Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

**1993**

The night was heavy, oppressive like a blanket that didn’t provide warmth but suffocated instead. The darkness didn’t just envelop the outside world; it loomed ever closer within N, filling every corner of his mind with shadows he couldn’t dispel.

That night wasn’t different from many others recently, but something in the air felt denser, heavier. N was far from his best. In truth, he had been in freefall for weeks, battling relentless insomnia that had reduced him to an empty shell. His body, a vestige of what it once was, begged for a long, restorative rest. His hunger, a churning void in his stomach, was a constant reminder that he hadn’t managed to get even a drop of blood in days. The thought haunted him: perhaps trying to lead a quiet life among humans, pretending to be one of them, had been a terrible idea.

He had tried to adapt to his new life. He truly had. With endless patience, with an effort that would have seemed titanic to others, he had attempted to fit into a society he knew he didn’t belong to. But after decades of pretending, the monotonous, alienating routine was breaking him apart.

That night, believing he might finally get a few hours of rest, everything became complicated again.

N woke up lying in the back of his car, an old rental sedan barely holding itself together. The slight shaking of the vehicle and the murmur of voices in a language he barely understood pulled him out of his attempt to sleep. His muscles protested as he forced himself to move; every action was a battle against exhaustion.

As he opened the door, the cold night air hit his skin, clearing away some of the weight oppressing him. The dim glow of the parking lot lights barely illuminated the area, leaving elongated shadows dancing with the wind. N circled his car with slow, hesitant steps, as if each one required a herculean effort. Several times, he nearly stumbled, but his stubbornness kept him upright.

That’s when he saw the cause of the movement in his car and the voices that had woken him. A group of young men, seven in total, surrounded his vehicle. Five of them were crouched near the front tire, working to remove the chrome lug nuts, while two others kept watch from an old truck parked nearby. One of them murmured something in Spanish, his thick Mexican accent making his origin clear: “nos darán buen dinero por esto amigos”

N let out a deep sigh. He didn’t have the energy for this. Not tonight. His gaze swept over the group, noticing that several of them were armed: pistols, knives, even metal pipes. The situation didn’t look promising. Still, he decided to try the peaceful route before things got worse.

He stepped forward enough for the streetlight to illuminate him and raised his voice calmly. “Hey, guys…”

The men froze immediately, turning toward him with a mix of surprise and disdain. Their eyes scanned N’s figure: a tall, very tall man, almost imposing if it weren’t for the aura of exhaustion surrounding him. His snow-white hair was disheveled, as was his beard of the same hue, and his eyes—so pale a blue they resembled ice—reflected a deep weariness. He wore dark clothing: black jeans, a worn gray t-shirt, and a long leather trench coat that nearly brushed the ground.

“They’re chrome lug nuts…” N said in a deep, raspy voice, more of a warning than a request. “You’re going to scratch them…”

One of the men let out a mocking laugh. “miren a este tipo” he said, pointing at N with derision.

N didn’t flinch. “It’s a rental car. No one’s gonna pay for—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. A sharp bang echoed through the air, and the impact sent him stumbling backward. The group’s leader, a burly figure holding a shotgun, had fired without warning. N fell to the ground, his chest burning from the pain of the shot.

Laughter erupted almost immediately.

“¡Pendejo!” one of the young men shouted, mocking N’s motionless body. “andele, pues” the leader ordered as his men returned their focus to removing the tires.

Lying on the ground, N let out a heavy sigh. His hands searched for the source of the pain, finding his shirt soaked in blood. “shit…” he muttered, more annoyed than concerned.

Forcing himself once again, he slowly got back on his feet. The group didn’t notice his movement at first, but when he raised his voice again, they all turned toward him in disbelief. “Guys… guys…” he called, his tone a mix of fatigue and warning.

The group froze momentarily, unable to comprehend how someone they had just shot was now standing. One of them murmured nervously, “¿que carajos…?”

Left with no other choice, N let his arms drop to his sides and sighed. “Seriously, you don’t want to do this....”

As he spoke, something shifted in his posture. A metallic snikt broke the air, and from between the knuckles of his hands, three long, razor-sharp claws emerged, each about a foot long. A flash of terror crossed the young men’s faces as they instinctively stepped back.

But before they could decide whether to flee or fight, one of N’s claws—the one on his right hand—failed to fully extend. It seemed to jam. His gaze briefly dropped to the defective claw, and that was enough for one of the gang members, armed with a metal pipe, to seize the distraction and lunge at him.

N’s distraction got the better of him. He failed to dodge the incoming strike, and the impact of the metal pipe against his left cheekbone resounded with a sharp, resounding crack.

Though, surprisingly, no wound opened up, the force of the blow disoriented him, forcing him to stumble backward. His vision blurred momentarily, and he barely managed to stay on his feet when another blow, this time aimed directly at the center of his face, sent him crashing to the ground.

Disoriented and gasping for air, N tried to fight back, swiping at his attackers with his metal claws. They emitted a characteristic hiss as they sliced through the air, but his movements lacked precision. He was too weak. Hunger and exhaustion had reduced him to a shadow of his former self, his once-formidable speed now barely surpassing that of an average human.

“Damn it!” he growled, forcing himself to stay balanced while continuing to attack in vain.

One of the men, bolder—or perhaps more foolish—than the others, took advantage of N’s weakened state and struck him hard in the ribs. The impact sent him to his knees.

More brutal blows landed on N’s face, each one strong enough to knock any other man out. But his skin, as tough as steel, showed no signs of damage. Not a single cut, not even a bruise, betrayed the punishment he was enduring. It was as if his body mocked his attackers' attempts to break him.

He panted from exhaustion but refused to give up. Slowly, he rose, swaying, and launched more attacks until, finally, one of his enemies ventured too close.

With a quick and precise motion, N managed to grab the man’s forearm with his claws. They pierced through the flesh with ease. The sound was brutal. The three claws, long and sharper than obsidian blades, sliced cleanly through the attacker’s forearm, tearing flesh and bone with chilling ease. A blood-curdling scream escaped the man’s lips, a sharp, desperate sound that echoed in the night like a warning to the others.

N shoved the man to the ground, yanking his claws out with a rough motion. Blood splattered onto the asphalt, forming a dark pool under the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp.

The leader of the group, visibly frustrated, raised the butt of his pistol and slammed it against N’s face with all his might. The strike echoed with a dull thud, but instead of subduing him, it seemed to ignite a fire within.

Fueled by primal instinct, N seized the opportunity and swiftly slashed horizontally with his claws. They barely grazed the leader’s abdomen, but the cut was enough to tear through his shirt and leave a thin line of blood trickling from the superficial wound.

“¿Que demonios?” the leader growled, stepping back, clutching his abdomen to stem the bleeding. His eyes filled with fury as he raised his gun with his other hand, letting his rage take over. He began firing at N frantically, not bothering to aim.

Bullets whizzed through the air, ricocheting off metal surfaces or embedding themselves in nearby walls. One came dangerously close to a parked car, chipping off a chunk of paint.

“No, not the car!” N exclaimed, his voice a mix of desperation and determination. He couldn’t let them damage it.

Without a second thought, N sprinted into the line of fire, positioning himself between the car and the bullets. The shots struck his body with force, one after another, piercing his skin and flesh. The projectiles left bloody marks on his torso, arms, and legs, but he didn’t stop. His only concern was protecting the vehicle.

A low, guttural growl of pain escaped his lips as his body staggered slightly under the impact of the bullets. Blood began to drip from his wounds, staining the ground beneath him. Yet N gritted his teeth and stood firm, forcing himself to endure.

The leader of the group stared at him with a mix of astonishment and disbelief. “¿Qué clase de loco haría algo así?” he muttered, his hands trembling as he tried to reload his weapon.

A brief moment of vulnerability cost N dearly. One of the men took advantage of his distraction and delivered a brutal shove, knocking him to the ground.

Before he could react, the others pounced on him like a pack of hungry wolves, completely surrounding him. Kicks and punches rained down on his body without mercy. N raised his arms in a desperate attempt to protect himself, covering his face and torso, but the ferocity of the attacks was overwhelming.

Turning onto his stomach, he pressed his chest to the ground and shielded his head with both arms, trying to minimize the damage. Despite his efforts, the blows continued, the pain intensifying with each strike. He felt the boots of his attackers connect with his back, sides, and limbs, the sound of the impacts ringing in his ears like an unrelenting drumbeat.

Suddenly, a particularly hard kick struck the back of his head. The force of the blow caused his forehead to slam into the ground, bouncing with a dull thud that left N momentarily dazed. A sharp ringing filled his ears as his vision blurred.

For a fleeting moment, the assault ceased, leaving only the echo of heavy breathing from his attackers and the deafening thud of his heartbeat. Then, the unmistakable metallic sound of a shotgun slide being racked broke the silence, making the air feel heavier, almost suffocating.

N felt the cold barrel of the weapon press against the base of his skull. The icy touch sent a shiver down his spine.

“¡mata a ese idiota!” roared a voice among the men, brimming with rage and adrenaline.

For a second, everything seemed to freeze. The world around him shrank to that barrel against his nape, the weight of the group pinning him down, and the echo of words sentencing him to his fate.

It was at that moment when the deepest rage took hold of N. His breathing grew heavier, almost animalistic. Low, guttural growls began to escape his lips, as if his humanity were being replaced by something more primal. The metal of his claws started to glow intensely, extending and lengthening slightly, while his pupils dilated, turning nearly black. His fangs, both upper and lower, grew longer and sharper, gleaming with deadly menace.

The anger he felt transformed him. He was no longer a man; now he was an unleashed beast, a creature thirsting for revenge. He let out a guttural cry, more akin to the roar of a wild animal than a human. With inhuman speed, he deflected the man's shotgun. The swiftness of his action left the assailant stunned, unable to react in time.

Without a second’s hesitation, N swung his claws with deadly precision. Like a flash of lightning, he severed the forearm of the shotgun wielder, slicing it cleanly in one blow. The man let out a heart-wrenching scream as the severed arm hit the ground, still clutching the weapon, which now fell alongside it. At the instant the shotgun discharged, the pellets struck the rear of N's car, and the fury already boiling within him intensified further.

“You damn son of a bitch!” N roared, his voice filled with rage as he saw the paint on his car marked and the surface damaged by the shotgun’s impact.

One of the men, now desperate, attempted to strike N with a metal rod, but he, in his enraged state and with newfound strength he couldn’t even comprehend, deflected the blow with an agile movement, using his claws to slice the weapon in half. The sound of metal being shredded echoed with a dull roar.

Before the attacker could react, N spun on his heels, anticipating the movement of another man attempting to attack him from behind. In one fluid motion, N drove his claws into the lower jaw of the man. The sound of metal piercing the skull was horrifying, and the body immediately collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. N withdrew his claws with a sharp gesture, tossing the corpse aside without a second glance.

Without pause, N lunged at another attacker, using the force of his body and the precision of his claws to sink them deeply into the man’s lungs. The screams of desperation quickly faded as blood filled his throat, preventing him from emitting anything more than a final gurgling whisper. N withdrew one claw and, with equal speed, drove it into the forehead of another aggressor who had tried to approach him with a knife in hand.

The man’s body hit the ground with a dull thud, lifeless. N surveyed the scene, his breathing still ragged, and noticed that the few remaining men had backed away, retreating in a rush.

“¡es el diablo!” screamed the man whose hand had been severed by N, as he quickly climbed into the truck with the others. “¡arranca!” one of them commanded, and the truck began reversing.

At that moment, N's heart pounded faster, fueled by the fury still blazing in his chest. He looked at his car, and as he watched the attackers flee, his anger didn’t subside but rather grew. How dared they? How could they run after everything they had done? More than the attempted robbery, more than being attacked, what enraged him was the escape of those bastards. They knew who he was, they had seen what he could do. And if the police came, there would be no clean way out for him.

“Damn bastards…” he muttered, watching the truck speed down the road. Without further thought, N ran to one of the bodies, picked up a wrench that had fallen near the dead attackers, and hurled it with all his strength at the fleeing vehicle. The tool struck the truck’s window, leaving a crack in the glass. The vehicle, now damaged, continued on its way, disappearing into the distance.

N watched as the truck vanished from sight. The fight was over, but his anger still burned. However, it wasn’t just the incident itself that kept him so agitated. The bigger problem was that those men had seen him, had witnessed him in his true form. And if the police arrived, the consequences for him would be disastrous.

Taking a deep breath, N closed his eyes, trying to calm his erratic breathing. The chaos of the fight had left him exhausted, and he still needed to figure out what to do next. His mind began to work quickly, analyzing every possible option.

“I can’t stay here. I can’t stay in this damn town. I have to leave… again,” he murmured to himself. He knew he couldn’t remain in that place, but he didn’t know where he would go. It didn’t matter; he was used to running by now. He no longer expected anything good from humans, not after everything he had been through.

He looked at the car, now damaged by the gunfire. He knew he couldn’t fly; his hunger for blood was too great, and if he used his wings in that state, he would only exhaust himself further. So, without thinking, he decided to take the car. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he had stolen a vehicle. He needed to escape, to reach another place as soon as possible, and if he could, leave the car in some alley in a faraway city. No one would suspect him if he abandoned it there.

As he took one last look at the bodies of the men, he thought about feeding. He knew he could drink from them, take the blood he needed to feel stronger, but he also knew that if the police arrived and the bodies were drained, it would raise immediate suspicion. He couldn’t afford that, not now. So, as much as his stomach demanded blood, he decided to leave the bodies as they were.

“Damn it…” he whispered, exhaling heavily as he closed his eyes once more. The situation had escalated far more quickly than he had anticipated. He took a moment to breathe, trying to catch his breath, and as he prepared to retract his metallic claws, something stopped him.

His senses, heightened by his fury and the need to remain alert, detected a presence hidden in the shadows. His muscles instinctively tensed, preparing for a possible attack or to deal with any witness who had seen the fight.

“N…?” The feminine voice took him by surprise.

Upon hearing that voice, N’s eyes snapped open. It was a voice that sounded incredibly familiar, a voice he never thought he would hear again. His body tensed, and his mind was instantly consumed by confusion.

Slowly, he turned, searching for the source of the voice. And there she was, standing before him, a figure he never believed he would see again. She was a pale-skinned woman with short, ash-colored hair and deep golden eyes that looked at him with a mixture of surprise and recognition.

Her slender figure was dressed in a fitted black shirt, accompanied by a leather jacket that accentuated her posture, and jeans that perfectly hugged her legs. Everything about her was familiar and yet completely strange after so many years.

They stared at each other, surprised, as if time had frozen for a moment. It was an improbable reunion, one N never imagined would happen.

“V…?” N’s voice trembled, breaking as he tried to say her name. Sadness, fear, and surprisingly, happiness blended in his voice. Was it real? Could it be possible that, after everything he had lived through, he was seeing her again?

The tension in the air was palpable, and N’s words hung in the atmosphere, filled with unresolved questions and emotions.

To be continued.

Chapter Text

The night was cold and silent, so dense that it seemed even the wind had decided not to wander through the streets of the small town. For V, that stillness was suffocating, but it also promised opportunities. Since she and J had arrived in this forgotten corner six months ago, they had managed to stay discreet, hunting in the shadows and avoiding human attention. However, those streaks of good luck seemed to have come to an end.

In the last few weeks, everything had changed. The humans seemed more cautious, as if they somehow sensed that predators were among them. The streets were more heavily patrolled, with guards constantly patrolling them. Even those who dared to venture out at night preferred to do so in large groups or under the safety of crowded places. This made hunting much more difficult.

V and J had to adapt quickly. They had started rationing their blood supply, storing whatever little they could collect. But that reserve was not infinite. That very morning, J, with his usual stern tone, had warned her that if they didn't manage to hunt in the next few days, they would have to leave the city and search for a new place to settle.

Although V understood J’s logic, she couldn’t help but feel frustrated. She was tired. Tired of running, of hiding, of constantly changing homes. For hundreds of years, her life had been an endless cycle of arriving, hunting, being discovered, and fleeing. All of that weighed on her shoulders, and this city didn’t seem to be any different from the others.

That night, as she soared through the skies with her wings spread wide, the dim glow of streetlights illuminated the urban landscape beneath her feet. From that height, V watched the humans, small dots moving hurriedly, unaware of the presence of a predator lurking from above.

However, finding a victim that night seemed as complicated as the nights before. She had been flying over the city for hours without success. Even the attempt to infiltrate a nightclub had yielded no results. She remembered how, with her charisma and elegant figure, she had tried to seduce two men to lead them to a secluded place. Her strategy, which had always worked before, had failed this time. The men, with awkward laughs, rejected her and walked away without giving her a second glance.

“Idiots,” she muttered to herself, still irritated by the humiliation.

With every passing minute, her frustration grew. She knew that J wouldn't be lenient if she returned empty-handed. To make matters worse, her blood reserve would barely last a couple more days, and the journey to the next destination would be long.

“She must be having better luck than me,” V thought as she continued flying, ignoring the cold that began to seep into her pale skin.

Suddenly, a distant sound made her stop mid-flight. Her ears, much more sensitive than those of a human, picked up the echo of a gunshot. A shotgun, no doubt. A slow smile spread across V’s face.

“If someone died, there could be a body... and that means food.”

Without hesitation, she adjusted her course and headed toward the source of the sound. As she got closer, her excitement grew. The idea of finding a fresh corpse, without the need to risk hunting, was almost too good to be true.

“I hope they don’t take the body,” V thought as she flapped her wings, adjusting her flight to follow the sound of the shot. The thought of an abandoned corpse was more than tempting. “If they take it, I can always follow them until they dump it in some alley or dumpster.”

A sharp smile spread across her face, full of expectation. Hunger burned inside her; every beat of her heart seemed a reminder of how little she had left in her reserve. “Maybe I could even kill them,” she added mentally with a touch of dark humor.

The place was engulfed in an eerie silence. It was the parking lot of an old café, a place worn down by time and neglect. The faded colors of the signs, the cracks in the pavement, and the flickering lamps gave the surroundings a gloomy air. The café had already closed, but some vehicles remained parked, as if their owners had forgotten about them or simply didn’t want to return just yet.

V arrived at the location with a soft flap of her wings, blending into the shadows like an ethereal presence. Her gaze swept across the place cautiously, searching for the source of the gunshot she had heard minutes before. However, to her frustration, she found no body.

She furrowed her brow and let out a quiet sigh. “Where’s the corpse? I swear I heard the shotgun shot. I can’t have been wrong.” As she scanned the area, something else caught her attention.

Near the center of the parking lot, a group of men had formed a circle around a solitary figure. Five, she counted quickly, all of them wearing worn clothes and displaying aggressive postures. The figure in the center, however, remained still. It was facing away from her, so she couldn’t make out its features, but one thing stood out: its white hair.

“Poor old man,” V thought with a touch of irony. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

She settled into the shadows, watching with a mix of impatience and amusement. She knew how this would end: the thugs would finish off that man and leave his body there, abandoned, ready for her to claim. “Easy food,” she thought, although she couldn’t help but feel somewhat frustrated.

As she waited, her mind returned to the reason she was there. “Shouldn’t there be another body around here? I swear that shot came from this place.” Her gaze wandered across the parking lot again, searching for some sign of the victim she had imagined finding. “Is it possible I was wrong?”

Finally, resigned, she stopped searching and focused all her attention on the group of men. She considered her options. She could kill them all, of course, but that would bring more trouble than it was worth. There were too many bodies to carry, and the noise of the confrontation would surely attract the police.

“Seriously, you don’t want to do this,” the white-haired man’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

V watched him with renewed interest. The man raised his fists in a defensive stance, although his posture was shaky, as if he could barely stay on his feet. “Idiot,” she thought, shaking her head. “What kind of stupid human thinks they can take on five men alone?”

However, something in his tone and attitude was different. It wasn’t desperation that he conveyed, but a quiet confidence, almost defiance. Before she could analyze it further, a metallic sound filled the air, making V’s eyes widen in disbelief.

From the man’s knuckles, three long, sharp metallic claws emerged.

The world seemed to stop for V. It couldn’t be. Her breath caught in her chest as she watched the scene with disbelief. “Those claws… it can’t be him.”

Her mind filled with memories. She only knew one person with those features. Someone she had believed lost forever. Someone who, somehow, was now standing before her.

The sound of gunshots snapped her out of her trance. When her eyes refocused on the scene, horror flooded her. There, lying on the ground, with the shotgun pressed against his neck, was the man.

V felt how panic paralyzed her. “N!” she screamed in her mind. Although his appearance had changed over the years, there was no doubt: it was him.

She was about to rush in to intervene, but N’s roar stopped her. With a force and speed that seemed inhuman, N deflected the shotgun’s barrel and, with a fluid movement of his claws, severed the forearm of the man threatening him.

Chaos erupted quickly at the scene, like a violent storm sweeping everything in its path. From her hiding place in the shadows, V watched the scene with a mix of fascination and astonishment. There was N, now turned into a killing machine, ending the lives of those men with brutal and precise efficiency. Every movement was a reminder of who he was: a ruthless, lethal, and efficient warrior.

A smile spread across V’s lips, a gesture that mixed relief and nostalgia. It was hard to believe what her eyes were seeing. N, after all this time, was here, in front of her. Watching him act with that merciless violence, so characteristic of him, made her chest fill with contradictory emotions.

She had always thought she would never see him again, that the chapter they had shared had ended that fateful night, so long ago. She had convinced herself that he was dead. But now, there he was, more alive than ever, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of his enemies.

The fight ended as quickly as it had begun. Those men, who at first seemed full of arrogance and confidence, now lay on the ground, or fled in terror like rats looking for refuge. They were no match for someone like N. V didn’t even need to intervene; her presence was unnecessary when he was in action.

When silence returned to the parking lot, interrupted only by the soft howling of the wind carrying dust and leaves, V stepped forward. Still hidden in the shadows, she hesitated for a moment. She felt a knot in her stomach. What would she say? How do you approach someone you thought was lost forever?

“N…?” she finally pronounced, her voice trembling with uncertainty and memories.

Immediately, she noticed how N’s posture shifted. His body tensed slightly, but not in the aggressive way she feared. Slowly, he turned, facing her.

When their eyes met, V couldn’t help but smile. He had changed, a lot. His white hair seemed duller, his features marked by time and pain. But there was no doubt: it was him.

For a moment, N seemed as surprised as she was. His metallic claws retracted with a characteristic sound, and his voice, deeper than she remembered, resonated in the air.

"V...?" he asked, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

V nodded slowly. Tears of blood began to fall from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks like dark rivers. A small laugh escaped her lips as she ran toward him, throwing herself into his arms without hesitation.

N's surprise was evident, but he held her tightly, enveloping her in an embrace that seemed capable of crushing any doubt or fear. He lifted her slightly off the ground, as if trying to make sure this wasn’t a dream.

"It really is you..." V murmured, her voice trembling under the weight of her emotions.

Small tears of blood also began to well up in N's eyes, mixing with the dirt and sweat that covered his face. His embrace tightened, almost desperately, as if he feared she would vanish if he let her go.

"Y-yeah, V... it's me... I'm so happy to see you again," he responded, his voice broken with disbelief and emotion.

"I thought you were dead..." she said, her face hidden against N's chest.

He didn’t answer immediately. His hands trembled slightly as he ran them through V's hair, trying to process the reality before him. Finally, with a barely audible whisper, he responded, "I almost was... But it seems it wasn't my time."

V pulled away from the embrace, her gaze fixed on N. There were so many mixed emotions on her face, but what stood out the most was concern. "What happened to you, N? Where have you been all this time?"

N looked away for a moment, his eyes darkening under the weight of his memories. There was so much to tell her, so much to explain, but time was not on his side. How could he summarize years of pain, hunger, and loneliness? How could he confess that he was barely holding on?

Before he could respond, his senses, as sharp as ever, alerted him immediately. He jerked his head toward the road, his body tensing. "Shit!"

V frowned, confused by his reaction. "What’s going on?" she asked, her tone reflecting both curiosity and alarm.

"The police are already on their way," N replied, his gaze fixed on the distance, as if he could see what she couldn’t.

V raised an eyebrow, incredulous. From where they were, there was no sight or sound, not even the faintest hint of sirens or lights in the distance. But if there was one thing she knew about N, it was that his senses didn’t fail him. He had always been the most perceptive of them all, able to detect sounds or smells from miles away.

"How much time do we have?" she asked, her voice now more serious.

N released her from the embrace and placed a hand on his chin, assessing. "Ten minutes... maybe less."

V quickly turned and walked toward the bodies scattered on the ground, the ones N had left behind after his violent confrontation. She bent over one and, with ease, lifted the corpse as if it weighed nothing. "Do you think you can carry these two bodies?" she asked, pointing at the others.

N shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. "We have to leave them, V."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Why?" Her tone was almost offended, as if she couldn’t understand why they would waste something so valuable.

N clenched his jaw before responding. "I can't fly, V... I'm too weak."

V’s expression immediately changed, her face reflecting genuine concern. "What do you mean by that? How weak are you?"

He looked down, embarrassed. "I've gone almost a month without drinking a single drop of blood."

V's eyes widened, her astonishment clear. "A month!?" To her, that idea was inconceivable. She could barely last a week without feeding, and even that was torture. She couldn’t imagine the level of hunger and weakness N must have been suffering.

Despite her concern, her gaze returned to the bodies. She wasn’t willing to leave them behind so easily. "Then drink a little now," she suggested. "Enough to regain some strength."

N slowly shook his head, his expression full of disappointment in himself. "It won’t be enough, V... I would need much more than these three bodies to get back to my old self. You saw how some mere humans were beating me up... I'm a mess."

His words hit V harder than she expected. She had always seen N as someone imposing, almost invincible. Seeing him like this, vulnerable, made her feel a mix of sadness and frustration.

"Then what do we do?" she finally asked, resigned.

N pointed toward his car in the middle of the parking lot. "Get in the car."

The vehicle, an old black sedan with visible dents, seemed to have survived too many years of use and abuse. It wasn’t exactly reliable, but at that moment, it was their only option. V cast one last look at the bodies scattered on the ground, feeling a pang of frustration. It seemed like such a waste, she thought, to leave so much food behind.

With a sigh of resignation, she walked toward the car and settled into the passenger seat.

N opened the driver's door and collapsed heavily into the seat. His body moved awkwardly, as if each action took a monumental effort. He grunted under his breath while adjusting the seat, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the steering wheel.

V glanced at him from the corner of her eye, watching each of his movements. Fatigue was evident: his breathing was irregular, and the deep circles under his eyes made him look worn, almost sick.

"You’re worse than I thought," V commented, breaking the uncomfortable silence as she adjusted in her seat.

N didn’t respond immediately. He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared weakly before coming to life with a rough sound, as if the car shared its owner’s exhaustion.

"I’ve been worse," he finally muttered, although his tone lacked the conviction to sound convincing.

Silence fell inside the car, oppressive and uncomfortable. Neither of them knew what to say. N simply stared ahead and, with slow, deliberate movements, pressed the accelerator. The sedan moved a few meters at a nearly desperate crawl.

Suddenly, V raised her voice. "Wait!"

N reacted instinctively, slamming on the brakes. The car stopped abruptly, and the screech of the tires echoed in the night air. He turned his head toward V, his eyes narrowed in a mix of surprise and alarm.

"What’s wrong?" he asked with a slight hint of surprise, though his voice was still weak.

V lowered her gaze, visibly embarrassed by her outburst. She fiddled with her hands in her lap before answering. "Why don’t... we take the bodies in the car?" she murmured, barely audible.

The question hung in the air for a moment, while N looked at her with a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. He closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh, as if considering his few options. Finally, without saying anything, he opened the driver’s door and slowly, stiffly, got out of the car.

"Let me help," V offered, reaching for the door handle to get out. But when she tried to open it, she realized the door was locked. She lightly knocked on the glass with her fist, frustrated. "N, let me out!"

N turned toward her, leaning on the car door to maintain his balance. His expression was serious, almost authoritative. "Stay in the car. I won’t be long."

The tone of his voice left no room for argument, though there was a hint of weariness that made it less threatening.

N moved toward the bodies, his steps slow and measured. The effort was evident in his posture; his back slightly hunched, as if the simple act of walking was a burden. He reached the first corpse, a burly man whose blood still formed a pool around his body.

He bent to lift him, but as he tried, his legs shook under the weight. He closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth as he forced his body to respond. Finally, he managed to hoist the body onto one of his shoulders.

From the car, V watched with a furrowed brow. Seeing N in this state was something she never would have imagined. He, who had once been the image of strength and resilience, now seemed like a man on the edge of collapse.

When N returned with the first body, he opened the trunk with a sharp gesture and dropped it inside. The dull sound of the impact echoed in the silence. Without stopping, he went back for the second body, his movements becoming more clumsy.

Inside the car, V repeatedly knocked on the passenger window, her growing frustration evident in each word. "Let me out! N, damn it, let me help!"

N, who was then struggling to carry the third body, didn’t bother to respond. His figure moved with alarming slowness, as if every muscle in his body was on the brink of collapse.

His mind was focused on one thing: finishing the task before the police sirens got too close. He still had some time, but not much.

With monumental effort, N managed to place the third body in the back seats of the car, arranging it so it wouldn’t obstruct the view. He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the cold night like a hammer blow. Then, he staggered back to the driver’s seat.

Every step seemed harder than the last, and when he finally collapsed into the seat, he let out a heavy gasp. He tilted his head toward the wheel, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

"Shit, N," V said, breaking the silence with a voice full of concern. "I never thought I’d see you like this again."

N didn't respond immediately. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted the rearview mirror, his gaze lost on the bodies that now occupied the back seats.

"Why haven't you eaten anything in so long?" V continued, her tone a mixture of reproach and genuine concern. "Of the three of us, you were always the best hunter."

"I made the stupid decision to live like a human," he finally confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I haven't gone hunting in a long time."

V looked at him in disbelief, her eyes searching for an explanation that made sense.

"Live like a human? Why the hell would you do something like that?" Her tone was firm, but there was a trace of worry behind her words. "What did you think would happen, N?"

N let out a heavy sigh, a sound full of both physical and emotional fatigue. His hands gripped the steering wheel as his eyes fixed on the horizon, avoiding eye contact with V.

"We'll talk about it later," he responded in a muted voice, starting the car. The engine roared weakly, but it obeyed.

V pressed her lips together, clearly dissatisfied with the evasive response, but she didn't insist. There was something in N's expression that told her it wasn't the right time to push further.

The sedan started moving, slowly pulling away from the spot. The parking lot, stained with dark marks, was left behind. The thick blood spilled from the bodies still glistened under the moonlight, a macabre evidence that would inevitably be discovered by the police.

The sedan rumbled down a bumpy road, flanked by dry trees and streetlights that hadn't worked in years. The house finally appeared before them, a structure worn by time, with broken windows and a roof that seemed on the verge of collapsing. It was near the city's edge, a place where few dared to pass.

N turned off the engine and remained silent, his hands still clutching the wheel. V quickly opened the door and got out of the car, her gaze fixed on the house.

"Stay in the living room," she said, turning her head towards N. "I'll find something for you."

Before he could respond, V had already crossed the threshold, leaving the front door wide open behind her.

J stood in the kitchen, busy with a task that would have horrified anyone who didn’t share her nature. A human corpse lay on the table, and J, with calculated movements, was extracting the blood from the body, carefully transferring it into a series of glass bottles.

The sound of drops filling the containers broke the oppressive silence of the house. Finally, J sealed the last bottle and placed it in a fridge that, miraculously, still worked.

She sighed and wiped her hands on an old rag, her gaze turning towards the empty corpse before her.

The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted her concentration.

"V?" she asked, not bothering to turn her head.

The response came in the form of action: V quickly entered, opening the fridge and pulling out several bottles of blood without saying a word.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" J snapped, turning around with a frown.

"I need them," V replied without stopping, placing the bottles into a cloth bag.

"For what? Those are our supplies for the trip. Do you plan on drinking them all now? Because I hope you brought something to replace them." J's tone grew more irritated, but V seemed unbothered. She continued filling the bag, her face serious and determined.

"They're not for me," she finally said.

J narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. "Then for whom? Where did you get the idea that you can take whatever you want without explanation?"

V finally stopped and looked up at J, a spark of emotion in her eyes.

"You won't believe me, J..." she said, her voice softer but charged with intensity. "After all this time... I found him... N. He's here..."

The silence that followed was heavy. J blinked, processing what she had just heard. "What did you say?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"N's here," V repeated, emphasizing each word. "He's in the living room right now. I found him in a terrible state, and he needs this to recover."

J let out a short, bitter laugh. "N? Here? After almost a hundred years without seeing him? And in bad shape? That sounds exactly like him." The sarcasm in her voice was evident, but V didn't react. She simply looked at her, waiting.

Finally, J sighed and crossed her arms. "If this is some kind of joke, V, it's not funny."

"It's not a joke," V assured her, moving toward the kitchen door. "If you don't believe me, come see for yourself."

N sat on an old, worn-out sofa, his body hunched and his eyes fixed on the floor. He had just finished draining the third body they had loaded into the car, and although his energy was slowly returning, he still felt terribly weak.

When he heard the approaching footsteps, he lifted his head. First, he saw V enter, carrying the bag with the blood bottles. But it was the figure following her that froze him.

J appeared in the doorway, her gaze fixed on him. Her expression was hard to read: a mixture of disbelief, surprise, and something else, something dark that N recognized immediately.

"Hello, J..." N said, his voice nervous, almost shy.

For a moment, J didn't respond. She simply observed him, her eyes scanning his disheveled figure, the messy hair and beard, the deep circles under his eyes, and the worn clothes. Finally, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"N..." she said in a dry tone. "So you're alive after all. I thought maybe you had the decency to die."

N nodded, avoiding her gaze. "I'm glad to see you too, J..."

V approached him, placing the blood bottles beside him.

"Drink as much as you need," she said, her tone authoritative but filled with concern. "I don't care if you have to empty every bottle. Just... recover."

N hesitated for a moment, but the insistence in V's eyes convinced him. He took the first bottle and began to drink, feeling the energy slowly returning to his body.

Meanwhile, J stood by the door, watching him with her arms crossed. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many conflicting emotions fighting to break free, but she didn't know where to start.

"I didn't expect to see you again," she finally said, her tone still cold. "And certainly not in this condition."

N finished drinking one bottle and set it aside, lifting his gaze to her.

"I know... I didn't think I'd ever see you either," he said, his voice sincere. "I think the three of us have a lot to talk about..."

To be continued.