The Monster's Apprentice: Chapter 89 - The Blood of a Conduit | Part 2

Jun 04, 2026

“Even among seasoned hunters, there is confusion about the origins of pureblooded vampires. The truth is simple: they are born, not made. A child carried in the womb of a vampire, whether conceived between two half-bloods, a pureblood and a half-blood, or even a half-blood and another race, will always be a pureblooded vampire. Their lineage is determined not by their parents’ blood, but by the nature of their birth.”

— Reverend Isaac Grimsby, Bloodworth: A Study of Vampiric Predators, page 135

The room erupted with gunfire.

Mina spun around, her twin revolvers blazing, but her shots found nothing but air and smoke. Multiple illusions of Draven shifted around the room. It was impossible to tell which was real, but she couldn’t take the risk and let any of them make contact with her.

Henrik lunged forward, swinging his halberd in a wide arc, cutting through three illusions, only to find the real Draven behind him. Steel met steel. Henrik staggered back, barely deflecting Draven’s sword with the shaft of his halberd.

Mina violently twisted around and fired the remaining bullets in her chamber. Draven pushed off Henrik, his sword a blur as it whirled in a flurry of parries that sent the bullets ricocheting off in every direction. One grazed Henrik’s armor, but he was undeterred. The knight darted at the pureblood while Mina reloaded, swinging his halberd in a downward arc. Draven caught the weapon on his black steel blade and shoved it aside effortlessly. Henrik shifted his armor, clanking, then thrust his gauntleted hand toward the wall. Bricks ripped free, and sunlight spilled in as they were hurled toward Draven. But all the bricks found were more smoky.

Draven’s laughter echoed from somewhere within the hospital wing. Several more illusions of himself wisped into existence.

“He’s a real bastard, I’ll give him that,” Henrik said.

Fire flared from Mina’s fingertips, sending a hail of embers scattering across the room. Several illusions evaporated. A smoky illusion darted at her flank, and instinctively, she drew her blade and slashed at it, only for her sword to pass through harmlessly. Off balance, Draven appeared before her and kicked her backward.

Henrik roared

The vampire twisted. More bricks flew, shattering harmlessly against him, but this time, Henrik thrust his halberd up. A hail of bricks then erupted through the wooden floor beneath Draven, throwing him off balance as he stumbled to the side for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Mina to get another shot off, grazing his cheek.

Draven’s smirk vanished.

He blurred forward, closing the gap in an instant. Mina barely had time to parry his blade, sparks skittering across her sword. Henrik rushed in, swinging his halberd from the side. Draven deflected it effortlessly, his blade a black blur between them. Smoke illusions emerged around them, and Draven disappeared into the crowd.

Mina caught her breath, whirling the shortsword in her left hand and her gun in the right. This wasn’t working. They needed to do something to overpower him. Relentless attacks wouldn’t exhaust him. If they could just land one attack with their holy-water-coated weapons, it would slow him enough for them to stand a chance.

“Enough cowardice!” Henrik shouted, slicing through one of the attacking illusions with his shortsword. “Face us like a true warrior.” He spun, swinging his halberd with his other hand in a downward arc, only for the illusion to catch Henrik’s weapon between the blade and shaft with its own sword. With a smirk, Draven wrenched the weapon away and slammed an elbow into Henrik’s chest, sending him staggering back. Henrik recovered fast and reached out, gripping the broken brick wall beside him. He wrenched the entire section forward, sending a mass of debris crashing down. Draven dodged, but Mina surged forward again, sword blazing with a fresh wave of embers. Draven caught her blade and twisted it, sending it flying from her grip. She threw a punch, flames bursting from her fist, but Draven sidestepped, his knee driving into her stomach. Mina gasped, doubling over. With a devastating follow-up punch, he sent Mina careening into a pile of furniture that shattered on impact. Pain exploded up her back as she dropped her weapons, and dust showered on her.

Henrik roared and tried tackling Draven from behind, but the pureblood retaliated with a vicious kick that sent Henrik stumbling backward.

Slowly, Draven approached him, whirling his blade menacingly. “You will never be a match for me,” he said, sounding almost regretful. “But you are a worthy distraction. For that, I commend you. It is not often a mortal can keep up with me.”

Henrik backed away until his heel kicked his fallen halberd. A brick launched up through the floorboard, kicking up the weapon into Henrik’s grasp. Splinters clinked against his armor.

Draven raised an eyebrow.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, and the air sang with metal on metal. In the chaos, Henrik feinted with his halberd, drawing Draven’s attention, and with a swift motion, he swung his short sword. He slashed Draven’s leg. The pureblood hissed in pain, leaping back as blood dripped from the wound. The holy water burned like acid, the wound smoking as it sizzled against his flesh. For a moment, Draven glared at Henrik with a mix of hatred and grudging respect, his silver eyes glowing with fury. Several smoky illusions of him rushed Henrik at once. The knight sliced through them, but there were too many. He found himself disoriented. Before he could react, the real Draven struck through the haze of smoke, sending the knight careening through the nearby brick wall, crashing into the next room over.

Draven then turned his attention back to Mina, who was struggling to her feet. She rolled aside to avoid a swing of his sword. They kept coming, keeping her pinned to the ground, with no room to recover. Mina rolled to the side just as Draven’s blade came down, stabbing into the wooden floor. She kicked out, catching him in the knee, but it was like kicking a stone wall. He didn’t even flinch.

Mina reached for one of her fallen guns, but Draven’s boot crushed her hand against the wooden floor. There was a brittle crunch and a piercing scream as her bones turned to powder beneath the weight of his heel. Her fingers twisted grotesquely, mangled in directions they were never meant to bend. The gun skittered out of reach as Draven kicked it away, and in the same swift motion, his black blade plunged into Mina’s chest.

Agony tore through her body. The sword drove through her ribs and the floor beneath. Blood flooded her mouth and lungs, bubbling up her throat as she heaved desperately, but each breath was only a wet gurgle.

“How many times must we do this?” he said, looming over her. “This ballad of blood and bone we always dance, it gets quite tiring after a while. Wouldn’t you agree?” He violently drove his boot into her stomach, knocking the last breath from her lungs. Mina writhed, her body jerking as her vision swam in and out of focus. “Fighting me with nothing but brute strength, as if you can overpower me.” He knelt beside her, his fingers wrapping around her throat. His grip gradually tightened as she clawed at him with her only good hand. She ripped the skin from his flesh, but he hardly flinched.“Have you so easily forgotten our last encounter?”

His fist crashed into her face with the weight of a hammer. Her nose shattered, a spray of blood painting his knuckles red. Another punch followed, then another. Bones cracked under the force. Her body went limp, her vision narrowed into a dark tunnel. Blow after blow, until her swollen face was barely recognizable, bloodied, bruised, and broken. She could feel the bone fragments cutting and jabbing where they shouldn’t. It was pain, pure and simple. Utterly agonizing, brutal pain.

Finally, he stopped, his bloodied fist dripping with blood. Mina’s eyes were barely open. She couldn’t feel her swollen face, her crooked nose, or how her cheeks were hot with blood. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to exist.

“All this struggle, all your noble efforts, for what? Look at you now. A failure, like always. You couldn’t protect anyone from me.” Draven leaned closer. “How does it feel, knowing you’ve accomplished nothing?” He tenderly caressed her bloodied face, his smile only getting wider. “One last, miserable failure.”

From behind, Henrik’s voice sounded. “You seem to believe the fight is over.”

Draven turned lazily, as if Henrik were no more than an inconvenience.

The knight had risen to his feet, blood dripping from a wound on his side, but his stance was steady and unwavering. “It will take more than a scratch to kill me,” he said, gripping his halberd with both hands.

Karaline raced across the rooftop as she hauled Violet by the armpit.

Violet’s legs buckled the instant they cleared the low parapet separating the flat roof from the next. The new roof slanted sharply with slate tiles. Violet’s foot shot out from under her; she pitched forward with a gasp. Karaline snagged the back of Violet’s coat and yanked her upright just before she could tumble down the pitch. “Steady! Fuckin’ hell, Vi, ye weigh nothin’!”

The hellish screeches weren’t far behind. The feal succubi swarmed up the drainpipes and brick like spiders. Karaline only had one round in the chamber. There were too many to gun down. Far below, the mannequins were stuttering. The purple threads binding Violet’s fingers were thinning. She was slipping. Her energy was running low.

A succubus cleared the gutter in a single bound and landed behind them. Her breasts bloomed open like razor-toothed flowers. A writhing mass of veiny tendrils lashed out. Violet’s threads snapped, and she seized the succubus with ttelekinesis. The monster was thrown back, crashing through a rusted chimney stack. The mannequins crumpled into heaps of loosely bound wood.

Don’t exert yerself, lass!”

They staggered across the slant. Violet was barely upright, leaning hard into Karaline as they ran. There had to be somewhere they could go, a way down, a balcony with an open door.

Another succubus lunged from over the side of the roof. Karaline whipped the rifle around, and the feral spun off the edge with a fading screech. Claws closed around Karaline’s ankle. She went down hard. The rifle clattered away. A succubus pinned her shoulders to the slate. The creature’s mouth split open to reveal rows of jagged teeth spiraling inward. The hot, rancid breath washed over Karaline’s face.

The rifle skidded toward the edge.

Violet caught the gun telekinetically, suspending it midair. Karaline wrestled with the succubus as its jaws stretched wide to swallow her head whole. Violet’s arms trembled harder. She turned the floating gun onto the succubus and pulled the trigger. The gun floated, barrel wavering, then snapped forward.

The monster’s head exploded. The body slumped, and Karaline managed to roll the creature off the edge of the roof.

Violet’s knees buckled. She caught herself on a chimney. The rifle plummeted.

Karaline glanced over the edge.

Twenty feet below, beside the fallen succubus, was a carriage. The street was empty, otherwise.

They needed to get down fast!

Karaline scooped Violet up. “Hold on, lass.”

Air rushed past before she smashed into the carriage roof. Pain exploded across Karaline’s back and ribs, like someone had driven railroad spikes through her. But Violet was alright. She had taken the brunt of the fall for her.

Violet tumbled free, rolling off the side of the stagecoach unexpectedly and crashing to the street. She groaned, quickly rising to her feet. Purple threads began to weave around Karaline’s shattered body.

“Stop,” she rasped. “Save it. Ye’re spent.”

‘You’re hurt!’

Karaline forced herself onto her elbows, then rolled off the shattered roof. Violet caught her telekinetically for only a second, just enough to cushion the fall.

The succubi’s screams echoed all around. The Ironguard’s whistles were getting closer.

“Get inside, Vi! Find a room, lock the fuckin’ door! Bar it if ye have to. Don’t open it for anyone till ye hear my voice or Mina’s. Understand?”

Violet shook her head and tried helping Karaline up.

A succubus dropped from above. She landed in a crouch between them and the street. Two more followed.

Karaline forced herself to her feet, grabbing hold of Violet. She looked around. Where was the rifle?

Gunshots cracked the air. The succubi jerked as blood splattered across the street. The Ironguard’s whistles pierced the air. Three soldiers charged with bayonets, driving them into the succubi. They stabbed again and again as more of their allies poured onto the street.

The officer at the front, a tall man with lieutenant’s bars, raised a gloved hand. The squad fanned out. “Secure the civilians!” he barked.

Karaline exhaled in shaky relief. “About fuckin’ time.”

They grabbed Karaline and wrenched Violet’s arms behind her back. Silver cuffs snapped shut around her wrists with a metallic clack that echoed like a gunshot in Karaline’s skull.

The necromatic aura vanished in an instant. It was like someone had yanked the plug on her life. Karaline’s knees buckled, and she would have collapsed if not for the Ironguard holding her upright. Pain flared white-hot through her ribs. Her skin prickled and burned. Flesh that had been knitting itself back together began to soften. She coughed and hacked wetly. Black phlegm flecked her lips. Her vision tunneled. “What the fuck—” Another cough tore through her. “What the fuck are ye doin’? Take those off her!”

The lieutenant didn’t flinch. He looked at Karaline the way one might regard a dying animal.

“Thought yer supposed to help us. Protect the fuckin’ city. Not—”

“We are helping,” he said, then gestured toward the hospital. “Helping him.”

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED TODAY’S CHAPTER!

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?