CHAPTER 426: VAMPIRE HUNTER

The night was a living, breathing thing.

Amber moved through the slums like a shadow unchained, her every step silent yet deliberate. The narrow alleys twisted like the intestines of a dying beast, the air thick with the stench of rotting garbage, stale ale, and the coppery hint of fresh blood from some unfortunate soul mugged earlier in the night. The moon hung low and swollen, painting the decaying streets in silver light. Somewhere in the distance, the faint rhythm of waves crashing against the coastal rocks whispered beneath the louder chaos of the city’s nightlife.

Her eyes glowed faintly red under the hood, scanning every movement, every heartbeat. She could hear the life in these streets — drunken brawls in taverns, whispered deals between thieves, the shuffling footsteps of pickpockets tracking unsuspecting victims. But her interest lay in a more satisfying prey: those who wouldn’t be missed. Scum feeding on the weak.

And of course, the rats — human or otherwise.

She took her time, stalking her targets. First, a group of four thugs cornering a woman in a dim backstreet. Amber stepped into the mouth of the alley, just far enough for her silhouette to cast a shadow over them. They turned, sneering — until they saw her eyes.

Her hand moved faster than thought.

A flash of steel — no, claw — tore one man’s throat open. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, catching the moonlight like rubies in flight. The others froze just long enough for her to grab the second by the skull and slam it against the wall with a wet crunch. The last two tried to run. They didn’t make it five steps before their blood was flowing in a controlled stream toward her hand. She drank without touching them, the scarlet liquid spiraling midair into her mouth like a serpent.

Satisfying. But not enough. The thirst was deeper tonight.

Amber wiped her lips, pulled her hood lower, and continued deeper into the labyrinth of alleys. She didn’t know when she first sensed him — perhaps a flicker of intent in the air, perhaps the faintest shift in the surrounding silence — but her instincts screamed of a predator not unlike herself.

A vampire hunter.

The scent was different from the others. No fear, no uncertainty. His heart was steady, controlled. His presence... deliberate. He was hunting her.

Amber’s smile widened.

She kept moving, pretending not to notice. If he wanted to stalk her, she would give him the thrill. Turning into a darker alley, she slowed her pace until her boots barely whispered against the cobblestones. The walls here were high, the smell of mildew and rust thick in the air.

And then— whish!

A silver-edged crossbow bolt screamed through the darkness, slicing past her cheek by less than an inch. The moment it embedded into the wall behind her, a burst of alchemical light flared, illuminating the alley in stark white.

From the shadows ahead stepped her hunter.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing dark leather reinforced with silver studs. His mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were cold steel — no hesitation, no pity. In his hands, a long silvered glaive, the blade etched with runes that glowed faintly in the moonlight.

"Vampire, I thought you disappeared or choose to stay hidden until now?" he said, voice low and controlled.

"Well, either way your hunt ends tonight."

Amber tilted her head, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. "Big words for someone who missed his first shot."

His stance didn’t falter. "I didn’t miss. I warned."

The fight began instantly.

The hunter lunged, glaive sweeping in a wide arc. Amber slid back, the blade’s silver edge passing inches from her neck, sizzling faintly as it cut the air. She countered, closing the distance with vampiric speed — but he pivoted sharply, twisting the weapon into a spinning slash that forced her back. The man moved like a veteran, his strikes economical, each motion designed to kill.

Amber’s claws flashed, striking in a flurry aimed at his unarmored gaps, but the hunter blocked with precision, forcing her away with bursts of silver dust from his gauntlets. She hissed as the particles burned her skin on contact, retreating into the shadows of the alley.

"Good reflexes," she admitted, licking a drop of her own blood from her wrist. "You’ve killed our kind before."

He didn’t answer, just advanced — his footwork controlled, forcing her into the open.

Amber feinted left, then dashed right, her speed blurring her form into afterimages. The hunter read the movement, thrusting the glaive forward. She twisted, letting the blade graze her ribs, then grabbed the shaft and yanked him forward — only for his free hand to slam a silver dagger toward her chest.

She caught his wrist. They locked eyes — predator and predator — before she drove her knee into his stomach, launching him back several feet.

They circled now, both gauging the other.

Amber shifted her approach. Instead of raw speed, she began to toy with him. She darted in just close enough to make him swing, then vanished into the shadows. Her voice echoed from different angles, taunting.

"Your heartbeat’s steady. Impressive. But I can smell the tension."

A whisper from behind him: "You know you’re prey, right?"

From above, perched on the wall: "How many of us have you killed? Enough to think you can kill me?"

The hunter didn’t rise to the bait. He set his feet and waited.

She respected that. So she stopped hiding.

The second clash was brutal.

Amber charged head-on, claws meeting glaive in a shower of sparks. He spun the weapon with fluid grace, the blade singing through the night air. She ducked under one strike, sprang over the next, her movements feline, predatory. Her leg whipped out in a kick that cracked against his side, but the man twisted with the impact, rolling to his feet without breaking rhythm.

He slammed the glaive’s butt into the ground — and the runes on the blade flared bright. A sudden pulse of silver energy blasted outward, forcing Amber back with a hiss as it seared her skin.

The hunter seized the moment, launching into a flurry of thrusts and sweeps. Amber weaved through them, but one thrust caught her across the thigh, leaving a smoking gash. She didn’t slow. Instead, she used the momentum to spin inside his guard and rake her claws across his chest armor, leaving deep gouges.

They broke apart again, both breathing harder now.

"You’re good," Amber admitted, blood running down her leg. "But you’re still bleeding more than me."

Indeed, crimson seeped through the rents in his armor. The scent only fed her hunger.

He didn’t speak — just pulled a vial from his belt, smashing it at his feet. Smoke burst upward, thick and choking. Amber leapt back, but the hunter was already in the air, glaive descending like an executioner’s blade.

She caught it with both hands, the impact driving her to one knee. Her claws screeched against the silver, the heat biting into her palms. With a snarl, she pushed upward, twisting the weapon aside and driving her elbow into his face. Bone crunched. The hunter staggered back.

Amber didn’t give him time to recover. She surged forward, claws flashing in a relentless assault. Every strike forced him back a step, every dodge cost him breath. He parried one slash, but she pivoted, sweeping his legs from under him. As he fell, she kicked the glaive from his grip, sending it clattering across the cobblestones.

The hunter rolled away, pulling two short silvered blades from his belt. He met her charge with crossed steel, the alley ringing with the clash of metal and claw. His dual strikes were fast, vicious — each cut searing where it landed — but Amber’s reach and feral agility began to overwhelm him.

Finally, she caught his wrist mid-strike, twisting until the bone cracked. He dropped one blade with a grunt, and she slammed him into the wall, her claws poised over his throat.

"You fought well," she said softly, almost respectfully. "But this is my hunt."

Her hand plunged forward.

Swoosh!

The hunter’s eyes widened as her claws pierced his chest, her grip closing around his heart. She could feel the last defiance in his gaze — the will not to scream. Slowly, deliberately, she drew his blood out in a controlled stream, the crimson liquid twisting into her waiting mouth. His body slackened as his strength bled away.

When she was done, she let him drop to the cobblestones, his eyes still open, glassy and empty.

Amber stepped back, breathing slow. Her wounds were already closing. The night air tasted richer now, fuller. She glanced at the hunter’s glaive lying nearby, its runes fading, and considered keeping it — but decided to leave it as a silent marker of her victory.

She pulled her hood back up and melted into the darkness, the city’s night noises swallowing her steps.

Somewhere, far away, the sea whispered again.