Years Ago
The battlefield burned, a hellscape of fire and ash.
Richard Feller stood over the broken body of the vampire lord, blood staining his scorched coat, his sword crackling with embers. The vampire lord—once a figure of fear and dominance—now crawled on one arm, the other severed. His cloak, once regal, was in tatters.
"You humans…" the vampire rasped, coughing blood. "You… never know when to stop."
Richard raised his blade, fire swirling around the edge.
"I should end you here," he said coldly. "You and your kind have brought nothing but death."
"But you won't," the vampire grinned weakly, blood coating his fangs. "Because you're tired, aren't you, hunter? Tired of fighting. Tired of watching friends die. Go ahead. Be merciful. Let me live… and this all starts again."
Richard hesitated. His grip tightened.
Then he lowered the blade.
"I'm done with this war," he muttered. "If you crawl back into the shadows and stay there… maybe the world will heal."
The vampire stared in disbelief.
"You fool."
Richard turned and walked away, the vampire's laughter echoing behind him as blue fire flickered and faded from his back.
"Richard! Over here!"
A young woman waved from her garden, smiling brightly. Richard waved back with a nod, a sack of herbs slung over his shoulder. The village was calm—sunlight bathed the cobbled streets, birds chirped, children played.
It had been over five years since the war ended. Richard had settled in this quiet rural village, far from the vampire-controlled lands. He found something he never had during the bloodshed—peace.
"Richard!" came another voice, this time older—Dr. Lemar, the village physician. "You still going out for your trip tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Richard replied. "Three days. Just enough to restock the herbs you need."
The doctor looked relieved. "Bless you. We're running low on heartshade root and dewpetals. Old man Byron keeps choking on his soup, and I swear I'll need that root sooner than later."
Richard chuckled. "I'll bring back enough for the whole season."
That evening, he returned home.
His wife, Elyse, met him at the door, brushing flour from her apron.
"You're late," she teased.
"Doctor cornered me again," Richard said, setting the sack down. "Wants me to bring back herbs. Village is getting soft without me."
"Mm-hm," she hummed, wrapping her arms around him. "You always say that. But you love helping them."
He smiled and kissed her forehead. "Yeah. I do."
They sat together that night on the porch, watching their daughter chase fireflies with a little wooden wand Richard had carved for her.
"She's growing so fast," Elyse whispered.
"Too fast," he replied.
"Promise me you'll come back safe."
He nodded. "I always do."
The Next Morning
"Papa!"
Richard turned as his daughter ran up to him, hugging his leg tightly. She looked up with big, expectant eyes.
"Can I come with you this time? I'll be quiet! I promise!"
He knelt down and ruffled her hair. "Sorry, little flame. The forest can be dangerous. I need you to stay and protect Mom, okay?"
Her lip quivered. "You always say that…"
"I'll bring you something," he said, smiling. "The prettiest flower I can find. Just for you."
Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
She nodded solemnly and hugged him again.
"Love you, Papa."
"Love you more."
Three Days Later, Richard crested the final hill with a bundle of herbs in one hand. The sight of the village below brought a soft smile to his face.
But something was wrong.
No smoke from the chimneys.
No distant chatter.
No laughter.
He began walking faster.
Then running.
He reached the village gates and stopped cold.
Blood.
Bodies. Torn homes. Silence. The streets were littered with corpses—friends, neighbors, faces he knew.
And ahead, he saw them.
Vampires. Undeads. Feeding. Laughing. One drank straight from a corpse's neck like wine.
Richard dropped the herbs. His fists clenched.
Then flames exploded from his body.
"YOU."
The nearest vampire turned—and was instantly engulfed in fire.
Richard didn't think. He didn't speak. He burned.
Flames swirled like a storm around him. He became a whirlwind of sword and fire, cutting down undeads with ferocity, setting vampires ablaze one by one. Screams filled the village. The monsters tried to flee, but his wrath was faster.
When the last one fell—his body blackened and melting—Richard stood in the smoke, chest heaving.
His blade dropped from his hand.
He walked through the ruin, trembling.
He found Elyse in front of their home—burned, broken, but still holding a kitchen knife. She'd fought to the end.
And inside, beneath the stairs, he found his daughter.
Eyes closed.
Still clutching the little flower wand.
Richard fell to his knees. His whole body trembled.
Then he whispered:
"This is my fault."
He sat there for hours, whispering it again and again.
"I could've ended all of this. I let that bastard live. I thought… I thought I was done with war."
He stood. His hands clenched. Fire flared at his fingertips.
"I was wrong."
The Next Day
He buried them all. Every last villager. Friend. Stranger. Child.
He buried Elyse and his daughter together.
When it was done, he went home.
He opened the floorboards and pulled out his past: his fire-forged sword. His old battle coat. His wife's pendant.
He stared into the mirror for a long time. The man who looked back wasn't the one who had lived in peace. He was the one who had nearly wiped out a vampire empire—and should have finished the job.
He stepped outside.
Blue flames flickered around him, rising like wings.
"No more mercy," he said, voice low and cold.
"This time, I burn them all."
End of Chapter 1