The vampire lord stepped into the moonlight through the gaping hole in the wall, blood dripping from his claws, his cloak fluttering behind him like shadowy wings.
"You can run…" he whispered, his voice carrying unnaturally far. "…but there is no escaping fate."
He leapt down from the third floor with eerie grace, landing amidst the broken bodies and blood-soaked earth of the courtyard. The battle had just ended. Revolutionaries, bloodied and panting, stood amid corpses—some friend, many foe. The last of the undead had fallen.
Several soldiers immediately ran to Thierry and Elise, creating a protective circle.
"Protect the captain and Elise with your lives!" one of them shouted.
The vampire lord grinned, showing blood-stained fangs. "Welcome… to hell."
He dashed forward, ripping through the first line of defense. Elise called out, "Defensive formation! Mages, behind me!"
Four battle-worn mages quickly raised their staves behind her, as she stood firm with sword in hand.
"Get Thierry out of here!" she barked, as a pair of soldiers carefully dragged his unconscious body to safety.
The vampire lord cackled as he dodged fire bolts and ice spikes. "Ahh… courage," he murmured, tearing a soldier in half. "Tastes better when turned into despair."
He lunged again, blades slicing through armor and flesh with disturbing ease. A scream rang out, then another. Spells exploded around him, but he was too fast, too wild.
A mage stumbled back—wounded, barely standing—just as the vampire appeared behind him with a hand raised for the kill.
Then—
BOOM.
The vampire lord was flung backward like a ragdoll, crashing into a wall with enough force to crack it wide open.
"What the hell was that?" one revolutionary shouted.
The vampire lord groaned, blood spilling from his mouth. Confused. Dazed.
A voice echoed calmly from the dust:
"YOU! You caused this."
All heads turned as a figure emerged through the smoke—coat torn by travel, eyes like burning coals. Blue flames licked his shoulders, burning the air itself.
The vampire lord's eyes widened. "No… it can't be… You—!"
Richard didn't answer. He was already in front of him.
Fists, flame, fury.
The vampire screamed as blue fire burned his flesh on contact—fire that clung, seared, and disobeyed natural law.
One punch to the gut sent him crashing through the mansion. The wall shattered with a thunderous blast.
Richard walked through the hole calmly, the same hole the vampire lord's body had made.
In the courtyard, the revolutionaries stood frozen.
"…Who the hell is that?" someone whispered.
Elise, wide-eyed, whispered to herself, "…no one ever lived to tell the tale…"
She blinked, shook herself out of her daze, and shouted, "Tend to the wounded! Mages, regroup!"
Inside the wreckage of the mansion—
The vampire lord, bloodied and barely on his feet, coughed and chuckled. "You… should've killed me when you had the chance. I'm not as weak as before."
Richard didn't flinch. "I won't make the same mistake twice."
He vanished.
A flash of blue light.
A blade materialized inches from the vampire's throat. He barely dodged.
The swing obliterated four ancient statues behind him.
"You're still looking down on me?!" the vampire lord howled. "I'll show you what I've become!"
He roared, his body swelling with power. Veins bulged, fangs extended. His eyes turned black.
"I'll kill you!!"
He entered Rage Mode, a transformation only possible from centuries of feeding on blood.
He lunged, faster than before—yet not fast enough.
His fists never met flesh. Richard moved like wind, dodging, swerving, stepping through attacks like dancing through raindrops.
"Why? WHY?! WHY CAN'T I HIT YOU!?"
Richard caught his punch, twisted it, and cut off his right arm in one fluid motion. The vampire screamed.
Then came the punch. A flaming hook to the jaw that sent him crashing through another wall, bone crunching.
Bloodied, wrecked, and barely conscious, the vampire lay broken as Richard stood over him.
The vampire coughed, then grinned with cracked lips. "It doesn't matter… The Day of the Black Sun is coming… and you won't be able to stop us…"
Richard looked down.
"Are you done?"
He ignited his blade, the blue flames roaring.
The blade came down.
A head rolled to the floor.
Silence.
The blue flames dimmed.
Richard slowly fell to one knee, staring at a crack in the ceiling where dawn had begun to shine through.
The golden light pierced the shadows.
And in it, he saw them—his wife and daughter. Smiling.
Alive in memory.
They stepped into the light.
His daughter turned back, her voice unheard—but her lips clear.
"Thank you."
A single tear rolled down Richard's cheek.
He stood, wiped it away, picked up the vampire lord's head, and walked through the rubble.
Daylight.
The revolutionaries were tending to the wounded, loading stretchers, checking pulses.
Then, out from the shadows of the broken mansion—
Richard walked into the courtyard, the vampire lord's severed head in one hand.
Gasps filled the air.
Whispers.
"…That's impossible…"
"…He killed him…"
"…Who is he?"
Elise stared, wide-eyed.
Her voice barely above a whisper:
"…I so need to report this."
End of Chapter 7.