Seconds seemed to stretch into hours as the rhythmic sound of the footsteps grew louder. But soon enough, it turned silent. Whatever was in the corridor had reached the door; it didn't bypass it.
The round, vintage doorknob turned.
It shook gently at first, then the shaking got gradually more violent. The door trembled as the thing outside tried to pry it open. It didn't take long for it to realize that the door was locked, however.
A moment of uncanny calm fell into the room. The silence was deafening, only broken by the sobbing children. Their breathing was erratic; had they needed those lungs, they might have fallen into hyperventilation. And yet, amid the wheezing, stiffled cries still erupted, so terrified it was painful to hear. Jules could feel his heart clench, the emotions in the boys' voices too raw.
"..."
The hunter took a deep breath, chasing the useless thoughts, and steadied himself, his grip on his sword tightening. He stared at the now still door, aware that the thing hadn't gone anywhere yet.
The wait was excruciating, taunting his nerves.
What was it contemplating? Why hadn't it done anything yet?
More importantly, how much longer would the standstill last?
The clock continued to tick until, ultimately, the door was abruptly slammed open, the doorframe shattering when the doorknob was forcefully ripped out of its lock. Jules reacted instinctively, slashing his sword downward toward the silhouette. There was no time to hesitate, no time to make sure of what that thing might be. At the very least, it wasn't human.
But despite his light-speed reaction, his blade still missed the being, whistling through the air instead.
"Oh my," a chilling male voice resounded behind him, "I hadn't expected such a warm welcome, thank you."
Even if Jules had known his ambush would most likely not succeed, it was nevertheless aggravating to fail; he didn't even come close to grazing the being. He only managed to catch a glimpse of the man's appearance as he sidestepped him and rolled out of his reach.
With a clenched jaw, Jules veered on his heels, bending his upper body as he brought down his sword once more. But yet again, it missed. This time, all he managed to see was the fluttering of clothing. Jules had no time to waste and followed up with a roundabout kick to intercept the elusive figure, only for the man to grab his ankle and yank him backward, making him lose balance.
It didn't matter. The hunter twisted his waist and brought his upper body up, ready to cut the man in half. Now that they were so close, he couldn't escape him. Or so, Jules thought.
And yet, instead of slicing through the man's torso, as Jules had expected to, his momentum was halted mid-movement. The darned thing had intercepted him just as the blade was about to slice through his collar bone, catching Jules' wrist at the last moment. The grip was such that the hunter couldn't refrain from grunting, the pain radiating up to his shoulders. He could feel his wrist and ankle bones shattering under the long fingers, breaking from the sheer pressure. The strength applied was too much for his body to bear, even after being strengthened by his angelic essence.
This thing was going to be troublesome.
"An angel, huh?"
"Never seen one before?" Jules glared back, unfolding his wings and furiously flapping them to extricate himself from the man's grip. He'd rather give up an ankle and a wrist than stay prisoner of this thing, especially in that impractical angle. He couldn't do anything.
With that in mind, Jules hadn't thought the man would readily let go, and he crashed onto the floor due to his own momentum, rolling onto the rug until he smashed against the bookshelves, right beside Bastien and the frightened twins. Books fell over, forcing him to hit them out of the way with either his arm or the back of his hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw the incubus turn around and pull the boys into his arms, using his back as a meat shield. It was only books and a few trinkets; at most, he'd have some bruises, but nothing serious.
"Hm, what a strange sword," the man said as he picked it up—Jules couldn't keep holding onto it with his shattered wrist, and his grip loosened when he rolled on the floor, sending it flying across the room. "It's quite pretty."
"Well, thank you," Jules snorted, waving a hand to make the sword disappear. It turned into white, sparkly dust in the man's hand, soon vanishing into thin air.
The exchange happened in a matter of seconds, yet it was enough for Jules to realize the difference in strength. He pinched his lips, sizing up the man, who, in any case, didn't seem to mind being scrutinized from head to toes. No, instead, he flashed him a poised smile, his crimson eyes appearing almost gentle.
It was unnerving. Jules would rather he stared down at him like he was some sort of appetizer, like the werewolves had; it'd have made his intention clear, at least.
Like the children, he wore Victorian-like clothing, except that in his case, the loose blouse was accompanied by a well-adjusted sleeveless vest and a delicately crafted neckerchief. His long, silvery hair was left to fall onto his back like a veil, while glasses with a golden chain falling behind his neck rested on the bridge of his nose, enhancing the scholarly air shrouding him. By appearance alone, he seemed to be in his mid-twenties, but appearances were deceiving, especially when it came down to supernatural beings. Bastien, that old thing, was a good example.
Jules shifted his attention to the man's mouth, staring at the fangs that could be seen through his slightly parted lips. So, a vampire, and one whose facial features were overly similar to the twins. Instinctively, the hunter took a step closer to the incubus and the boys, standing between them.
"How strange," the man said, his unfazed crimson gaze falling upon Bastien, who was still holding onto the kids. "I don't remember you being particularly fond of my species."
"Well," Bastien smiled coldly, "when your people aren't trying to suck my family dry, I have nothing against them, Balthazar."
There was a second of silence before Jules heard himself ask, "...Old acquaintance?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
The hunter resisted the urge to peer over his shoulder at the incubus. He couldn't afford to get distracted now, or he might lose his head. He wasn't curious enough about the demon's expression to put his life on the line. Still, his voice, which was usually warm and soothing, had turned chilly and distant, vibrating with undisguised disgust.
"How old exactly?"
"..."
The incubus didn't answer, which didn't bode well. Jules felt his heart leap to his throat. For now, Balthazar didn't seem to have noticed their little protégés hidden under the desk, most likely due to Bastien's wounds. The smell of his blood was strong and filled the room, messing up the vampire's nose. Jules also served as a great distraction. But that wouldn't last forever.
"What a cold-hearted man," Balthazar sighed almost theatrically. "We haven't seen each other since the Holy War, yet you don't seem all that happy to see me again."
"Do I have to remind you that the last time we met," Bastien snorted, "I almost ripped your heart out? Too bad Azharoth intervened."
"It's not my fault you're so sensitive," the vampire taunted back in a weirdly gentle tone, as if appeasing an unruly child. "There was no need to get this furious over a mere sack of blood. You overreacted."
"Overreacted?" Bastien laughed wryly, his grip around the children tightening. "You tried to devour my wife, pregnant with our kid!"
"So?"
Jules listened to their conversation in silence, his frown deepening.
Bastien's wife had died a long time ago, and the Holy War was also a long time ago. In all likelihood, that meant Balthazar was part of the primordials, the first few supernatural beings who left their realms to come to this one in the year of the great collision. They were the pioneers, and those still alive to this day were inevitably powerful enough to survive through the ages; Jules couldn't even begin to comprehend how these beings could live through two thousand years and stay sane. It might be due to his human perception of time.
Whatever. They were still fucked up.
"Anyway, would you mind releasing my sons?" Balthazar gestured toward the boys. "I need to have a word with them."
The twins tensed in Bastien's arms, their small bodies trembling like leaves. The moment Balthazar had entered the office, they had quietened down, too afraid to make a single noise and attract their father's ire. They were terrified beyond belief.
"...What the hell did you do to these kids?"
"Are you questioning my parenting style?"
"Considering what you've done to your siblings?" Bastien growled, his voice low and threatening. "Yes!"
The demon's anger was palpable, enough for Jules to feel the hair on his skin standing up. Bastien had been nonchalant, composed, and humorous since they entered the haunted house, to the point where Jules believed the man was kind to a fault. He had unknowingly relaxed in his presence and almost forgotten what he actually was; forgotten how dangerous a primordial demon could be.
Now, however, his whole body tensed as it sensed the danger.
Bastien was furious.