Three days of struggling to find cover in this deadly forest. Three days of slipping through underbrush without direction, hunting whatever crossed their path, and trying to figure out how the ever-living fuck they were going to survive in this place. Three days of Ace pushing his team through grueling marches, teaching them how to move silently, how to kill efficiently.
Three days of watching Victor grow more aloof with each passing hour.
But now—in the predawn stillness of yet another day—something wasn’t right.
Fog swarmed around them, coiling and curling through the pre-dawn twilight as the painfully silent forest towered overhead. The mist wrapped around them like a funeral shroud, so thick it seemed to have physical weight. It swirled around tree trunks and slithered across the forest floor in ghostly tendrils, transforming the terrain into an alien landscape. Droplets of moisture hung suspended in the air, each one capturing what little light filtered through the canopy. The fragments of pre-dawn light distorted and twisted into eerie, shifting patterns that cast a sickly glow across the patchy grass of the woodland.
A scent lingered in the air, as thick as the fog—something that made his undead skin crawl with warning even though his conscious mind couldn’t identify what it was. Tangy. Rusty. Like blood suddenly spilled across the floor of a sterile surgery room. It violated the natural perfume of the forest, cutting through the earthy damp with a strange sharpness that didn't belong. Ace's newly awakened instincts recoiled from it, a visceral rejection that originated somewhere deep in his very soul. His thoughts clouded in warning, as though the scent itself could poison him, and his body tensed in defensive response to a threat he couldn't yet name.
It was like his body remembered something his mind had never learned—a primal warning screaming danger without explaining what he needed to avoid.
Worst of all, however, was the silence.
An overbearing quiet pressed against Ace's eardrums with an almost painful intensity. Even his enhanced vampire hearing struggled to penetrate the supernatural hush that had fallen over the forest. Nothing reached him—not the rustle of leaves, nor the scurrying of small creatures, nor the distant calls of birds. They had all been swallowed by the mist, leaving only the occasional hollow drip of condensation falling from a leaf to the underbrush below.
“I don’t like this,” Tara said under her breath.
She stood beside him, her grip tightening around her bow. Her knuckles bleached white against the dark wood.
"Something's watching us," Marcus muttered, unnaturally still as he scanned the woods. His eyes darted between the trees, his psychic abilities no doubt probing the mist. "I can feel... intent. Calculation."
A threat.
"The ambient temperature has dropped 3.4 degrees in the last eight minutes," she said, voice clinical despite the tremor in her hands. "Unnatural weather patterns often precede—"
"Shut up," Victor snapped. He paced the edge of their small camp like a predator sensing encroachment on his territory. His hand rested on his whip’s handle, his fingers flexing with anticipation rather than fear. "If something's out there, let it come. I'm hungry anyway."
Olivia stood apart from the others, her dancer's posture perfect even amid the tension. She tilted her head, dark hair falling across one shoulder as she closed her eyes.
"Listen," she whispered.
And they did.
The absence of sound became its own presence—a void where forest life should have been. No birds. No insects. Not even wind disturbing the leaves.
"Eighteen," Marcus suddenly hissed, eyes flying open wide. "I count eighteen distinct... somethings. Human but... focused. Trained."
"Pack up," Ace ordered, keeping his voice low and steady. "Now."
They moved with the efficiency he'd drilled into them over the past three days—gathering gear, extinguishing remains of their small fire, preparing to disappear into the mist. No questions. No arguments. Just the smooth coordination of people who'd learned that survival depended on following orders.
All except Victor.
"Whatever that is, we should hunt it," he said, his voice loud enough to carry. His eyes gleamed with an unnatural hunger. "Why run when we can feed?"
"Because we don't know what ‘it’ is," Ace said in a hushed growl as he scanned the treeline.
Victor’s gaze darted toward Ace, and the former merc frowned.
“You need to embrace this life, Blackwell,” the man warned. “Or it’s going to eat you alive.”
Ace chuckled as he straightened the buckles on his Thornhide armor. “Didn’t realize you cared, darlin’.”
Victor’s frown became a scowl, and the man scoffed in answer.
The fog shifted, parting slightly as a gust of wind cut through the clearing. For a fraction of a second, Ace glimpsed a figure—just the outline of a human form wearing what looked like fitted armor, the gleam of silver at wrist and throat catching what little light filtered through the trees.
Then the mist swallowed the figure again, but not before Ace spotted the stretched bowstring and a silver-tipped arrow, notched and ready to fire.
"Get down!" he shouted.
The warning had barely hit the air when something sliced through the fog—its whistle of movement so faint that only his enhanced hearing could catch it. As he dropped to the ground, an arrow shot through the mist just inches above his head, its shaft a blur of polished wood.
The arrowhead, however, gleamed with unnatural brightness—and his body recoiled from it as though it were fire.
Silver.
As the arrow passed overhead, that strange metallic scent he couldn’t identify earlier now intensified. That rusty tang flooded his head with such potency that Ace nearly gagged. His fangs descended involuntarily, a defensive reaction to an existential threat. Every cell in his body screamed in warning.
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The arrow embedded itself in a tree trunk behind him with a dull thunk, the silver tip sinking deep into the bark. A thin wisp of smoke curled upward from where it pierced the living wood, and Ace caught the acrid scent of burning sap.
A prompt appeared above the silhouette before the mist swallowed the figure yet again.
———
FORGEBORN: VAMPIRE HUNTERS
Metaphysical Metallurgy - Craft silver alloys that disrupt vampire powers and sever shadow connections.
Tactical Intelligence Network - Track vampire movements and coordinate ambushes through methodical study of predator behavior.
———
Oh, good.
This world apparently had vampire hunters.
Fucking fantastic.
Another whistle cut through the air—and this time, it didn’t pass harmlessly overhead.
A second arrow materialized from the fog, aimed with deadly precision at Olivia's exposed back as she scanned the forest.
Before he could even register the thought, Ace launched to his feet and sprinted toward her. It was instinctual, a need to protect his team that was honed from years of combat training. His hand snapped forward, catching the arrow mid-flight mere inches from Olivia's spine.
The tip of the arrow grazed his palm, and his world erupted in blazing hot pain. White-hot agony exploded through his hand. The metal seared his skin like molten steel, sending waves of agony shooting up his arm.
The wound didn't just hurt—it refused to heal, the silver actively disrupting his vampiric regeneration.
"Fuck!" He dropped the arrow, and smoke curled from his blistered palm. The scent of his own scorched body joined the metallic tang of silver hanging in the air.
———
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION:[ACTIVE DEBUFF: SILVER POISONING]
- Racial abilities suppressed
- Power regeneration reduced by 80%
- Movement speed reduced by 45%
- Damage taken from silver sources increased by 200%
———
This day just kept getting better.
"Ambush!" he barked. "Form up, now!"
The mist parted like a theatrical curtain, revealing eighteen figures emerging in perfect synchronization. They spread out in a practiced circle, leaving no room for escape. Each wore form-fitting black armor with silver inlays, and their faces were partially obscured by half-masks that revealed only cold, calculating eyes trained on their targets.
Namely, on Ace.
"Did you guys see that notification?" Rachel gasped, scrambling backward. "These are Forgeborn. Elite vampire hunters."
“Yep,” Tara said as she scanned the approaching archers. “And we’re vastly outnumbered.”
"Oh, isn’t this such wonderful timing!" a cheerful voice chirped beside him. “I’m glad I didn’t miss the show.”
In unison, all of the gathered vampires sighed in resignation.
The System manifested as she always did—a young girl with dead eyes and a smile that never reached them, her dress pristine despite the mud and fog. She twirled, taking in the scene with undisguised glee.
"Vampire hunters! Isn't that fun?" She clapped her hands. "The Forgeborn are an ancient order, you know. They've spent centuries perfecting the art of killing your kind. They’re the second-best blacksmiths in all of my lovely worlds.”
Worlds, she’d said.
Not Floors.
Worlds.
"Not now," Ace growled, positioning himself protectively in front of Tara as the Forgeborn spread into a practiced formation.
“Whatever you say, Sergeant Grumpy Pants!” she chirped.
“Form up," Ace ordered, ignoring her as she floated beside him. "Back to back. Victor, left flank. Olivia, right. Marcus, center with Rachel."
Victor's face twisted with barely contained rage. "I don't take orders from—"
"Shut up and move," Ace cut him off, counting targets. Eighteen Forgeborn. Eighteen kills to make. "Unless you want silver through your heart."
The entire conversation happened in seconds, just as the line of archers notched their bows—ready to unleash hell.
The Forgeborn leader stood at the center of the line—a tall man with a face bisected by a jagged scar. His calculating eyes took in Ace's team as he directed his followers with silent hand signals.
“Fire!” the man shouted.
A dozen bowstrings snapped in perfect unison, sending a volley of silver-tipped arrows whistling through the fog.
"Watch out!" Ace barked, dropping into a crouch. “Use that Dexterity stat!”
Most of his team reacted in time. Olivia twisted with dancer's grace, the arrows slicing through empty air where she'd stood a second earlier. Victor snarled and batted one away with inhuman speed, though another caught him in the upper arm.
Tara wasn't fast enough. Two arrows punched through her side, the silver tips hissing as they met vampire flesh. She staggered but remained standing, her medical training overriding the shock as she assessed her own wounds.
Rachel wasn’t so lucky.
Three arrows found their mark, dropping the analyst to her knees. An arrow had caught Marcus in the thigh, but he limped toward Rachel anyway.
Ace had no time to check on them. The Forgeborn were already advancing, their formation shifting with practiced precision. He shot forward, closing the distance before they could launch another volley. His military training merged with his new vampiric speed as he targeted the nearest two hunters.
The first died before he could notch another arrow. Ace's claws severed the man’s jugular with surgical precision. The second man managed to raise his own silver-tipped sword and swing, but Ace ducked the blow. In a flash of shadow, Ace drew his Crimson Sword and drove the steel weapon up through the man's throat. The bloodsoaked blade broke through the man’s skull and knocked off his helmet. The vampire hunter’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he went limp. His full weight settled onto the sword, and Ace set his boot on the man’s chest as he withdrew his sword with a wet squish.
The entire confrontation had lasted mere seconds.
Two down.
Sixteen to go.
Behind him, however, all hell broke loose.
A Forgeborn hunter hurled a glass sphere into the clearing. It shattered against a tree trunk with the shrill crackle of splintering ice. The sphere burst into a shimmering cloud of fine silver powder that caught the pre-dawn light. In an instant, the fog transformed into a deadly, dazzling haze. The silver particles drifted with deceptive grace, swirling in hypnotic patterns before settling on the vampires gathered in the clearing.
And wherever the silver landed, it scorched.
Marcus's scream tore through the fog as the powder settled across his face. His skin sizzled and smoked, the crackle of a boiling body reminiscent of raw meat hitting a scorching pan. The acrid stench of corrupted vampire tissue filled the air—sweet like caramelizing sugar but undercut with the metallic reek of burning blood. The man’s hands clawed at his face, his fingers leaving deep gouges in his own skin as he tried to scrape away the silver that burrowed deep.
"Tara!" Ace shouted, his voice cutting through Marcus's howls. “He’s going to blind himself!”
"Hang on!" Tara called, blood seeping from her own wounds as she ducked another arrow.
At the same moment that the powder exploded into the air, something blurred through Ace’s periphery. It landed on Rachel, hard and heavy, and she collapsed beneath the overpowering weight of a beaded net. An elegant framework of silver beads was woven into its complex mesh. Each point where silver touched her body produced tiny wisps of smoke. Her face contorted in silent agony, her jaw clenched so tight that blood oozed from the corners of her mouth where her fangs had punctured her own lips.
Victor, of course, went rogue—and their resident asshole was probably going to get them all killed.
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