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૮₍ ˵ • ꤮ ก ˵ ₎ა ▸ Vampiresㅤ.ᐟㅤ読む ▬ enjoy the story!
The moon hung high over the village of Silverwood, casting long, ghostly shadows through the dense trees that hemmed it in. Midnight crouched on the roof of the old chapel, her bow slung over her shoulder. Her midnight-black hair swayed slightly with the wind, and the scar on her right cheek tingled—a reminder of the first vampire she had ever slain. Below her, the town was shrouded in a thick, unnatural fog, as if the very air conspired to hide dark things.
She was used to this creeping unease. Raised by her grandfather after her parents were slaughtered by vampires, she had sworn to protect Silverwood from the ancient horrors that lurked in the woods. The villagers only knew the old stories of beasts and shadows, but Midnight knew the truth. They weren’t just stories—they were warnings.
Tonight, that sense of foreboding had deepened. Whispered rumors reached her ears—rumors of the Luxar clan stirring again, plotting to resurrect their queen, Azrael, whose bloodlust had once stained entire lands crimson. The elders spoke of her as a ghost story, a myth to scare children. But Midnight knew better. The Luxar were real, and so was Azrael.
As she prowled along the rooftops, her senses were on high alert. Every rustle of leaves and distant creak seemed magnified. Then, from below, she heard a faint movement—someone stepping deliberately between the trees.
Midnight leapt down silently, crouching low and ready to pounce. She took out her dagger, its silver blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight. She didn’t dare call out, her breath held as she crept closer. Then, the figure emerged into the open, and the sight of him nearly made her drop her weapon.
“Ciarán?” she whispered, her voice a mix of shock and dread.
The boy she had grown up with, who taught her to tie knots and told her ghost stories by candlelight, stood before her. His once-bright eyes were now a deep, unnatural crimson. The moonlight highlighted the pallor of his skin, making him look almost spectral.
“Midnight,” Ciarán replied, his voice carrying a hollow, mournful echo.
“What happened to you?” Midnight demanded, her voice tight. Her grip on the dagger faltered. She couldn’t hurt him—she couldn’t hurt Ciarán.
“They took me,” he said, voice almost breaking. “The Luxar found me…and turned me. I tried to fight them, but—” He took a step forward, and Midnight instinctively raised the blade.
“Stay back!” she snapped, but her voice betrayed her fear.
Ciarán’s face was wracked with guilt. “They’re trying to bring her back, Midnight—Azrael. I couldn’t stop them. They’re too powerful.”
Midnight’s mind reeled. The boy who once vowed to protect her, to always be there, was now a vessel of the very evil she had sworn to fight. But deep within those crimson eyes, she could still see the flicker of the old Ciarán, scared and conflicted.
“There has to be a way to reverse this,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Ciarán’s eyes darkened. “There is, but…it’s not something I’d ever ask of you.”
“You don’t have to ask,” Midnight replied firmly. “Tell me what to do.”
---
Two days later, Midnight found herself deep in the forest, the mist swallowing the sound of her footsteps. She was standing in front of Lucian, a rogue vampire exiled from the Luxar clan. He was an old creature with dark, knowing eyes that seemed to bore into her soul.
“You’re either very brave or very foolish to seek me out, hunter,” Lucian said, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of malice.
“I need a cure,” Midnight replied, meeting his gaze steadily.
Lucian’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “A cure for what? A lover’s ailment?”
“For someone I care about,” she snapped, her patience wearing thin.
Lucian’s smile widened, revealing sharp fangs. “There is no cure for vampirism, not unless you’re willing to sacrifice something dear to you—your blood, your humanity.” He leaned closer, eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. “The ritual will bind you to him, hunter. He must drink your blood willingly. But in doing so, you will transform, and you will lose all memories of your past life. You will become one of us.”
“If it saves him, I’ll do it,” Midnight replied, steel in her voice.
Lucian chuckled darkly. “Then let’s hope your resolve matches your bravery, little hunter. If you fail, you’ll doom not just yourself…but everyone you once loved.”
---
The ritual took place beneath a full moon, its light turning the clearing into a surreal, otherworldly scene. Ciarán and Midnight stood facing each other, the silence between them thick with dread and unspoken fears. Midnight took a deep breath, feeling the cold weight of what she was about to do.
“Midnight, are you sure about this?” Ciarán’s voice trembled with guilt and fear.
“I won’t lose you,” Midnight whispered. “Not to them.”
Ciarán’s hand trembled as he took her wrist. His eyes were filled with tears, and she saw the old Ciarán fighting to stay in control. But she nodded, giving him permission to do what must be done.
His fangs sank into her wrist, and searing pain shot through her. Midnight bit back a scream as she felt her blood drain, her strength leaving her body. The world around her blurred, memories flashing through her mind like fleeting shadows—her grandfather’s voice, the villagers’ smiles, Ciarán’s laughter—all fading into nothingness.
“Midnight?” Ciarán’s voice seemed distant, muffled by the encroaching darkness.
The last sound she heard was her own heartbeat slowing…until it stopped.
---
When Midnight awoke, she felt different. The world was sharper, clearer, but also…emptier. Her humanity felt like a distant dream. When she looked at Ciarán, there was no warmth, no familiarity. Just a lingering sense of duty to the Luxar.
“Midnight?” Ciarán’s voice was cautious, hopeful.
She turned to him, her lips curving into a slow, predatory smile. “I remember you,” she said, her voice smooth and almost sinister. “You’re the one who saved me.”
Ciarán’s eyes widened with horror. “No…”
“Yes,” Midnight replied, her smile widening. “And now, we know what we have to do.”
---
The next night, Silverwood slept under the illusion of safety. But outside the town’s gates, Midnight stood at the head of the Luxar, her eyes gleaming with malevolence. The fog rolled in like an omen, and the ancient vampires followed her like shadows given form.
“Tonight, we end this,” she declared, her voice cold and commanding.
Ciarán’s hand trembled as he gripped his sword, his face a mask of grief and guilt. “Midnight, please,” he begged. “This isn’t who you are!”
Midnight turned to him, her head tilted slightly. “Who I was doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied softly, almost mockingly. “This is who I am now.”
With a single, deliberate motion, she signaled the attack. The Luxar surged forward, and the town’s gates fell like paper under their onslaught. Vampires moved like wraiths, slithering into homes, silencing screams before they could rise.
Midnight led them through the town with a ruthless precision, using her intimate knowledge of every alley and hidden path. Her senses were alight with bloodlust, the villagers’ cries like a haunting melody.
As the bells tolled in panic and the flames licked at the wooden houses, Ciarán confronted her one last time. “Midnight, stop!” he cried, his voice choked with desperation. “This isn’t you!”
Midnight looked at him, her expression almost pitying. “It was never about me, Ciarán,” she replied, her voice as cold as the grave. “It was about us.”
And with that, she turned and walked away, leading the Luxar deeper into the burning town. Silverwood fell, its protector now its executioner.
In the heart of the chaos, as villagers fell and fires consumed all, Midnight stood with a serene, satisfied smile. The shadows of Silverwood closed in, and the Luxar queen’s rebirth began.
The hunter had become the monster, and Silverwood’s fate was sealed in the cold, unrelenting grip of Midnight’s shadow.
