“The Darkness Strikes Back”

The manor smelled of death.

Their steps echoed softly through the empty hallways as they moved forward cautiously. Dust covered the floor like a thin layer of ash—as if this was not just an abandoned house, but a grave.

Gabriel led the way, his sword loose in his hand. Raphael followed, his lance at his side, while Michael disappeared into the shadows, his short swords ready.

Somewhere in the darkness—they knew it—the enemy was waiting.

The Whisper of the Dead

Raphael was the first to hear it.

A whisper.

Not loud. Not clear. But unmistakable.

He raised his hand, stopping his brothers.

"Do you hear that?"

Gabriel tilted his head slightly.

Silence.

Then, a dull knocking sound.

Michael froze for a moment. "Below us."

Gabriel looked down at the floor. The wooden planks were rotten but still strong enough to hold their weight. Yet beneath their feet…

Something was moving down there.

The First Attack

Then—a scream.

The floorboards beneath them shattered as a dark figure burst through.

Gabriel jumped back, raising his sword. Raphael thrust his lance forward, but the enemy dodged, moving with unnatural speed.

Michael reacted instinctively.

He dived to the side, his blades flashing through the air. But the vampire dodged—vanishing soundlessly into the shadows as if he had never been there.

"Damn it," Raphael hissed.

Then—a second crack. This time from above.

The ceiling collapsed—and two more creatures crashed down upon them.

A Battle Against Shadows

The world became chaos.

Gabriel turned swiftly, his blade cutting through the darkness. He felt the resistance of flesh and bone, heard a harsh hiss as his sword flashed.

Raphael thrust his lance forward, divine energy flickering along the blade, making the air crackle. A vampire screamed as the tip pierced him—his body already disintegrating before he hit the ground.

Michael moved like a shadow, his daggers gleaming in the darkness. He ducked under an attack, spun, slashed—and his opponent recoiled, hissing, bleeding.

But they were faster. Too fast.

And there were more than just three.

Isaac's Observation

Outside, in the shadows, Isaac stood.

His gaze remained fixed on the flickering light within the manor.

He watched as Gabriel struck an enemy down.

As Raphael drove his lance through another.

As Michael moved through the darkness like a blade itself.

They fought well.

But they were not good enough. Not yet.

Isaac exhaled slowly. The pressure in his chest returned—a dull pain, fleeting, but no longer ignorable.

It was getting worse.

But that didn't matter.

Not yet.