The Vampire Is Here...!!!

Eamon walked back to his room with Skarn trotting beside him. The hallway was quiet, and most of the lights had been turned off. Only a dim lantern flickered at the end of the corridor, casting long shadows on the walls. The air outside the window was cool. A faint breeze made the curtains flutter as they entered the room.

He dropped his cloak on the chair, then sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. His limbs ached. His head felt heavy. But the feeling of Skarn curling at his feet brought him peace.

"Let's get some sleep," he whispered.

He lay down and pulled the blanket over himself. Skarn climbed up and made a small circle near his legs before resting his head on the edge of the bed.

The world around them faded into silence.

But it didn't last long.

A strange sound woke Eamon. It was low at first. Then it grew louder.

He turned in bed and sat up, half awake.

Skarn was standing at the window, howling.

The sound pierced the stillness of the night.

The lantern outside had gone out. The room was darker now, lit only by faint moonlight.

Eamon rubbed his eyes and stood up.

"Huh… what happened, buddy? Are you okay?"

Skarn growled, staring outside. His ears were stiff. His nose twitched rapidly.

That's when Eamon felt it too.

A heavy feeling settled over him.

Something cold. Something wrong.

A dark presence.

It was close.

He rushed to the window and looked outside. At first, he saw nothing. The streets were empty. The night was still.

But then he heard something. Distant footsteps. Metal clinking. A voice yelling.

He didn't wait.

He pushed the window open and jumped out. Skarn leapt after him.

They landed on the cobbled street with a soft thud.

Eamon looked ahead. He didn't know what he was chasing, but the dark presence was getting stronger.

He ran.

Skarn ran beside him.

The streets were quiet, but the feeling in the air grew heavier with each step.

After a few blocks, Eamon saw a figure darting toward the edge of town.

A man.

He was fast.

Eamon pushed harder, his boots slamming against the ground. Skarn barked once and ran ahead.

The man neared the town's wall. Then, without hesitation, he jumped.

He flew high into the air and landed on top of the wall like it was nothing.

The wall was nearly thirty feet tall.

Eamon stopped, stunned.

"No normal man could do that," he muttered.

He looked at Skarn, picked him up, and held him over his shoulder.

"Hold tight."

He gathered heat in his palm and slammed it against the ground.

A burst of fire magic created a downward push, and he and Skarn shot into the air. They soared over the wall and landed on the other side.

The figure was running toward the forest now.

Eamon chased after him again.

The trees grew thicker as they entered the forest. The moonlight filtered through the leaves in thin slivers. The path ahead was barely visible.

Eamon slowed slightly to keep his footing. Skarn stayed on his shoulder, ears high, nose twitching.

He couldn't see the man anymore, but he could hear the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. And the presence—it was like a shadow wrapping around him.

Eamon whispered, "Can you smell him?"

Skarn barked once and pulled at Eamon's tunic, guiding him left and then right.

The chase continued.

The air was damp. Insects chirped. An owl hooted from somewhere above.

The dark feeling pressed closer.

Suddenly, Skarn yanked Eamon's shirt with his teeth.

Eamon ducked instinctively.

A sharp object zipped past his head, so close it cut a few strands of his hair.

It hit a tree and sizzled.

Eamon turned and saw it—a fast-moving arrow, red in color, dripping with some strange liquid.

"Thanks, buddy," Eamon said. "That could've killed me."

Skarn woofed twice in reply.

Eamon raised his hand and conjured a flame. He tossed it forward, and it lit the path ahead like a lantern.

For a moment, the trees glowed red.

He saw the man again. Just a glimpse. A shadow darting behind a bush.

The man didn't stop running.

Eamon chased.

They ran past fallen logs and tangled vines. The ground was uneven.

Without warning, Eamon stepped on something soft.

It gave way.

The ground disappeared beneath him.

He fell.

It was a hole.

He crashed down hard, landing on his side.

The pit was deep. Ten feet or more. The mud was slippery and soft.

He groaned, pain shooting up his leg.

"Really?" he muttered. "A trap?"

He looked up. The forest ceiling swayed above him.

He stood, winced, and tried to climb.

His foot slipped.

He cursed and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Then he focused.

He pressed his palm to the muddy ground again and released a fire pulse.

It blasted downward, launching him up.

He landed outside the hole and gasped for air.

He conjured another flame and let it float above his head like a torch.

It hovered gently, casting orange light around.

Trees. Bushes. Broken branches. Everything came into view.

"Where did he go?" Eamon muttered. "Did he run away?"

He looked around.

"And who digs a hole in the middle of the forest? Was that him?"

He walked forward.

A rustling sound made him pause.

He walked toward the edge of the trees and saw a steep drop.

Below it, a wide river flowed between two mountain cliffs.

Mist rose from the water below.

The figure was gone.

"I lost him," Eamon said.

Then it hit him.

The presence.

It was back.

But now, it was stronger. Heavier.

It wrapped around him like a blanket soaked in fear.

He took a step back.

Then he ran.

He ran toward the direction of the presence.

He didn't care how tired he was. He needed to see it through.

The path curved and dipped.

Then, through the trees, he saw movement.

A man.

Running.

Eamon chased again.

They reached a clearing.

Suddenly, another figure leapt from the side.

It crashed into Eamon.

They both hit the ground.

Skarn flew off his shoulder.

The pup landed on a stone. His head hit it hard.

He didn't move.

Eamon gasped and scrambled to his feet.

His left arm throbbed. Blood oozed from a fresh bruise.

He turned and saw Skarn lying still, blood on his head.

"Skarn!" he yelled.

The pup didn't respond.

Eamon clenched his fists. His vision blurred. Anger boiled inside him. He turned.

They stood in a wide patch of open land between the trees. No bushes. No cover. The moonlight poured down, silver and cold.

He finally saw the man's face clearly.

Pale skin. Black eyes. Sharp fangs.

Eamon gritted his teeth.

"So," he said. "You're the bloody vampire. Arthur."

To this, Arthur said, "I finally got to see your face".

His voice was calm. Cold.

Eamon looked down at Skarn's body. Eamon's rage flared. Without waiting, he reached into his pocket ring and pulled out the Vixterium sword. The blade gleamed red under the moonlight.

He dashed forward.

Arthur also pulled out a pair of sai-daggers and blocked the strike.

Their weapons clashed.