Plunged into death

Ariel stood in the dimly lit meeting hall, her arms crossed, her patience wearing thin. The weight of Viktor's gaze bore into her, but she held firm.

"This mission isn't suitable for me."

Her voice was steady, but there was a flicker of unease in her chest. The others in the room—leaders of the shelter, all pureblood humans—watched her with the same suspicion they always did.

"Why not?" Viktor leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the wooden table. "You've performed exceptionally so far. You've survived every C-ranked mission." He emphasized survived with a smirk, making it clear that, to him, she was still an outsider, a child tainted by supernatural filth. "I couldn't find anyone better."

Ariel gritted her teeth. She knew this was a test, but she refused to let them push her into a corner.

"Because I don't have a spiritual weapon or a contracted beast," she snapped, her irritation flaring. "The rules state that only those with one of the two can take on a B-ranked mission."

Viktor scoffed. "We are above rules." His lip curled in disgust. "We make decisions based on our judgment—because our blood is pure, untainted."

The insult hung in the air, pointed and deliberate.

Ariel felt the rage boil inside her, but she swallowed it down. She had no choice. She needed the shelter. She needed the resources it provided.

As she turned to leave, a familiar voice called out.

"Ariel, wait."

She glanced over her shoulder to find Marcus approaching her. He had been silent during the meeting, but now, outside, he spoke in hushed tones.

"I have a suggestion for you," he said. "Quit being a vampire huntress and live as an ordinary human. Stay in the shelter, live quietly. You're exceptional, and they see it. That's why they're afraid of you. If you stop fighting, they'll stop pushing you into danger."

Ariel's expression darkened.

"And let my gifts rot?" The words came out sharper than intended. "Sir Marcus, I'm grateful to you, truly. But I can't live like that. My power was awakened for a reason. I won't stop, even if death stands in my way."

Marcus sighed, shaking his head. "You kids… so impulsive. So egoistic." He turned away, disappointment evident in his eyes.

The cafeteria was noisy, filled with chatter and the clatter of trays. Ariel grabbed her food, weaving past the first few tables—reserved for humans who had no gifts but relied on sheer willpower to fight the supernatural. She found her place among the hybrids, the children of humans and supernatural beings.

"Is it true? They're sending you on a B-ranked mission?"

Frank, a half-human, half-werewolf, leaned closer, concern in his amber eyes.

Ariel nodded.

"Yeah. They need wolf teeth to make a potion for enhancing giftless humans."

Frank slammed his hand against the table. "This is so fucked up. They use us to strengthen themselves, but they'll never fully accept us."

"Hush," a blonde woman with sharp, pointed ears warned. "We're only 20% of the shelter. We can't afford to stir trouble."

Frank huffed but didn't argue.

Then, curiosity flickered in his gaze. "You know, you never told us which of your parents was supernatural. We can never tell where your powers come from."

Ariel's lips curved into a small smirk. "Neither. Both my parents were human. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The group stared.

"That's impossible," one of them whispered. "That means your abilities must come from an ancestor far up your bloodline. But diluted blood shouldn't make you any different from an ordinary human."

Ariel said nothing.

She had looked into her ancestry before. She had traced back twenty generations, and there was no sign of anything supernatural. No anomalies. No hidden lineage.

And yet… she was what she was.

Some mysteries were better left untouched.

After lunch, Ariel made her way toward the training grounds—until two figures blocked her path.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Let me pass."

One of them, a hulking man with a terrifying face and a magical sword strapped to his back, smirked.

"We're on the same team."

Ariel felt the hostility before he even spoke his next words.

"In the last mission, my sister went with you." Luiss's voice was low, simmering with barely restrained anger. "She didn't return."

The accusatory weight in his words settled heavy in the air.

Ariel exhaled. "My condolences. We got separated after a surprise attack by the wolves."

"Condolences?" Luiss chuckled darkly. "She was my only family. I let her go because I trusted you. You were their leader. You were supposed to protect them."

"I apologize if I was negligent. I tried my best."

But her words meant nothing.

Luiss's grief needed a target, and Ariel fit the role perfectly.

Ariel's expression hardened. "I understand your pain. But attacking a team member is against the shelter's laws."

Luiss's smirk widened. "Oh, I won't touch you. But no one is going to help you out there."

Realization hit Ariel like a stone.

A B-ranked mission. No backup. No healer.

They had set her up to die.

Luiss laughed as he walked away, his companions following suit.

Ariel clenched her fists.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

That night, Ariel sat on her bed, stroking her tiny hamster.

"You're the only one I can talk to," she murmured. The little creature twitched its nose, its beady eyes watching her intently. "It's not like you understand me, but still… it helps."

She trained for hours after that, borrowing a steel sword from Frank, pushing herself until sweat dripped down her skin. But deep down, she knew—she wasn't a swordswoman.

By the time she collapsed into bed, exhaustion claimed her.

And then, once again, her room lit with a blinding glow.

The small, furry creature she had been hugging shifted, limbs lengthening, fur dissolving into smooth skin.

Ariel's arms were wrapped around a bare chest. She let out a soft, unconscious sigh in her sleep.

Damon, now in his true form, sighed as he gently pried himself from her death grip.

His golden eyes flickered toward the sword resting by the wall.

"This won't do."

She was skilled with firearms, not swords. And one night wasn't enough for her to master it.

With a quiet resolve, he took her hand, pricking her finger ever so slightly. A few drops of blood dripped onto the blade.

The steel hummed.

The sword absorbed the blood like a starving beast, glowing faintly.

Damon ran his fingers along its edge, murmuring an incantation under his breath.

"That should do it."

He cast one last glance at Ariel, a small smile playing on his lips. Then, with the grace of a shadow, he returned to his small, furry form and curled up beside her.

Tomorrow, she would fight.

But at least now, she wouldn't be alone.