章節 81: Chapter 80: Unleashing The Ebony Blade

*BAM*

Ricky's head snapped to the side as a violent, jarring sound filled the air, the sheer force of it causing cracks to splinter across his psychic barrier.

The oppressive pressure of Baron Blood's relentless attack pressed in, the vampire lord trying to plunge into Ricky's mental defenses with ferocious intensity.

Before Ricky could process, Baron Blood's real plan unfolded as he had casted a blood double to serve as a distraction when Ricky sighed.

Then while Ricky turned back, the true Baron Blood had already slipped outside the train car, swooping in like a predator through the chaos.

Baron Blood's efforts were feral, like a rabid dog tearing at a cage, his elongated nails clawing and scraping at Ricky's psychic barrier.

Each strike sent splinters of mental force scattering as Ricky, undeterred, focused with intense resolve, pulling back the arrow on his Solar Flame Bow just as Baron Blood's razor-sharp nails punctured the barrier, tearing through with a menacing hiss.

*BOOOOOOM*

Suddenly, a burst of searing fire erupted around Ricky, the explosion sending him hurtling through the air.

His body twisted mid-flight, instinctively stowing away the Solas Flame Bow into his inventory.

With practiced precision, he unsheathed his sword, its gleaming blade reflecting the chaos around him.

As Ricky landed, his boots skidded against the floor, but he quickly regained his stance, sword raised and ready.

His eyes locked on Baron Blood, who charged forward with renewed intensity, each step resonating with lethal intent.

'I can't believe I missed such a close shot.' Ricky frowned, frustrated at how he'd missed such a close shot as the weight of the missed opportunity lingered as he tightened his grip on the sword, preparing for the oncoming clash.

*WHOOSH*

The only real damage Ricky had inflicted was the lingering fire, which had seared Baron Blood but only caused minimal harm.

It wasn't nearly enough to slow him down as Baron Blood raced forward, his figure a blur of speed and fury.

Ricky squinted, locking his eyes on the oncoming vampire, muscles coiling in preparation as his mind raced as he calculated Baron Blood's movements, knowing the slightest mistake would cost him.

Then, with a sudden shift in direction, Baron Blood lunged, not at Ricky, but at Chores.

"FOOL, I SHALL FEAST ON THE BLOOD OF YOUR COMRADE-"

*TINK*

"Wh-What?" Baron Blood stammered, recoiling as his claws collided with an invisible force.

He stumbled back, eyes widening in shock as he saw a shimmering sphere enveloping Chores.

Inside, Chores lay incapacitated from the pain, but to Baron Blood's disbelief, his leg was already mending back in place.

"A timer-" Baron Blood muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting upwards to the 48-minute timer hovering above Chores before his eyes shrank in realization as he spun around, but it was too late.

Ricky's eyes blazed with intensity as he swung his sword down with ferocious power.

Baron Blood's nails glowed crimson, attempting to block the strike; however, to his shock, the legendary blade cleaved through the hardened nails as if they were nothing but butter.

The sword continued its lethal descent, forcing Baron Blood to kick himself back, narrowly escaping the full force of the attack.

A thin line of blood appeared on his chest, and though Baron Blood was shocked beyond belief, he didn't let it show on his face.

Baron Blood's eyes narrowed at Ricky, reevaluating the young knight with a new sense of caution.

His confident demeanor shifted, the arrogance he once displayed replaced by a sharper, more calculated intensity.

"Do you think I'd just let another blood-sucking bastard kill one of my guys?" Ricky's green eyes gradually deepened into a crimson hue, the blade in his hand vibrating with a dark thrill, feeding off the malevolent energy radiating from its wielder.

The air around them seemed to thicken, the sword pulsing as if alive, eager to taste the blood of the enemy before it.

The sheer hatred and bloodlust, a boiling rage ignited by the haunting memory of Rocco's lifeless body, surged through Ricky's veins, overwhelming his senses.

Those emotions gnawed at his sanity, each flash of Rocco's face fueling his fury as he locked eyes with another vampire who threatened to replicate that horrific scene.

Ricky's eyes darkened to a deep crimson, the ebony blade pulsating with a sinister energy that amplified his fury.

He fixed his gaze on Baron Blood, the ferocity of his intent radiating like a storm about to unleash its wrath as each heartbeat echoed with a primal urge to annihilate.

"Oh?" Baron Blood taunted, closing the gap between them with a confident stride, but Ricky seized the moment.

*Clang*

Ricky swung down with all his might, but Baron Blood deftly smacked the blade aside, narrowly avoiding the deadly arc of the sword.

The force of the missed strike sent a shockwave through Ricky's arms, but he quickly regained his footing, readying for another attack.

"That's a timer above your little friend there, isn't it?" Baron Blood mused, a sinister smile spreading across his face as his fangs gleamed in delight as the holy aura radiated from Ricky, pulsing with power.

"I wonder what happens when that timer reaches zero." Baron Blood taunted, his voice dripping with mockery as Ricky's grip tightened around the hilt.

But then, to Baron Blood's shock, eldritch dark flames engulfed the ebony blade.

The horrid warmth radiating from it sent a thrill of anticipation through the bloodthirsty sword, merging its sinister energy with the holy light.

Baron Blood could only watch in awe as this unnatural fusion of powers defied all he thought he knew about life, death, and the supernatural.

"I'M GONNA RIP OUT YOUR SPINE!" Ricky roared, his eyes blazing crimson with fury, his monstrous aura exploding all around him as he lunged forward.

Alexander, sensing the brewing storm, wanted to say something to Ricky but hesitated, knowing all too well how foolish it was to stand in the line of sight of a berserker.

"Foolish blood bag, this will not-ARCK!" Baron Blood's laughter faltered as Ricky swiftly shifted from dual-grip to a single grip.

Ricky lunged forward, thrusting the Gauntlets of the Damned, his claws sinking deep into Baron Blood's undead flesh.

Baron Blood's eyes widened in shock as he felt his life force being siphoned away, the cold grip of Ricky's claws draining his very essence.

Panic washed over him as he glanced upward, only to see the sword in his other hand glowing ominously, poised to strike with devastating power.

"BLOOD SHIELD-"

"DIE!"

*BOOOOOOOM*

A deafening explosion rippled through the train car, obliterating everything in its wake.

What once stood intact was now reduced to a smoldering ruin, the shockwave tearing apart the very structure as debris scattered everywhere.

Only the floor remained intact, shaking violently as the train hurtled towards a bridge, skidding dangerously along the rails.

*HUFF*

Ricky stood amid the carnage, gripping his head as the remnants of the explosion settled around him.

His eyes burned a furious red, reflecting the chaos, while the sword screamed in his mind, urging him deeper into his berserker state.

The intoxicating call of power surged through him, blending rage and bloodlust into an overwhelming torrent that threatened to consume him.

'KILL!'

The sound was horrid and grotesque, a cacophony that clawed at Ricky's mind, dragging him deeper into the abyss of his sanity.

Each dissonant note shattered his mental fortitude, splintering what remained of his composure as the relentless noise twisted his thoughts into a frenzy of rage and despair.

"Y-You cannot be left to dwell." Baron Blood huffed, hovering to the side while clutching his chest.

The wounds he bore, a direct consequence of his arrogance and complacency, weighed heavily on his superiority complex.

For the first time, he grasped why his master had deemed Ricky a threat that needed to be eliminated.

Baron Blood understood that while Dracula desired Ricky's head, it might be more advantageous to bring him to their side.

Yet, he never imagined that his underestimation would leave him so severely wounded.

'Furthermore, I'm not healing,' Baron Blood realized, staring at the gash in his chest that remained charred and unhealed.

He watched as Ricky struggled with his own sanity, oblivious to his presence in the air.

Seizing the opportunity, Baron Blood raised his hands, channeling all of his magic into a single spell.

A red mist erupted around him, billowing into the night sky and enveloping it in a crimson haze.

The mist swirled and thickened, forming ominous red clouds that darkened the atmosphere above.

"YOUNG RICKY, YOU MUST REGAIN YOUR SENSES!" Alexander urged, his voice cutting through the chaos as he noticed the immense power swirling at Baron Blood's fingertips.

*HUFF*

However, Ricky was too preoccupied by his own thoughts, more specifically, the memories of the blade wielders that were being forcefully injected into his shattered sanity.

"P-Poppa?" A child peeked through a door, stepping into a haunting memory that had tormented Ricky's dreams for so long.

Instead of observing from the sidelines, Ricky was now trapped in the child's perspective, inching closer with each fated breath to the lifeless body of Percival.

Lying limp on the marble floor, surrounded by a pool of his own blood, Percival's lifeless body seemed to beckon the child closer.

The small figure fell to his knees, reaching out as if the mere act could alter the course of fate.

"W-Wake up, Poppa," Ricky choked out, the words laced with a painful desperation as he gripped tightly onto his clothes.

Each sniffle echoed in the silence, amplifying the agony coursing through him, a heart-wrenching plea that only deepened the chasm of despair.

"POPPPPPPPPPPPPA!"

*CRACKLE*

The air crackled violently as a roaring streak of crimson lightning tore through the darkness, illuminating the child's terrified face.

Ricky screamed at the top of his lungs, a raw, primal sound that reverberated against the walls, blending with the chaos surrounding him.

The world around him blurred with his own reality into a whirlwind of agony and despair, each flash of red igniting memories he desperately wished to escape.

*BOOM*

The stunning wall crumbled under the impact of a sudden projectile, sending debris scattering everywhere.

Ricky instinctively turned, his reflexes kicking in as he reached out into the chaos as his fingers closed around nothingness, and in the next heartbeat, the hilt of the ebony blade settled into his grasp.

A surge of anger coursed through him, igniting a flame deep within his core, the dark power of the blade resonating with his rage and despair.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" The cries of the boy and Ricky melded into a chilling symphony of anguish, echoing through the air.

Ricky gripped the blade tightly, the weight of sorrow coursing through his veins, amplifying the depth of his scream.

The sound was raw, a manifestation of the immense sadness and rage that intertwined in his heart, reverberating with every beat as if the world itself mourned alongside him.

"YOUNG RICKY, SNAP OUT OF THE TRANCE! HEAVEN CANNOT BROOK TWO SUNS NOR EARTH TWO MASTERS!" Alexander roared, his voice cutting through the chaos as he sensed the dreadful spell taking shape above them.

The swirling red clouds began to rain down blood, a grotesque deluge that spiraled upwards, defying gravity as it was drawn into the vortex forming over Baron Blood.

However Ricky remained lost in his memories, the anguished cries still echoing in his mind as the scene unfolded.

Shadows of his past wrapped around him like chains, while the crimson mist thickened, casting an ominous glow on his face.

"YOU CANNOT LOSE YOURSELF TO THE SWORD; YOU ARE ITS WIELDER, AND YOU ARE THE ONE TO SWING ITS MIGHTY BLADE!" Alexander cried, his voice a beacon of urgency amid the chaos. He knew that true mastery lay not in submission to the weapon but in the strength to control it.

The whirlpool above Baron Blood roared with primal energy, its violent spirals distorting the air and commanding the elements around them.

The atmosphere thickened, crackling with malevolent power as lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the scene in stark, surreal clarity.

Ricky's scream cut through the cacophony, a raw expression of agony as his mind became a battlefield, besieged by the tumultuous emotions of his ancestors and predecessors.

Each memory, each echo of pain and rage surged through him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in despair and yet, amidst the chaos, a flicker of clarity fought to surface.

His consciousness was abruptly transported to a dark, oppressive room, the air thick with a suffocating silence.

He stood atop a pool of black sludge, its viscous surface reflecting distorted shadows that twisted like tendrils around him.

The smell was acrid, and the ground seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, urging him to lose himself in its depths.

Before him, a twisted reflection of himself stood, wearing a mocking grin that sent a chill down his spine.

Yet, it wasn't truly him.

"Ah, if it isn't my new wielder, Ricky Luciano~" The figure before him was a twisted mirror image of himself, warped by the influence of the Ebony Blade.

Dark, sinister energy radiated from the reflection, its presence suffocating the very air around them.

Black sludge oozed from its body, pooling into the dark abyss beneath them, thickening the oppressive atmosphere.

The headache pulsed around Ricky's mind, an insistent throb that threatened to drown him in darkness.

He pushed against the weight of despair, trying to step forward, but the sludge gripped him like a vice, cold and unyielding.

"Let me guess, you're the Ebony Blade," Ricky huffed out, a frown etched across his face as he fought against the mental tendrils wrapping around his mind as the presence of the sword slithered through his thoughts like a serpent.

"So it seems that you aren't that big of an idiot everyone preaches you to be~" The Ebony Blade hissed, its voice dripping with mocking amusement as it circled around Ricky like a predatory shadow.

"Why can't you be a good little sword and stop making things so f*cking difficult." Ricky's vision blurred as he struggled to regain his bearings, the oppressive darkness pressing in on him like a heavy shroud as the once-familiar room around him twisted and distorted.

"Did you think that I'd let you wield me without a proper approval-"

"But the Vatican-"

"ARE FOOLS!" The Ebony Blade screamed, the room shaking from his frustration.

Ricky's knees hit the cold, slimy surface, and a wave of exhaustion washed over him, but despite the fatigue, he couldn't suppress the smile that crept onto his face.

The sight of the Ebony Blade's annoyance at his mere existence, when it was in itself a twisted reflection of his own torment, provided a sliver of satisfaction in this dark realm.

"Well, it depends~" The Ebony Blade replied, its expression twisting into a mocking smile.

"Have you ever wondered why I allow Percival's descendants to wield me?" The Ebony Blade asked, its tone dripping with intrigue as Ricky rolled his eyes in response.

"I don't know, do you have some sort of crush on him?" Ricky sighed, his patience wearing thin, but the blade laughed in response.

"You could say that. However, it's more than just admiration; there's something about your bloodline that enables your family to chain me to your line." The Ebony Blade circled around Ricky, its presence both unnerving and compelling.

"Percival, that fool, somehow ingrained his ability to wield me within his blood, which was then passed down to his son, and subsequently to his descendants." The Ebony Blade continued, halting a short distance away from him.

Its tone was a mix of amusement and disdain, as if recalling the legacy of the family was both a point of pride and annoyance.

"It started with good intentions, using the idea of enduring my thirst to wield me for the goodness of the world." The Ebony Blade's smile twisted further, its hissing voice growing more sinister as Ricky realized where this was headed.

"Let me guess: they all failed?" Ricky's face was almost ghostly, huffing out shallow breaths yet the skepticism was still etched onto his face as the blade nodded in affirmation.

"Their original intentions of chivalry, the dream of making a difference in this rancid world, were consumed by my thirst, all while they deceived themselves into thinking they had not changed." The Ebony Blade loomed before Ricky, their eyes locking in a shared reflection of darkness.

"Now, for you, Ricky Luciano, what are your intentions of chivalry that compel you to wield my being-"

"I don't have any." Ricky's voice was flat, the truth of his selfish desires laid bare.

"You cannot be serious?" The Ebony Blade asked, laughter echoing in its tone, as if it couldn't believe what it had just heard.

"I don't care about living my life as a good person or doing the right thing at every turn." Ricky declared out weakly, unflinching in his honesty with the blade he sought to wield.

"I live my life for me, my goals, my desires, and I couldn't care less if others label me as selfish, as long as they don't try to disrupt my way of life." Ricky patted his chest, irritation bubbling beneath the surface at the blade's grip on him, as if it were forcing him to justify his very existence.

"If I happen to do the right thing out of my own selfishness, then fine, whatever. But I'm not going to stand here and be lectured by some f*cking sword that has a hard-on for my family's chivalry," Ricky shot back, jabbing a finger at the Ebony Blade's chest as he had far bigger things occupying his mind than seeking approval from a sentient weapon.

"You want to know what my intentions are? Well, they're whatever the f*ck I want them to be. There's no such thing as good or bad, just decisions that get judged by others!" Ricky ranted, diving deeper into his truth as the sword simply smiled at him, unfazed.

"NOW ARE YOU JUST GOING TO SIT THERE AND JUDGE ME, OR ARE WE GOING TO SLASH A VAMPIRE?" Ricky yelled, summoning the last of his strength, a surge of anxiety gripping him as he feared it might already be too late.

The blade merely smiled at the use of 'we,' an unsettling glint dancing in its dark essence.

"We shall."

*GASP*

" YOUNG RICKY!" Alexander tugged at his cheek, the red of Ricky's eyes fading into green as he looked up, swallowing hard.

"ARGH!" Ricky's eyes flared with crackling red energy, the same energy that threatened to tear him apart.

Alexander exhaled, a breath of relief escaping him as they both stared at the chaos wrought by Baron Blood.

Ricky's gaze finally lifted to the cataclysmic storm of blood engulfing the skies, a terrifying spectacle that seemed to blot out the heavens themselves.

Razor-sharp droplets spiraled within the fingertips of Baron Blood, slicing through anything they touched as they coalesced into a towering whirlpool unlike anything Ricky had ever witnessed.

What appeared to be a massive blob of blood was alive with waves of glimmering droplets, each poised to wreak havoc.

Baron Blood smirked, fully aware that Ricky could reflect his attacks, but how long could he maintain that defense?

Furthermore, could he even reflect what he could not perceive?

If Baron Blood's droplets moved fast enough, could Ricky still manage to redirect them?

The vampire intended to test that limit, preparing a massive spell capable of both defense and offense, aiming to gradually whittle down Ricky's strength before delivering the final blow.

As Ricky stared at the towering display of strength, a maddening fury swirled within him, threatening to consume his very essence once more.

The intoxicating allure of that overwhelming power beckoned, whispering promises of domination and retribution.

Ricky knew that if he allowed himself to lose control, everything could be his for the taking as his eyes began to hollow.

"Young Ricky." Alexander's steady and calm voice resounded amidst the rippling energies threatening to collide.

The sound cut through the chaos like a beacon, grounding Ricky in the tempest of his emotions.

"Remember that there is nothing impossible to him who tries. This power is but a tool; it does not define you." Alexander remained silent after these words, recognizing that this was a path Ricky needed to walk alone.

"YOU FOOL! DO YOU THINK I HAVEN'T NOTICED THAT YOU CAN ONLY REFLECT WHAT YOU CAN PERCEIVE?" Baron Blood bellowed, spreading his arms wide. The swirling whirlpool above began to thin out, transforming the already small droplets into microscopic shards that glimmered ominously in the dim light.

Eldritch flames erupted from the gauntlets encasing Ricky's hands, a holy aura wrapping around them as his eyes glowed a fierce red, yet the clarity in his pupils betrayed the berserk state.

Baron Blood's laughter echoed, a cruel melody mocking Ricky's desperate efforts.

However in this moment, there was no quip, no insult; Ricky merely fixed his gaze on the hovering vampire above, feeling the weight of the moment.

His hands tightened around the handle of the blade, a steadfast resolve coursing through him.

"I WILL CRUSH YOU LIKE THE PEST YOU ARE! FOR MY MASTER! FOR OUR DOMINANCE OVER YOU MERE BLOOD BAGS!" Baron Blood let out a thunderous roar, he hurled his arms forward, unleashing a torrent of deadly droplets toward Ricky, who stood defiantly amidst the wrecked moving train, heart racing and instincts screaming for survival.

In that moment, Ricky stood alone, devoid of any tools to manipulate time or shield himself, with only the Ebony Blade gripped tightly in his hands. The skies opened up, unleashing a barrage of razor-sharp droplets that hurtled toward him with deadly speed, each one aimed with ruthless precision.

With a fierce determination, Ricky raised the sword, it's dark blade gleaming ominously in the chaos.

Within the sword, the Ebony Blade loomed, extending its slimy, black sludge of a hand, fingertips shimmering with a sickly light, as if eager to draw him into its malevolent influence.

The air crackled with tension, the stage set for an explosive confrontation as Ricky prepared to face the onslaught head-on.

"Only this once, will I lend my help for free."

Then, without a moment's hesitation, Ricky's eyes flared with crimson energy as the raw power of the Ebony Blade surged through him, igniting every nerve in his body. With an instinctive grace, he raised the sword in a magnificent arc that caught Alexander's eye, glimmering with a fierce beauty that transcended the chaos surrounding them.

As the blood droplets descended, poised to pierce and obliterate him from every direction, Ricky stood resolute, ready to unleash the blade's might.

The air around him pulsed with energy, and he felt the weight of his lineage and the strength of his own resolve guiding his every move rather than the inherent chivalry.

This was his moment,his time to shine against the encroaching darkness.

His time to swing his sword.

The Ebony Blade sliced through the air with a delicate grace, embodying the elegance of the world even as it heralded unspeakable destruction.

Its movements were fluid and mesmerizing, yet each arc carried an undercurrent of dread, as if the very essence of beauty was tainted by the annihilation it could unleash.

Red blips of electricity crackled in the air, gathering intensity as Ricky completed his swing.

*THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM*

Then, in an instant, a sonic boom erupted, sending a shockwave of crimson lightning cascading outward, illuminating the surroundings with an explosive brilliance.

Every object held together by the spell was cleaved in two by the vibrant red electricity, severed time and time again.

The blood droplets, once swirling with malevolent energy, disintegrated into nothingness under the weight of Ricky's heaven-defying power, obliterating the spell as if it had never existed.

Baron Blood stared in horror as his spells unraveled before the true might of the blade that had haunted the Black Knight's enemies for centuries.

However, this was the first time he had ever witnessed its power to cut through anything.

"How?" Baron Blood gasped, his defenses already raised, but his body was jerked back in an ugly manner as if struck by an unseen force.

Then, in the blink of an eye, every ounce of the Ebony Blade's power dissipated, leaving only Ricky's figure standing amid the chaos.

The strain of wielding such immense energy pulled at every reserve within him, draining his stamina and magic until he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath as exhaustion weighed heavily on his body and mind.

Holding himself up with the blade, the train barely carried onto the other half of the bridge that wasn't destroyed.

The aftermath left a gaping hole in the bridge they had been traveling on, a testament to the chaos unleashed moments before. Baron Blood hovered in the air, slowly descending to the other side, his mind still reeling from the events that had just transpired.

Both he and Ricky locked eyes across the chasm, each one drained of their strength yet still standing, their wills unyielding.

Baron Blood finally set his feet down on the far side of the bridge, his gaze fixed on the retreating train that carried Ricky away.

Baron Blood squinted, observing the train holding Ricky thundered down the tracks, painfully aware that he lacked the strength to leap or fly across the gaping chasm left by their clash.

However, despite the duel appearing to end in a tie, it was evident that Ricky was in far worse shape, a truth both combatants understood all too well.

Baron Blood, with his keen instincts, recognized the danger of overextending himself; he could feel the fatigue creeping into his limbs.

He knew that if he pushed himself too hard, he would find his own condition mirroring Ricky's by the time they crossed paths again.

Caution tempered his hunger for victory as he weighed his next move, acutely aware of the stakes that lay ahead.

Baron Blood watched as Ricky staggered away, a fierce vow forming in his mind: the next time they met, he would skin him alive and never again underestimate this blood bag.

As Ricky passed the clearing, his strength finally gave out, and he collapsed, unable to keep himself on his feet any longer.

"Young Ricky-"

Ricky's face slapped into the ground, his consciousness fading as the world around him blurred into nothingness.

His eyelids fluttered shut, surrendering to the weight of exhaustion, and he slipped into a deep, oblivious sleep, leaving behind the chaos of the battle and the looming threat of Baron Blood.

'F*cking vampires.'

評論 18條評論

投票

章節 82: Chapter 81: Glimpse Into The Luciano Family Name

"YOU TRAITORS, I'LL KILL YOU!" Sheriff Wyatt, donned in his black knight attire, screamed, his sanity fully consumed by the cursed blade in his grasp.

His eyes blazed with a frenzied red as the corruption spread through him, the ebony blade vibrating within his hands at the sheer delight of the scene progressing into this downward spiral of a conflict.

"Sheriff Wyatt, you've violated the rules set by the High Table," The man in charge spoke calmly, though his gaze held steady on the sheriff's bloodlust.

"Killing on Continental grounds is unforgivable-"

"SHE HAD TO DIE! THEY ALL NEED TO DIE!" Wyatt screeched, his voice cracking under the weight of madness.

He gripped the blade tighter, trembling with murderous intent as the figures surrounding him exchanged wary glances.

The man who spoke earlier now raised his arms, the ten bands wrapped around them glowing with mystic energy, preparing for the inevitable clash.

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"

*GASP*

"GOD F*CKING DAMMIT!" Ricky roared as another vision hit him like a sledgehammer, shaking his head violently as the haze cleared.

Ricky looked down, realizing the cursed sword was still in his hands and with a scoff of disgust, he flung it to the side, the clang of metal echoing through the forest.

"Ricky, calm down, you're safe." Chores hurried to Ricky's side, his leg now fully restored thanks to the healing sanctuary's potent healing magic.

"Well that's just great, Chores! I'm glad that I'm safe after getting my ass kicked by a f*cking vampire, only to be skull f*cked by a goddamn sword!" Ricky spat out the words, his hysteria mounting as he vented his fury at Chores, his closest outlet for frustration.

Chores opened his mouth to reply but paused, thinking better of it as after everything Ricky had just been through, it seemed wiser to let him cool down.

Sitting up, Ricky rubbed his face, the dull throb in his head matching the soreness in his body.

His limbs felt heavy from the strain he'd pushed himself through, and he stared blankly ahead, still trying to piece together the whirlwind of events.

"Don't worry young Ricky, the big bad vampire won't hurt you any longer." Alexander's voice came from the side, dripping with sarcasm as his tone was clearly meant to taunt, and it worked.

"It's not-"

*SIGH*

"First of all, Alexander, go f*ck yourself. Second, I'm only pissed off because this goddamn sword keeps getting into my head, and it's driving me insane, literally." Ricky glanced around, still a little disoriented, and flicked Alexander off his shoulder as Chores quickly caught the gerbil before he could fall to the ground.

"A forest?" Ricky muttered, his eyes scanning the dense trees surrounding him, the absence of city life immediately confusing him.

"I thought it wise to hop off the train instead of arriving at the station with the train in shambles," Chores revealed, knowing that they would be held responsible or questioned if they arrived at their intended destination still in the wrecked train.

*Sigh*

Ricky dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, his legs giving way as the weight of exhaustion hit him.

His helmet slid off, parting effortlessly as he ran his fingers through his disheveled black hair, tugging in frustration.

"I just wanted to get drunk and f*ck a busty Italian~" Ricky groaned, his voice tinged with frustration and exhaustion.

"But now I have to deal with a mind-f*cking sword, ugly vampires, and what's worse is that I'm sober on my vacation!" Ricky shouted, the weight of his frustration pouring out with each word.

His previous buzz had evaporated, leaving him irritable and raw as Chores sighed, clearly trying to find a way to ease the tension, and then reached into his back pocket.

"Here, I swiped this from the debris when I woke up." Chores said, pulling out a bottle of Irish cream and handing it to Ricky.

"Irish cream, really-"

"I mean, if you don't want it-"

"NO!" Ricky yelled out in excitement, snatching the bottle from Chores' hands and cradling it like a prized possession, his fingers gently stroking the label as if it were made of gold.

In his mind, he had been managing his impulses better lately, making strides in self-control, and he was determined to treat this vacation as the well-deserved break he craved.

As Ricky downed the bottle, Alexander observed him with a mixture of concern and pride.

Despite the immense anguish in his heart, a smile crept onto his lips, knowing that his decision to let Ricky embrace this moment of indulgence was the right one.

He had witnessed the untamed power displayed in their earlier confrontation, and he understood the toll it had taken on the young man.

For the first time in a while, Alexander felt like Ricky was firmly moving in the right direction, earning not just respect, but a sense of belonging in this chaotic world.

Finally gaining Alexander's approval.

Alexander The Gerbil Favorability: 42→83

"Ah~" Ricky let out, leaning back and gazing at the Irish cream with surprised eyes before realizing the notification.

"Whoa, you really like me, don't you?" Ricky quipped, breaking the moment with a teasing smirk aimed at Alexander, whose smile quickly faltered into a frown.

Alexander The Gerbil Favorability: 83→76

"Oh come on, it was a joke-"

"Silence your attempts, for I am a sturdy wall in front of the face of lies." Alexander declared, crossing his small arms defiantly.

"Hey Slick, about saving me earlier-"

"Don't mention it; that guy was a monster," Ricky waved his hand dismissively, knowing that Chores likely couldn't have taken on Baron Blood and grateful that he hadn't tried to intervene as it would have only made things harder for him.

However that fact made Chores, who was standing nearby, visibly frustrated, clenching and unclenching his fists as he wrestled with his emotions.

With a slow sigh, he finally relaxed, trying to dissipate the tension that had coiled tightly within him, a lingering sense of worthlessness washing over him in that moment.

"And sorry for venting; you didn't deserve that." Ricky added, taking a sip of the Irish cream as he stood up, brushing off his pants.

"We should depart; the city is only about an hour away." Chores informed Ricky, who nodded, wiping his mouth and glancing back at the vibrating sword.

Holding out his hand, the sword shot into his grasp, and he swiftly sheathed it, casting a sidelong glance at the shocked duo.

"Oh, did I forget to mention I could do that? Pretty cool, right?" Ricky chuckled, striding past them while Chores and Alexander exchanged wide-eyed looks.

"Pretty cool." They both echoed, nodding at each other before hurrying to catch up with Ricky.

Meanwhile in Sicily,

The streets bustled with activity, a stark contrast to the serene countryside as people hurried along ancient cobblestone paths, mingling with vendors hawking fresh produce and local delicacies.

Amidst the everyday hustle, signs of economic disparity were evident, with well-dressed businessmen navigating past impoverished laborers in threadbare clothing.

The air buzzed with conversations in Sicilian dialect, punctuated by the occasional call of street hawkers selling their wares.

Children played in narrow alleyways, their laughter echoing against weathered stone buildings adorned with drying laundry and vibrant murals depicting scenes of local history and folklore.

Above the bustling streets, the imposing presence of Fascist propaganda posters reminded residents of Mussolini's rule, urging unity and loyalty to the regime.

Despite this, whispers of discontent and defiance lingered among those who felt the weight of economic hardship and political oppression.

In the shadows cast by medieval churches and Baroque palaces, the unseen influence of the Mafia loomed large in the open, its clandestine operations shaping local affairs and perpetuating a culture of secrecy and fear.

As the sun dipped behind Mount Etna, casting an amber glow over the island, Sicily's complex tapestry of tradition, struggle, and resilience continued to unfold against the backdrop of a changing world.

*BAM*

"Mr. Mancini, we know you're in there!" A man in a fedora shouted, pounding on the door, flanked by a couple of men who looked equally determined.

The door creaked open to reveal an elderly man, his thick mustache bristling like a lion's mane, and his fierce glare cutting through the dim light of the hallway.

"Protections due." The man declared, forcing the door wider and stepping into the suit shop with an air of arrogance, his friends snickering behind him like schoolboys.

The bell above the door chimed a warning, but it was drowned out by the raucous laughter echoing off the walls, filling the space with an unsettling tension.

"We already paid last week-"

"Well, the Barbieri family has issued orders for an advance payment for next month." The mobster sneered, his smirk growing wider as he leaned casually against a nearby display of tailored suits as the old man's jaw tightened, and he gritted his teeth.

"Please, if you give me another day-"

"How about you hold off until nightfall, you know, when the monsters come a-lurking?" The mobster's sneer widened, his tone dripping with malice.

The old man's face went pale at the veiled threat, and he instinctively grabbed his arm as if seeking comfort, but there was none to be found.

"I swear I'll pay it-"

"Listen, Mr. Mancini." The mobster loomed over the old man, who kept his eyes shut tight, trying to block out the looming threat.

"I'm not asking; I'm telling. Got it?" The mobster's voice boomed, and with a shove, he pushed the old man aside.

"Pa!" Mr. Mancini's son shouted, sprinting to his father's side as he threw himself in front of the elder Mancini, positioning his body as a shield to protect his frail father.

"Destroy the shop!" the mobster ordered, waving his fingers dismissively as if the command were nothing more than a casual suggestion as Mr. Mancini struggled to his feet, desperation etched across his face.

"Y-YOU CAN'T-" Mr. Mancini cried out, his voice trembling with fear as he glanced at the works of art that adorned his shop, the only pieces of his life he took pride in.

He struggled to rise, desperation fueling his movements, but was yanked back down by his son.

"Pa, don't!" His son urged, his grip firm on his father's arm as he could see the anguish in his father's eyes, the pain of impending destruction clawing at Mr. Mancini's heart.

*CRASH*

Without hesitation, one of the men swung his arm, shattering the display window with a loud crash.

Glass shards scattered across the floor like glittering confetti, and he lunged forward, ripping the fine Italian suit from its hanger.

The fabric tore easily, and the sound of ripping silk filled the air, punctuating the brutality of the moment.

Mr. Mancini's heart sank as he watched his hard work and passion being reduced to mere scraps, feeling utterly powerless to stop it.

"Pa, no! It ain't worth your life." His son whispered urgently, trying to pull him back as Mr. Mancini's eyes filled with tears.

He stood frozen, helpless, as the men continued to rip apart his creations, each suit a testament to years of hard work and dedication.

"You better figure out how to pay us by nightfall, or the creeps will come crawling." The leader warned, a sinister smirk playing on his lips.

He gestured to his goons, who stepped over the remnants of the ruined suits, laughing as they followed him out of the shop.

The door swung shut behind them, leaving Mr. Mancini and his son in a silence thick with despair, the remnants of their shattered dreams strewn about the floor.

"What's up with them?" Ricky asked, strolling down the street and taking the last sip of his Irish cream. As he glanced at the scene unfolding outside the shop, the destruction left in the wake of the men caught his attention.

"Mafia." They both answered as they watched as the goons snickered away but chose not to intervene; it wasn't their business.

"Let's hang back, let the air cool, and then-" Ricky began, intending to retreat from the scene when suddenly, the old man burst out of the shop, desperation written all over his face.

"PA, NO-"

"NO ENRICO, I'VE HAD ENOUGH!" Mr. Mancini exclaimed, shoving his son aside as he faced the men with unwavering resolve.

"Oh, enough of what?" The mobster shot back, a mocking grin spreading across his face as he turned to confront the furious old man.

"You've trampled on my passion and my livelihood, all because of my ties to Antonio!" Mr. Mancini declared, gesturing emphatically at the thugs who merely scoffed in response.

"Because you chose the wrong side-"

"I DID NOT!" Mr. Mancini proclaimed boldly, causing the nearby passersby to grow pale and hurriedly shuffle through doors to escape the unfolding scene.

"What did you say?" The mobster raised his gaze to meet the old man's defiance, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes.

"I SAID THAT I DON'T REGRET CHOOSING ANTONIO LUCIANO'S SIDE!" Mr. Mancini roared, his fierce proclamation ringing through the air.

Ricky, who had been walking away, abruptly halted, his attention drawn back to the escalating confrontation.

"F*ck~" Ricky cursed out a sigh, tossing the bottle aside as he turned back to face the scene.

"Chores." Ricky called out, prompting Chores to put on his brass knuckles and nod in response.

"I understand," Chores replied, squinting his eyes and cracking his fists in preparation for the impending fight.

"YOU DARE-"

"I DO! HE MAY HAVE LOST ALONG WITH THE OTHER EXILED FAMILIES, BUT YOU AND YOUR BOSS AREN'T EVEN A SMIDGE OF THE MAN HE WAS-"

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" The mobster roared, winding up his punch, ready to unleash it on the old man, who simply closed his eyes in defiance.

*BAM*

Mr. Mancini braced himself for the grueling pain he anticipated, but when he opened his eyes, confusion washed over him as he found himself staring at the back of the Black Knight, Ricky.

"W-WHO THE F*CK ARE YOU-"

*BAM*

*COUGH*

Ricky didn't bother with words; he launched a powerful punch directly into the man's throat as the mobster collapsed to his knees, gasping in agony as he clutched his shattered esophagus.

"I have business with this man so back off, or I'll skin you and make some disgusting human leather jacket." Ricky declared the first threat that came to his head but frowned at how psychotic it sounded, brandishing the cross with a commanding presence.

The sheer intensity of his words sent a chill through the air, causing the men to freeze, their eyes widening in shock as they instinctively took a step back.

"Is he-"

"I heard whispers, but to think the Black Knight's here." The mobsters murmured among themselves, fear etched across their faces, rendering them unable to defy him.

"W-We apologize, oh Holy Black Knight." One of the grunts stammered, bowing as he reached for his fallen comrade.

The others quickly scrambled away, eager to distance themselves from the scene.

"T-T-T-Thank you, Holy Black Knight! You have my deepest gratitude!" Enrico exclaimed, bowing deeply to Ricky, while Mr. Mancini, his expression a mixture of reverence and relief, removed his hat in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Mr. Mancini said, his voice steady, as he looked at Ricky with newfound respect.

"Can we go inside and talk?" Ricky asked, his tone surprisingly respectful, which took Mr. Mancini off guard.

A smile crept across the old man's face, touched by the deference the Black Knight was showing him, a marked contrast to the horrid treatment he received on a daily basis.

"Yes, it would be my honor to house the Black Knight."

Mr. Mancini led Ricky to the back of the shop and through the wreckage of the confrontation from before as Enrico hurried off to fetch some tea, leaving the two alone for a moment.

Meanwhile, Chores squeezed into a small chair, his large frame awkwardly filling the space, making it creak under the weight.

He shifted uncomfortably, casting glances around the room as he tried to adjust to the tight fit, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Ricky and Mr. Mancini.

"Mr. Mancini-"

"Holy Black Knight, there's no need for formalities with my lowly figure. Just call me Rotolo," Rotolo said with a gracious tone, bowing his head slightly and Ricky nodded, a small smile creeping onto his lips as he began to undo his helmet.

"Then let me introduce myself. I'm Ricky Luciano, but everyone calls me Slick. You can call me whatever you like." Ricky said, flashing a toothy smile and taking off his black knight helmet, slicking his hair back.

Rotolo froze, the shock of Ricky's words leaving him momentarily breathless as the realization of who stood before him sank in, and he blinked, struggling to process the significance of this encounter.

"C-Come again?" Rotolo stammered, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

The name that fell from Ricky's lips was one he never expected to hear again, sending waves of shock coursing through him.

"I'm Ricky Luciano, my pops is Lucky Luciano or Cha-"

"Charles Luciano," Rotolo finally managed to say, his voice quivering with a mix of surprise and nostalgia as Ricky chuckled, glancing around the room.

"Well, he goes by Lucky now but I guess that's beside the point." Ricky leaned back in the chair, shaking his head at the state of the store.

Rotolo opened his mouth to speak, but the wave of emotion caught in his throat, making it hard to articulate his thoughts.

He paused, blinking back tears as he took a moment to collect himself, the memories flooding back, bittersweet and heavy though a smile hung on his face.

"He really survived, atta boy." Rotolo said, wiping his eyes as the emotion washed over him, a mix of relief and nostalgia swirling in his chest.

"Do you have anything to drink around here?" Ricky scratched his chin, his casual demeanor contrasting with the gravity of the moment.

Rotolo smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting as he felt a sense of camaraderie blooming.

He walked to his desk and retrieved an old bottle of wine, dust clinging to its surface, a relic from better days.

With a flourish, he presented it to Ricky, who took it with a grin and in one smooth motion, Ricky tore off the cork, the sound echoing in the small room, a herald of good times to come.

"So, how do you know my grandpops?" Ricky asked, taking a generous swing from the bottle, his eyes widening at the rich, complex flavors that danced on his palate.

"Woah," he exclaimed, pulling the bottle closer for a better look. The label read 1802, a rare vintage that spoke of history and sophistication.

"I'm thankful to call the man who saved my life, Antonio Luciano, my friend." Rotolo said, a warm smile breaking through his otherwise serious demeanor as he settled back down across from Ricky.

"Though I doubt Lucky has touched much on the subject since it was a very dark time." Rotolo said, his fists clenching involuntarily as he recalled the past and Ricky frowned at the weight of his words.

Lucky had never spoken much about his father, leaving Ricky with only fragments of information.

All he knew was that Lucky's father had been a gangster from Sicily, someone who had groomed him to take over the family mantle.

But then, in a twist of fate, Lucky had suddenly emigrated to America and joined the notorious Five Points Gang.

Ricky had pressed for details, but Lucky always deflected, his discomfort evident whenever the topic arose.

"I've asked my pops about him countless times, but he always goes cold on me." Ricky said with a sigh until a thought sparking in his mind.

"Now that you mention it, a lot of the families emigrated around the same time." Ricky recalled how Profaci had come with Maria when she was just three years old, a few years after Lucky had arrived in New York.

"It's-It's a long story, Slick." Rotolo replied, using Ricky's nickname out of respect, aware of the tradition that bound them.

"Well, I've got this bottle of wine to warm me up, so let me hear why my pops never talks about what happened," Ricky said, gesturing to the bottle as he spread his arms wide.

His eagerness was palpable, a mix of anticipation and determination to unravel the tangled threads of his family's past.

*Sigh*

"It all started after The Great War-"

*Rotolo FIRST PERSON POINT OF VIEW*

The war hit us all hard and afterwards, Italy was grappling with economic hardships, soaring inflation, rampant unemployment, and mass public outcry.

It was during this tumultuous time that the people cried out for change, and Mussolini emerged, his powerful rhetoric captivating even me.

He presented himself as the embodiment of the nation's destiny, using fascist symbols and rituals to galvanize support.

The man was a former socialist who had become disillusioned with that ideology, ultimately crafting a new political philosophy: fascism.

He emphasized nationalism, authoritarianism, and the restoration of Italy's past glory, longing that resonated deeply with the populace.

People found themselves compelled to follow him into the streets, marching on Rome and demanding that King Victor Emmanuel III appoint Mussolini as prime minister.

They believed he could restore order and combat the rising tide of socialist movements and strikes.

Fearing a potential civil war and under pressure from conservative elites, King Victor Emmanuel III appointed Mussolini as prime minister and this marked the beginning of Mussolini's consolidation of power.

The media and his supporters would later claim that he garnered the backing of industrialists, landowners, and conservative factions who were increasingly wary of socialist and communist movements.

But the real power was the one within the hands of the mafia.

Mussolini enticed families with lucrative deals, offering them free rein over their activities in exchange for support and enforcement of his ideals.

However, those who accepted these terms soon found themselves treated like street dogs by the government.

Many other families rejected the notion of being leashed, as most mafias had formed precisely to avoid such control, seeing it as a betrayal of their fundamental principles.

These disagreements led to a bitter civil war, dividing those who supported Mussolini's consolidation of power and those who refused to be controlled.

The conflict was bloody, with the streets littered with the bodies of young Italian men, who sought glory but instead became little more than cannon fodder in a struggle that exploited their aspirations.

Your grandfather, Antonio Luciano, stood firmly against becoming a henchman for Mussolini, as no boss wants to bow to another.

The factions were evenly matched; Mussolini couldn't directly interfere in the conflicts, his authority too tenuous to risk open confrontation.

It was then that the unholy monsters of the night emerged, striking a deal that would solidify Mussolini's regime and change the course of history.

They were led by a man known only as Verdelet, a seemingly ordinary man on the outside, but a feral beast within.

This man-no, this monster, commanded a horde of foul creatures that slaughtered the opposition, reveling in the thrill of their victims' screams.

I remember it as if it were yesterday, those creatures crawling into the streets, ripping the skin from their prey, dismembering arms and legs, all while their victims were still alive, grinning with delight.

Antonio witnessed the horror unfolding around him and unlike some other families, he recognized that there was no hope left in Sicily.

In a desperate bid to escape with his family, he sought a way out, but from my knowledge, none of them survived.

Once the last of the opposition fell to that monster, the Bruno, Greco, and Inzerillo families absorbed the remnants of the fallen families' businesses, becoming the behemoths that fatefully served as the hounds of the new fascist regime.

Over the next decade, Mussolini centralized power, exerting control over the media and instituting corporatist economic policies.

He embarked on imperialist ventures to bolster his regime's popularity and prestige, projecting an image of strength while suppressing dissent.

*Rotolo FIRST PERSON POINT OF VIEW END*

"Life has only been content for those who supported Mussolini, but the others have had to pay the price with endless torture." Rotolo then glanced at Ricky, who drained the last drop of wine.

"Who killed Antonio?" Ricky asked, his tone flat and focused, showing no interest in anything but the answer as Rotolo shook his head, the weight of the past evident in his expression.

"Slick-"

"Was it that Verdelet guy?" Ricky asked, his voice laced with urgency but Rotolo shook his head, a grim look crossing his face.

"No, the three families led a surprise attack and slaughtered the last of the Antiono's guys-"

"Good, makes my life easier." Ricky let out a sigh of relief, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders at the thought of not having to confront that godforsaken vampire.

Ricky then pulled out his storage key, walking into the back room for a moment and when he emerged, he had a couple of thousand dollars in hand.

"Here." Ricky tossed the money onto the table, watching as Rotolo's eyes widened in disbelief.

The shock was palpable on Rotolo's face as he struggled to comprehend the unexpected generosity.

"Take this; it's my signature, which you'll need to set up shop in Luciano territory. Use the money to smuggle into New York." Ricky then stood up, glancing at Chores, who nodded in understanding before walking outside.

"This is-"

"Listen, Rotolo, I know this shop is your life and all, but you're set up in enemy territory that doesn't value your abilities," Ricky lectured, his voice firm but respectful. Rotolo remained silent, absorbing Ricky's words.

"Chores is going to pack up all your stuff, so you can't say no." Ricky continued, shaking his head with a knowing sigh.

"And before you say anything I get it; old men like you can be stubborn, but this isn't just about pride. It's about survival." Ricky waved his hand, knowing Rotolo would say something about being an inconvenience for him however he didn't care.

"But why?" Rotolo asked, confusion etching his features as he knew he didn't owe anything to Ricky, yet the young man's conviction was undeniable.

Ricky smirked, a playful glint in his eyes as he recalled something Lucky had always told him.

"A Luciano never forgets their own." Ricky laughed, feeling like his pops as he watched Rotolo's eyes widen in surprise.

A distant memory flickered in Rotolo's mind, taking him back to his childhood.

He remembered a time when he was just a boy, gazing up at a young boy who seemed to radiate confidence and charm as the boy's laughter echoed through the air, filled with the carefree spirit of youth.

"A-Antonio, why did you do that? You'll get in trouble!" A child version of Rotolo exclaimed, glancing nervously at the beaten kids scattered on the ground.

Antonio laughed heartily, his spirit undeterred by the scuffles he had just been through as his lip was busted, his left eye swollen shut, and his clothes were torn, yet he stood tall, his chest puffed out in pride.

"Other than the reason that you're my pal? It's cause a Luciano never forgets their own."

*Sniff*

The aged man sniffed, his emotions welling up as he walked over to Ricky and pulled him into a tight embrace. Ricky was taken aback, momentarily frozen in surprise.

"You're a good kid, Lucky raised you well." Rotolo said, pride shining in his eyes as he patted Ricky's back.

Although he felt a rush of discomfort, Ricky bit the bullet and reciprocated, patting Rotolo's back awkwardly.

"One day, when you're done serving our lord, come find me, and I'll make you the finest Italian suit that'll make all the mobsters jealous," Rotolo said with a warm smile and Ricky couldn't help but grin at the thought, knowing he'd hold him to that promise.

"You better," Ricky laughed, his spirits lifted by the exchange as Rotolo chuckled heartily in response, the weight of the past momentarily lightened.

"Hey Rotolo, could you also keep it secret that I'm the Black Knight, you can tell my pop's but anyone else-"

"Slick, I'll take it to the grave." Rotolo declared, his voice firm despite his frail appearance.

He nodded at Ricky, who could see the resolve in the old man's eyes which was a testament to his strength and loyalty towards his grandfather.

The day slowly descended into night as Chores, Ricky, and Alexander waited in the broken shop, the fading light casting long shadows across the cluttered floor.

"You got any threes?" Ricky asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Alexander's eyes widened in panic, and before he could muster a defense, he collapsed to his little gerbil knees, hands clutching the edge of the table for support.

Ricky chuckled as he plucked the card from Alexander's trembling fingers as the ring was snugly wrapped around the gerbil's waist.

Chores watched with a frown, his brow furrowed as he struggled with the feeling of guilt that tugged at him.

He didn't enjoy bullying Alexander like this, but he also knew that the gerbil would be furious if he let him win and relented.

"Do you have any two-no, sevens?" Alexander asked, only for Chores to close his eyes with a disheartened expression and shake his head.

"Go Fish."

It was disheartening, but on the next turn, Chores claimed his two, causing Alexander to collapse onto his little paws.

"H-How?" Alexander exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief as Ricky snatched his seven in the following round.

"Why have the sisters of fate woven this cruel reality before me?" Alexander lamented, unable to contain his despair.

*Crack*

The sound of Italian leather crunching on shards of glass echoed through the room, drawing the attention of the three as Ricky deftly removed the ring from Alexander's body.

"It seems the words of those gangsters were right." A calm voice observed from the shadows, causing Ricky to squint and focus.

At first glance, the man didn't strike an imposing figure as he wore a blue plaid suit, complemented by a crisp white undershirt and a neatly tied blue tie, his demeanor almost casual amidst the tension in the air.

His bald head and absence of eyebrows stood out, and while his fangs were unremarkable and hardly protruded, they hinted at something darker.

What unmistakably marked him as a vampire were his piercing red eyes, which glinted with a predatory intensity, betraying his demeanor with a supernatural nature beneath an otherwise mundane facade.

In that gaze, there wasn't a sliver of arrogance or disgust; instead, it held a deep curiosity, an intense desire to deduce and understand who these three beings truly were.

"Greetings, I am Verdelet."

Author's Note: The fic just hit 10k collections which is crazy and a little hard to register since I really didn't think a lot of people would resonate with my writing when I first started out but I'm glad you all enjoy it.

評論 14條評論

投票