The Monster's Apprentice: Chapter 90 - The Blood of a Conduit | Part 3
“Pureblooded vampires mature much like elves, appearing human until their twenty-first year. From that moment on, their aging ceases entirely. This holds true even for a turned vampire; if a human child is bitten, they will continue to grow until they reach adulthood, then remain frozen in time. The exact cause of this phenomenon is unknown, yet it serves as a reliable way to identify them. If someone looks the same after forty-five years, there are only two possibilities: they are either a vampire or they have discovered an exceptionally good skincare regimen.”
— Reverend Isaac Grimsby, Bloodworth: A Study of Vampiric Predators, page 135
“Ye traitorous bastards!” Karaline shouted before coughing again. She was dying. She could feel it happening inside her, her organs shutting down, her muscles weakening. The necromantic aura that had kept Karaline tethered to life was gone, and without it, her body was coming undone fast. She needed to get those cuffs off of Violet.
The Ironguard hauled them across the street, toward the hospital. Panic surged with the pain. “This place is gonna blow,” she rasped. “Any fuckin’ minute. Ye hear that? Ye deaf as well as crooked?”
They dragged them into the lobby. The place looked like a slaughterhouse. Bodies lay mangled. Blood dripped from the walls.
“Blow?” the lieutenant asked.
“Ye, in a fireball!”
He chuckled. “And where is this explosive you’ve planted?”
“How should I fuckin’ know? I ain’t the one to do it!”
Violet whined as she was forced to the ground beside Karaline. One of the Ironguard was gripping her shoulder tightly.
“Let ‘er go!” She coughed again. “Yer hurtin’ her!”
Another hellish screech echoed from deeper within the hospital.
“Ye fuckin’ bastards! He pay ye well? A bunch o’ tin soldiers who swore an oath to the crown? Ye’re not even good at bein’ traitors. At least pick a side that ain’t literally anyone else in the fuckin’ world.”
“Watch your mouth,” a trooper growled.
“Or what?” Karaline wheezed. “Ye’ll shoot me? I’m already dead, ye daft prick. Look at me. I’m rottin’ where I stand. Ye think Draven gives a shite about ye once the job’s done? He’ll drain ye dry and toss the husks in the river, same as the rest.”
The lieutenant tilted his head. “He’s kept his promises so far. Power. Coin. Immortality, if we play our cards right.”
“Immortality?” Karaline spat blood. “Ye’ll be lucky to last the week. He’s usin’ ye. Ye’re disposable. I’m dyin’, aye—but at least I’m not stupid enough to trust a pureblood.”
The lieutenant’s jaw tightened. “I’m not so sure. Turning in a necromancer to him? Now that’s the kind of gift to grant favor.”
Gunshots cracked the air from behind. Karaline whipped around as blood sprayed across her face. The Ironguard screamed. Flesh ripped apart, blood splattered wetly. What was going on?
“No! Stop!” shouted the lieutenant. A loud snap silenced him. Just as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone. Someone seized Karaline’s face and helped rub the blood from her eye.
It was Emily’s father.
Her mother dropped to her knees beside Violet. “Hold still, sweetheart.” She snapped the silver cuffs with her bare hands, wincing from the brief pain. Violet gasped as the necromantic aura flooded back. It was still too weak. She was too tired to produce enough to repair Karaline.
Emily’s mother, whatever her name was, Karaline couldn’t remember, produced a small glass syringe from her torn sleeve. “Vitae Volaris,” she said. “This should help.” She plunged it into Violet’s arm.
Violet’s eyes snapped wide. Warmth poured into Karaline like sunlight after a long winter. The necromatic aura exploded tenfold, filling the air around Violet with such strength that it was almost overwhelming. Karaline’s flesh knitted, and her rotting decay reversed. Her heart steadied, strong again.
Karaline sucked in a full, clean breath. “Fuck me… that’s better.”
The mannequins outside, scattered across the street, jerked upright in unison. Their heads swiveled as Violet’s purple threads snaked out to repossess them.
Karaline pushed to her feet, shaky but whole. The Ironguard had been more than butchered. If anything, they were just added to the carnage in the lobby. “Thank ye,” she said to the mother and father. “Both o’ ye. Thought I was done.”
“We need to get you two somewhere safe,” the mother said.
The father nodded. “I don’t know how much longer we have.”
“Where’s Emily?” Karaline asked.
The mother and father exchanged glances. “She told us to come help you, to keep you both safe.”
Karaline glanced past them, further into the asylum. “Ah hell…”
Draven chuckled as he sauntered across the room. Sunlight was spilling in from every wall, and the bricks that once held the room together now crumbled around the hospital wing. He was running out of space to maneuver. “Ah, the gallant knight, risen once more. Tell me, Sir Henrik of Serenity Garden… why persist? You’ve seen what I can do. You’ve felt it. What drives you now, hmm? Is it vengeance? Some misguided notion of honor? Or are you merely waiting to die, like so many before you?”
Henrik kept his eyes locked on Draven as they began to circle each other.
“We all fight for something, don’t we? The lovely Whilimina, perhaps? A lost cause, surely. I wouldn’t know any man willing to bed a whore as hideous as her. She fights for a dying ember, a dream already ash in the wind. But you… What do you have to gain? Satisfaction? Redemption? Revenge? If so, let me give you a word from the wise, my dear queen; revenge is far more satisfying when you can keep your victims alive.”
“I persist because when I look out at the world and the evil your kind has brought onto it, I know deep in my heart that if I could put an end to it, and did nothing, I could never live with myself. Many of my friends share this sentiment. And it is why, despite your trying, you lost the moment you took Emily from us.”
“Come now…” He raised his hand, extending his claws. “This battle, the ones before it, are all dragging out for far too long. Your defeat is inevitable. Perhaps I should extend my hand and grant you mercy. Lay your halberd down, and I will see to it that your life is brought to a swift and painless end.”
“You would offer me, a mortal, such a courtesy?”
Mina watched the two in their confrontation. Her healing had begun, but it was too slow. Her face was swollen, her vision blurred, and every breath sent a spike of pain through her shattered ribs. The strength from Henrik’s blood was fading. But she wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Gritting her teeth, Mina wrapped her one good hand around the hilt of Draven’s sword. The pain was excruciating as she began to pull, the blade slicing through muscle and skin, reopening the half-healed wound.
“You’ve certainly proven yourself worthy of my attention, Sir Henrik. I must admit, it’s rare to find one who can handle themselves with such skill. Perhaps there’s a place for you at my side… after all, my right hand was so unceremoniously dispatched. It seems only fitting I offer you their seat.”
Henrik scoffed beneath his helm. “The offer is insulting. Perhaps you’re right about one thing—this ballad of blood and bewitchment has gone on long enough. Let us finish it.”
“Ah, at last, we are of one mind.”
Henrik charged, cleaving his halberd through the air, but it wisped through Draven. The knight whirled around, keeping with his momentum, nearly catching Draven as the pureblood feigned to the side. He slid back into a sea of illusions, getting lost in the crowd of smoky look-alikes.
Henrik whirled his arm, shooting the scattered fragments of brick out like a shotgun blast. They tore through the mass of illusions just as Draven surged toward the knight, his claws streaking toward Henrik’s throat. The knight twisted, deflecting the blow with the haft of his halberd. The impact rattled his bones, but he pressed forward, driving Draven back with a relentless barrage of slashes and stabs from both his weapons. The pureblood ducked and weaved between the strikes until the ground beneath him erupted as another explosion of bricks burst up from below.
Draven stumbled, and Henrik pivoted sharply, bringing his halberd down in an overhead chop. The blade bit deep into Draven’s shoulder with a sickening crunch, the holy water sizzling against his pale flesh. Draven let out an unearthly shriek, his composure finally cracking as he staggered.
Henrik heaved the weapon free and prepared a follow-up strike, but Draven raked his claws against Henrik’s armor, tearing off the upper left half of his chest piece. The knight didn’t falter. He twisted his other arm and dragged his shortsword across Draven’s leg. As the pureblood fell to one knee, the knight pivoted, driving the shortsword into Draven’s side. The pureblood hissed in agony as the holy water burned into his ribs.
Mina summoned the last of her strength and pulled Draven’s sword free from her chest. She gasped as the blade came loose, her blood spilling violently onto the floor. But she didn’t stop. She rose to her feet, gripping the sword in her good hand, her legs trembling beneath her.
Draven slashed at Henrik, knocking the knight off balance as his claws skittered off his armor. Draven then seized the short sword still lodged in his side. Before Henrik could even recover, Draven shattered the blade in half and plunged the jagged remnant deep into the knight’s exposed shoulder.
Henrik staggered, blood pouring from the wound, his grip on his halberd faltering. Draven loomed over him, panting, his face twisted with rage and exhaustion. “How is that for a scratch?” he spat, twisting the broken blade deeper.
Henrik fell to one knee, his breath ragged. His halberd slipped from his grasp.
“It’s a shame, really.” Draven rose and gritted his teeth as the holy water continued sizzling against his flesh. “You were a worthy opponent, I’ll give you that… but in the end, all your strength, all your valor… it wasn’t enough, was it? Consider this my only act of mercy. You will not die today, knight. You will break, and you will make a fine member among my ranks—”
His own black blade erupted from his chest.
Draven staggered forward, his silver eyes widening in disbelief. For a moment, he froze, looking down at the blood dripping from the edges of the blade. His lips curled back into a snarl as he whipped around, slashing his claws.
Mina barely saw the strike coming. Pain tore from her temple down to her cheek, and she hit the ground, her mouth filling with blood. Her vision swam in and out of focus, her breathing ragged, wheezing. Her hand trembled as raw pain warred with the magic fusing her shattered bones back into place.
She had to push through it.
They were close. He was wounded. He bled. This was her moment.
Her fingers fumbled weakly at her boot, closing around the hilt of her dagger.
Draven loomed over her. Blood splattered onto her from the wounds in his gut and shoulder. He knelt. His trembling hand reached for her throat.
Mina twisted her body and slashed clean through his wrist.
Draven reeled back, screaming as the severed hand hit the ground with a wet, meaty thud. Smoke hissed from the cauterized stump where the holy water had seared through his flesh. He clutched the ruined limb, his face contorted in shock and agony. His breathing came in ragged, shuddering gasps.
Mina collapsed, the dagger slipping from her fingers. Her chest heaved, blood bubbling between her lips. Her wounds were healing, but her strength was waning. But she couldn’t stay down. She had to finish him.
Mina forced herself to her knees, only for Draven’s boot to crash down onto her back. Bone cracked beneath the force, and a strangled scream tore from her throat as fresh agony exploded through her ribs.
“Enough!” Draven roared, his arm twitching as the wound sizzled. “You ignorant—” he paused, his breath trembling in angry bursts. “You insufferable whore!” He started laughing as he stared at the stump, but there was no humor in it, only madness. “Do you not understand? You cannot win! Even at your best, you are nothing compared to me! I am your superior in every conceivable way! I am pureblooded! I am all-powerful!” His laughter was broken by another enraged scream. “And all this time, you’ve clung to the foolish hope that you—you, of all people, could defeat me? What delusion possessed you?”
His boot pressed harder, grinding her shattered ribs against her lung. Mina gasped, feeling something tear inside.
“How long, Whilimina? How long did you think you could pretend? Pretend you could defeat me? Pretend to be everything you’re not. A monster hunter. A master. A wife…” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “... a mother…”
Mina’s heart pounded furiously against her broken ribs. Her claws extended, and her fangs slid from her gums. She lifted her head just enough to glare up at him, her silver eyes burning with raw fury.
Draven grinned. “You were never meant to be anything more than a plaything for her amusement. And deep down, you always knew it. Didn’t you?” He lifted his boot and kicked Mina onto her side, a sickening crack echoing through the room as another rib snapped. Mina choked on a scream, the pain tearing through her like fire. Her trembling fingers reached for the dagger, but Draven was faster. He snatched it from the floor, his grin widening as he loomed over her, his chest heaving, blood oozing from every wound.
Mina gasped as his boot pressed down onto her chest once more. She felt one of her broken ribs puncture her freshly healed lung, and her throat exploded with pain. She could barely breathe, barely think.
Draven watched her, his body trembling, his face tight with agony. He held the dagger above her, its blade gleaming with holy water. His lips curled back in a sneer. “To hell with her pardon. To hell with revenge. To hell with it all.” He paused, lowering his voice as he wheezed. “To hell with you.”
He plunged the dagger into her chest.
The air was driven from her lungs. Whatever pain she had felt before was nothing compared to the sting of holy water. She would rather have felt her ribs break a thousand times over. The sizzling fire fried her every nerve. She started convulsing, desperately gasping for breath to scream, but she couldn’t.
She couldn’t…
Then something whizzed past them. A blur of silver and steel. Mina’s revolver. It sailed through the air, and in the blink of an eye, it landed in Emily’s waiting hand.
The first shot struck Draven square in the chest, the bullet punching through him like paper. He staggered, eyes wide, mouth opening in a soundless cry. Another shot. And another. Each bullet tore through him, sending him reeling, his blood splattering against the floor.
He stumbled, clutching his chest, his mouth working soundlessly as more blood spilled from his lips. His breathing came in a thin, ragged rasp. He glared at Emily, his silver eyes burning with hatred and… Fear.
Emily’s arms glowed as her magic flared. Cracks of golden light spread across her skin. She clenched her fist—
The ground beneath them rumbled, and a deafening boom erupted through the hospital.
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