Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls

Each step seemed to carry a different weight now, not physical, but emotional, as if the wood beneath her feet knew exactly what had just happened and responded with a slight creak to each step. Amelia climbed slowly, not out of hesitation alone, but because she needed time to organize what she would say, what she could say, and what she definitely shouldn’t. The image of Elizabeth, standing at the top of the stairs with red eyes and a trembling body, was still too vivid in her mind to be ignored or softened.

When she reached the upper hallway, the silence seemed even more closed in, as if the walls had absorbed the recent despair and now kept it trapped inside. Amelia looked both ways, but didn’t need to think much to know where to go. There was a feeling in the air, an emotional tension that almost guided her steps. She began to walk down the hallway calmly, but without delay, her movements firm despite the weariness that was beginning to set in.

In the distance, she saw Elizabeth turn quickly towards her own room, her hurried steps almost stumbling over her own despair. Amelia didn’t call her name at that moment. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. She knew that any attempt to stop Elizabeth before she isolated herself would only make everything more intense. So she just kept walking, keeping enough distance not to pressure her, but close enough not to lose her.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

The sound echoed down the hallway, dry, definitive.

And then, the click of the lock.

Amelia stopped for a second before the door, staring at the wood as if measuring what was on the other side. She could hear the muffled, uneven, broken sobs—the kind of sobs that weren’t held back by choice, but because the body could no longer sustain it all at once.

She sighed.

She raised her hand.

And touched the surface of the door with her fingers, feeling the natural coldness of the wood against her skin.

"Elizabeth..."

Her voice was soft, but firm enough to pierce the barrier between them.

No answer came. The crying continued.

Amelia closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if gathering patience and decisiveness at the same time. Then she removed her hand from the door and, with a simple, controlled movement, allowed a thin layer of ice to form around her fingers. The air around her cooled slightly, almost imperceptibly, but enough for the magic to take shape.

She molded a key.

Not perfect.

But functional.

With a calm gesture, she inserted the ice key into the lock. The sound was soft, almost delicate, contrasting completely with the tension of the moment. A small turn... and the mechanism yielded.

The door opened.

Amelia pushed slowly, without haste, without bursting in abruptly.

The room was dimly lit, with only a soft light coming from a candle near the window. Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the bed, her body bent forward, her hair partially covering her face while her hands trembled against her lap. The crying was no longer contained—it was open, painful, broken in a way that left no room for pride or control.

As soon as she heard the door, Elizabeth quickly lifted her face, her red, wet eyes meeting Amelia’s with a mixture of surprise, frustration, and something close to despair.

"I locked the door!"

The voice came out louder than the rest of the room allowed, laden with unstable emotion.

Amelia closed the door behind her calmly, as if it weren’t a problem.

"I know."

She replied simply, without trying to justify herself too much.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Only the sound of Elizabeth’s crying filled the space, irregular and heavy, while Amelia watched in silence, without judgment, without any hurry to interrupt.

Elizabeth ran her hands over her face in a disordered way, trying to dry her tears, but failing completely.

"How... how did it get to this point...?"

Her voice faltered mid-sentence, breaking again.

She shook her head, as if refusing to accept what she had heard, what she had understood.

"What’s happening to the Vampire Kingdom...? What the hell is this...?"

There was anger there now.

Confusion.

And fear.

Amelia didn’t answer immediately.

She walked slowly to the bed and sat beside Elizabeth, maintaining a respectful distance, without invading her space too much. Her movements were calm, controlled, like someone who had dealt with situations like this before—not identical, but close enough to know that haste only made things worse.

For a moment, she just stood there.

Present.

Then she spoke.

"Unfortunately... the world is like this."

The sentence wasn’t spoken coldly, nor indifferently, but with a weary honesty, like someone who had already learned this the hard way.

Elizabeth clenched her fists slightly.

"This isn’t ’the world’... this is wrong!"

She turned her face toward Amelia, her eyes still full of tears.

"Children... Amelia. Children."

The word came out heavier than any other.

Amelia nodded slowly.

"I know."

Her voice didn’t change much, but there was something deeper in it now.

"And that’s exactly why someone did something."

She paused briefly before continuing.

"At least it was Kael who received the news."

Elizabeth frowned slightly, still confused, still emotionally unstable.

Amelia continued, looking ahead for a moment before returning her gaze to her.

"He didn’t think twice. He didn’t hesitate. He went there... and finished off whoever did it."

There was no exaggerated praise in the way she spoke.

It was just recognition.

"If it were someone else... maybe they would still be trying to negotiate. Investigate. Discuss."

She took a deep breath.

"And meanwhile, more people could die."

Elizabeth was silent for a few seconds, absorbing it, even if not completely convinced.

Amelia tilted her head slightly.

"If it were me..."

She began, in a lower tone now.

"I probably would have gone straight after the Vampire King."

Elizabeth blinked, surprised by the change.

"Even knowing I wouldn’t have the power to win."

Amelia gave a small, humorless smile. "I wouldn’t have thought. I would have just gone."

Silence returned for a few moments, but now less chaotic, less disorganized.

Elizabeth looked at her own hands, still trembling slightly.

"This... shouldn’t have happened..."

Her voice was lower now, more fragile.

Amelia didn’t respond with a solution.

Because there wasn’t one.

Instead, she simply remained there, beside her, letting time and presence do what words couldn’t.

"But it did."

She said finally, softly.

"And someone made sure it doesn’t continue."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, letting a few tears escape again, but now without the same despair as before.

It still hurt.

It was still difficult.

But she wasn’t alone anymore.

And, at that moment... that was something.

...

...

...

The Vampire Kingdom was not silent like the mansion, nor contained like the imperial palace. It breathed differently—heavily, anciently, laden with a constant tension that seemed to be ingrained in the very dark stone walls. The towers rose against the night sky like motionless claws, and the moonlight, filtered through dense clouds, barely managed to penetrate the oppressive atmosphere that enveloped the entire territory. It was a place where danger didn’t need to hide, because it was part of existence itself.

Inside one of the oldest fortresses, atop a tower overlooking vast expanses of vampire territory, a large hall remained illuminated by torches of blue fire, whose flame flickered erratically, as if reacting to something beyond the nonexistent wind. The air inside was cold, but not merely from the absence of heat—it was the kind of cold that came from the presence of something unstable, something about to explode.

The Vampire Count stood in the center of the hall.

Momentary. But only on the surface.

His body was rigid, every muscle tensed to its limit, as if holding back an internal force that threatened to break at any moment. His fingers were slightly curved, his nails pressing against his palm with enough force to pierce the skin, but he didn’t seem to feel pain. Or perhaps he did—and simply didn’t care.

What mattered... was something else.

The report was still in his hand.

Crumpled.

Almost torn.

His eyes were fixed on the paper, but he wasn’t really reading anymore. He already knew the contents by heart. He had already read it, reread it, tried to find some error, some inconsistency, any detail that would make it less... absurd.

But there wasn’t one.

His squad had been decimated.

Not defeated.

Not dispersed.

Decimated.

The word echoed in his mind like a direct affront, a complete breakdown of the order he believed he controlled. It wasn’t a small group, nor was it weak. It was a trained unit, composed of experienced, loyal, and efficient vampires. They didn’t simply disappear.

They weren’t... erased.

Slowly, the Count raised his gaze.

And in that instant, any vestige of superficial control vanished.

His eyes shone with a disturbing intensity, a deep red that seemed to pulse with something more than just anger. There was something almost... distorted there. Something that surpassed the limits of rationality and entered a more primitive, more instinctive territory.

Almost demonic.

The expression on his face wasn’t just one of fury.

It was one of offense.

Of wounded pride.

Of something that, under no circumstances, accepted that as reality.

He took a deep breath.

But not to calm down.

It was to contain himself.

For a moment.

The energy around him seemed to shift slightly, as if the environment itself were reacting to the emotional intensity emanating from him. The flames of the torches flickered more aggressively, casting distorted shadows on the stone walls, creating shapes that seemed to move on their own.

Then, without warning, he clenched his fist.

The paper was completely crushed.

And, in the next instant, he threw it to the ground with enough force for the sound to echo through the hall.

The silence that followed was heavy.

And soon broken by the presence of others.

Subordinates.

Several vampires were positioned around the hall, keeping a respectful distance, but clearly tense. No one dared speak first. No one dared even breathe audibly.

They knew.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The Count took a step forward.

And then another.

His movements were controlled, but there was a contained aggression in every gesture, as if he were constantly on the verge of losing control.

"An entire squad."

His voice came out low. But laden with something sharp.

"It disappeared."

He stopped.

He slowly turned his head toward his subordinates.

"No fight recorded. No survivors. No useful traces."

Each word seemed heavier than the last.

One of the nearest vampires lowered his head slightly, as if trying to avoid direct eye contact, but this did not go unnoticed.

The Count took another step.

"I’ll ask once."

His voice didn’t rise.

But the tone changed.

It became more dangerous.

"Does anyone here intend to tell me that this is acceptable?"

The silence was absolute.

No one answered.

Because there was no answer.

The Count’s gaze slowly swept over each of them, as if he were assessing, judging, deciding who could be the next target of his frustration. His eyes remained intense, almost gleaming in the dim light, reinforcing that... almost monstrous appearance.

He let out a small laugh.

But there was no humor in him.

"A monster."

He repeated the word as if savoring its taste.

"Is that what you’re implying?"

He tilted his head slightly.

"That something entered our territory... found one of my squads... and simply wiped them out of existence?"

No answer.

But the silence was confirmation enough.

The Count took another deep breath, this time slower, more controlled, as if deliberately pulling back his own sanity before acting.

"Interesting..."

He murmured.

His eyes narrowed.

"Then we have a problem."

He began to walk again, now in slow circles, like a predator assessing the terrain.

"Either there is something in this world capable of eliminating an entire squad of vampires without leaving a trace..."

He paused briefly.

"...or someone wants us to believe it."

The weight of the second possibility was even greater.

Because it implied something more organized.

More calculated.

More dangerous.

He stopped again, turning completely to his subordinates.

And then the decision came.

Clear.

Direct.

Without room for doubt.

"You will investigate."

The order was given without him needing to raise his voice.

But it carried absolute authority.

"Every trace. Every rumor. Every body missing in the last few days."

He began to approach again.

"I want to know what happened."

His eyes shone more intensely.

"And I want names."

One of the subordinates swallowed hard, but nodded quickly.

"Yes, sir."

The Count inclined his head slightly.

"And when you find..."

He paused.

And a cold, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his lips.

"You will not bring answers."

His gaze grew even sharper.

"You will bring heads."

The silence that followed was not one of hesitation.

It was one of understanding.

The order left no room for interpretation.

"Whatever did this..."

He continued, his voice lower now, almost a whisper laden with threat.

"...kill."

The torches flickered again.

More strongly.

As if reacting to the intensity of the intention.

The subordinates moved immediately, without questioning, without hesitation. One by one, they began to leave the hall, each step quick, efficient, but heavy with tension. They knew they weren’t just going to investigate.

They were going to confront something that had destroyed something that shouldn’t be destroyed.

And that... wasn’t normal.

When the last of them left, the hall was empty again.

Only the Count remained.

Momentary.

His eyes still fixed on the door through which everyone had left.

Silence returned.

But now... it was different.

He slowly relaxed his shoulders.

But it wasn’t calm.

It was focus.

"A monster..."

He repeated to himself, more quietly.

And then, his lips curved slightly.

Not in amusement.

But in anticipation.

"Then come."

The darkness around seemed to deepen for an instant.

And, at that moment...

It became clear. He wasn’t just annoyed.

He was... interested.

And that was much worse.