Chapter Text
Is it too late to turn back?
Sero wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and takes a deep breath. This mission is beyond stupid, possibly one of the dumbest things he’s ever had the misfortune of participating in, and yet here he stands, in the middle of a nasty cave, pretending like he’s on another mission.
They are going to get the most disappointed stare on the planet from All Might, but the slim chance of success opens a threshold to win—really win—and permanently eliminate the threat of vampires.
None of the others have the right skill set to do it.
Midoriya is one of the most skilled mages in the country, but his footsteps are much too loud, and he’s too much of an asset to both All Might and the Dawnguard to risk his life like this. Kaminari is a competent fighter, but he excels at close range, and being without backup in a room full of the undead is a surefire way to turn him into a mindless thrall.
Originally, Uraraka had suggested either herself or Tokoyami sneak into the crypt, but Tokoyami is still recovering from a serious injury and Uraraka, like Kaminari, prefers close range combat. With Mirio and Nejire on their own mission, and the time-sensitive manner of their idea, that had left only Jirou or Sero, and Jirou, like Tsuyu and Iida, was against the idea as a whole.
That left Sero, expert of stealth and certified crossbow marksman, as the last resort. He wasn’t exactly as gung-ho as the rest on the idea, considering how flawed and half-baked it was, but one look at Midoriya and Uraraka’s puppy eyes had rendered him too weak to say no.
Which leaves Sero where he is now, pressed against the damp stone wall and wishing, not for the first time, that he could use magic. Even just one spell would be nice, like Kaminari and his sparks, but no, he’s about as compatible with magic as a fish is to air.
He just needs to find out where they live, or even just where a big group of them will go next. Ever since the last stealth agent went missing ten years ago, All Might has been adamant that no Dawnguard member go on a mission alone. Ever.
He also asked that no one create big mission plans without asking him first, so they’re really just breaking all his rules right now. Break one rule, might as well break them all, right?
Sero ignores the frantic beating of his heart and sidles closer to the trespassers of the ruins, always staying at least ten paces behind the stragglers of the group. In hindsight, this is a very, very, very stupid idea. Why is Iida always right about these sorts of things?
Stop freaking out, Hanta, he mentally scolds himself. You can do that later. For now, just focus. You’re the stealthiest member of the Dawnguard, and you’ve spent your entire life sneaking around just like this.
He’s trained for this. He’s trained with the best of the best since he was young, growing up with crossbows and raucous laughter and blood, blood, blood. The Dawnguard is fueled by equal parts vengeance and hope, bloodshed and kindness, a vow to never let others be hurt in the way they were hurt.
No matter how hard they fight, people will always be hurt. There will not be peace until the vampires stop killing people, and they have long since stopped taking any olive branches brought out.
Some people, like Uraraka and Midoriya, question the philosophy of the vampires. They wonder why they kill so many humans, when they could just drink the blood of wild animals. They question their unity, clearly living under a societal hierarchy, and they puzzle and theorize over what exactly they’re looking for, what the reason is for killing so many humans. They’re convinced the vampires are working towards something (hence why Sero was sent on this mission in the first place), and the key to understanding is the key to eventual peace.
Others, like Iida and Tsuyu, were raised by vampire hunters, and have only ever known a life of hunting. They believe it impossible to see eye-to-eye with them, and that in order to protect the lives of innocents, they must eradicate as many vampires as possible, even if they don’t like the idea of killing.
Sero himself lies somewhere in the middle. No matter how much All Might spoke of casting aside hatred, he imagines that a distaste for vampires will forever lie in his heart. He’s certainly not the first member to have joined because of a tragic event, and he doubts he’ll be the last.
However, if Midoriya and Uraraka are correct, and there is a way to peacefully solve this endless bloodbath, he certainly won’t be opposed. All the philosophical pondering and bonkers theorizing isn’t really Sero’s thing, but he’s always ready to help his friends.
At least, he was.
Now, he’s not so sure. The cave is damp and gross and endless, and the stupid vampires are giving away about as much information as a rock. It’s a small group, around ten of them, with eight of them wearing pretentious robes and two of them being sensible enough to wear armor.
What are those robes going to do against an army of draugr? Nothing, that’s what. At least Sero is smart enough to wear light, leather armor. Stupid vampires and their stupid bloodlust. How come the evil, bloodsucking bastards seem to have more money than the ones fighting for justice?
“Ugh,” one of the armored vampires complains, snapping Sero out of his thoughts, “How much deeper does this nasty ass cave go?”
“Not much longer,” another voice replies, authoritative and smooth. Judging from the extra gold embroidered into his robes, and the quiet respect of the group when he speaks, this must be the leader of their pack.
“You said that fifteen minutes ago!” a third voice whines.
“Yeah, man! This armor is heavy, you know.”
“Quit your bitching!”
“Huh—you were literally the first one to complain, why are you yelling at me?”
“Yelling is his default state.”
“The hell did you just say to me?”
Sero fights back a smile. Their childish bickering reminds him of his own friends, like when Kaminari whines about his feet hurting during a mission and Sero threatens to shove a crossbow bolt up his ass (much to Iida’s horror).
He’s grateful now, in hindsight, that All Might never let them go on solo missions. They make him feel lonely. Even when he broke off from the main group during missions, he would always end up crouched around the fire, sharing stories and laughter with his second family.
The bickering continues until they reach a large, cavernous room, with an engraved door Sero has seen at least four times in his life. Three holes act as a key, with three rungs innocently surrounding the keyhole. He carefully folds himself into an upright coffin (draugr coffins are disgusting, he’s going to be washing himself for an entire hour after this damn mission), peering through a sliver in the wood at the gang of oddly juvenile vampires.
Their faces are visible from this angle, as only one of them still has the hood of their robes still up, the pretentious prick.
One of them, whose skin and hair are both pink, crouches in front of the keyhole with a furrow of her brows. She places her hand on the door and shuts her eyes, hands glowing as a strange sizzling sound fills the silence.
Sero bites back an anticipatory grin and shoves his fist into his mouth to keep from howling with laughter as the door flares with magic. The poor girl goes flying backwards, her body slamming into the back wall with an echoing thud.
One of the armored vampires, with spiky red hair and a mouth full of razors, doubles over with loud shrieks of laughter. A few of the other lackeys follow suit, snickering and chuckling, but the girl seems to take it in stride, rubbing her head and smiling sheepishly.
“You idiot,” the other armored vampire hisses, “Do you really think ten of the best fighters would be sent on a critical mission if the door could be melted with your stupid acid?”
Pink girl sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry at the blonde armored one. Sero is reminded so much of Kaminari in the moment that he has to blink a few times to make sure it’s not him in disguise. The notion is ridiculous, of course—if Kaminari suddenly got tits he’d be running up and down the halls in full shirtless glory—but it makes him smile nonetheless.
“It looks to be some sort of puzzle,” the leader hums, his smooth tenor voice smothering the argument effortlessly.
“No shit,” Blondie huffs.
Pinky puts her hands on her hips and jabs a finger in Blondie’s armored chest. “If you think you’re so smart, wise guy, why don’t you tell us what it is, huh?”
Oddly enough, the smug look that takes over Blondie’s face is strangely reminiscent of Midoriya, of all people. Kind as the sorcerer is, he’s also never one to back down from a challenge, and even though he wins with grace, there’s always just the smallest hint of pride in his green eyes.
This isn’t Midoriya, Sero reminds himself with a mental kick in the balls. His eyes are red. He’s a vampire. They’re all vampires. No matter how much they might act like my friends, they’re still vampires, and they still kill innocent people.
The thought sobers him up fast. He no longer feels like laughing, and instead he smooths his fingers across the crossbow at his back to soothe him. If he’s lucky (big if), he won’t need to use any of his weapons.
“It’s sealed by ancient magic,” Blondie explains, knocking on the door lightly with his knuckles. “The only thing that’ll open it is an ancient mold of a dragon’s claw, complete with matching symbols to the rungs.”
Pinky and Razorteeth let out twin wails of despair, sinking onto the ground with loud grumbling and complaints. One particularly small vampire with grapes on his head takes the opportunity to stare at Pinky’s cleavage before getting whacked in the face.
“We went all this way for nothing!” she wails.
“We’re doomed!” Razorteeth agrees.
The leader, however, doesn’t sit on the ground like all the others. Instead, he tilts his head towards Blondie, and Sero sees a flash of blue through the darkness of the hood. Surely it was just a trick of the light, though—all vampires have red eyes, not blue, and certainly not the kind of blue erotic romance authors drool over in their writing.
“Don’t give up so easily,” he tries to placate them. “Tries” being the key word, because his voice is about as excited as a corpse. He must be real fun at parties.
Sero silently grimaces in his coffin. There’s no way they’ll be able to get through the door without a claw. The only way his crew was able to do it was due to Midoriya’s frightening intellect and past experience as a mage—he’d encountered one of those doors during his schooling years and had spent months creating the perfect illusory spell to function as a claw.
Even with a super genius freak like Midoriya, it had taken a considerable amount of effort. By the time he had finished the spell, he was leaning practically his entire body weight into Ojiro, who had to wrap his tail around the poor boy just to keep him upright. Once he finished, he had promptly passed out, and he had to stay with Ojiro while Sero and Uraraka finished exploring.
The vampires seem to take this time as a break, everyone sitting down on the ground and sharing quiet chatter. The leader, however, sits beside Blondie, who is knelt by the door and running his fingers over the symbols.
“Do you—”
“Shut it, Icyhot.”
The leader, Icyhot, apparently, doesn’t speak, but he still hovers over Blondie. His body language is tense, like he’s worried, but Blondie doesn’t seem to care. He’s scowling something fierce, mouth pressed into a thin line as his fingers twitch and spin, pulling at invisible strings, almost like Midoriya’s—
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
It’s almost an exact replica of Midoriya’s motions for his spell, albeit with less muttering and smoother, more fluid movements. When Midoriya uses magic, his movements are quick and snappish, like he’s snatching lightning from thin air and wrangling it to do his bidding. Blondie, however, pulls at the air like the magic is dancing between his fingers, graceful and concentrated.
Even with the differences, though, it’s the same spell. Sero stifles a gasp with his hand. How does Blondie know this? Midoriya had said that he came up with the spell, and that boy is nothing if not honest. Have the vampires somehow gotten their hands on one of Midoriya’s insane notebooks? Have they found their castle? Are they—
Focus. Sero takes a deep breath and counts to ten. There’s nothing he can do right now about it. Once he gets the information he needs, he’ll find the nearest carriage, hitch a ride to the castle, and tell All Might everything. They’ll figure it out from there, they always do.
Sweat drips from Blondie’s face as he continues to work. The leader places his right hand on Blondie’s shoulder, and Sero winces for a loud snap or shout. Midoriya doesn’t yell at anyone, but he does tend to get grouchy if his concentration is broken. Why does he keep comparing Midoriya and Blondie?
Blondie doesn’t snap, though. Instead, he seems to stop sweating, and he continues working on the spell with renewed vigor. The other vampires have caught onto the action, and they lower their voices but otherwise don’t comment.
“Fuckin’ Icyhot,” Blondie swears under his breath, but dutifully continues his work.
Just when Razorteeth and Pinky are starting to doze off, and Sero feels his muscles start to contract from standing stiff for so long, Blondie heaves out a shaky sigh. Sparks erupt from his palms in little bursts of fireworks, and his red gaze remains laser focused until the sparks fade away.
What remains in his hand is a translucent claw, a carbon copy of Midoriya’s, except this one is orange instead of green. Blondie slides it into the keyhole, and the door rumbles loudly, bits of dust and dirt flying into the gaping mouths of Pinky and Razortooth before the door slides down with a loud groan.
Most of the vampires cheer and clap an irritated Blondie on the back, although Pinky is too busy spitting pebbles out of her mouth. Razorteeth looks like he either ate the rocks and dust or isn’t bothered, and Icyhot simply bows his head.
“I knew you could do it!”
“Hell yeah!”
“Can you make a spell to let me see through girls’ shirts?”
“Plebghthbgbttth!”
Blondie waves his hand around, but his figure has started to slump. Looks like the effects of the spell have caught up to him—he’s clearly in no shape to be dungeon dwelling, and Icyhot seems to come to the same conclusion.
“Mineta, stay back with Bakugo,” he commands in that absurdly attractive voice of his.
Blondie—Bakugo, apparently, but that’s an objectively worse name—scowls and crosses his arms petulantly. What is he, five? “I’m not staying behind,” he snarls, eyes already drooping from fatigue, “Especially not with this perverted freak.”
“You’re just mad ‘cause I won’t touch your tits,” Grapehead mutters under his breath. Sero wonders if the balls on his head ricochet.
Icyhot squares his shoulders and crosses his arms under his robes. “You’re a valuable asset to the team, and especially vulnerable in this state. I won’t allow you to go any further for your own safety.”
“And the pervert is expendable enough to stay back?”
“Precisely.”
They argue for a few minutes, but it looks like the spell has taken a deep toll on Bakugo, as he gnashes his teeth and flops onto the ground with all the temper of a feral toddler. Sero swears softly under his breath as the rest of the crew walk through the door, presumably deeper into the crypt.
He’d planned on tailing them all the way to the end, because they must be after something, but now he’s got a giant roadblock in the shape of the second most talented mage he’s ever seen in his life and a deranged pervert.
Right. Nothing he can’t handle, surely.
“Try anything and I’ll rip those balls from your head and stuff them down your throat,” Bakugo snarls, but his voice has weakened significantly. He leans his head back on the wall, eyes fluttering against his will, and Sero silently counts to thirty before he hears soft snoring.
If Bakugo were his only problem, he’d praise the divines and thank his lucky stars, but there’s still the issue of Grapehead. Maybe he’d have a chance fighting either of them one-on-one, especially with Bakugo’s weak state, but he doesn’t want to risk fighting both of them.
If he plays his cards right, though, he might be able to silently take out Grapehead without waking Bakugo. It’s a risky plan, but it’s better than staying in this cramped coffin until the end of time.
Don’t just stand there and do nothing, Hanta, he thinks to himself, fists balling at his sides. Remember what All Might said—to do nothing in the face of danger might as well make you the enemy.
Sero swore to protect people against vampires. He won’t let his own fear get in the way. He’s the stealthiest member of the Dawnguard—his whole shtick is sneak attacks and slipping through places unnoticed. If he can’t do the one thing he’s good at, he has no business being in the Dawnguard at all.
You’re quick on your feet, Young Sero, All Might had told him once, a shaky hand laying on his shoulder. Your resourcefulness is some of the best I’ve ever seen.
He refuses to let All Might and his friends down.
Sero takes a deep, quiet breath in, and presses his fingers against the door of the coffin. Ignoring all his reflexes, he leans forward and falls out of the coffin, collapsing on the dusty floor in a heap.
“Gwuzzha—the fuck?” Bakugo’s sleepy voice mumbles from the other side of the room.
Grapehead shrieks in fear, and then an uneasy silence fills the cavern. “Someone must’ve stuffed a body in the coffin,” yes, he’s an idiot, this is great, “I’ll go and see if it has anything good.”
“We’re not bandits, you fuckwit,” Bakugo replies, but he’s already falling back asleep now that the hypothetical danger has been supposedly soothed.
Sero bites his lip. How in the world is he this lucky? Heavy footsteps waddle over to his body, where Sero holds his breath, and then Grapehead sniffs the air. Why would he sn—
Oh, fuck, he’s a vampire—he can smell if someone’s alive!
Sero curses his forgetfulness and runs purely on adrenaline. In a matter of seconds, he’s got a hand clasped over Grapehead’s mouth. His dagger catches in its sheath, and beads of sweat dot at his forehead. Come on, you stupid knife!
His dagger isn’t budging, though, so he goes for the next best option and uses his other hand to quickly snag one of his crossbow bolts from his quiver. In a move messier than normal, he rips the bolt across Grapehead’s throat, using that same hand to catch most of the blood to avoid the splattering noise.
He waits until the muffled choking noises cease, and then slowly removes his hand from Grapehead’s filthy mouth. Both his hands are dripping with blood, and he softly lays the pervert’s head on the ground to avoid any noise.
Sero casts a quick glance to the opposite side of the room—Bakugo is still asleep, thank the divines—and wipes the blood over his leather armor. Will vampire blood mask his own scent? It probably does, which will be good, seeing as he had to keep a considerable distance from the group to avoid being sniffed out by their freaky bloodhound noses.
He carefully wipes the bolt across his sleeve and inserts it back into his quiver. Adrenaline hammers his heart, and he silently takes a deep breath through his nose. He’d wanted to get through this without any bloodshed, but he supposes this is just one less vampire (and pervert, he notes with a certain satisfaction) the world has to worry about.
After giving Grapehead a quick pat-down, Sero fishes a leather journal out of the freak’s backpack, and he stuffs it in his own bag. It could have some needed information, something that could benefit the Dawnguard in the future. Or disturbing fantasies about Pinky’s tits, but he’ll take his chances. Maybe he was a big enough moron to write the name of their secret hideout in his journal somewhere.
A few moments of heavy breathing later, Sero calms down enough to start his silent walk towards the door. He’s almost through the opening when a hand grabs his wrist in an ironclad grip.
Purely on instinct, Sero tries to wrench his hand out, but the grip is too tight on his wrist. Bright red eyes bore into his own, narrow and calculating and furious.
They’re locked in a silent staredown, neither of them certain of the other’s abilities. He knows Bakugo is in a weakened state, but close quarters combat isn’t exactly Sero’s strong suit, and the grip around his wrist is strong.
“You’re human,” Bakugo growls, something almost bewildered flitting across his eyes.
“Great observation, genius,” Sero retorts, which might not be the best idea when he’s at the mercy of a magical vampire. Nice going, moron.
Bakugo’s finger presses into Sero’s wrist, and he realizes he’s feeling his quickened pulse, heart hammering in his chest. His expression seems conflicted, eyes never leaving Sero’s own. Seconds pass at a snail’s pace, but the hand never loosens.
“You’re human,” Bakugo repeats, almost to himself, and Sero realizes that his eyes look glassy from exhaustion. “You’re sentient.”
Sero raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, man, we’re all sentient. Free will, cogito ergo sum or whatever. That’s kind of our thing.”
“Sum,” Bakugo says, pupils dilating and shrinking rapidly, “I am. I am. I think. I was—I am.”
Are all vampires this insane? He seemed pretty mentally stable earlier. It reminds him of Midoriya’s nonsensical muttering whenever he performs a particularly exhausting spell, unfocused and looking at something invisible to everyone around him.
“You are,” Sero agrees, because what the hell else is he supposed to say?
God, Uraraka is going to have a field day over this philosophical nonsense. Do vampires not have free will or something? They all seemed pretty sentient, so why the hell is this guy freaking out?
His answer must have been the correct one, because Bakugo nods, head lolling to the side. Wow, he’s really not here right now. He could probably catch him by surprise, send a crossbow bolt through his silent heart without too much of a fight.
Bakugo inhales deeply, a shiver wracking down his spine, and Sero takes the moment of weakness to wrench his arm out of his grip because those fangs are way too close to his wrist. The vampire looks just as surprised as Sero by this development, and smooth fingers card through blonde spikes.
“Fuck,” he hisses, hands shaking in his hair as a tiny sliver of drool slips past his lips. “Fuck!”
Sero takes a hesitant step towards the deeper crypt. Ever the perceptive vampire, Bakugo quickly catches onto the action, and suddenly two hands are grabbing his face, cold to the touch and holding so tight they might bruise. What is wrong with this guy?
“Tell me you’re not going to kill them,” Bakugo snarls, crimson eyes searching for something he won’t find. Sero nods, but the fingers tighten. “Tell me. Say it, out loud. You’re not going to kill them.”
His hands are still shaking, Sero notices, and he swallows a lump in his throat. “I’m not going to kill them.”
“Swear it.”
“I’m a Dawn—”
“Swear it,” Bakugo insists, his breath stinking of copper and something dark, “If you want to live, you have to swear to me you won’t kill anyone in that room.”
It wasn’t exactly Sero’s plan to kill anyone during this mission, and he doubts he’ll be able to take on anyone in that room. He supposes, if it means he’ll spare his life, he can swear not to kill anyone just in that room.
“I swear it,” he vows.
Bakugo slumps into a crouch and heaves out a sigh. “They’re smart,” he says quietly. “The only reason Shitty Hair hasn’t sniffed you out by now is because he’s tired. If you get even a little too close, he’ll catch you red-handed.”
What? “I—”
“Pinky is fast. As soon as she sees you, she’ll be hot on your heels. You can probably fight off the other extras in a pinch, they’re fucking useless.”
Why is he telling him all this? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Ojiro had told him last year during a sparring session. It’d be good to follow his advice now, even though it’s probably not how he meant it.
“What about the leader?” Sero asks.
“Icyhot?”
“Yeah, him.”
Bakugo’s face is blank, giving away nothing as he licks his lips. “He’s the best fighter of them all—almost as good as me. If he sees you, you’re done for.”
Noted. Sero nods along, and Bakugo waves his hand, sprawling out on his back to presumably pass out. He can’t imagine the sorts of insane hallucinations or symptoms his exhaustion must be causing right now.
Sero takes a few steps forward, and then turns back around. His head is buzzing with hundreds of questions—why is a vampire helping him, why did he make him swear not to hurt him, what was that existential crisis all about, how does he know that spell from earlier—but every second spent here is a second wasting precious time, so he keeps it short and simple.
“Thank you,” he says, loud enough to carry, “I owe you for this.”
Bakugo’s lip curls into a sneer. “Get out of my sight.”
“I mean it,” Sero presses, “I don’t know how to th—”
“Go!” Bakugo roars, and Sero doesn’t think twice before turning tail and running into the crypt.
His shoes hit the stone floor silently, trained to be softer than a sigh even through the pounding of his heart. He slides through a wooden door, holding his breath for any possible traps, and it opens into a cavern easily twenty times the size of the previous one.
A set of stone stairs leads to a domed stone structure, with pedestals circling a peculiar stone monolith in the center. Around the dome is some sort of moat, and Sero’s eyes zero in on the group of vampires approaching the monolith.
Careful not to make a sound, Sero sneaks down the stairs and ducks behind one of the spiraled pillars, quietly grabbing his crossbow and loading a bolt into it. He thinks about his promise to Bakugo and shuts his eyes with a soft exhale.
“There’s a button on top,” Razorteeth says, while Pinky oohs and ahs in agreement.
Sero hears a soft hum, and then a clunk, then a loud Schlink! It’s undoubtedly the sound of a blade, and both Razorteeth and Pinky gasp loudly while Icyhot grunts in pain.
“Oh, god, is—”
“Are you alright?!”
“I’m fine,” Icyhot says through gritted teeth. “It’s not a trap. I imagine my father created this to need a blood sacrifice from someone in his family—anything else wouldn’t be high security enough for him.”
A loud fwoosh sets all the goblets on top of the pedestals aflame, and the stone monolith rumbles loudly. Sero risks a peek around the pillar—all the vampires are crowded around the monolith as a slab slowly moves lower, lower, lower…
Sero slaps a hand over his mouth to silence the sudden noise that threatens to escape his throat. Floating in the middle of the monolith is an enormous scroll, oozing with ancient magic and untapped potential, endless power and blood and violence.
It’s an elder scroll, and there’s no mistaking it. Priceless artifacts, scattered across the past, present, and future, prophecies and histories and forgotten archives brimming with the unknown. So rare are the elder scrolls that almost nothing is known about them, sans the idea that they might exist.
A clan of vampires getting their claws on an elder scroll is the perfect catalyst for an event of apocalyptic levels. It’s a signal of power and unknown, a trump card hidden inside a stone monolith that cannot, under any circumstances, find its way into the hands of evil.
Nausea roils in Sero’s gut, threatening to upend his rations onto the dusty floor. What is he supposed to do? He can’t let them leave with an unknown weapon of mass destruction! It could signal the end of the Dawnguard, the end of humanity, the end of everything.
He needs to think. He needs to do something, anything, to stop them from somehow reading the scroll and taking its contents, whatever they may be.
Think, Hanta, think!
“An elder scroll,” Icyhot murmurs to himself, something almost shocked hiding beneath a layer of forced apathy. “This whole time, father…”
Sero can barely hear over the sound of his racing heart, let alone think of a plan. He could try to destroy the elder scroll, leaving both sides on equal ground, or maybe steal it while they’re on their way out? Surely they’ll stop for camp somewhere, which means he can take it then.
No, that’s too long, he’s already running low on time to meet back up with Midoriya in the nearby village. He’ll just take it and run, faster than he’s ever run in his life, and pray he makes it to the security of a village before he’s ripped to pieces and eaten.
Sero aims the crossbow, holding his breath and squinting. Right as Icyhot’s hand reaches out to the scroll, he releases the bolt. He wastes no time celebrating, because now he’s snatching the scroll from the monolith as Icyhot clutches his hand painfully.
Chaos breaks out among the vampires, and Sero rams his elbow into one of their noses while simultaneously kicking another in the balls. As they both clutch their body parts in pain, Sero grabs them both by their heads, slamming their skulls together hard enough to reverberate through the room.
Two down, he thinks with gritted teeth, I’m sorry, Bakugo, but I only promised not to kill.
And, technically, he isn’t killing any of them. Pinky rushes at him, acid in one hand and dagger in another, and Sero grabs her by the wrist, shoving her hand right into her face as she goes down screaming.
“Mina!” Razorteeth cries out.
Sero picks up the elder scroll from where he’d dropped it and slams the gold end into the head of another random vampire, wincing sympathetically as he crumples to the ground. Four down, now.
Another vampire gets bashed in the face with his crossbow, and Sero wields the elder scroll like a sword. It’s probably some form of blasphemy to do such a thing, but he’s no monk, and he doesn’t really feel like being pious right now.
Razorteeth, Icyhot, and one more vampire are the only ones left, and the adrenaline causes Sero to shove the last rando into the moat with one powerful kick. Razorteeth snaps out of his agonized stupor to rush Sero, and he only jumps out of the way at the last second.
“Who the—Dawnguard,” Razorteeth interrupts himself when he sees the crest on Sero’s armor, and Sero waves in response.
“I won’t kill you,” Sero says, fingers tightly wound around the elder scroll. “If you let me go now, nobody else will get hurt.”
Razorteeth narrows his eyes. “How did you get past Bakugo and Mineta?”
Sero shrugs. Razorteeth lets out a yell and throws one of his little war axes through the air. He swings the elder scroll like a baseball in response, and it ricochets off the scroll with a loud clang!
“They’re all alive,” Sero continues, breathing raggedly, “I’m not here to kill you.”
“You really think I’ll believe that?”
Sero scoffs and raises his eyebrows. “Do you seriously think they’d only send one person if they wanted to kill you all?” he replies.
In the corner of his eye, he sees Icyhot wrap a chunk of his robe around the wound in his hand. He barely sees Razorteeth when he rushes him, and they both tumble to the floor in a heap of armor and hair. He’s slowed down by his armor, Young Sero. Use the environment to your advantage!
Sero feels a cold fist sock him right in the jaw, and he gathers up enough blood to pool in his mouth. It hurts like a bitch, but he isn’t the most resourceful member of the Dawnguard for no reason. He lets himself get punched again, right in the nose, and he grapples just hard enough to roll them over to the edge of the dome.
You’re scrappy, Kaminari had told him once, after a particularly gruesome sparring session. You lose focus in close combat, like a wild animal.
Sero remembers asking if that was such a bad thing, and Kaminari had laughed, helping him up with a mischievous grin on his face. Nah, he’d said with a wink, just means you’re running on instinct, like me.
Razorteeth’s red eyes are inches away from his own, and he feels an elbow press against his jugular. Sero struggles for breath, looks the vampire dead in the eye, and spits a mouthful of blood all over his gaunt face.
It sprays everywhere—his cheeks, his chin, his eyes, his forehead, his lips—and Razorteeth grabs at his eyes while simultaneously licking his lips. It’s a dangerous gamble, giving a vampire fuel to make them stronger, but Sero takes the surprise to his advantage. With one great, heavy shove of his foot, he sends a shouting Razorteeth tumbling into the moat with a loud, heavy splash.
Sero grabs at his jaw, panting heavily, and spins around to face his last opponent. Still obscured by his hood, Icyhot is a looming presence at the monolith, fabric wrapped around his hand in a makeshift bandage.
“You’re quite the fighter,” Icyhot comments.
Sero grins, running a bloodied hand through his hair. When did it fall out of its ponytail? “Thanks, babe,” he says. “Think you’ll let me leave now?”
Icyhot holds his free hand in the air. The temperature, which was already cold before, plummets even lower as flecks of frost spin around his hand. “I wasn’t finished.”
“Oh, my bad, man. Please, continue!”
Icyhot takes a step forward. Sero automatically tenses. “You’re a good fighter,” he repeats, “But I’m afraid you’re no match for me.”
Sero snorts. Really, the audacity of this guy is truly ridiculous. He can’t wait to knock this fucker down a few pegs. Don’t kill him, though, he thinks with a frown, you promised Bakugo.
The ground at Sero’s feet begins to freeze, and his heart seizes. Oh, fuck. He tries to jump away, maybe into the moat, but his feet are stuck to the ground. Ice crawls up his boots, slithering into the legs of his pants and sticking him to the ground.
Icyhot takes a step closer.
Sero grabs his crossbow, loads a bolt, and fires it straight at the bastard’s heart, promise be damned, but Icyhot just sidesteps.
“You’re panicking.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Sero snaps, teeth chattering as the ice freezes his torso to the spot. Every breath is a puff of steam, and he swears his lips are probably blue right now.
Icyhot is now mere inches away from Sero’s face. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s so dead. He’s so dead. He hasn’t even written a will yet! Who is he going to give all his stuff to? He’ll donate his nice blanket to Midoriya. Uraraka can have his weapons, Ojiro can have his books, and Kaminari can have the erotic novels he’s kept hidden for so long.
Icyhot reaches his injured hand and lowers his hood. “You’re lucky you ran into me and not my father,” he says, but Sero is barely paying attention, “I won’t kill you. A member of the elusive Dawnguard is a treasure trove of valuable information, you know.”
Sero feels like he’s been electrocuted. Mere centimeters away from him is the most ethereal man he’s ever seen in his entire life. Half his hair is redder than blood, while the other half is a stark white. One of his eyes is the typical red of a vampire, but the other—
He’s never heard of a vampire having blue eyes, especially not ones brighter than the most precious gems in all the land. Red, puckered scar tissue spreads like a disease around his blue eye, but it only serves to make it more vibrant, surrounded by unblemished skin. Perfect eyebrows, dainty lips, a button nose… Sero’s head spins.
“What’s the matter?” Icyhot asks, as little dots appear in Sero’s vision, and the ice licks up his neck. “Are you scared, hunter?”
His crossbow clatters to the ground. Sero’s vision swims, but the bright blue eye is almost hypnotizing in his field of view. The cold is going to make him pass out, and he’ll have failed the Dawnguard, the world, humanity for the foreseeable future, but he can’t concentrate.
“Answer me, human.” Icyhot’s voice leaves no room for refusal.
Sero opens his bloodied mouth into a lopsided smile. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and immediately passes out.