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He could hear him.
He could hear his heartbeat, clearly trained for this, yet no less quickened at what he's about to do.
He could smell the faint scent of his sweet blood, mixing with the cold sweat running down his back.
His steps were almost inaudible. Surely, if he were trying to come behind an average man, he'd do so without any problem. A human would have no chance of hearing him.
Too bad Sunday wasn't human.
“I hope you prepared well.”
His voice, soft and melodic, echoed through the empty church. It was too late for any of the priests or sisters to be awake, leaving only one father awake. Sunday stood next to the altar, his back turned to the threat, with no care to turn around to see who came into God's home at this hour.
“The stake in your hand should be made of White Oak. And the prayers-”
“You think I don't know how to do my own job?” The answering voice seemed displeased with the conversation, slightly trembling in frustration.
Sunday didn't mind. Most hunters were like that — tense, didn't take any jokes and didn't even care to have a proper conversation. Despite being the ones serving the Lord, they didn't have any respect for his home either. Spilling blood in a church… truly a despicable behavior.
“Oh, I bet you do. Just like the other two of your friends. They also believed they knew how to do their job.” Long, pale fingers traced the rim of a goblet set down on the altar. The water inside of it wasn't holy, even though Sunday pretended to pray over it earlier that day. Fascinating how easy it is to fake everything in a church.
“What have you done to them?!” The voice, still faceless to the priest, now had a note of desperation. And maybe even hope? Did the man truly hope that his friends survived somehow? How cute!
“The woman… Well, I have to admit that I was rather uninterested in her, yet her blood had a beautiful, rosy aroma. It’s like entering a garden during a full moon… She was delicious, but I didn’t care to keep her alive for long.” Sunday balanced the goblet on its base with one finger for a moment, before tipping it over. The “holy” water spilled on the altar and splattered on the floor, followed by the metal goblet rolling off the surface as well.
The sound of the metal hitting the tiles was the best opportunity that the hunter got. He moved fast, reaching the spot where Sunday stood within seconds, stake in his raised hand. What a predictable move. The priest managed to move away without a rush, and just watched the hunter from the other side of the altar, a lazy, narrow smile on his face.
“And the man?!”
The priest took his time before answering, trying to assess the man in front of him. Long, blonde hair in a tight ponytail. Rose tinted glasses, probably to avoid mind control. Protective attire, simple, black, lots of small pockets, possibly containing additional weapons. A single stake in his gloved hand, but at least two more in his backpack, or so Sunday could assume. In a side pocket of the backpack he could also see a water bottle — undoubtedly holy water, the real deal.
“How well prepared… I wonder if all that equipment is going to be enough, my little hunter…” The priest wasn’t moved. With one hand behind his back, he watched the trembling hand holding the stake in the air.
“What did you do to the man, you monster!” Sunday laughed at the supposed insult.
“Oh, you humans love to throw that word around, don’t you? Something barely escapes your comprehension, and it’s immediately a monster. Somehow, you even call each other monsters-“
“Answer, or I’m gonna drive that stake through every hole in your body before I get to your heart!”
Sunday bursted out laughing, covering his mouth with one hand. Oh, how adorable, this hunter is serious about those threats! And creative, too.
“Are you threatening me or flirting with me?” The priest took a few steps around the altar, before getting closer to it, the smile now spreading into a smirk. He rested his hands on the marble surface, leaning forward, and smiled just enough to show his sharp teeth.
“I devoured him. Such a muscular man, yet his skin was so soft when I bit into him… His blood had an amazing, nutty aftertaste, I genuinely couldn’t get enough of it.” With his teeth still barred, Sunday leaned back. “Can you imagine, that he survived for two whole weeks? That’s why I like strong men. They do best as a human IV bag.”
The hunter flinched in disgust. A human IV bag. That was the fate of his most precious friend. One that promised he’d be back after slaying the monster, one that was one of the best hunters the blonde ever knew. One that promised to avenge Topaz.
The blonde observed Sunday closely, gauging his every movement. And they were unbelievably fluid, as if his joints were made of soft foam, reminding Aventurine of professional dancers, rather than a murderous creature.
Right. The hunter’s name was Aventurine.
He didn’t give it to the vampire before him. The monster doesn’t care about the names of his victims nor his enemies, just like he doesn’t care about their pain or struggle, about their lives, about their families and friends. Depraved of humanity, he craved the only thing that could get him a bit closer to it — human blood.
And this one was especially despicable.
The Hunting Association was after this case for years. The death toll reached hundreds before the vampire was finally found. And the reason for the delay was simple. He was hiding in the last place he should be allowed. A church.
Mind control and a priest of weak faith were enough to fulfill his plan. After forcing the man to alter every single holy symbol in the church, destroying the sacred prayers carved into the stone, the vampire was free to enter. And he adapted so well, quickly climbing the sacred ladder with slightly changed prayers and fake blessings, swiftly avoiding everything that could potentially hurt him.
“You… you-“
“Monster? Yes, you mentioned that one already, my dear.” Sunday continued to walk around the altar, his steps slow, and barely audible despite the stone tiles under his shoes. The confidence he was showing through every move intimidated even Aventurine. The vampire wasn’t scared. He was willing to approach a hunter with a stake ready to pierce his heart.
“Tell me, young boy… What does your blood taste like?” Sunday’s voice, despite its melodic tone, was sharp, as if he was going to use it as a means to stab the hunter instead of his teeth. And with every step taken, Aventurine was less inclined to move. The vampire wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared at all. Each time the hunter thought about it, the more fear was spreading through his body, causing it to freeze.
The blonde woke from the shock too late. The hand holding the stake was unable to reach the vampire heart before it was grabbed, and forced to stay high in the air. Sunday chuckled, and just one more quick move was enough to pin the hunter to the altar, the small of his back pressing to the edge of the marble.
“Now now, dear… Let’s not cut the celebration short, hmm?” Sunday mused, leaning so close that he could feel the hunter’s frantic breath on his skin.
“You’ve come on a perfect, symbolic day, you see… Just imagine how many would love to be bit by a vampire on Halloween, and inside a church too… Those silly teenagers would beg for such an opportunity.” The vampire hummed, his lips ghosting over the hunter’s jawline. He wouldn’t bite just yet, no…. He first needed to feed on the fear, on the sounds of shaky breaths and the sensation of the trembling body. His free hand slowly moved up the blonde’s arm, dragging the sleeve upwards.
“You’re quiet, hunter.” Sunday’s whisper bounced off the skin, before he pressed his lips to the top of Aventurine’s neck, causing a flinch. He found it amusing how jumpy the man was even before he was bit. “Have you no sins to confess to your Lord?”
One desperate jerk of the hunter’s hand was enough for Sunday to bring his own hand down. The vampire, while amused, wouldn’t allow for any mishaps to happen. He was going to feed tonight on this sweetly fragrant man no matter what. With a quick move of his fingers he precipitated the stake out of Aventurine’s hand to the floor, before leaning back to look at him with a much more serious expression.
“Naughty. Perhaps you should repent for your sins, hunter…” Sunday leaned in once again, now baring his teeth for Aventurine to see. “… Gladly you’re in the best place for that. Let me help you…”
A yelp escaped Aventurine’s lips when he was bit, sharp pain piercing through his skin. It lasted a few seconds, during which he desperately tried to free himself, before it was replaced with a soothing sensation. As if struck with a sleeping dart, the blonde’s body released all its tension, causing him to slump backwards, the sensation of his blood escaping his body strangely pleasurable.
Sensing that there was no more threat, Sunday moved one of his hands to the hunter’s back, making sure that he didn't fall back on the altar. As the blonde relaxed, the vampire closed his eyes, drowning in the sweet, honey-like taste of Aventurine’s blood. So sweet, with a faint citrusy tang, it reminded the vampire of tanghulu. A silly comparison.
As Sunday pulled his fangs out of the soft skin, the hunter let out a quiet moan. The vampire smiled, letting go of the blonde, watching him slump back, his body now half-lying on the empty altar. With his lips stained red, the vampire leaned over him, tilting his head and letting his silver hair fall down.
“Hmmm…” The vampire hummed, tracing his lips down Aventurine’s neck, leaving a red trail. He had a perfect idea how to make this celebration even more special. As he watched the hunter regain his strength enough to open his eyes again and look at the vampire, he reached into one of many of Aventurine’s pockets. He got out a small blade, and after a moment of admiring it, he slid his against his own skin, silver substance slowly pouring out.
“Now, my honey hunter…” Sunday mused, reaching with his uncut hand to the back of Aventurine’s neck, pulling him up. The hunter wasn’t strong enough at the moment to resist, which Sunday found absolutely beautiful. He brought the cut on his arm to the slightly parted lips. “… drink up.”
As a vampire hunter, Aventurine was met with fate worse than Ratio or Topaz. The moment the silver blood touched his lips was the moment of his doom, an irreversible change happening in his body immediately. The feeling of bliss, lingering after the bite, was completely overshadowed by first the ringing in his ears, and then a painful sensation in his mouth and throat, as if he had swallowed burning flames.
Sunday stepped away, watching the once hunter struggle by himself on the altar. Dark blood was seeping out of his wound, creating a puddle on the marble, before reaching the edge and dripping on the floor. The vampire wouldn’t interfere. Not when faint screams escaped Aventurine’s throat, nor when he reached out, searching for anything to hold onto,anything to ease the pain.
The process of turning into a vampire was never a pleasant one.