Chapter : The Captures Vampires

The Wasteland at Dawn

The morning sun rose over the industrial graveyard, casting a dull golden glow across the miles of rusted wreckage and abandoned machinery. The junkyard stretched endlessly, a maze of forgotten metal, shattered glass, and skeletal remains of vehicles long past their prime. Twisted beams and rusted shipping containers stood like hollowed-out tombs, whispering of a time when this place had been useful.

But now, it was nothing more than a wasteland.

And within that wasteland, something moved.

A lone figure stumbled forward, each step a battle against agony. His pale skin once smooth and unmarked was now blistered and raw, the sunlight searing him like a curse. The vampire had never felt pain like this. His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs barely holding him up as he staggered between the rusted carcasses of old trucks.

He knew he had made a mistake.

He shouldn't have let the hunger take control.

But the hunger didn't listen to reason.

He had spent the night prowling for food, his instincts overpowering his logic. He had searched for something someone easy. A lost traveler, a drunkard, anything to satisfy the gnawing in his gut. But he had waited too long.

By the time he realized the sun was rising, it was already too late.

He could feel his body deteriorating. His fingers, once strong and quick, were now slow and trembling. His lips had cracked, and he could taste his own burned flesh on his tongue.

Still, he had one advantage.

He reached up with what little strength he had left and touched the mark on his shoulder.

A crest intricate and noble, burned into his skin like a seal of protection. He had seen other vampires react to it with fear. Some had bowed. Others had avoided him entirely.

That had to mean something, right?

Surely, it would keep him safe now.

Wouldn't it?

A sound shattered the silence.

A sharp, mechanical click.

Snipers.

The vampire froze, his instincts screaming at him to move, to run, but his body refused to obey. He lifted his head weakly, scanning the rooftops of the rusted-out warehouses that surrounded him.

And then, he saw them.

Two figures, crouched low on a rooftop, rifles aimed directly at him. Their movements were precise, their fingers steady on the triggers.

Hunters.

A burst of static crackled through the quiet air as one of them whispered into a communicator.

"We've got something," the hunter murmured. "Vampire spotted. Crest on the shoulder. Could be one of the nobles."

A beat of silence. Then, a cold voice replied through the radio.

Elias.

"Hold your position. Do not engage until backup arrives."

The hunter lowered his communicator and exhaled. "Orders are orders. We wait."

The vampire's pulse pounded in his ears. He knew that name.

Elias.

Commander of the Hunters. The man whose name was whispered among vampires like a ghost story. A man who had built his reputation on one thing—killing their kind.

Panic surged through the vampire's fragile body, but he mustered what little strength he had left and snarled.

"Stay back!" His voice was raw, his throat burning from thirst. "Do you even know who I serve?"

He lifted his chin, his burned skin stretching painfully as he pointed at the crest on his shoulder.

The hunters didn't react.

One of them muttered, "Guess we're supposed to be impressed."

The other chuckled. "Yeah. Cute trick."

A split second later, a silver net shot through the air.

Before the vampire could react, the electrified wires wrapped around his body, sending a surge of paralyzing pain through his limbs. He convulsed, a strangled cry escaping his lips, before his legs gave out entirely.

He collapsed onto the rusted ground.

And then, darkness.

The Interrogation

The next thing he felt was cold.

Not the burning heat of the sun, but something sharper. Metal.

He stirred, the aching in his body making every movement feel like an eternity. His wrists and ankles were shackled in silver restraints, the metal pressing against his skin with a relentless, burning sting. The room smelled of concrete, steel, and something bitter—like old blood and disinfectant.

A slow, measured voice cut through the haze of his mind.

"You should choose your words carefully."

His eyes snapped open.

Elias.

The hunter commander stood before him, arms crossed, his face unreadable. The dim lighting cast harsh shadows on his face, emphasizing the lines of a man who had seen too much, lost too much. His silver hair was combed back neatly, but his sharp blue eyes held no warmth.

The vampire sneered, ignoring the way his body screamed in protest. "You've made a mistake," he rasped. "Do you even know who I belong to?"

Elias remained silent.

The vampire jutted his chin out, forcing confidence he didn't feel. "This crest—this means I'm protected. You shouldn't be touching me."

Elias didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

Instead, he took a slow step forward. "Which noble family do you serve?"

The vampire faltered.

Just for a second.

But Elias saw it.

That half-second of hesitation told him everything.

The vampire clenched his teeth. "That doesn't matter."

"It matters a great deal," Elias corrected smoothly. His cold gaze swept over the vampire like he was nothing more than a puzzle to be solved. "You don't even know, do you?"

The vampire's lips parted, but no words came out.

Elias's expression didn't change, but something amused flickered behind his eyes.

"You walk around with that brand, thinking it gives you power. Thinking it makes you untouchable." His voice lowered. "But you don't even know what it means."

The vampire's breath hitched.

Elias sighed. "You're newly turned. No training, no real knowledge. And you latched onto that crest, thinking it would shield you."

The vampire hated that Elias was right.

Elias reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph.

A grainy, hastily taken image.

The vampire's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. A boy. Dark-haired. Unsteady.

"Do you know him?" Elias asked.

The vampire hesitated. "No."

"Are you sure?"

The vampire swallowed. "I don't know him. I only know his name."

Elias stilled. "What name?"

The vampire exhaled. "Adrian."

Elias's gaze sharpened. "And how did you learn that?"

The vampire hesitated again before muttering, "I saw a woman carrying him away. Silver hair. She was fast, strong. She called him Adrian."

Elias didn't move.

But something in the air shifted.

Slowly, he turned to his second-in-command. "Send out the troops."

The hunter straightened. "Sir?"

Elias's expression was cold, calculated. "Find this Adrian and any information on him . Now."

The order was given.

The hunt had begun.

TO BE CONTINUED…