"The gentleman looked down at the trembling girl on the bed; he smiled in satisfaction. "Well, not a bad-looking little girl."
The girl, gagged and tied to the bed, was crying, afraid. The gentlemen seemed to be pleased at her tears.
The young man standing next to him quickly wiped the smile from his face: "Are you sure she's a runaway? Darsus will never let us hear the end of it if she's a local. Are you sure she's not from Brussels?"
"I'm sure. She only just came yesterday from Amsterdam."
The two men were utterly brazen as they discussed the fate of the girl that they had tricked into becoming their dinner.
The youth screwed his face up in disgust. "Ten years old. A little young to be a whore. But if Renault is happy.
"Right. She's a little too delicate for my tastes, but there's not much choice at the moment. Got to take what we can get."
The girl struggled against the ropes that kept her restrained to the bed.
The man kept his eyes firmly on her neck and licked his lips, where long wolf-like fangs were just visible. "Best that I could get. Darsus said we weren't to walk out on the streets alone. All I've had is medical blood... Five-thousand dinars?"
The young man nodded and reached into his wallet. Renault then indicated that the other man should leave. This motel was used by prostitutes and penniless lovers. Aristocracy should not be seen in this area. There would be trouble if someone recognized him, so now was not the time to spend talking over dinner.
"When I'm done, I'll call you. Please take care of her disposal. You must keep this secret from any aristocracy. Darsus would have my guts for garters if he found out."
"Understood." The youth quickly turned around, glancing at the girl who was silently pleading for help before leaving the room. When Renault heard latch of the door drop, he slowly approached the bed. "Miss, you don't have to be this afraid. I like little girls like you. You're just so sweet, I want to eat you."
Instinctively—or perhaps she had an idea what this man was planning—she started to desperately wriggle under her restraints, like a fish in a net. The gentleman put a pale hand on her shoulder and eyed her. Each time her gagged mouth tried to scream, her small white throat moved. The gentleman licked his lips.
"Some of my friends mock my hobby, but they just don't understand. The younger a girl, the more delicious she is." He grabbed at her blonde hair with terrifying force.
She struggled, but it was futile. Her throat trembled in the room's dim candlelight.
"That's good. Perfect." He was at the height of pleasure as he watched his prey struggle for her life. But his ecstasy was disturbed by a knock at the door.
"Excuse me. Room service."
"I bring a drink. May I enter, Mister Renault?"
"I don't want a drink!" Renault yelled at this unwanted intrusion. Pushing the girl down on the bed, he shouted, "If I want something, I'll call you. Don't disturb someone's fun."
Renault could hear an ominous sound on the other side of the door, like a sword being sharpened. In the next second, the thick door had been sliced in two; it fell into the room. Now a shadow stood in the corridor.
"Count Four! Thomas Renault of Brussels." The youth was wearing clothes darker than the night itself. But Renault could see the flash of a white smile as the intruder twirled a sword that was more than three-feet long.
"I've been looking for you, you vampire. You've been much more careful lately. My spies have made a real killing this month, selling information about you."
"Wh-what?! Who the hell are you?!" Renault demanded to know who the intruder was. Light blonde hair and pale green eyes were typical of the locals in this area. However, the black clothes he wore were holy vestments. But what would a priest be doing in a place like this?
The vampire's eyes widened suddenly. He remembered what he'd been told when he had been banned from walking out on his own. "You're... the Vatican assassin?!"
"My name is Hugue." The vampire was enraged, but Hugue remained listless. The sword in Hugue's hand danced through the air. He spoke again, a depth of warmth to his voice: "Hugue de Watteau... a god of death."
"DIE!"
Renault took his hands off the terrified girl, and she passed out. His claws sliced through the air, trying to turn his fear into concentration. He could hear the sound of his claws breaking, but the noise was mixed in was his own screams. He didn't understand what had happened. He just felt himself being thrown to the side. In the instant that he hit the wall, he saw the claws hit the wall right next to him.
This priest had extraordinary power—enough to be a terrifying Methuselah. But his movements were even more astonishing. What hope did he have?!
"Your movements are pitiful," Hugue muttered in the ear of the vampire, who was now desperately trying to recover himself.
Hugue gripped the sword handle, despite the screams of protestation. He stared his prisoner down, but just as he was about to make the final cut... something strange happened.
"Ngh?!"
A gasp of disbelief and confusion spilled out of the swordsman's mouth. His toned body now staggered backward. His hands were shaking.
"Not now. Be quiet!"
The priest muttered as he tried to control his hands. But the strange feeling crept up through his whole lower arm. It looked like he was a different creature from the elbow down. The priest threw himself against the wall like a madman. But the strange arm movement didn't stop. It got worse.
"Crap! Stop! Stop! NOT NOW!"
Renault's eyes glinted in excitement. The priest had lost control, and it now looked like he was undergoing some sort of transformation.
Hugue reflexively moved his arms to his head.
Renault took the chance to grab at the sword, which had only a few moments ago been at his own throat. "DIE, VATICAN SCUM!"
Renault swung the sword at the struggling priest. The timing and the speed were perfect. It was going to slice his enemy straight in two. But...
"Huh?"
The sword was stuck in the wall. However, the mad priest hadn't moved an inch. It was the sword that had changed its course. Or, rather, a bullet had changed its course for it.
Someone was standing at the door. The second bullet entered the vampire's head.
"Are you okay, Hugue?!"
The silver bullet had entered the vampire's brain. Blood, flesh, and soul were now lying crumpled on the floor.
A young man in a smart suit ran into the room. He approached the trembling vampire and supported him. "I came to see what was going on. What happened? Did he hurt you?"
"No. It's just a fit. Don't worry," Hugue said as his arms convulsed. He attempted a smile to try and ease the concerned youth. "I haven't had any maintenance. I'm not at my best. Sorry, Rodenbach. You've saved my life again."
"Don't worry, you'll return it with interest when we get Count Four safely."
Gerald Rodenbach was a young inspector from the Four City Alliance Detective Unit. He was cheery. Suddenly, he pointed his smoking guns at the corpse on the floor. "This is Renault, then? What about Darsus' location? Did he tell you?"
"He's in the sky. Somewhere we can't reach." During the conversation, Hugue's shuddering started to abate. Gritting his teeth, Hugue shook his head. "But there is another way. Apparently, Count of Bruges is coming to the city."
"Bruges is coming here? Are you sure, Hugue?" Rodenbach couldn't quite believe what Hugue was saying as he processed the information. "I've heard that Gie de Granwelle is young but careful. He's coming to Brussels? It has to be a lie."
"I don't know. But it's worth a go. If we kill Bruges, it'll be a real blow to them. It'll throw them into confusion, and then Darsus may show himself," Hugue answered. The trembling had stopped.
While Rodenbach considered this, he kneeled next to the unconscious girl. He untied the ropes that had cut into her tiny wrists.
"Darsus killed vampires—his own family—ten years ago, and he kidnapped my sister. We have to find out what's going on and kill him!"
"Don't rush this, Hugue." Rodenbach watched as he gently covered the girl in a blanket. "His power is already so great. If we rush and make a wrong step, he'll find us. We have to be careful about every move we make."
"Are you saying to not attack Bruges, Rodenbach?" A light flashed through the priest's eyes. "You don't have to come with me. I'll go on my own."
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean that we should be careful," Rodenbach quickly said. He was clearly frightened by the man's sudden rage. He continued with a tone that could have been interpreted as resignation, intending to pacify Hugue: "The next target is going to be Bruges. But please don't pull that scary face." "Sorry." The priest relaxed. The sudden rage was gone from his eyes, and his gaze fell to the bed. "I am sorry. I am selfish."
"Hey. We're friends; don't apologize, Hugue." Rodenbach seemed surprised at this sudden apology. "It's just a matter of time now. You'll get what you want. Your enemy is my enemy. We'll go to hell together."
Hugue was speechless. He didn't know what to say to this man who pledged eternal friendship. This was the first time he'd had anyone he could call a "friend" since ten years ago. He had "colleagues" in the Vatican. But that was just in work, and none of them were people to whom he felt close. Those were professional relationships. Since he had disobeyed orders, they were more likely to point a gun at him. But what about this man in front of him now? It felt so nice to have someone like this. He had lost his family and betrayed his childhood friends in order to take revenge. This was a long-lost feeling to him. "Thank you, Rodenbach."
"We should confirm what we've found out." Rodenbach didn't really understand Hugue's expression. Hugue looked confused and lost for words. Rodenbach was also stumbling to find the right words. He grabbed Hugue's hands and gently said, "I'm on your side. Hugue, I'm your friend."