A Shade of Vampire 78: An Origin of Vampires

by Forrest, Bella

  We were all quiet as Corbin marked the beginning of the fight, bringing his arm down. “Begin!” he shouted.

  Demetrius and Kalon circled one another at first, gauging movements and reflexes. Kalon took his time, unwilling to rush into it. Demetrius, on the other hand, was eager to get this over and done with. He lunged at Kalon with his long claws but missed him by inches.

  Kalon dodged his attacks repeatedly but did not engage otherwise.

  “What is he doing?” Nethissis murmured.

  “He’s examining Demetrius’s approach,” Valaine whispered. “He never rushes into it, especially with a potentially deadly adversary.”

  “So, you think Demetrius has a shot at killing Kalon,” Derek concluded.

  “The chance is there, but I don’t know. Kalon’s got too many years in the Blood Arena in comparison to Demetrius,” Valaine said.

  Demetrius was relentless in his offense, but Kalon’s defense was practically effortless. It looked like a dance. One was pushing, the other was pulling back. They swerved around and moved back, light on their feet. Demetrius took it as a sign of weakness.

  “You’re afraid,” he hissed.

  Kalon grinned. “I’m terrified.”

  Demetrius bolted toward him, roaring as he tried to slice him open. Kalon moved, ever so slightly, and caught his wrist. A split second later, he drove his claws into Demetrius’s side. Blood gushed out. He’d nicked an artery, for sure.

  “Whoa,” I breathed.

  “Kalon’s precision is surgical,” Valaine said.

  I nodded slowly. I could certainly see that.

  Demetrius pulled his arm back. Blinded by rage, he came at Kalon head on but missed. In fact, he spent the next five minutes failing to even scratch Kalon, who simply dodged his attacks. He made it look so easy.

  “He’s wearing him out,” Tristan said.

  “Demetrius bled fast before his wound healed,” Sofia noticed.

  Valaine smiled. “Exactly. That’s what Kalon does. He hits the vital points, going for blood loss. It weakens his opponent.”

  Demetrius’s breath was ragged, as it became increasingly difficult for him to keep up with Kalon. He lunged at him again, but Kalon darted past him and drew more blood, this time slicing through the ribcage.

  “You bastard!” Demetrius growled, covering his wound. His shirt was already drenched in crimson. Still, his friends didn’t give up hope, watching the fight with wide, almost sparkly eyes. “I’m walking out of this place tonight!”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Kalon replied and went in for his first direct attack.

  Something silvery glimmered near Demetrius’s waist as he moved. My heart stopped. A knife. He had a knife. Heat spread through my throat as I tried to speak up, but the words refused to come out. I gripped Tristan’s arm, hoping he’d see it too.

  He followed my gaze and went pale. “He’s armed!” my brother shouted.

  Too late. The blade swished and entered Kalon’s stomach, and I gasped. Kalon grunted from the pain, as Demetrius sneered with delight.

  “Foul! Stop, Demetrius!” Corbin snarled.

  It all happened too fast for me to register everything. Corbin darted toward them, while Demetrius raised his clawed hand to further debilitate Kalon. But Kalon was quick to grab Demetrius’s throat, as he used his spare hand to pull the knife out.

  “Demi, watch out!” one of his friends cried out, instantly realizing what was about to happen.

  By the time Corbin reached them, Kalon had already dropped the knife. Demetrius tried to fight him, but he was choking under his grip. Kalon exhaled sharply as he drove his hand through Demetrius’s chest.

  “Oh, dear lord,” I managed, covering my mouth. “Holy…”

  A moment passed in the heaviest of silences as Demetrius stared at Kalon in disbelief. It was too late to do anything. Kalon’s hand had broken through the skin, the flesh, and the bones, having taken hold of Demetrius’s most prized possession.

  “End of story,” Kalon hissed as he withdrew his hand, pulling out Demetrius’s heart.

  My stomach convulsed, but I couldn’t look away. Demetrius’s friends screamed. Amal gasped. Demetrius collapsed on the ground, no longer breathing. His skin faded to a sickly off-white, blue rings settling around his eyes as he bled out on the short grass.

  Corbin stilled, his lips pressed into a thin line.

  Kalon stood there, holding Demetrius’s heart. Staring at its final, weakened beats. Blood trickled from his hand, like liquid rubies. As if suddenly brought back into the real world, he turned his head to look at us.

  “I had no choice,” he mouthed, his lower lip shaking slightly.

  As fearless a warrior as he was, Kalon still experienced regret. He took no pleasure in killing someone, even in these circumstances, where Demetrius had certainly had it coming. Kalon dropped the heart, wiping his hand on his shirt. Red flowers bloomed across the fabric, as he took several deep breaths.

  “It’s okay,” Corbin said to him. “You won the duel, fair and square.”

  “I had no choice,” Kalon repeated himself.

  “He gave you no choice,” Corbin replied. “Demetrius cheated. He chose to die as dishonorably as he lived.”

  Valaine stepped forward. “If you ask me, Lord Mefithi is better off without a son like him. You did the right thing.”

  Demetrius’s friends were livid, but there was nothing they could do, especially since the master commander himself had refereed the duel. “It’s not fair,” one of them murmured.

  “Krassus’s death wasn’t fair, either,” Kalon retorted.

  The second Aeternae pointed an angry finger at him. “You killed Demetrius over a filthy Nalorean, Kalon. You’re a traitor to your kind!”

  Kalon moved like lightning, gripping the Aeternae by his throat. “Unless you want me to remove your heart as well, you will apologize for uttering such insults,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “Demetrius challenged me to a duel, and he lost. Better get used to it.”

  “Don’t,” Corbin said, placing a hand on Kalon’s shoulder. “He’s not worth it.”

  “I know.” Kalon sighed, letting the Aeternae go.

  He and Corbin walked away, leaving the two friends to care for Demetrius’s body and his discarded heart. Valaine was the first to reach him, throwing her arms around his neck as she pulled him into a hug.

  “That was close,” she said. “He could’ve done much worse!”

  “But he didn’t,” Kalon replied, gently pushing her back with a soft and thankful smile. “It’s over now. Justice has been served.” He stopped in front of our group, pulling his shoulders back. “And that is how one wins a duel, even when dealing with a cheater.”

  “Does that happen often?” I asked, my brow furrowed.

  “You’d be surprised,” he said. “Pat an Aeternae down all you want. They’ll still find a way to hide or pick up a weapon from somewhere, if they feel like they’re losing.”

  “Desperation clouds one’s judgment,” Corbin replied, shaking his head in dismay.

  “Kalon’s right, though. It’s over. That’s all that matters.” Valaine sighed.

  Indeed, it was over, and my opinion of Kalon had shifted considerably. Suspicion battled increasing curiosity in the back of my head, as I decided I needed to know more about him. I wanted to understand him better. There were definitely multiple layers to this guy. I just had to be careful as I peeled away at them.

  But nothing that had happened tonight would bring back Krassus, whose death was still unfair. His children would go on to live without him, and that broke my heart. Visio was much more complicated than I’d thought, I realized, and I was barely scratching the surface here. Who knew what else this place had in store for us?

  I’d have to find out.

  Esme

  The next morning, after the GASP briefing held by Derek through Semper Telluris, I made my way into the palace’s training halls, still reeling from the duel I’d witnessed in
Black Square. Kalon was a veritable killing machine, but he also had a heart—kinder than the one he’d ripped out of Demetrius’s chest with his bare hand, anyway. I’d never forget that moment.

  A bit of sparring would clear my head, for sure. I’d seen the armor and weaponry used in the Blood Arena, and I knew I’d seen something similar here, as well, since many of the noble dynasties displayed them inside the palace—testaments to their champions’ prowess in combat, something for those training in these halls to aspire to.

  There were five spaces designed for fighting practice, each of them boasting crystal glass displays filled with trophies and medals. Sets of armor dating back eight hundred thousand years adorned the dark walls, as did shields, swords, spears, and other sharp weapons used in the Blood Arena. The noble dynasties could afford the intricate details and master craftsmanship of steelwork, and so every piece shown was truly a work of art—chilling, impressive, mesmerizing art that honored violence.

  I’d opted for a sportier outfit today, already tired of fitting into corsets and bodices. Not that they bothered me, since they were infinitely more comfortable than what humans had worn during their Victorian days, but I did prefer pants to anything else. Zurah had been kind enough to select a black leather set, comprised of tight pants and a vest, to which she added a loose-sleeved white shirt. My hair was braided back, and I had a black leather cloak on my shoulders, ready to pull up whenever I went out in the hazy sunlight.

  On this occasion, however, I took it off and left it on a corner chair. I took my time admiring the weapons that were on display, as well as the ones mounted on wooden panels, ready to be used in training. Unlike the trophy rooms, these halls were wide and spacious, the floors covered in a thick material that mimicked marble, though not as slippery, and was perfect for rapid steps with just the right amount of sliding.

  I knew Tristan would spend the first half of his day in the library, so I chose to warm up a bit and practice some moves. It wasn’t in my nature to be stationary for more than a day or two. The energy tended to gather and form pressure points in my joints and muscles, and all that needed to be released one way or another. It was also a good way for me to stay in shape. It had been a while since I’d fought or even sparred with someone, so it felt nice to have this entire training hall at my disposal.

  Picking up a pair of slim short swords from one of the panels, I took my time admiring the engraved stylized vines on their luscious steel blades. The hilts were simple, made with ivory, and the handles were neatly wrapped in hide strips, which gave them an excellent grip. They were also light, but I could still feel the smooth weight in my hands—enough to warrant a swing or two in the air, just so I’d understand them better. I’d made this a tradition of sorts. Feeling the weapon before using it. Slashing left and right, swinging and dancing with it, finding its best angles.

  Shortly after I got used to the swords, I settled in front of a wooden dummy, taking my time to remember all the weak and potentially deadly spots. In the Aeternae’s case, it was usually the head. How quickly could I decapitate one of them, if push came to shove? I’d seen Demetrius in the arena and during the duel. I’d seen Kalon fly down the stairs to reach him, and I’d seen him defeat the bastard. They were fast. Insanely fast, much like the vampires.

  “Looking to kill an Aeternae anytime soon?” Kalon’s voice startled me.

  I turned around to find him standing in the training hall’s wide doorway. He was clad in a short leather tunic, which was tightened around his waist with a silver belt. His thigh muscles twitched beneath his extremely well-fitted leather pants. Little silver rings jingled from the sides of his knee-length boots. He was definitely dressed for trouble. Also, he must’ve read my mind, because I had just been wondering what it would have been like if I’d been the one to take Demetrius’s head off.

  “No, just practicing,” I replied. “It’s a shame for me not to use a training hall when there are five of them. Who comes here, usually?”

  “The master commander, the occasional golden guard,” Kalon said. “Valaine and I spar here a lot, as do other tournament champions.”

  “What about the silver guards?”

  “There are training barracks about a mile from the palace.”

  I nodded slowly. “Have you come to practice, as well, or were you just stalking me?”

  “Why can’t it be both?” Kalon chuckled. He walked across the hall and stopped in front of the weapons panel. “You’re a fan of twin swords?”

  “Yeah. I like to use both hands in combat.”

  “No shield?”

  I shook my head. “I usually have steel guards on my forearms to block any direct hits.”

  He pulled a longsword out of its wall-mounted scabbard. The zing of metal against metal sent shivers through my body, making my skin tingle. It was one sound I would never get tired of, though I hoped I’d hear it less and less, since it invited violence.

  “I prefer the big ones,” he said. “It takes a little bit of time to swing them effectively with just one hand, but when you get there…”

  A smile stretched across his lips, while I gripped the swords a little tighter. What a strange reflex this was.

  “Why don’t the guards carry any weapons?” I asked.

  Kalon moved around me, slowly, sizing me up while he switched the longsword between his hands. “They don’t need them,” he said. “They’re Aeternae. I thought last night had clarified that for you.”

  I blushed. “Fangs and claws are enough, then…”

  He stopped, bringing his spare hand up next to his face. He parted his lips, and the fangs slipped out, long and sharp and glistening, almost begging to tear into one’s veins. This was the first time I was seeing them up close. Last night, he’d moved too fast for me to take it all in. His claws grew like small nail-shaped blades, and he wiggled his fingers before he hit the wooden dummy next to him.

  The poor thing was broken in half, splintered beyond repair. The pieces fell on the floor as Kalon withdrew his claws and fangs. “More than enough,” he replied.

  I had to admit that I was still quite impressed. It took considerable strength to do such damage with one’s bare hands. If his claws could destroy a dummy with one blow, I wondered what he could do with his fangs.

  “So that’s why there are no weapons allowed in Aeternae duels, huh?” I asked.

  “If it’s between Aeternae, yes, no weapons whatsoever, despite the stunt Demetrius tried to pull. Otherwise, if it’s a mixed confrontation—say, between an Aeternae and a Nalorean, or two Rimians or whatever—then no claws and fangs, only weapons, much like in the tournaments. It’s about evening the playing field.” He stilled, raising his eyebrows. “Would you like to spar, Esme? The blades are all blunt here, for training purposes.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got, Lord Visentis.”

  That wasn’t my self-confidence beaming. I had already seen what sort of fighter he was. There was a reason why he’d earned his reputation as one of the Blood Arena’s currently undefeated champions. That alone said enough. But I was still curious about his technique and agility with weapons, which I had yet to observe, especially given his preference for the longsword, which was not an easy weapon to master.

  “I’ll go easy on you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kalon said.

  “Oh, snap, I forgot. You don’t know,” I replied.

  “Know what?” he asked, taking an attack stance as he raised his longsword with both hands, the tip of its blade pointed at me.

  “About my military training.”

  Without giving him the opportunity to respond, I dashed forward. He moved into a defensive position, anticipating my attack, but I slid to the side and swerved around him. Suddenly, his back was wide open.

  I brought one sword down, but he was quick, moving like a shadow, as he turned and blocked my hit with his blade. Steel kissed steel with a dull clang, and I jumped back and went in for
another blow.

  Kalon defended himself almost effortlessly at first, but my stamina soon prevailed. We waltzed across the training hall, swinging our swords at each other. He managed to smack me over the arm twice, the flesh burning from the brief but heavy blow. I was faster and lighter on my feet, but his technique was illustrious.

  His use of the longsword gave me a good runaround, as well. I wound up with my blades crossed in front of me, holding his back. Kalon smirked. “Military training. And what else? They don’t teach you this in the army, do they?”

  I chuckled and kicked him in the stomach. He fell backward, taken by surprise, but got up quickly and charged at me with a full swing. I dodged and slid to my right, swiftly turning around so I could always see him coming.

  “I’ve picked up a few more things along the way, I suppose,” I said, panting and having the time of my life. “Different tribes that my brother and I have studied have different traditions and fighting styles. You learn a little bit from everyone, in the end.”

  He came at me again, and I continued to escape his attacks. I wondered how long it would take to wear him out. Soon enough, our physical differences began to emerge. The Aeternae lasted longer in direct combat. I was the one getting tired, while Kalon kept at it, his breathing ragged but his energy still way above mine.

  His ability to foresee some of my movements didn’t help. Then again, he’d fought plenty of people in the Blood Arena. He must’ve learned some patterns. His experience was superior to mine, in that aspect.

  “You’re very good,” Kalon said, as we circled one another around the broken dummy. “Though there is always room for better. I could train you.”

  Did I want him to train me? Why the hell not? I had a lot to learn from Kalon, clearly. And he was offering. I doubted Crimson, the one responsible for champions like Valaine and Kalon, among others, would’ve spared a moment of his time to teach me, and I’d made it my mission to never pass up an opportunity to learn something.