Heroes can fall in more ways than one.
Demigod Xaray is sent on a quest to kill after he massacred a whole town. Weakened by the strain, he falls prey to a haughty vampire and is cared for by a fellow prisoner, the nagi Vasa. Torn between his orders...
The reader gets to know more about Firagos and his motivations.
The taste of ashes lingered in Firagos' mouth as he followed the demigod's scent. The fact that those ashes came from the burnt body of a vampire made him want to shudder and pray to let his victory be known to his god at the same time. One less unholy beast in this world.
But there will always be one. He looked down at his hands. They might be as pale as snow, but they were stained with the blood of innocents. A lump formed in his throat, and he struggled to swallow it away.
His icy cold fingers touched the rune between his collar bone, running from his chest to his neck. He traced the slightly indented design out of habit. Down the teardrop with a line through it. Strong as a mountain. Up the curve ending in an elegant arch with a line just before the tip. Resilient like the winds. Along the smaller teardrop inside the arch. Pure as snow.
He let out a chuckle, low and humourless. Pure as snow. He was far from that now. A single bite had sent his life into a churning snowstorm, one his god couldn't protect him from. How could one simple, small thing change a person so much?
Using a cloth to protect his hands, he picked a flower and looked at it, turning it over. Its pale pink petals were littered in tiny dewdrops, reflecting the pale sunlight and the forest around him. It brushed his skin, and he hissed at the burning pain, jerking away. The scent of burning flesh rose up to his nose.
He held onto the flower for a few seconds longer before letting it drift to the forest floor. So delicate, so weak, and yet it was a potent weapon against creatures like him. The irony made him laugh. Of course Ablait would make them smell like flowers, only to have plants burn them like silver burns Esnain's shifters.
As he walked on, he opened his bolt case, checking its contents. Only seven frost-tipped bolts remained in the wooden container. He frowned at the sight. If it came to a large battle, he'd have to flee instead of fight. He couldn't afford to waste all his bolts so far away from home.
He locked the case and put it back, thinking as he followed the scent of the winged demigod and the blue nagi. Something about the former's scent called to him, beckoning for him to follow. But why? It wasn't the sinful bloodlust. Could it be a part of his evil vampiric blood that he hadn't discovered yet?
His hands clenched into fists. No. Too much time had passed for there to be yet another hidden horror showing itself. It had to be something else. He picked up pace, moving through the mist at a steady lope.
The calls of birds and other animals echoed through the forest. The vampire hunter listened to them, trying to match each sound with an animal, but most were foreign to him. An idea sparked in his mind, one that would most likely lead to nothing but would be interesting nonetheless.
