CHAPTER 14: Jack and “Jack”

Zzzzz… zz… zzzzzzz… Zzz Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

In his dream, Jack stood in a desolate void, pitch-black and frigid.

Amidst that darkness, a faint golden light gradually appeared in the distance, shimmering like a phantom drifting in the abyss.

Jack's heart pounded. It's that.

The golden shadow… the same one he had seen as death approached. The moment he had awakened with the Last Light Blade. Jack narrowed his eyes, taking hesitant steps towards the light.

The closer he got, the more he realized—it was the silhouette of a woman. Slender figure, long hair flowing gently as if merging with the light. But her face was indistinct, obscured by the radiant, dazzling golden aura.

"Who…?" Jack murmured.

He tried to run towards her, as if wanting to touch her—but—

THUNK!

A searing pain pierced straight through his chest. Jack looked down, and the sight before him froze his blood.

The Last Light.

It was impaling him.

Blood gushed out, each drop falling onto the inky black ground. The pain was so intense his legs buckled.

"No… why…?" Jack whispered, his voice fading.

From the distance, the woman's silhouette raised a hand, pointing directly behind him. Jack turned his head.

His heart seemed to stop beating. That face… Him.

Jack the Butcher.

Eyes burning with crimson light, skin sickly pale. A savage grin stretched across his lips, filled with cruel delight. A true monster—nothing human remained. He stared intently at Jack, as if to say: "You're no different from me."

Jack trembled, a cold sweat drenching his body.

Then a voice echoed, as if piercing straight into his consciousness. A female voice, resonating from another dimension:

Jack… wake up. Wake up now… WAKE UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP—!

CRASH!

Jack jolted awake, eyes snapping open, gasping for air. But what he saw… was more horrifying than the dream.

He was drinking Mira's blood.

Tooth marks were still imprinted on her neck, blood oozing from the bite wounds. Mira lay limp, her eyes squeezed shut, tears streaming down her face. Her complexion was deathly pale with terror.

And Jack… was holding her down with both hands. John lay unconscious on the floor, dried blood crusted around his temple.

The room was a wreck, as if a fierce battle had just taken place. Furniture was shattered. Walls were cracked.

And amidst it all— The Last Light was plunged into the floor, its light flickering erratically in red. No longer the pure golden glow.

But red… an angry red, emitting distorted, chaotic energy waves.

Jack froze, stunned. He recoiled from Mira, panting, his mind reeling in horror.

"W-what the hell is going on…?!"

========================================================================= …Fifteen minutes earlier…

Jack was sinking into a deep slumber. After everything he had endured—blood, fighting, inner turmoil—this sleep was like a healing balm. The room was so quiet he could hear his own steady breathing. But then… his eyes suddenly snapped open.

Burning crimson.

The gentle amber of his humanity had vanished, replaced by a wild red—His eyes. There was no doubt… Jack the Butcher had returned.

Somehow, he was still alive inside him. Maybe John's words—about purification, about the sword choosing its master—were just wishful thinking. The truth remained the truth. He had never truly left.

Jack—no, he—reached a hand to his chest, where the sword had pierced him. The pain from the stab wound just half a day ago felt vividly real again. The memory of the old man… that sword… that fear… it was all still etched within him. He sat up abruptly, staring around in bewilderment, gasping for breath.

"Am I… still alive? What the hell is happening…?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and guttural.

The room was the same, dust-covered, everything silent. He stood up, walked over to the cracked old mirror, wiped away the thick layer of dust, and stared at his reflection. He was still him—that face, those eyes, that killing instinct that had never faded.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember—but not his memories. The memories of the human Jack. Every word, every action, every emotion he had shared with John and Mira. It all flooded back, as clear as if he had lived through it himself.

He shuddered. "No way… Am I that guy? Am I… him?" he whispered, his heart a battleground of conflicting emotions.

Suddenly, his head snapped towards the corner of the room. That sword—the Last Light Blade—still lay there. Untouched, as if waiting.

He walked towards it slowly. His hand clenched into a fist with the pressure. That sword, it had dealt him a fatal wound. The wound had healed, but the fear lingered. Yet, strangely… the closer he got, a feeling of warmth, of familiarity, welled up within him. As if… he and that sword belonged together.

The Last Light trembled slightly, small pulses as if responding to his emotions. He reached out, his fingertips just millimeters away from the hilt when—

He froze. Vampire senses screamed a warning—someone was approaching. The scent… it was Mira.

*"That brat…" *He inhaled softly.

No time left. He spun around, lunged towards the bed, lay down, and closed his eyes, feigning sleep—as if nothing had happened. As if… he was still the human Jack.

And the door began to open.

Mira gently pushed open the wooden door, stepping into the dimly lit room. The flickering light from the oil lamp illuminated Jack's face—still asleep, peaceful as an innocent.

But Mira felt no peace.

She stood silently, watching Jack for a long moment. Her eyes… were different from before. Not suspicion, not caution. But fury. Hatred.

Slowly, she reached into her coat.

A silver knife—the cold glint of silver—peeking out from the fabric. She pulled it out, gripping it tightly with both hands.

"I can end it all… right here," she thought.

In the silence, Jack, the Elite Vampire Lord within, sensed her every move.

"That brat… what is she planning?" He narrowed his eyes, still feigning sleep.

But then Mira squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip.

She tightened her grip on the knife a little more… then relaxed it.

Her breath hitched, her hand trembled, and she slid the knife back into her coat.

She couldn't do it. Not now. For some reason… her hand wouldn't strike. Perhaps it was the look in Jack's eyes when he had protected her. Perhaps it was because… something had changed within him. She recalled the image of him saving her twice just hours ago.

Mira sighed, turning to leave.

"Mira."

The voice came from behind her, deeper and colder than before.

"Were you planning to kill me? What was that knife for?"

Jack—no longer "Jack"—sat up, stepping towards her, his voice chilling.

Mira froze. Sweat broke out on her skin, but not from fear. But… from resolve.

She turned around, her gaze like a drawn blade. "Yes. I was going to kill you. Whether you're some hero or 'humanity's hope,' I don't care." Her voice trembled slightly. "No matter what you do, you can't change the truth… that you killed my entire family!"

Mira broke down, unable to hold back any longer. She almost screamed through her sobs. "I recognized you—the moment you stepped into that shelter. It was those eyes. I followed you all the way here… just waiting for a chance to kill you. Do you understand? But then…" She choked, her body shaking.

But before she could finish, Jack—He—smirked, a predatory grin twisting his lips.

"Heh heh heh… Brown hair, was it? That's right, after I drank your father's blood that day… I didn't see you around anymore."

He took a step closer, his head bowed, his crimson eyes slowly lifting, glowing in the dim light.

"You ran away while I was still eating. Too bad… your father was so delicious I didn't bother looking for you." He laughed, gesturing as if wiping his mouth. "You've grown quite a bit, little girl… And just in time… because I'm hungry."

Jack the Butcher—the bloodthirsty fiend—had fully returned.

He tilted his head back, his face contorted by predatory instinct. Half of his humanity had vanished, leaving only bloodlust burning in his red eyes. Utter inhumanity.

Mira's eyes widened in horror. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her entire body trembling. She was shocked by those terrible words…

"A… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"

The scream echoed through the corridors of the Solar Order stronghold.

John, asleep in the next room, jolted awake, his face creased with annoyance at the piercing shriek. "What was that? Mira?!" He sprang up, snatched his oil lamp, and rushed towards the room.

His voice echoed down the hallway. "What's going on?! Mira! What happened?!"

Footsteps pounded closer, closer… But would he arrive in time?

The room now held a terrifying tableau—on one side, the bloodthirsty, inhuman Jack the Butcher, and on the other, Mira, consumed by deep-seated hatred.

And the Last Light Blade… still lay in the corner… vibrating faintly… and, more ominously, emitting distorted, eerie waves of red energy…

…What would happen next…?