Chapter Text
In a complicated world—especially one inhabited by supernatural creatures—it is sometimes difficult to decipher who is a friend or foe, who is a Samaritan or monster, and who is a hero or villain. One’s naivety may result in mistaken alignment and framing, and thus, heroes become villains and villains become heroes depending on one’s perspective—if their perspective can even be deemed trustworthy.
And Allen Nightingale knew better than to judge a book by its cover.
He was born a dhampir—the product of a union between a vampire and human—hence being put in a cumbersome position as a creature of both the natural and supernatural worlds. People would make presumptions about him without having even met him, only to be disproven once witnessing his real-life behavior. It seemed to be a never-ending cycle of Allen dashing prospects thrust upon him; in fact, it might as well become a hobby.
So yes, he had learned relatively early not to prejudge after receiving such treatment from others.
It was not that he was unhappy with his family—rather, it was quite the opposite. His father Aldon Nightingale was a highly respected pureblood vampire and a prominent member of the International Police Organization of the Supernatural (shortened to “IPOS”), which was practically the paranormal equivalent of the natural world’s Interpol. His mother Callidora Nightingale née Spiegel had been a human woman of both grace and beauty until Aldon had turned her after Allen’s birth, and whom Aldon fondly claimed was a queen among human ladies, a bright soul who was more intrigued by the supernatural than fearful of it. Both parents were kind and responsible, raising Allen to the best of their ability with an authoritative attitude and teaching him everything about balancing affection with discipline.
It was simply his ancestry that was burdensome, especially when he encountered humans. Paranormal creatures made it a habit to isolate themselves from humanity as much as possible; consequently, humans had little opportunity to interact with them and understand them. People were afraid of the unknown, and this terror could serve as a catalyst for manmade catastrophes in the name of humanity’s protection. In the end, humans could be just as monstrous as the beasts that they attempted to drive away.
(What truly was the physical difference between a human and a beast? The answer lied within their genes: Monsters operated outside the double helix that otherwise shaped human DNA.)
Alas, such was the life to which Allen was accustomed. He was a bridge between both worlds whose inhabitants saw him as an anomaly.
Another aspect that Allen loathed was humans’ occasional reaction to inconceivability. The exceptionally stubborn ones would cling onto the film named “science” but miserably make the sign of a cross when their expectations were broken. If they had so little faith in science, why would they rely on it so much until they judged it futile? If they had so little faith in their religion, why would they ignore their deity until desperation became their only ally?
Allen would scoff whenever he recalled this concept. It would be erroneous to assume that he despised humanity (being partially human himself); the problem was that humans were needlessly convoluted from his standpoint. The monsters with whom he was acquainted seemed more straightforward.
But enough with the brooding. Allen had a job to do.
The youth had decided to follow his father’s footsteps in working for the law enforcement, scoring the careers of international occult detective and vampire hunter before graduating university and becoming one of the youngest prominent investigators of his time. (To clear any misconceptions, he only targeted rogue or criminal vampires; otherwise, he would have no alibis to hunt half of his own species.) His dhampirism gave him advantageous abilities of both vampires and humans (including but not limited to superhuman strength and speed, rapid healing, resistance to sunlight, acidic blood that acted as a vampire repellent, the capability of killing vampires or manufacturing anti-vampiric weaponry, and the choice to switch between omnivorism and hematophagy), serving a great convenience whenever he faced enemies. Yet…
“Darn, she got away again…”
…His abilities could not cure him of his frustration.
His latest assignment was to subdue a suspected rogue vampire in England, a woman under the guise of a Christian nun who called herself “Sister Rin”. Supposedly, she was a nomad who would open tea shops in settlements during her journey, only to leave for another destination about a week after with her shops disappearing without a trace, implying the use of magic. She would preach about how drinking her tea would fulfill one’s wishes and create miracles—a blasphemy since she would convince people to worship an icon instead of a deity. To add further doubt, the timings of her departures coincided with homicide cases in those same settlements.
Autopsy reports regarding the homicides indicated that the victims had drunken tea containing hallucinogens minutes afore their demise. It was heavily inferred that the hallucinogens’ true purpose was to keep the victims sedated and unconscious while Sister Rin fed on them. (Was it to make their deaths painless? Sister Rin surely had a twisted connotation of mercy.)
Normally, tailing targets was an easy task for Allen, but this particular woman was abnormally slippery for his tastes. Although the detective had successfully tracked Sister Rin down several times, she somehow managed to remain one step ahead, resulting in Allen’s numerous failures to prevent one bloodbath after another, including the horrific scene in front of him.
He had trudged all the way to a backwater village called Overgorge, nearly sweating buckets in his midnight-blue coachman coat as the sunlight from the clear sky heated his skin, only to find decaying corpses lying everywhere on the loose soil. The air stunk of rotten flesh and fungi, and a crow would occasionally land to peck at bones or scraps. Tumbleweed and dead leaves jade-walked across the barren fields. Most of the buildings and trees had been blasted into splinters like a tsunami had flooded them, and those left standing were moldy and dilapidated as though they would collapse any minute. The village had essentially been converted into a combination of a ghost town and cemetery.
In short, his view was nothing short of the aftermath of a massacre. If it was of any consolation, there were no children among the casualties.
Allen bit his lip so hard that he could taste the acid in his blood. (Had he been a stranger to homicide cases, he might have gagged. It said a lot about the innocence that he had lost all too soon thanks to his career path.) Once again, he had been too slow to save anyone. He knew, he knew that there was no guarantee in sparing the lives of even the most foolish of humans, but the sight still stung.
Staring at the empty eye sockets of a farmer’s skull, he chuckled bitterly: “I wonder if they departed happily.”
A salty tear trickled down his pallid cheek, and his cerulean eyes blinked, the catlike pupils dilating from gazing at the dusky ground.
Amidst his distraction, a chiming ring echoed from his pants pocket. He shoved a gloved hand into the pocket and retrieved a smartphone, unlocking it. Then, his eyes narrowed at the notification on the screen.
“Homicide case in London; vampire deemed as the culprit…” he read. Clicking his tongue, the boy stuffed the phone back into his slacks and turned away from the desolate ruins of Overgorge, his choppy blond hair sweeping from the oncoming breeze.
“Next stop: London, England.”