Blood Shadow's Favor.

The Plot

The charity auction ended earlier than expected, so by the time Sarah returned to her neighborhood, the sky was just beginning to darken.

Aungel sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. Despite the heartbreaking scene playing out on the screen, he felt nothing. If anything, he was unimpressed by the actors' lackluster performances. He couldn't quite understand why Sarah would sometimes tear up while watching these shows.

After a moment, Aungel's sharp senses picked up on something—she was back. He calmly reached for the remote, rewound the show to where she had left off, and then turned off the TV entirely.

A few minutes later, Sarah entered the apartment, her first question aimed at him, "Did you eat?"

"No."

"Let's have some noodles tonight, then."

"Alright."

That evening, Aungel sat on the couch while Sarah sat on the carpet, leaning against the sofa as she ate her noodles. She turned on the TV and resumed watching the series she had been following. Aungel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, relieved that she hadn't noticed anything unusual. He continued eating, trying to appear indifferent.

But just as he took a bite, Sarah asked without turning her head, "You watched TV this afternoon, didn't you?"

Aungel's eyes narrowed slightly. His mind raced, but he lied smoothly, "No." He wasn't sure how she had figured it out.

"That's strange. If you hadn't watched it, the next episode wouldn't have skipped to the ending," Sarah said, glancing back at him with suspicion.

Aungel froze. His usually pale ears tinged slightly pink. Cursing inwardly, he pretended to focus on his meal.

Seeing him stay silent, Sarah raised an eyebrow. She had a pretty good idea of what had happened but decided to let it go. He had watched the show—so what? The funny thing was that he tried to lie about it.

Later that night, a shadowy figure slipped effortlessly into Sarah's apartment.

"My lord, here are the documents that require your signature," Luben said, placing a stack of files on the table.

Aungel, bathed in the cold, pale light of the moon streaming through the window, signed his name on each document with swift strokes. "What's the latest situation?" he asked.

"The search party retreated today. They were Floge's men," Luben reported.

"Have Teast keep an eye on him."

"Understood. One more thing—Floge's left hand is investigating your gun."

"Let them search. They've never seen you, so they won't trace it back to our organization," Aungel replied, his tone measured as he continued signing the papers. "Now, we just wait for Floge to lose his composure."

"I understand, my lord. However, there's another matter... It's almost time for your..." Luben hesitated, his voice tinged with concern.

Aungel immediately grasped what Luben was alluding to. His hand paused mid-signature, his entire body stiffened, and a barely perceptible sadness crept into his voice. "I know."

He quickly regained his composure, finishing the last of the paperwork as if nothing had happened.

Except for the nightly need for animal blood, delivered by Luben, Aungel's life had almost seemed normal recently. The tranquility of this life had lulled him into a dangerous sense of forgetting what he truly was—a vampire, a creature that could never lead a normal life.

After finishing his duties, Luben departed swiftly, leaving no trace behind.

In her bedroom, Sarah slept deeply, curled up under her blanket, her arms wrapped around her knees, a posture that spoke of a deep-seated lack of security. She remained blissfully unaware of the nocturnal dealings happening just outside her door.

On a remote island, Floge's right-hand men knelt in the grand hall, their heads bowed low as they endured his wrath.

"It's been days, and you still can't find a body? Do you think he just vanished into thin air? Useless, the lot of you!" Floge bellowed, his fury contorting his features. His eyes glowed a sinister red, and long, sharp fangs protruded from his mouth.

The men below dared not speak, terrified of drawing his ire. The vast hall was so silent that the faintest sound could have echoed.

Floge clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as veins bulged along his arms. In a crazed fury, he screamed, "Get out! All of you, out of my sight!"

The group exchanged nervous glances but didn't dare move until the right-hand man stood and led the retreat. Only then did the others follow suit.

As the group hurriedly left, Floge's gaze darkened. He pointed to the last man in line, his voice dripping with malice, "You, the one at the end, stay behind!"

The blood thrall's heart sank. As the doors slowly closed, sealing his fate, he turned and knelt again, his entire body trembling in fear.

"Take him to the basement," Floge ordered.

The thrall's face went pale, sweat dripping down his forehead as panic took hold. "Mercy, my lord, please!"

Ignoring his desperate pleas, the guards grabbed him and dragged him away.

The basement was a place of nightmares. The guards swiftly bound the thrall to a wooden cross, then lit torches that cast flickering shadows across the damp, cold stone walls. They had done this many times before; the routine was second nature.

"Please, my lord, I swear I will serve you faithfully!" The thrall struggled against his bonds, his voice high-pitched with terror.

"It's too late for that," Floge said, his voice cold and unforgiving.

Sitting on a high-backed chair, he watched the half-vampire thrall with a twisted smile. To him, this pathetic creature was nothing more than a plaything.

With a flourish, he picked up a goblet filled with rich, dark blood. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled deeply, savoring the scent as his eyes gleamed with cruel anticipation.

"Light the fire," he ordered, his voice laced with excitement.

As the flames consumed the thrall, the man's screams echoed off the stone walls, growing weaker as the fire grew stronger.

Floge took a sip from his goblet, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. He watched the flames dance higher, devouring the thrall's body until there was nothing left but ashes.

"Such a pity—it's over so soon," Floge mused, draining the last of the blood from his cup.

When he returned to the main hall, his right-hand man was waiting.

"Any progress on the gun?"

"My lord, I've yet to uncover anything."

Floge, still riding the high from his earlier "entertainment," waved off the failure with surprising nonchalance. "No rush. Take your time. Tomorrow, start spreading the word that Aungel is dead."

"Yes, my lord," the right-hand man replied, bowing as he left to carry out the orders.

"Aungel... You never should have come back. Now... well, it's time to return everything to its rightful place," Floge muttered to himself, tapping his fingers against the table in a rhythm that echoed his sense of triumph.

Tomorrow was destined to be anything but ordinary.