"Is there something the matter?" he asked gently.
Angel let out a heavy sigh. "My parents… they're planning to move us back to Italy by the end of the week. How am I supposed to receive the fruits from there? I can't control this hunger on my own..."
Malachi raised an eyebrow and leaned back, folding his arms. "Then that would be better," he said simply.
Angel blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"You'll be closer to what you need," Malachi said. "Currently, the other vampires are scattered across the western world. More importantly, the academy—built and maintained by the Unitas Alliance—is there too."
Angel sat up straighter. "Wait… there's an academy? And factions?"
Malachi chuckled. "You've only just scratched the surface of our world."
He extended a pale finger and began listing them off:
"There are four major factions:
First, us—the Vampire Faction.
Second, the Wolf Faction—werebeasts of varying clans and ancient lineages.
Third, the Mage Faction—those who wield arcane arts, both ancient and modern.
Lastly, the Hunter Faction—ordinary humans trained to fight and contain supernatural threats."
Angel furrowed his brow. "Aren't the Hunters supposed to hate us?"
"They do, in a way," Malachi admitted with a shrug. "But surprisingly, we're on neutral terms. A fragile peace exists, bound by necessity and old accords."
He stood and walked toward the fireplace, tapping the orb on his cane with a thoughtful expression.
"The Unitas Institution Academy was founded by these four factions together. It serves as a training ground for individuals like you—those who have awakened, inherited, or been altered. Alongside your supernatural training, you'll also study the regular human curriculum so you can live among them without standing out."
Angel stood, the news stirring something inside him. "So I'll meet people like me?"
"Yes," Malachi said, turning to him. "You'll find others who understand the struggle of duality—of being human and something else."
A flicker of confidence returned to Angel's expression. "Then I guess I won't have to worry about choosing a school."
Malachi smiled. "The academy is located within Vatican City. Peace is maintained there by the Hunter Faction. Secrecy is preserved by us, the Vampires. Leadership belongs to the Mages. And protection is assured by the Wolves."
Angel nodded slowly, absorbing it all. "Vatican City, huh…"
Before Angel left, Malachi handed him a small, dark glass bottle.
"Blood fruit pills," he explained. "They'll help you during the flight. Only take them when needed, and never more than five at once."
---
Two days later, Angel sat by the airplane window, gazing at the sea of clouds beneath them. The plane hummed softly as it soared westward. He felt a dull pressure in his chest, a mix of anxiety and something darker.
His parents kept glancing at him with concern. His skin had paled slightly since his transformation, and though he assured them he felt fine, the subtle changes were hard to hide.
As the flight progressed, new sensations assaulted him—scents. Dozens of them. Each passenger carried a unique smell, but beneath them all was something terrifyingly sweet: blood. His vampiric instincts had refined his sense of smell, and now, the once-metallic scent of blood was replaced with something like honey and wine.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.
Just a few more hours.
---
Fifteen hours later, the family arrived in Rome. A taxi dropped them off at a modest but charming house that once belonged to Angel's grandfather. It was a beautiful blend of antique Italian charm and modern comfort. Dusty relics, vintage movie posters, and classic band memorabilia adorned the walls.
"I'll go unpack in my room," Angel muttered, still exhausted from the trip.
"Alright, come help us afterward," his mother replied, already sorting through suitcases.
Angel's new room, once his father's, felt like a time capsule. Old posters of 1980s rock bands, vintage cassette tapes, and faded photographs lined the shelves. He collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
The mattress was firmer than what he was used to, but comforting in a way. It grounded him.
---
The next day, Angel sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, eyes shut tight, his breath labored.
"Huff… huff…"
He could feel the pressure rising again. That familiar heat crawling under his skin, fangs barely poking through his gums, eyes faintly glowing crimson. His body trembled with restraint.
"No… not now…"
He focused, channeling every ounce of discipline into keeping the beast within at bay. Slowly, the burning subsided.
"I did it…" he whispered.
His control was holding, albeit fragile. To calm himself further, he took five of the blood fruit pills Malachi had given him. The sweetness coated his tongue, dulling the hunger.
Later that day, he wandered the cobbled streets of Rome. Tourists chattered, locals sipped espresso, and the golden afternoon sun cast long shadows across the plazas. Yet, Angel felt disconnected.
"What's even the difference between here and Japan…? Why did we even have to move?"
He clenched his fists and, without realizing it, let his vampiric strength surge. In frustration, he struck a nearby stone wall, leaving a spiderweb of cracks before quickly retracting his power.
A few passersby gasped, but Angel was already walking away, his hood pulled low.
---
As night fell, Angel found himself in a quiet park, the full moon casting a silver glow over the landscape. The world was still—too still.
Then, he noticed someone.
A man in a black jacket and a porcelain-white mask passed by him. Angel sniffed the air subtly—and froze.
No scent of blood. No heartbeat. Nothing.
"What the…?"
He narrowed his eyes, following from a safe distance. The masked man stalked the shadows, his steps silent, his intent clear. He trailed a young woman walking alone through the darkened park path.
Angel's instincts flared. The man moved like a predator—fluid, confident, and sinister.
Angel crouched low behind a bench, watching carefully.
Whatever this man was… he wasn't human.
And he wasn't going to let the woman find out the hard way.