Hissing into smoke, carried by the winds, the room felt hotter than before. The cold winds clashed against the aftermath of Radiant Dawn.

  The werewolf lay motionless. Its body paused mid stitching and weaving, a grotesque mockery of healing on a lifeless body. The flesh still bubbled, being cooked from Radiant Dawn still.

  Sat across it was Wattyson. His injuries finally caught up to him as he sat slumped, panting. Clutching and tracing across his chest, those grazed claws came close to his vital—lungs and hearts. His cheek flared with constant throbbing pains from being punched—not strong enough to send flying, yet weak enough to make him tumble.

  His silver sword remained near him. His eyes set on that corpse. He killed the beast, but even he himself wasn’t sure if it would remain dead. The way its blood bubbled like boiled water, its claw twitching and muscles straining, put him on edge.

  Dealing with a corrupted werewolf was something he always steered away from. It was a miracle they fought one mid-corruption. He dreaded to think of an actual werewolf… some of them would’ve been dead.

  He groaned to himself. For all his usage of magic despite void of mana, he lamented. If only he could just… heal himself. It was the one thing he was never able to use. Rubbing his own hand to conjure up a fire instead to close the wounds, at least that was something he could control.

  Trying to stand, but the legs didn’t work. Exhaustion, aching and pain raced and registered in his brain at once. He slumped further, gritting his teeth and clicking his tongue. The feeling of powerless, not being able to move, irritated him. His eyelids are barely opened now.

  “Whatever…” He muttered, eyes still on the corpse. His voice was a mixed of annoyance and resignation. For now, his fire would close the wound and continue to burn.

  Arlene sprinted and hopped through the damaged grounds, the debris of pillars scattered all over from her own slashes. Her sight set on Xylia’s collapsed form. Thankfully, she fell on relatively flat surface. No pebbles to accidentally give her head trauma.

  “Xylia!” Arlene rushed and crouched beside her. Taking that big wizard hat off, she rolled her gently. It was shocking how light she was—no wonder Wattyson was able to carry her with ease.

  If only she could see the flow of mana like Anire, she would know how dire Xylia was in.

  Xylia was flipped and… snoring. Her lips curved and twitched into a smug smile. That satisfying grin from using two high-usage of mana spells was read all over her face. The bundle of wands still gripped firmly in her tiny hand.

  Arlene sighed in relief, shaking her little head. “Seriously?” She muttered light in tone. “Here I thought you might have exhausted to death…”

  Without wasting time, she opened her bag and popped off one of the mana potions—the bitter one. Her finger brushed against Xylia’s lip to pry open before sliding the potion carefully, letting gravity do the work.

  Throwing the potion away afterward, she stood and picked up that big Wizard hat and Xylia herself for a piggyback. She really was light.

  Easing herself and making sure the small wizard wouldn’t wake up, she began to make her way more slowly and methodically on a more even ground. Heading to where Wattyson was.

  Every breath Naciv took, another pain swoop through his body like a puncture to his lung. That Radiant Dawn sapped his strength when it shined. Thanks to Wattyson blocking the light however partial, Naciv’s body had enough strength to push out that vampiric healing in his unnatural blood.

  He inhaled while chanting his blood magic. Any scraps of blood when that werewolf bled near him streaked and flowed through the rough ground, like a wiggly worm. Then it crawled onto his body, over his wounds, to his mouth.

  The blood of vampire’s predator enhanced his healing even briefly. His breathing became much smoother and any fractures inside his body realigned itself. Calcium created from a drop of blood forged his ribcage.

  His hands curled and clawed on the ground, strains visible through his entire body. Legs twitched, teeth gritted, body arched like a puppet. His vison turned blurry then clear. He could see it, gaze upon the smallest line far high in the ceiling. It was too sharp.

  It felt disgusting, to take a blood of animal. However, this wasn’t just of animal but another person—it was… exhilarating. Blood was rich and addicting. He wanted more. He felt unease at the thought, yet he couldn’t stop it. It was… scrumptious.

  What felt heavier now was as light as picking a feather. He quickly sat up while his mouth drooling. The body was still injured beyond belief yet it didn’t matter, he was already healed to dangerous capable level.

  Rinea was in sight, unconscious from the kick. He crawled slowly, glacially. Legs and arms tracing the ground like he was studying his about to be food—like he was the cat and Rinea was the mouse.

  His humane mind yelled—screamed. Don’t do this! NO! I’m not like THEM! Yet his body said otherwise, and the minor now dominant vampire side agreed. Feast. Need to Feast on a fresh meal.

  There were scratches all over her body—blood spilling down like a fountain in his eyes. She was just lying there, arms and legs spread out on shattered ground.

  Closing in, that open wound from her arm appealed to him greatly—luring him in like a fly. He reached out, almost hesitantly—checking if she was awake or alive even. It didn’t stop him. The flesh felt soft like he could just stick his teeth in. His fangs grew much sharper to impale.

  Rubbing both ends of the wound softly and gently as if he was preparing the meal, he reached in—mouth wide. Fangs primed. Closer, closer—

  “…Naciv?”

  Voice so weak, even if people were close by they wouldn’t hear it. Naciv wasn’t people.

  “…Is that you? I can’t feel my arm…”

  A drop of drool’s hunger dripped onto the wound.

  “Ack. It stings… are you trying to apply potion?”

  Naciv’s fangs were right there, just a bit more. A little closer and he would be in a world of thrilling taste! Just a few m—

  He shifted back. No. This is… this is wrong. His entire body recoiled just from him trying to retreat. He had to fight his own instinct with will. Muscles began to sore like the pain had never left. He forced his fangs down onto the bottom human teeth, using the pain as stimulus. It distracted the instinct from trying to partake in a succour to doing anyway to lose the pain. He won.

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  He hastily answered back, “Y-yeah. Never seen a wound like you, y’know? Just…just trying to see what sticks.”

  It was then he took another look at her. Her chest rose steadily despite the injury. Her eyes shut. How did she even know it was him? Guess? No. He brushed it away. Paranoia almost got him killed—instead he chose to look at the now.

  A faint chuckle from the horned girl. “Y-you’re such a bad adventurer… you can’t just throw potion onto a wound.”

  “I know, I know. Just experimenting.” He tried to brush it off nonchalantly. “Can’t blame me for my curiosity, right?”

  “Right…” She returned the same tone, but stammered into a cough. Her lips pressed together, releasing a satisfying pop like she was trying to get a feel of something warm, something cold, something alive.

  She tried to get up, but her body wouldn’t budge. Only her head lifted briefly before her neck muscle strained. “I-is it over?” She couldn’t open her eyes fully, only small glimpse of light shoned through the eyelashes. “Is… the monster dead?”

  Monster… that was how she saw it—how she tried to categorize it. She didn’t have any frame of reference or background knowledge to rely on like Naciv.

  “Yeah… the monster’s dead.” Naciv lingered vaguely at the werewolf’s.

  “Why do you sound so far away?”

  He was. Every passing moment, he took the chance to shift away, little by little, from Rinea to stave off his vampire’s instinct.

  A small chuckle left him, weary as if to mask something. “Just… trying to find your bag so I can bandage you. That’s all.”

  “Hue… where are the others?”

  “Oh. They’re at the monster’s corpse. Just inspecting to make sure it’s dead.”

  “Huh? I can’t hear you.”

  “They’re not here!” His voice louder this time just enough for her. “They’re regrouping at the monster!”

  He needn’t find the bag. It was already there, by Rinea’s side. It was just an excuse to buy time. Time to injure himself, using the pain as stimulus to bring out more of his preservation instinct. A gamble—he wasn’t sure if his human side would respond or his vampire nature would take over.

  One thing for sure. He didn’t hear the voice screaming ‘Feast!’ in his head no longer. Taking in deep breath, he took one long stride to her. A small dagger pointed to his side in case his vampiric nature took over.

  One step. Nothing. Two. Nothing. Three. Still nothing.

  It didn’t take over and he exhaled out a sigh of relief, guilt and shame. Relief he hadn’t fully cross his moral code. Guilty that he almost did. Shameful that he almost broke the promise with his sister.

  He walked over to the bag and wore it over his shoulder. His entire body though healed internally, still looked grotesque in injury from the outside. “Can you walk, you weirdo?”

  “Who are you calling a weirdo? You errand bo—“ Rinea coughed out blood. Her eyes still shut. “I can’t.”

  Naciv only needed to hear that confirmation. He immediately lowered himself and swoop her up like a bride. “Let’s meet up with the others. At least we can bandage you there while still being protected.”

  Rinea couldn’t really see, but she could feel his arms below her back and knees—wet and damp. “Are you… bleeding, Naciv?!” There was no strength in her body. She could barely turn her head. “Just put me down if you’re injured! Get yourself fixed first!”

  “No, I’m fine. Just… quiet down will you? You can’t even move your body, weirdo.”

  She wanted to retort, but couldn’t let out any. Choosing to remain silent instead with a faint smile crept on her face. Letting herself gently carried like a wave every time he had to step on an uneven rubble to the gathering point.

  Arlene arrived, putting the sleeping Xylia down with ease and comfort. An action Wattyson observed. “Do you have a sibling?” He asked hoarsely, still burning his wounds.

  Arlene shook her head while fixing that big wizard hat as a cushion. “No.”

  “Have you… ever had siblings?”

  Her gaze still lingered on Xylia. That smug face still worn on her sleeping face. It might as well be immortalized into her facial structure. “No… I just used to take care of the little one before being the Chosen One.” She sat on the rubble, turning to him. “How’s your injury?”

  “Eh. Been through worse.” His eyes betrayed the casual remark. Those fires were burning to close his wounds, but also injured him internally. It was a delicate slippery slope.

  Arlene lifted her hands up. “You know I can just… cast healing spells on you. Perhaps you don’t have to do that.”

  Wattyson shook his head as his gaze lowered. “This is fine. I’m more used to this.” Fire traced along the claw marks on his chest. One scratch closed in charcoal color.

  “It doesn’t look safe.”

  “It’s not supposed to. I like to think of it like a reminder of what I had to hunt back then.”

  “Through… injuring yourself?”

  “Yes. It’s so I’ll never get used to fighting things that could end me instantly or in two blows. The mark will go away with time.”

  If the charred mark went away with time, settling back to his pale skin tone again, then how many times had he done this? She rose to him, pulling his hand away by the ankle. “One charred scar is enough. Let me help.”

  He didn’t protest, much to her surprise. She had considered just casting healing spell, but remembering what Anire had said about his void nature. The mana to heal would just flow through him.

  Back to basic it was. She set down her leather bag and brought out her usual medical supplies; bandages, healing potions, salves, honey and powders to clean the wounds.

  Wasting no time, she already began to paint the honey and powders on his wounds, hearing a few faint groans. His body was hot like a fever from his fire healing method. It was steadily rising and lowering. He was still human.

  Splashing few drops of potions like it was a spray bottle, she then began wrapping the bandages over him. “It’ll heal in time.”

  “…It’s gonna take ages.”

  “That’s how injuries heal, Watty.”

  She noticed his eyes were never on her during this. It was on the werewolf’s body. Its claws and arms were still shaking as if something was cooking inside. “Is it creeping you out?”

  “No. Just… taking in the sight. Making sure it stays dead.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I stabbed its heart after all.”

  “Does that… always work?”

  “Pretty sure it does.”

  “Huh. I believe you.”

  She patted him on the back after she was done bandaging him, strode to the front and sat near him. She looked to him, smirking. “Do you feel much better now? Even if you say no, I know your body is grateful.”

  Wattyson glanced down and all over his body. “You didn’t have to bandage me over my shirt.”

  “Would you have taken it off for me to do so?”

  He sighed, still lingering on that corpse. “Point taken.” He flinched slightly from a cold touch and a warm feeling. It was Arlene casting a freezing breeze to his punched face.

  “I miss this spot.”

  A sigh let out then followed up with a slight shake. “Thanks…”

  Arlene smirked wider. “You’re welcome.”

  Few moments later, Naciv came behind with no footstep. “Can you heal her as well?” Rinea was in his arms.

  Arlene turned to them surprised. She didn’t hear them at all. She must’ve been very tired. “Of course and…,” she glanced to him, “How are you still standing?!”

  Naciv’s grotesque body had turned all the flesh wounds into numerous shallow cuts all over his clothes, leather armour and body. “Oh you know… crushed by a monster weighted megatons.”

  He rested Rinea down. A faint thanks read from her lips. “Here,” he took a water canteen off her bag, “Drink.” He raised the cap gently brushing against her lip, letting water flowed enough not to choke her.

  Arlene crouched across, both hands hovering and glowing in lime. She chanted to Ysoiea, requesting the power to heal and cleanse the wounds off Rinea.

  Naciv noticed she was trying to move her lips for something, and took the canteen away.

  “T-Thanks, Arlene-leader.” Rinea could finally articulate words loud enough for other to hear.

  “Just focus on resting for now, you’ll be back in no time.”

  “How long will this take?”

  Arlene didn’t answer. She took to study her wounds instead. It wasn’t too fatal. From what she was seeing, it was few shallow cut and scratches from her being knocked away. The real injuries were probably her ribcage or other torso bones.

  “Probably an hour. Can you feel anything aching inside you?”

  “Hehe… I can’t feel anything.” A weary chuckle followed.

  “Hmm… let’s say an hour then.”

  “I wish I can open my eyes fully at least…”

  “Get used to it for now, Rinea. You can see after.”

  Only the humming sounds of Arlene’s healing rang throughout the dungeon like a harp clashing against the lingering fire of Radiant Dawn on the ground and the cooking corpse.

  “Say… Sir Wattyson?” Rinea called out, moaning in pain as she tried to turn her head to him with the little vision she had. “You… you fought it like you had battled against similar things many times before… what was that monster? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Arlene didn’t say anything. She continued to heal, but in a corner of her eyes she looked to Wattyson.

  Naciv gulped. Wattyson knew. He was Anathema to the supernatural after all. Internally, he was wishing, hoping, praying that however Wattyson answered, it wouldn’t expose him as a vampire and be blood hunted by his own clan.

  All eyes rested to Wattyson for his answer.

  Yet the person himself didn’t return their gazes, eyes were still on the corpse.