Garden Of The Abyss

Sprinting in a circle to avoid the repeated air-blasts, he circled around before dashing towards Leonid's blindspot.

Leaping into the air, he spun into an axe kick that aimed his heel directly above the head of the gleeful vampire.

Before it could reach, the towering vampire drew in a breath so large that his chest puffed out like a balloon.

Somehow, as out there of a move as it was, he recognized what it was the man intended to do at the very last moment. It was too late to move his hands to his ears, but he focused his reinforcement around them for protection from sound.

"AAAAAAAAA---!"

Like a hellish, ogrish banshee, Leonid let out a howl that sent a tremor through the sea of snow, vibrating it aggressively as a shock wave released from the abrasive yell, knocking the young man back.

Talk about unorthodox! he thought.

Landing on his feet after flipping his body back, he caught his breath before returning his gaze up.

This is it. This is what I have to overcome if I want to save them. Right here, right now--I have to win. It doesn't matter if it's clean or dirty, exciting or dull...win.

That's all I need to do. That's my burden: win and survive. Even if it hurts, even if you want to cry, that's not a privilege I have right now.

Even if I have to do things I can't come back from, He thought.

By the glance they both shared; the vigorous vampire, smiling in glee, and the white-haired human, holding an indifferent look of resolve--it was a look that had them both accept that the next clash would spell the end of the battle.

This time, he drew his blade once more before shrouding it in abundant mana.

"Good, good! Show me, Ren! Show me a battle worth dying for!" Leonid grinned.

"If you're that impatient to die, then I'm right here," he responded.

Taking their stances, they both stood still for a gnawing moment as winds of snow pushed by. At the faintest increase in wind, they both dashed forward with their utmost speed.

Spurring on an unseen spell, his blade was coated in unstable, howling shadows that vibrantly clung to his silver steel.

"Araphel: Dead Man's--"

--However, before he could unleash the magecraft as he neared the smiling brawler, a yell came.

"Stop---!"

It was a feminine voice, one that immediately brought Leonid's battle-lusted expression into surprise as he halted completely, digging his heels into the snow to brake.

The moment he came to a full stop, his heartbeat settled as his bolstered muscles deflated back to their normal, still-gargantuan form with his complexion shifting back to a sweat-laden, light brown.

"Vale?!" Leonid called out as he turned towards the voice.

He stopped as well, turning his eyes up towards the gaping hole in the side of the tower overlooking the field of snow.

It was a girl that looked to be around his age; pale as the snow with light, blonde locks sat on her shoulders in curls.

Unlike Leonid, she dressed properly, almost lavishly, in fact. It seemed the cold didn't affect her either though as she wore a verdant skirt that stopped just short of her knees, with a matching, fur-lined cloak that was accented by brown-and-gold designs.

Though she bore the signature, scarlet eyes of a vampire just as Leonid, they glistened with a certain benevolence.

That look in her eyes; the condemnation of violence--a natural kindness that felt familiar to him.

"Iris…" He muttered.

"Huh? Who's Iris?" The youthful girl called out from atop the structure.

It took him by complete surprise that his whisper was heard as an embarrassed hue took over his cheeks, shaking his head a bit.

She heard me? Who is this girl, anyway? Wasn't Donovan supposed to handle the other two…? He thought.

Vale placed one hand on her side before pointing directly at Leonid, "Stop fighting the human!"

The giant, long-haired man gasped as if distraught, "What?! Why should I?!"

All he could do was stand there in confusion as the two vampires held their conversation between one another, feeling the tension of battle that burned through his veins settle down.

The youthful girl huffed before leaning forward to bolster her words, "Isn't it obvious? Donovan manipulated him into helping! He's a victim, too!"

"Victim? What're you talking about?" He finally interjected.

As he finally spoke up, Vale stopped before hopping down from the structure without much trouble, getting closer to him as her eyes looked him up-and-down, seeming to inspect him before answering.

"That guy you think is an ally is a real bad apple," she answered.

It was difficult to maintain his composure when on the receiving end of her glistening, scarlet eyes that seemed to read his soul, but he held his ground.

Even though he registered the vampires as enemies just a minute ago, for some reason there was no malice he could feel emanating from either one.

"...'Bad apple'...what do you mean? He told me you were hunting him for sustenance," he replied.please visit

Looking up towards the building as something caught his eye, he witnessed what looked to be the third of the group, hoisting with him a beaten-and-battered Donovan.

"Donovan!" He yelled out.

Before he could take a step forward in an attempt to assist the masked-man, he was stopped as Vale placed her hand on his chest to halt him.

"We're not your enemy. He is," Vale told him before looking back, "Armen, bring him over here."

She's awfully bossy, he thought.

The third vampire of the trio carried the armored man down as his flowing, silver locks danced with the cold wind. Of all of the three, he stood out to the young man as the most fitting image of a vampire: gloomily dressed in a sable, tail-coated suit with a flared collar with matching trousers and old, wisened eyes, though youthful in appearance.

Donovan was dropped in front of him, falling onto the snow as the group surrounded him while Vale kept her eyes on the snowy-haired adolescent.

"He told you we were after him to satiate our hunger, did he? That's a lie. We were specifically looking for him because he killed one of our own in cold-blood," Vale said.

By the way she spoke, her tone and words didn't seem to match her young appearance as a wisened look inhabited her pale expression.

Hearing this, he turned his eyes down to Donovan, who remained silent as he sat on his knees in the bitter snow.

"Why…?" He asked.

It was the slender, silver-haired vampire who spoke up, "For 'research'...that's why he killed a child. All to fuel his boundless greed. Mayrie...she was a happy child; kind and selfless, and he took advantage of that to lure her."

Anger fumed from Armen as he spoke, looking down in contempt with his scarlet eyes at the masked man. It was the same for Leonid, who cracked his large knuckles as if prepared to lay them down on the masked man.

"A child?..." He repeated what he heard.

Vale nodded her head, "We've been after him for a while. He's an infamous criminal who's subjected countless helpless victims to his sick experiments. It would've been no different for you, if you stuck around him. Eventually, he'd make you his next victim."

As he looked down at Donovan, the silence from the man only confirmed the abhorrent allegations that were melded into reality.

"A vile creature. He ventured into Vellochia without permission, and took my niece. This isn't about humans versus vampires, young one. This is about recognizing someone unfit for this world," Armen said.

"He's sick and depraved. Someone like him...he's a danger to vampires and humans, alike," Vale added.

...I was manipulated. Again, he thought.

Standing there, only the whispers of the frosty wind persisted as they stood around the malevolent scholar.

For some reason, he remembered; the golden locks of the girl he first met in this world--the one who lured him with mystery and assuring words--the one who betrayed him.

It was that rememberance that let his blood boil.

Vale looked up at him once more, keeping her arms folded across her chest, "You understand now, don't you? He has to be removed. For the things he's done, for the things he will do…"

"Yeah," he nodded without a shift in expression.

An irrational judgment was made in his mind: "if he planned to manipulate, betray, and eventually kill me, that's as good as killing them. If I die, I can't save them. He intended to hurt Iris," it was thin reasoning at best, but he believed it.

"You can look away. Armen, you--" Vale began to say.

--Interjecting her words, it was the snowy-haired human who stepped forward to each of their surprise, holding his azure-handled sword in hand.

"I'll do it."

As he approached, Donovan continued his vow of utter silence, as if accepting the fate that had found him.

Armen halted before he could draw the black-steel rapier at his side, looking at the young man that stepped forward as his sable tail-coat fluttered in the cold.

It was that dark impulse inside of him; an instinct that took over, guiding his step as his mind comforted in the decision he had already decided upon.

He has to die. If he isn't stopped here, he'll continue to hurt others, he thought.

It felt as if he marched across a stretch of eternity, traversing a limbo that continuously asked him if this was the path he wished to talk.

To save everyone, I have to have the strength to make this choice. I can't lament the person I'll be--I can't. No...I can't lament the person I'll leave behind. Meinhard, I can't be Ren you saved. That person...is too weak, he thought.

"Do it."

The words that left Donovan removed him from his moment of questioning, resulting in him now standing just before the knelt, monstrous human.

He remained silent, standing there with his blade held firmly as droplets of snow danced around the biome of quiet white.

"Hesitance is poison. If you walk with such burdened shoulders, then you'll learn that. Or perhaps you already have," Donovan spoke calmly, "it's a cruel world, and an even crueler destiny for the one that walks with a heart that loves. If you can discard that love, then you'll have a heart you can trust, above all else. Remember that, Ren."

All his words built were contempt; in that moment, all Ren Nakamura felt was a burning anger--one fueled by the past, and the desired future.

Without any further hesitation, his silver was cast against the neck of the knelt man. Through the snowy wind it sliced, parting the masked man's head from his shoulders in one, clean movement of his blade.

In that action, he crossed a threshold that one cannot return from.

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