I Wish You Were Never Reborn

A flash of white light. The scattering of mana, lost to the aether.

Shay staggered sideways, landing a heavy stomp onto the arena tile to keep her balance.

Gasps erupted from the crowd. A single errant yell cut through the noise, followed by a suffocating blanket of silence.

Shay’s snake pin had lost its golden lustre.

Hou retreated. Either he was surprised by his glancing strike or he sensed hostile intent from an outside party.

It was unintentional. Tyvan quickly reined in his emotions.

With Hou’s decisive blow, the match was over. The longer it continued, the greater the risk of her demise.

Tyvan needed to step in. He needed to protect her...

--one last time.

However...

Shay reached her hand out toward him.

She kept her eyes on her opponent, as was proper.

Those eyes... within them burned that figurative fire that Song Wei praised so highly.

And that movement... Tyvan understood the intent.

She was asking for a sword.

Tyvan drew his stolen jian from its sheath. He tossed it to her, hilt first.

Shay caught it and tossed her quarterstaff aside. She held it, blade-forward, her thumb extended on the crossguard.

How... very... interesting...

Her heart rate slowed to almost-calm... as if her earlier anxiety was a lie.

Whatever answer that young woman was searching for, she’d found it.

Hou sensed the change-- drastic and disconcerting, considering his condition. He was exhausted. He was uncertain. He was afraid. He rushed forward, attacking with an angled thrust.

Shay held her sword out with the patience of a seasoned warrior. She turned the attack away wth a mere touch before powering her shoulder into Hou’s sternum. Then, she smoothly transitioned into a twisting, push kick against his stomach.

Hou stumbled backward, tumbling, and ending in a kneel and his downward palm scraping bloody against the stones.

Shay pirouetted and stood with her knee still raised, her sword pointed forward.

Tyvan narrowed his eyes to thin squints.

What... arrogance. He had to stifle his instinct to applaud.

Hou, lost in his emotions, charged with a leaping, overhead swing. Shay’s jian caught her opponent’s blade at its base, robbing her opponent of his momentum. She grabbed onto Hou’s sword with her thumb and forefinger and placed the edge of her own against his neck.

Then, in a merciless, domineering manner, she pressed down, sending Hou crashing to his knees.

The match was truly over, then-- or so it should have been.

Tyvan didn’t like the look in Hou’s eyes, so he reached into his coat. Fingers wrapped around the pistol grip. Thumb positioned to disengage the safety.

Hou glanced over to him... then back up at Shay.

“I... yield.”

The crowd exploded with raucous noise-- so loud that it made Tyvan’s head ache. Song Wei wept openly-- and loudly, in complete disregard for any sense of decorum.

Tyvan immediately leapt into the arena, rushing to Shay’s side.

She dropped her weapon-- horrible form. He snatched it by the hilt before it fell, but in that moment, she grabbed hold of him and buried her face in his chest.

Bah. He was tricked, yet again.

“Tyvan,” she said... “I want to go home.”

Reasonable. Both of them had enough excitement for the evening.

Tyvan reviewed his surroundings. The crowd was awash with uninterested chatter. The Zhang and Song family heads had devolved into a shouting match.

--but Shay wanted to leave...

She had done well.

(Also, he was hungry.)

He released his pistol, reaching forward to offer his palm.

A small smile crossed Shay’s lips as she gently placed her hand in his.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “And don’t open them until I tell you to.”

Dalgyal looked upon the Song Estate with morbid curiosity. Since he and his subordinates arrived, the sounds from within that place seemed largely muted.

Dozens of cars were parked in the lot. Logically, there were hundreds of guests present. There was an event taking place-- a martial tournament if his mistress’ information was correct.

The estate had high walls, but that didn’t explain the lack of noise. There should have been shouting. There should have been a constant, ever-present droning of voices.

No... they were there-- but only if he concentrated to listen. It was as if he had his ear pressed against the thick surface of a sealed casket.

And likely, the blockage of sound went both ways. The estate yielded no reaction to the panicked gunshots and screams of the dying just outside.

It was strange... and he did not like it. But... it was also fortunate that his work went uninterrupted.

Dalgyal dragged one of the bodies across the sidewalk. He tossed into the unmarked van before counting the heads.

Fifteen. A little over half the total.

He shut the door, banging twice on the side to signal the driver to leave.

A second van was on the way...

They’d recovered 28 bodies in total. All were hunted, their bodies drained completely of blood. But... because of it, (as another odd stroke of fortune,) the corpses left no blood trails. They still left bits of skin, hair, and fabric from being dragged-- but blood was the most obvious indicator of murder.

28 human bodies. The number was problematic.

The rules of ❴Eminence❵ had been bent and broken. Whoever was responsible needed to be brought to justice and...

--and then, what?

Even if the sire of the abomination was identified, who would punish them? ❴Eminence❵ had been without a unifying leader for years-- even before Dalgyal entered his mistress’ service.

He rubbed at his face through his cloth mask, irritating the sensitive skin underneath.

The implications were beyond his pay grade.

He glanced at the remaining bodies, arranged in a pile. There were too many dead. Their disappearances would be investigated.

Most of the deceased belonged to a single group, a paramilitary organization of a sort. They had uniforms and carried batons and small arms. Considering as such, perhaps it would be easier to suppress the information.

They were soldiers, just like he was-- a profession known for being exposed to a certain degree of lethal risk. It was a shame they were so woefully underprepared for the evening. Mere batons and pistols were lacking tools to hunt a vampire.

--not that better equipment would have ensured their survival.

The humans were killed by a single childe... an abomination. It had given in to The Hunger, transforming into a raving, thick-muscled beast. Without its rational mind, it fed voraciously, heedless to any observers-- unresponsive to anything irrelevant to its base instincts.

His subordinates discovered the creature attempting to smash its way through the heavy wooden doors of the Song Estate.

It killed one of his men and injured one other. It was not so powerful to inconvenience him, though. Even if more lackeys died, they would not be mourned-- but negligent waste would be a disservice to their owner.

...Concerning negligence, he was certain to shoulder the blame for the numerous dead. But perhaps gathering enough information could compensate for his incompetence.

Dalgyal checked the gate doors of the Song Estate once more. Solid hardwood. Old yet strong. His subordinates had removed all traces of blood from it-- the only place blood was spilt.

The abomination was desperate to enter. Reckless. Heedless of injury. Its arms and legs, its claws on teeth-- its inhuman bones fractured and burst in its madness... yet it failed to yield a single scratch against a mundane door.

Stranger still...

Dalgyal approached the gate... and took a sagacious step to the side. He hammered a heavy right-straight into the stone-brick wall.

His fist throbbed with a dull ache as he looked upon his work. Even through his gloves, he left a mark of blood. He wiped that away with his sleeve.

The wall remained whole-- not even betraying a minuscule, hairline fracture.

But his hand...

His bones were as strong as iron. Nonetheless, assaulting the gate with physical force left his hand mangled and fractured.

The Song Estate was protected.

A reinforced door was no extraordinary surprise. But considering the supernatural reduction of noise, something unseen further protected the Song family.

Had the sorcerers found a reason to leave ❴The Towers❵?

Or could it possibly have something to do with ❴Sleeping Forest❵ and their crystals?

More questions... all beyond him.

Dalgyal walked back to his vehicle.

He opened the rear compartment and looked upon the beast. It was bound in blessed chains that burned to the touch. A cloth gag had been jammed down its throat, preventing its screams but not its trembling and the darting about of its bloodshot eyes. The bones of its arms and legs were broken, folded, and bound to prevent its regeneration.

It looked nothing like a vampire-- and even less like a human.

“ksSSHHaYYYYyy~”

How odd. It screeched like some sort of bird.

It would survive until Dalgyal could prepare it for his mistress’ viewing pleasure. He’d procured a lengthy wooden pole, but he’d left it back at the manor.

Hm. He retrieved the creature’s wallet from its still intact pants pocket, opening it to examine the contents.

‘Andrew Zhang.’

The creature was originally Chinese.

Considering his strength, he had a backer. Which clan did he belong to?

Or was a new clan vying for power?

Dalgyal was merely a soldier. He could observe the board as he pleased, but he would never be privy to the thoughts of the masters who manipulated the pieces.

The protected gate and walls. The uncommon silence. The Song Estate and the once-human boy with the surname Zhang.

...The mysterious voice that dared to make demands of his mistress.

Perhaps she would be able to make sense of the evening’s events.

And perhaps, then, she could determine an advantage to be had.