Jenkins had no intention of moving. The suspected vampire Enchanter was level seven, after all, and he wasn't that arrogant. Besides, eting with the Church forces carried the risk of exposing his identity—a clearly unwise move.
For now, at least, his plan was to wait and see if the Church could successfully capture the vampire and its servants.
He began to back away, step by step, hoping to find a better vantage point to wait. But before he reached the intersection, his back bumped into what felt like a soft, yielding barrier.
He jumped, a shiver running through him. Confused, he turned his head, only to find that the street behind him had vanished at so unknown point, replaced by a thick, white fog.
The fog was so dense it seed almost solid, sealing off the end of the street. Even with his monocle, he couldn't make out anything behind the white haze. This ant that the mist before him wasn't actually mist at all.
"Is this... a maze?"
He wondered blankly, then snapped his head up to look at the sky. A yellow aura, the telltale sign of a spell, stretched across the entire firmant.
Having witnessed and even participated in Alexia Miller's Mathematical Maze, he was certain this was the sa kind of construct. But it couldn't possibly be the work of the Orthodox Church. As far as Jenkins knew, no one in the Nolan diocese possessed such an exceedingly rare ability.
"That level-seven vampire? But how could that be possible? It took Alexia Miller two years just to establish the foundational array for the maze around her residence. This one... this one covers at least five city blocks."
At that thought, he looked up again as if sensing a connection, his gaze fixed on the blood-red moon. His brow furrowed involuntarily.
"Don't tell the eclipse wasn't a coincidence, but part of a ritual for this maze?"
The thought was incredible. He patted Chocolate on the head, letting the cat crawl from his collar down into his overcoat. Then he turned his attention to the deserted street, now bathed in an eerie red glow.
The winter wind was sharp and cold. The lonely street seed vast and empty. With a grim expression, Jenkins surveyed his surroundings. He knew full well that even though it appeared empty, the very nature of a maze dictated that it was riddled with traps.
The maze hadn't been activated because the 'writer' had revealed his location. No, it was because the Orthodox Church squad to the southeast had clashed with the mirror-wielding creature. For so unknown reason, the creature hadn't stayed to fight, but had quickly disengaged and fled after a brief exchange.
Soon, he reached the edge of the maze. The combat squad, obstructed by the magical barrier, was now locked in a fierce struggle with the dozen or so servants. But one of them broke away, charging straight for Jenkins.
It was as if it knew exactly where he was standing.
Bolun Higgins had once been a small shop owner in the southern part of Nolan City. Like most of the city's inhabitants, he cherished a peaceful existence but yearned for a better life.
Everything had changed on one frantic afternoon last autumn. While driving his cart of goods back to the city, Mr. Higgins had kindly offered a ride to a stranger. That decision had led him to discover the world's deepest, darkest secrets.
He knew he could no longer be considered human. He knew the people he'd killed would never forgive him. But what did that matter? He just wanted to live. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he desperately didn't want to die.
"Our Lord's maze is active."
Higgins realized this faster than any of his companions.
Tonight's mission had felt suspicious from the very beginning, and his past life as a shop owner had honed his senses. When he saw their lord choose to flee rather than fight, he knew sothing was wrong.
"Have we been used as bait?"
It was this sharp intuition that allowed him to miraculously slip past the Church's enforcers and charge straight for the edge of the maze.
"I have to survive."
His life's philosophy was that simple. Just survive.
Up ahead, the white fog marking the boundary of the maze was already visible. Though no one could escape until their lord dismissed it, he could at least find a safe place to hide for now.
"The shadow behind that postbox looks like a good spot."
On such a desolate street, the postbox standing silently at the corner was unusually conspicuous. Higgins moved quickly toward it, but his instincts scread that sothing was wrong.
He stopped in his tracks, and in that sa instant, a dagger flew out from behind the postbox.
It wasn't particularly fast, and losing one's humanity did co with a few perks. Higgins snatched the dagger out of the air with nimble fingers and tossed it aside. Raising his right hand, an irregular, diamond-shaped crystal of blood materialized in his palm.
"Who?"
He'd noticed the pair of boots peeking out. At the sa ti, the stout man with the cat erged from behind the postbox.
A red light pulsed within the blood crystal. With a flick of his wrist, a crimson mist billowed from his palm, obscuring the view. But Higgins's eyes could pierce the sanguine haze with ease—it was the ability he was most proud of.
In the next instant, however, a black mist drifted in from the opposite direction, mingling with the red to create an indescribable, murky color.
Higgins froze for a second, but it didn't matter. Though both their lines of sight were now blocked, he could still rely on his sensitivity to blood to pinpoint his opponent's location.
"He hasn't moved. Is he trying to find , too?"
As the thought crossed his mind, the blood crystal in his hand rapidly reshaped itself, extending into a long, blood-red spear.
He took a step back with his right leg, then let out a low growl as he hurled the spear. Supernatural power ford an energy sheath around the weapon, guaranteeing that its victim would have every drop of blood drained from their body on impact.
A dazzling silver gleam flashed from deep within the black and red mist. A mont later, a sliver of silver light shot out on a trajectory opposite to the blood spear's.
Higgins retreated another step, trying to sense his weapon. Suddenly, he heard a whistling sound by his left ear. The dagger he'd tossed aside monts before had sohow taken flight again, slicing off his entire ear.
He had no ti to cry out in pain. He spun around to flee, but the stout man, as if anticipating his every move, shot out from the mist at that exact instant.
An uncanny, orange-yellow fla burned in his hand. Higgins spun back around, opened his mouth, and bit down hard on his tongue, spitting a mouthful of blood. The blood solidified in mid-air, shooting through the night like an arrow, but the stout man dodged it with ease.
His body moved with a suppleness that belied his fra; the way his waist twisted as he dodged made it look as if his spine might have snapped.
Higgins had no ti to think before the man's hand clamped down on his shoulder. The flas seed to seep into his body through his very pores, and his right arm and the entire right side of his body went numb with excruciating pain. But thanks to the rapid regenerative abilities of the vampire race, he was not yet dead.
"I think you understand," Jenkins said. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be alive right now."
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