The spear struck her square in the chest, driving the air from her lungs and sending her hurtling backward. She hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, her body sprawling against the now motionless ice.
Her vision swam as the cold spread through her limbs, and the frost that had consud the hallway began to retreat, fading as her strength ebbed.
Florian stood over her, his silhouette frad by the jagged remnants of her ice. He tilted his head, his grin widening as he watched her struggle to breathe.
"Pathetic," he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.
Lisbeth’s fingers twitched weakly against the cold floor, but her strength was slipping away like water through cracks. She could only watch, helpless, as Florian strode towards the nearest window without so much as a backward glance.
The air around him seed to darken, the faint shimr of his power lingering in his wake. Without hesitation, he leaped into the open air, his form disappearing into the pale light of the sky as if the palace walls could no longer contain him.
Lisbeth’s vision blurred, her breath shallow, but her resolve burned faintly beneath the crushing weight of defeat. She had failed.
***
"Ngh..." Lisbeth groaned, her body trembling with agony.
Her chest felt as though it had been cleaved open. She tried to push herself up, but her strength failed her, and she collapsed back onto the cold stone floor.
How much ti had passed? No servant had been assigned to the northern tower ever since Florian’s outbursts had beco unpredictable. No one had passed through this corridor to notice her plight.
The pain coursed through her was intense, radiating outward from the spot where Florian’s blow had struck. She winced as her gaze fell to the black diamond spear still embedded in her chest with its jagged edges.
Lisbeth braced herself on the floor, her palm pressing into the stone for leverage. Her free hand reached for the spear. Every muscle scread in protest as she steadied herself. She drew in a shaky breath, her body bracing for the inevitable.
With a guttural cry, she yanked the spear free. A bolt of pain shot from her chest, tearing through her arm and into her neck, suffocating her senses in excruciating fire.
"AHHHH!" she scread. Her body convulsed as the pain overwheld her. She gasped for air, her breath coming in ragged, painful huffs, and tears of frustration and pain mingled with the drool that fell from her mouth.
With a pained groan, Lisbeth forced herself to her feet. Vampires of her skill level possessed exceptional self-healing abilities, far superior to those of ordinary vampires.
Normally, her body would have nded itself in monts. But the black diamond spear had been no ordinary weapon. Its jagged edges, still slick with forbidden magic, had disrupted her natural healing.
The wound remained open as though the magic itself were resisting her body’s attempts to repair it.
Gritting her teeth, Lisbeth tore a strip from her linen shirt and wrapped it tightly around the gaping wound. The makeshift bandage was crude but necessary—at least it might slow the bleeding. Her hands trembled as she tied it off, blood seeping through the fabric in dark streams.
A wound like this would have sent a mortal into shock, and even a vampire of her caliber should have rested. But Lisbeth couldn’t afford that luxury—not now. Not while Florian was out there.
She pushed forward. Black blood dripped from her side, leaving a grim trail as she moved. Each step sent a jolt of searing pain through her, but she pressed her hand against the wound, willing herself to keep going.
She shifted into her bat form, hoping to save precious energy and cover more ground. But her injured body betrayed her; the strain of flying with such a grievous wound was unbearable.
Reluctantly, she returned to her human form, crouching low on a rooftop as she scanned the city below. From her vantage point, she hopped from tree to tree and roof to roof.
Her movents were calculated to conserve what little strength she had left. Every breath was shallow, every leap a fresh reminder of the magic-infused injury she bore.
She scanned the streets with sharp, determined eyes, ignoring the ache gnawing at her chest. Florian was out there sowhere, and when she found him, she’d need every ounce of her remaining strength. There was no ti for weakness, no room for hesitation.
She found no trace of him—only carnage. Three bodies. Three dead vampires, their veins drained dry, leaving them as shriveled husks. All of them were discovered in their hos, which they certainly had thought as their safe havens.
Lisbeth’s stomach churned, though not from revulsion—she had seen worse. It was the precision of it that unsettled her. Three victims in one night. Florian wasn’t hunting for sustenance. He was feeding recklessly, greedily.
Without hesitation, she made her way back to the palace. Three victims... He must be sated now, she thought grimly. Her guess proved accurate. When she reached the palace, Florian was there—in his chamber.
But this wasn’t the monstrous Florian who had pierced her with his black spear. This was the Florian she rembered: timid, fragile, and painfully lost. He was curled up in the corner, his slender fra trembling, his arms wrapped around his knees like a frightened child.
The scent of blood led her closer. Drops of black liquid dotted the floor, guiding her toward him. His clothes were streaked and splattered with dark stains—his victims’ blood, still fresh, marking him like a badge of his cri. He shivered violently, his head bowed, and mumbled sothing under his breath.
"Riona... don’t go. Don’t leave ," he whimpered, his voice cracked and desperate. He was still caught in the grip of his own nightmare.
Lisbeth’s jaw clenched, her teeth grinding audibly. How could he sleep in a situation like this? After all he’s done?
A surge of icy power gathered in her chest, crackling to life and flowing into her fingertips. She stretched out her hand, producing a brilliant orb of blue aura at her index finger. The room’s temperature dropped sharply, frost forming on the windows as her magic took shape.
Her voice was sharp and low, her rage barely contained. "I will kill you."
The ball of freezing energy glowed brighter, casting an eerie light over Florian’s trembling form. Her hand didn’t waver as she aid it squarely at him, ready to strike.
"Kill !" Florian’s eyes snapped open, and his hand shot out, grabbing Lisbeth’s wrist.
She gasped, startled by the sudden movent, and instinctively tried to pull away. But his hold was unyielding, his strength far greater than she’d expected.
"Kill ... please," he pleaded, his voice a broken whisper that carried the weight of despair.
Lisbeth froze as she t his gaze. His eyes were hollow—voids where life and vitality once resided. There was no anger in them, no malice. Only emptiness. Desperation.
For a mont, she hesitated, the icy energy still glowing faintly at her fingertips, flickering like a dying fla. But his grip didn’t loosen, and neither did the haunting pain in his eyes.
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