Married To Darkness

"Look at me, my love. I’m here"

She met his eyes in silence. Alaric sighed and kissed her forehead.

Then he lifted her gently into his arms, his chest rising and falling with heavy, controlled breaths.

Salviana clutched at his blood-stained lapels, her voice a raw whisper against his neck. "The Eye!"

"That’s not important right now," Alaric rasped, his red eyes scanning the lingering shadows for any remaining threat to her.

Salviana shook her head weakly but firmly, her jaw aching from the fall. "It is," she insisted, her fingers tightening on his shirt. "If he isn’t stopped now, he’s just going to attack us again."

"I heard you’re looking for me," a deep, distorted voice suddenly echoed through the gloom.

From behind the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, a large cloaked figure stepped into the light. Salviana took a sharp, jagged breath while Alaric ground his teeth so hard the muscle in his jaw flexed like a drawn bowstring.

"Well, you don’t need to look for me," the figure rasped. The weather shifted instantly—the wind dying down into a suffocating, unnatural still as the cloaked and hooded threat loomed over the clearing.

The cloaked figure opened his mouth, raising a gauntleted hand as if to launch into a grand, villainous speech, but Alaric didn’t give him the chance. He didn’t wait for answers, introductions, or warnings.

With immediate, terrifying effect, Alaric propelled himself forward. He accelerated into a blur of raw vampire speed, his sword aimed straight for the figure’s throat.

Swish.

His blade sliced through empty air. The figure simply vanished into thin air, leaving behind a faint curl of black smoke.

Salviana stood frozen, her mouth slightly open in absolute shock as she watched the attack miss. Alaric was fast—terrifyingly fast, a apex predator driven by the instinct to protect his wife. But who on earth was this cloaked monster, and how was he slipping through the fabric of space like a ghost?

A split second later, a ripple disturbed the air behind a nearby thicket.

Alaric didn’t hesitate. He pivoted on his heel, closing the distance instantly. Before the figure could fully materialize, Alaric abandoned his blade and threw a devastating, crackling punch straight into the creature’s hidden face.

CRACK.

The blow connected with sickening force. The figure staggered backward, a low grunt of pain erupting from beneath the hood, proving he was solid—he could be hurt. But before Alaric could follow up with a fatal strike, the space warped around the figure once more, and he vanished into the dark shadows of the woods.

The cloaked figure materialized behind Alaric with a sharp, tearing sound, a curved black blade swinging straight for the Prince’s throat. Alaric ducked, the wind of the blade ruffling his dark hair, and counterattacked with a brutal, low sweep of his sword.

Metal screeched against metal. Sparks flew into the dark, illuminating the brutal violence of their exchange.

The figure moved with an unsettling, fluid wrongness—disappearing the moment Alaric gained the upper hand, only to re-emerge from the shadows behind a tree, from above a branch, or right beside Alaric’s blind spot. Every time Alaric landed a heavy strike, cracking bone or ripping dark cloth, the figure merely grunted, absorbed the blow, and vanished into black smoke before Alaric could deal a lethal blow.

They were locked in a relentless, terrifying dance of steel, shadow, and raw vampire strength.

Salviana stood completely frozen against the trunk of the ancient oak, her hand pressed tight against her bleeding chin. She was terrified. Her ankle throbbed with a sharp, burning agony, making it impossible to run, but it was the fight itself that made her blood run cold.

She had always known Alaric was powerful—a lethal, calculating predator. But this figure wasn’t just a man or a beast; it was something that defied the laws of nature. Every shadow in the forest seemed to belong to the Eye. Every time the figure disappeared, her heart slammed against her ribs in sheer panic, her green eyes darting wildly across the gloomy clearing, terrified that the next time he materialized, it would be right behind her.

"Alaric!" she gasped, her voice swallowed by the deafening clash of their weapons as the figure reappeared directly above him, plunging down with deadly force.

"Take your wife and go back to the mansion! I’ll take care of this!"

Lucius swept into the clearing like a phantom, the reinforced iron tip of his heavy umbrella snapping outward with a sharp, metallic clack as he thrust it straight for the attacker’s throat.

The cloaked figure didn’t retreat. Instead, the dark smoke swirling around his boots split down the center. With a sickening, tearing sound, the shadow divided—twisting, stretching, and solidifying until two identical hooded monstrosities stood side by side in the dim forest light.

One lunged straight for Lucius with a low, unnatural hiss, its curved blade whistling through the air, while the other whirled on Alaric with relentless, furious speed.

In an instant, both men had their hands entirely full. The clearing erupted into a chaos of ringing steel, echoing grunts, and the sharp crack of parried blows. Alaric’s blade was a crimson-tipped blur as he traded rapid, lethal strikes with his twin, but every time he tried to disengage and reach Salviana, his opponent pressed forward with a desperate, crushing violence.

Salviana leaned heavily against the damp trunk of the oak, her heart knocking against her ribs so violently it felt like a physical pain in her chest. Her throat burned; her vision swam with fear. She was pinned by her bleeding, useless ankle, watching the two men she relied on most fight for their lives against an enemy that defied logic.

How can I help? her mind screamed, panic clawing at her throat. Think, Salviana! Think!

Her hand sank back into her pocket, her trembling fingers wrapping around the remaining heavy pebbles. They felt small, pathetic, and meaningless against magic that could split a man in two. But as she watched the second cloaked figure step into the shadow of a high ridge—disappearing for a split second before reappearing right behind Lucius’s exposed back—a realization pierced through her terror.

The figures weren’t vanishing at random. They needed the shadows to move.

"Lucius! On your left!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice cutting clean through the sound of clashing steel.