Vampire Revenge: Blood, Sex & Violence

The vampire put on his gloves, beginning his first real murder mission. It was a shame he couldn't drink that blood yet, with a human body he would not only vomit it but also probably get poisoned. Besides, getting splashed with blood was not something he planned.

A white t-shirt might seem like the worst choice for a murder, splashes, stains, everything would be clearly marked, making him an easy target to attract attention. That is, as long as you weren't a being with two thousand years of experience and many murders behind you.

There were no lights in the flat across the street, it seemed he could be calm. Pablo still had half an hour left, more than enough time to complete his mission. He lowered himself from the roof until he could lean on the ceiling of the laundry room, and from there he lowered himself until he put his feet on the window. He entered the flat making as little noise as possible.

Furthermore, he could feel his own heart racing and his body releasing adrenaline into his bloodstream, but despite the excitement of the hunt, Pablo was able to stay calm by controlling his breathing.

The kitchen furniture was old, although it was reasonably clean, even too much for such a filthy apartment, surely that man had many more obsessions than the children and a highly compulsive behavior.

The classical music was at a very high volume, so he hid the noise when entering the kitchen. He crouched down as a precaution while he took out the knife he was carrying, if he was lucky he would be one step closer to breaking another of the seals that had kept their power for centuries.

Hidden behind the lattice of the kitchen door, Pablo could see how indeed the pig who had abused those children was the man who was now in his underwear and comfortably in his armchair in the living room listening to music. Likewise, Pablo looked again at the photo he had saved on his cell phone of the cover of the magazine in which he appeared.

For a moment the man who was concentrating on his music thought he saw a strange reflection and made a gesture to get up, but Pablo had already thrown his body to the ground and disappeared from the reflections that the lattice let through. After a few seconds of hesitation, he sat down again.

Now he just had to look for the opportunity, he couldn't just go in and kill him because he risked him screaming and making a fuss that would alert the neighbors; he had to be patient. This time he tried to position himself so that he could see without being seen.

The music continued, and Pablo could hear the man getting up. Had he discovered him? But luckily that pig just went down the hall scratching his balls towards the bathroom.

Pablo took advantage of the fact that the man closed the bathroom door to come out of his hiding place and move. The wing chair was big enough to hide him behind it, and the curtain would provide the perfect cover. Squatting, bent over, tense and with the knife ready, Pablo waited for the man to return from his bowel movements. The man threw himself ostensibly onto the chair while a piece of Wagner began to play.

It was the perfect music for what was going to happen. The man seemed intoxicated by the musical notes, and he did not see nor could he see the figure looming over him from behind. The knife entered through the neck, cutting the throat and jugular in a precise movement, which he followed with a tilt of the body so that all the blood would disperse in a single area full of furniture but allowing him to walk through the living room without stepping in the pool of blood.

When he saw all that wasted blood, Pablo wanted more than ever to recover his power and his body. In his other life, he would have left him dry, so much so that not even the best policeman would have found a drop of blood in the living room.

Without screams, without fighting, these humans were even weaker than a few centuries ago, too much stimulation, too much furniture and decorations, too many distractions to smell the body odor of a stranger in your own home.

They lived with the false security that came from not being prey, not living in a constant war, not being oppressed and threatened, that they had lost part of their primary instincts.

Pablo left the living room and went to the kitchen, methodically washed the knife and left it in the drawer with the rest, there were no fingerprints on it, but he did not want to make it easy for the police to find the murder weapon. The more confused they were, the less likely it was that anyone could link him to the crime.

He looked out into the yard to see that there was no one in the laundry rooms.

With a little effort he got out through the same window, he didn't plan on opening that guy's door and making noise when closing it, it was better, since the block didn't seem very noisy, to get out through the window.

So he did, but on the landing of the second floor he was about to be discovered when the door of a flat suddenly opened, with two quick steps he placed himself out of the vision of anyone who was on that flat and managed to go down the next flight of stairs and not be seen by pure miracle, however in the doorway he hid behind the gap to see how the neighbors came down, only when he was sure that they were going out into the street, they closed the door behind them and after waiting a long and tense minute he decided to go out to blend in again and get lost in the shadows of the Rabal in Barcelona.

He had really taken a lot of risks, he didn't plan to get it on the first try, but opportunities couldn't be missed.

A few meters further on, the same neighbors who had gone out were shopping in a nearby store. Pablo recognized them by their clothes and smell, but they didn't even notice the handsome boy who had glanced at them while he was walking down the street.

He returned home calmly, he didn't meet anyone, and he didn't do anything else that afternoon except plan his next adventure.

Until Friday night he wouldn't have to meet anyone, he wouldn't have to socialize and continue Pablo's life, he had many hours to continue building the path to his power. Those two days of strike were giving him the perfect margin to be able to act at will.

He checked the most striking crimes on the Internet, one of those he already had in mind caught his attention, not only because of the crime itself, a man who had killed his wife, from whom he was about to separate, and his daughter with a sickle, after serving many years in prison he had been released due to his age and because he was close to serving the entirety of his sentence.

Now he lived near Manresa, he was perfect, the most accessible victim. The man, without any shame, had moved back to the family home, a house that was almost next to the mountain. The good and bad thing about the tabloid press is that when these things happened they were so invasive that they did not hesitate to take pictures of everything they could, this time they only had an old photo to identify the man, and the house had to use the services on the internet to be able to find the one that was most similar.

But that trip if it went well would not only be an assassination mission, if he had time Pablo wanted to visit another of the locations that his people had visited in ancient times, the Montserrat mountain. It was not a nest per se, it was something older, a sanctuary before the Middle Ages, it was even older than the arrival of the Romans to the area. It had been the great Athod who had shown it to him after proving his worth for centuries.

He remembered the scene perfectly, after the war in Ireland, after passing through Germania, after infiltrating different emerging cities and strictly complying with the precepts of the Justicars, one day Athod arrived at his nest, at that time he lived in the already emerging Rome. He simply gave him the order to follow him and left his Master Isbaelen in charge of the nest and confusion.

Athod had chosen him not for his power but for his compliance with the code and purpose of the justicars. It was a long and difficult journey, in which the great Athod told him about the purpose of the Justicars. How by following the code they could belong to the shadows but not lose their humanity and appease their hunger. He spoke to him of dark times, thousands of years ago, of disappeared civilizations, and he spoke to him of magic, of the seals and of the secrets that the world still kept. But the most surprising thing is that he was going to take him to a place that no one, not even Master Seth or his own master, knew about.

"Why me, Master?" I am not worthy of this honor"

"Ashan, you are young, and you do not seem as I see, my children comply, but the torment of the shadow is great in them, but you are different, you do not doubt, you see the code as what it is, a purpose and not an excuse to justify your actions, to accept this non-eternal life many cling to things without understanding them, but I see in you what I would have liked to see in them"

He wanted to return to the sanctuary, and he also thought to take advantage of it, since that first time in the past his interest in magic, seals and the forces of prophecy had increased until the betrayal of his teachers came.

The justicars used the force of prophecy to hunt criminals and victims, to favor acts, and to cultivate their network of power. But the prophecy went much further, it was a link of the past, the present and the future, where each symbol counted.

The rest of the night was spent checking train and bus connections and ways to get around, the best would be the train and taking his bike. The big problems would be logistics, he couldn't keep taking knives from his parents' kitchen, so either he got more knives or this time he would have to change his weapon.

A line, a metal one, or a fishing line, Pablo didn't hesitate to go down to the storage room where he and his father kept their fishing equipment, there had to be a special reel for when they went for big fish if they rented a boat, one of those nylon reels so hard that it would be a perfect way to strangle someone.

He wouldn't need much, just a bit of line that fit in any pocket.