Don't curse your fate, girl!

The strongest among them was right in front of her. At the center of the room, a figure cloaked in darkness stood still, its back to her, exuding an aura of quiet menace. The moonlight poured in through the large window behind it, casting an unnatural glow that deepened the shadows around it, as if the figure were wrapped in darkness itself.

Myhra's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice steady but laced with a challenge.

The figure remained motionless for a moment, soaking in the tension of the moment, clearly savoring it. Then, with slow, deliberate movement, it turned to face her. The sight of the figure's face made Myhra's stomach drop. It was someone she knew—a face that had haunted her nightmares for years. Someone who had once served the most sinister being she had ever encountered.

The figure's eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, cold and predatory, their gleam reflecting in the moonlight like shards of ice. Myhra's body tensed, the air around her thick with the weight of recognition.

"Zhelis," she breathed, the name slipping from her lips like a curse. He was the stuff of legends—an infamous militant vampire, bloodthirsty and radical, with ties to some of the darkest corners of vampire society. His kind was rare, but the havoc they wreaked was boundless. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made the room seem smaller, suffocating.

Zhelis' lips curled into a sneer, the faintest flicker of amusement lighting his eerie gaze. "Ah, the Silver Council's little pet," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Didn't think I'd see you here. Or did you just come to die on their behalf? You do love playing the hero."

Myhra clenched her fists, her stance unwavering. "You should've stayed in the shadows, Zhelis. that's where you belong—scurrying around in the dark like the coward you are." she provoked.

Zhelis chuckled darkly, the sound grating like metal on stone. "Coward?" he mused, taking a deliberate step forward, his smirk never faltering. "Oh, sweet child, if I were a coward, you'd still be searching for me, hoping I'd be merciful. I don't hide, unlike some who cling to their little golden titles." His eyes flicked dismissively over her, as if she were beneath him. "You're wearing that Silver Council scent like a badge of honor. How cute."

His gaze raked over her, and for a moment, Myhra wondered if she could still see the flicker of something familiar in his eyes—something human—but that thought vanished as quickly as it came. His amusement faded, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity.

Zhelis' lips twisted into a sneer as he stepped closer, eyes gleaming with malice. "Of course. The unmistakable stench of Silver Council arrogance," he said, his voice thick with disdain. "That self-righteous, sanctimonious aura you all carry, as if your magic is the world's last hope. It's almost comical—how humans love to pretend they matter." He gave a slow, mocking glance at Myhra, his voice dripping with contempt. "And here you are, strutting in like some knight in shining armor. To protect who? What little broken soul has forced you out of your hole this time? I knew the coward was summoning someone, but a rat like you? Now, that's a real disappointment."

Myhra raised an eyebrow, her smirk never fading. "Well, I'll take rat over a rotting corpse like you any day. At least I don't need to stare at myself for hours to remember who I am. You, though? Still stuck playing the part of some ancient relic." She glanced him up and down with feigned pity. "Do they even make mirrors dark enough for you to see yourself?"

Her eyes met his, sharp and unyielding. "Now, surrender, Zhelis, or I'll have to make you kneel."

Zhelis' grin only widened, as though savoring the moment. "Kneel?" He chuckled darkly, dripping sarcasm. "Sweetheart, we're not even playing the same game. You're just a tool, a pawn in someone else's hands." His eyes flickered to the Silver Council's emblem on her chest, hidden beneath her armor. "And tools? They're easily discarded when they've outlived their usefulness."

Myhra's expression hardened, the smile fading into something colder. " I've been called worse by people with actual power." She stepped forward, unflinching, her eyes narrowing. "But here's the thing, tools can be sharp. And when they're sharpened right, they cut deeper."

Zhelis leaned in closer, his voice a low hiss that sent a chill down her spine. "Don't flatter yourself. The only thing cutting here is you and your little delusion that you can stop me. You think you can save this world? It's already condemned. The end is coming, and I'm just here to help it along."

The silence stretched between them, thick Myhra's resolve only solidified. "Not while I'm breathing," she said, her voice steady, every word a promise. "And not while I have the power to stop it."

Zhelis chuckled, dark amusement dancing in his eyes. The sound was hollow, like a distant warning. "We'll see about that in a minute, won't we?" He let the words hang in the air, as though her arrival had been nothing more than a disappointment. His tone was laced with derision, as if he had been expecting someone more formidable, someone worthier of his attention.

"Before that tell me," he continued, his voice taking on a condescending drawl, "Did they send you here to die, or you merely the sacrificial lamb of your fate?" He stepped forward, the shadows around him shifting as though they were drawn to his every movement, clinging to him like a dark aura.

Myhra flexed her fingers the movement slow for now sparkled a glow, her gaze fixed on Zhelis with steely resolve. "I came on my own accord, fates being too kind to you up until,"

"On your own?" Zhelis raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Is that your over-confidence speaking? From a Silver, no less. How quaint." His eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "But misplaced. You see, I wasn't expecting you. I had anticipated someone far more... substantial." He let the implication linger, as if her very presence was a mistake, an afterthought.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but Myhra forced herself to stay calm. "Sorry to disappoint, but you're stuck with me," she shot back, her voice steady, refusing to let his taunts get under her skin. "And perhaps won't be as easy to deal with as you might think."

Zhelis chuckled darkly, his fangs glinting in the dim light. "Oh, don't worry. I never underestimate the Silver Council's little pets. You've been trained well, I'm sure. But this isn't your realm. " His tone shifted to something colder, more sinister. He turned away from her ignoring her and began to look around the room. "Do you want to play a game?" he said almost like talking to someone else.

"Little scout," he continued, voice laced with mockery, "Who brings you to this forsaken place? Surely you hear someone chant. Would you tell me what they were chanting?"

She took a single step forward, her eyes flashing with defiance. "I could ask you the same. This isn't your domain. I repeat, surrender or you'll be taken as captive."

His gaze darkened, a flicker of menace tightening the air. "Do you even comprehend what stands before, girl?"

Myhra's eyes narrowed, her grip firm. "Your arrogance is showing," she replied, voice sharp. "Are you so blind to your own self-importance, or by hatred?"

Zhelis's smirk faded, his expression hardening as he took another step toward her, his figure casting an ominous shadow. "Hatred? No, it's not so simple. You wouldn't understand the necessity of eliminating pests like your kind."

She met his gaze, unwavering. "Understanding your twisted logic would be a waste of time."

His smile vanished completely, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes. "Very well," he growled, "but don't say I didn't warn you. If you persist, this will end in blood."

 "What's life without a bit of drama from you pompous vampires?" she mildly shook her head.

Zhelis's fangs gleamed in the dim light as his lips pulled back in a sneer. "I could drain you dry, little scout, but today, I have more pressing matters. Consider yourself fortunate. I have prey to hunt... a bloodsucker who's proven rather elusive." His eyes gleamed with predatory intent as he turned.

"Preying? On your own kind? Delightfully ironic, isn't it?" Myhra quipped, her tone mocking.

Zhelis's expression twisted in irritation, the insult hitting its mark. "You think I'm like the others?" he spat. "Naive than I thought."

Myhra's voice sharpened with defiance. "You're sorely mistaken to think you could roam free, causing chaos wherever you please."

Zhelis's expression darkened, his anger barely concealed. "If my hands weren't tied by this task, I'd deal with you in a way you wouldn't forget," he muttered, a hint of regret lacing his words. "So don't curse you fate, girl." He turned into a bat size and circled the room where his wings flapped and eyes goes red. Myhra noticed he was not trying to escape but focusing his vision on the other dark shadow entities in the room. He was looking for someone particular desperately. Her brows furrowed deeper because it was strange how evident it for her to find the entity but not for him. Why, she wondered but decided to look into it later.

Myhra chuckled, her laughter echoing through the dimly lit chamber. She glanced into the shadows, where another figure seemed to lurk. "Don't tell me you can't even see him," she teased, her voice dripping with mockery. "A Vampire Zhelis with poor eyesight—now that's unheard of." 

Shocked and humiliated, Zhelis turned back into his full form as he glared at the place Myhra pointed and struggled to maintain his dignity. "You've made my job easier," he admitted with thinly veiled frustration. "It's not a matter of eyesight. The one you see is marked by cursed blood—makes them... difficult and nearly impossible to track. That's why they need to be eliminated before their power grows out of control."

With a sudden shift in demeanor, he advanced on his intended target, eyes gleaming with predatory intent. But before he could reach it, Myhra's hand shot out, intercepting his grasp with lightning speed. She stepped between Zhelis and the shadowy figure, her gaze meeting the golden eyes of the dark silhouette. Feeling no malice from it as it did nothing to attack her or the Zhelis, she allowed it to slip back into the shadows.

"Your methods are problematic here," Myhra declared, her tone firm. "And I don't think you have the authority to lay a hand on even a pest in this Kingdom. If you seek justice, I'll take you to the Council myself. But know this: you will not act with murderous intent."

In a swift motion, Zhelis lunged, shadows swirling as his dark form rushed forward, his hand extending toward her like a blade of darkness. Myhra's blood magic flared in response, her crimson blade materializing from thin air, glowing with deadly energy. She parried his attack, their weapons clashing with a bright, fiery spark that lit up the room. The force of their clash reverberated through the stone walls.

But as their blades locked, a dark, spectral tendril shot from Zhelis's shadow, wrapping itself around her wrist, cold as ice. Myhra hesitated for a brief moment, the chill creeping through her skin. The shadows constricted, tightening like a serpent's coil, trying to pull her into their embrace.

"Blood sword!? Not bad...neither good enough against me. You'll run out of your depth soon," Zhelis hissed, his voice cold, his shadowy form overpowering her with its sheer malice.

"Then by all means... try." she stared. 

Zhelis eyes traced the glowing sword in her grip, which had legends attached to it said to be passed down in the specific lineages and wielders. "Is that why you stand so fearless before me? Few mortals dare to wield such a force. It takes either remarkable courage... or foolishness."

Myhra's pulse quickened as the icy tendril tightened around her wrist, its cold touch seeping into her skin. For a split second, the grip of Zhelis's dark magic seemed inescapable, his spectral power tugging her toward the consuming void. But she wasn't about to let the vampire's arrogance win.

Drawing a sharp breath, Myhra closed her eyes and focused inward. The pulse of her blood magic surged to life, the warmth of its crimson energy coursing through her veins like molten lava. She concentrated on the flow, allowing the it energy to flow until it radiated from her skin. In an instant, the blood magic flared, bursting outward in a radiant wave of crimson light, severing the shadowy tendrils with a sharp hiss. The oppressive chill of Zhelis's shadow dissipated, leaving only faint wisps of darkness in its wake.

Zhelis snarled, his eyes narrowing as he recoiled from the surge of energy. "Impressive," he spat, voice dripping with contempt. "But a mere spark of magic won't save you."

Myhra steadied herself, her blood sword glowing brightly in her grip. "A spark is all I need to burn you to ashes, Zhelis."

With a swift movement, she lunged at him, her blade cutting through the air with lethal precision. Zhelis sidestepped her attack, his own shadowy sword materializing in his hand. The weapons met with a resounding clash, sparks flying as the impact resonated through the chamber. Myhra pressed forward, her strikes rapid and relentless, forcing Zhelis to defend.

The vampire's movements were fluid, graceful, as he parried her attacks with ease, but Myhra could sense the tension building beneath his calm exterior. His eyes flickered with frustration as he realized she wasn't as "green" as he'd assumed.

"You're faster than I expected," Zhelis muttered, deflecting a powerful strike aimed at his chest. "But speed won't help you if you don't have the strength to finish the fight."

"Strength is all I have in my blood, dare you too drain me," Myhra chuckled, her voice low as she pivoted and swung her sword in a deadly arc.

The blade connected with Zhelis's shadowy form, sending a ripple through his dark aura. He staggered back, a low growl escaping his lips as he glared at her. Myhra didn't relent—she pressed the attack, her blood magic coursing through her blade, each strike crackling with power.

Zhelis's frustration boiled over. With a furious snarl, he unleashed a wave of darkness that surged toward Myhra, the room plunging into an oppressive gloom. Shadows twisted and writhed, filling every corner, threatening to swallow her whole. Myhra gritted her teeth, her lantern flickering in the encroaching darkness.

"Enough of these play," Zhelis's voice echoed from the void, disembodied and sinister. "Do you even know what you're facing?"

Through the dense shadows, Myhra saw him, a towering figure of darkness approaching with menacing grace. For a heartbeat, doubt flickered in her mind—but she clenched her sword tighter. The blood magic flared again, this time more potent, its crimson light slicing through the veil of darkness like a beacon.

"I've fought worse than you in my nightmares," Myhra shouted, her voice unwavering as she surged forward, her sword raised high.