Deep within the enemy's ranks, Brigitta was on a rampage—cutting many Supernaturals akin to a big boulder, suffocating a river stream. She was shining with radiant power, a symbol of hope for the Human Army watching from the other side.
Just like the older generations of Supernaturals, they also have monsters on their side.
Her presence increases the morale of the Human Army.
But in a split second, faster than the eyes can see, her radiance was vanquished completely.
None of those who paid attention knew what had happened to her.
Refocusing her eyes to the Vampire who was clasping her face tightly, she could see that it was a very old Vampire adorned in regal clothing that showcased his ancient aristocracy. A Vampire that didn't entertain any emotions or the sort.
It was obvious, judging from his reaction alone that he had gone through a lot in his life.
His skin, an alabaster pallor, seemed to drink in the scant light.