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Cold air of early October autumn had graced its presence to the West Ardsley, a little bustling town just by the outskirts of Manchester. Not much was known, in fact there was hardly anything special about this little town, if not counting the brilliant vibrant red autumn scenery that blanketed the town. On a typical ordinary day one would find streets trafficked with wagons full of yielded crops, shouts from impatient jockeys at poorly managed traffic. The buttery and sweet aroma whisked in the air from the bakeries’ window as you walked past them. Then you'd see smoke puffed up from black smiths’s chimneys.
For all West Ardsley’s controlled chaos, it still did not deter Lucas—whose height had managed to tower the majority of townsfolk by a head margin—miraculously had managed to find his rhythms in the background. His elongated steps were decisive while his posture was straight perfect yet stayed effortless, his long and lush pale hair swished softly but had been secured with a simple black ribbon. Though doing something as mundane as walking, townsfolk still couldn't keep their eyes away whenever Lucas passed by—some even did a double check in case he was a nobleman. Unfortunately in a society where most ready positions were manual hard labor; paleness often equated with the lack of need to be on the field, therefore a nobleman, that and Lucas' pale and blemish free skin along with poise mannerisms did fit nicely in the pre-existing box. In truth, Lucas was far removed from being a noble. At least—in this 19th century era of England—he had no longer held any lordship title. A key indicator would be his clothes, now no different than the middle-class men, that of decent cotton and wool.
From the busy avenue further to the east, where it was less crowded with shops and into the housing neighborhood, Lucas arrived at the only library in this small town. An old building in grey faded paint and dark wooden door with chipped and peeling paint seemed to reign over a small shrub-dense land. A bell chimed and followed by a loud creak as he pushed through the wooden door, announcing his presence to this dull and empty library. His blue eyes stared at the empty chair behind the front desk then dropped to the newspaper front page. “SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOSE! BE WARNED!” written in bold on the very first page—detailing recent murder and abduction cases.
“Martha?” Lucas called, voice was smooth and laced with subtle concern.
“Here! I'm here darlin’,” a soft drawl came from behind an array of bookshelves. Martha, a lady with soft white curls and wrinkled face, came out with a dirty dust filled handkerchief in her wry fingers. “Those dusts have been piling up since—forever. I can't help myself.”
Lucas sighed, though the corner of his lips had involuntarily curled up. “Martha, you can just tell me. You're pushing yourself too hard.”
The older lady laughed, her eyes crinkled more as she regarded Lucas' concern with a carefree grin. “Now, now, dear I know you are a sweet gentleman, but don't treat this old lady like a fragile flower. It’s merely harmless dust.”
Lucas moved, with one big stride he crossed the distance and readily on her side, offering a gentle support for Martha. “It is not my intention to have you feel that way, Martha. I am simply—”
“Simply worried about your knees, yes, yes, I've heard all of it by now.” another deflection, this time not so merry.
Lucas wisely chose to drop the topic and instead helped her settle back on her chair. His eyes dropped to the newspaper again, this time Martha caught his gaze. A sigh escaped her lips almost somber and dejected, the shifted mood now more prominent than a moment ago.
Martha picked up the newspaper and unfolded it. “These atrocious incidents have been happening the past few weeks.”
“Indeed.”
“I found it difficult to believe that this… animal,” Martha's brows knitted closer as she whispered that word. Her honey shade eyes looked up to Lucas, as if daring him to disagree. “In my 67 years of age, not once have I seen any animal that would bite a human's neck and leave it to die. Nothing was eaten. These victims just… bled to death.”
Lucas put his hand on her shoulder with a comforting squeeze, contrasting to the unreadable stoicism he was showing until the mask of a vague concern slipped back into its place.
“Perhaps not animals like the policemen had spoken about.”
“Exactly.” a quick nod from Martha.
With an exhale, Lucas pulled his hand from her, now stiff on his side. “Whatever it was,” he began slowly, “I shall pray this tragedy will end with the best result.”
“Mine as well.”
That was a lie. He did not believe God existed. But Martha did, and he was willing to say anything that'll appease her so they can move on from this topic.
Lucas finished his shift with Martha at 6 PM. The dusk sunlight painted the sky and clouds in reddish and violet hues above their head. As they walked down the gravel road the evening breeze blew past them, caressing their skin in autumn cold air. Lucas kept his presence besides Martha who walked at her own pace with the help of her wood cane.
“You shouldn't bother walking with me, Lucas.” said Martha, ashamed.
“Nonsense, Martha. I want to make sure you are home safely.”
Martha chuckled. “So gentlemanly you are.”
Their peaceful night soon shattered when they arrived at Martha's home. Front door wide open, Luca's nose picked up a coppery scent of blood, fresh. His eyes widened upon realising what they were about to encounter.
"AAAHHH!!" Martha shrieked, her cane clattered to the floor. "LORAINNE! LORAINNE!!"
Martha's granddaughter, Lorainne, sprawled on the floor in pooling blood on the cold tiles. Her necked bit off, precisely like the news had spoken. Her yellow dress, now crimson, ripped on the skirt and sleeve. Her blue eyes wide open—showing her last moment shock.
Martha collapsed to her knees gasping. Lucas quickly went to her side, held her in his arm. "Martha!" He shook her, firm and gentle, despite the panic. "Martha breathe!"
Martha choked, Lucas can hear her heart beating at irregular tempo. Her hand clutched his shoulder as her body convulsed. Lucas held his breath, watching her forgoing her last breath and limped in his arms. "No..." Tears prickled on Lucas' eyes, he held her close, head leaning into her chest—now silent and still. "Martha... I'm so sorry..."
The moon bright silver light shone above the West Ardsley town, casting a shadow over Lucas' face. His tall and broad stature stood above a rooftop, crimson eyes glow as he tracked down every corners and shadow. The streets was completely empty after the police enacted curfew hours, in favour for him to track down the vampire.
A male vampire, a lot younger than he was but too old to be called fresh bitten. His hair was jet black and judging by the silk on his clothes Lucas guessed he came from a line of nobility. Maybe around 130 years old. The one with citrus and earthly scent Lucas had tracked down from Lorainne's body—carelessly walking on the street.
Lucas moved swiftly from the rooftops, taking his target by surprise from above. The young vampire gasped upon finding his body slammed on to the gravels, neck tightly choked by Lucas' hand. He tried to resist, trashing his body, but it only made Lucas tightened his grip.
“You…” the vampire hissed, momentarily stopping his resistance under Lucas' grip. A bloodshot eyes glint underneath the moon's silver light, glaring into his captor's calm gaze. “You lowly born wretch! How dare you lay your filthy hands on me!”
Lucas tilted his chin in a mocking manner, almost disregarding the boastfulness. “To whom my lowly presence was graced with?”
The impassive tone made the noble gritted his teeth, barring his fangs. “I am Noir Louis Ravenshade! You ought to remove your hands from me this instant!”
A recognition briefly crossed Lucas’ eyes and then his lips curled, turned into a sneer. “Oh? You're from the traitors?”
“HOW DARE YO—AGGHKK!” Noir gasped, eyes wide open the moment his air pipe squeezed under the captor's tight grip.
“One of the Sacred 13th Families, yet blatantly turned their back on their Lord in his most dire moment.” Lucas narrated their unforgivable sin in almost emotionless tone except a hint of cynicism. “Do you have no shame? Clinging to that nobility after His death?”
Noir gasped again, this time his hand tore the sleeve upon a desperate attempt to free himself, only to freeze the moment he saw the tattoo. On Lucas' right arm, his pale skin inked with black goat head across his forearm.
“Y-you…” his words choked out, “Luci..fer?! How…”
Lucas' face hardened the moment he mentioned that name, his fingers tempted to just crush the neck underneath them, a centuries-old instinct he learned to suppress “How and why is irrelevant.” His words left no argument but his grip has loosen for a fraction. “You were the one who killed those people, weren't you?”
Noir scoffed. “If so? You meant to say, you hunt me all night just because I killed humans? How… unbecoming. And I am expected to believe you were the bane of death and finality when you are this—sentimental to meaningless humans.”
“Yes, you ought to expect that.” Noir gasped and clawed his captor's wrist when his body lifted up above the ground. Lucas showed extraordinary strength, a silent warning that he was still very in control. “Lord Ravenshade. Did you or did you not kill those people?”
“Gkh…” Noir glared defiantly, but the dreadful sensation from Lucas' fingers tightening overcame his arrogance. “I-I… did.”
“Including that little girl?”
“Yes it was me!” Noir hissed. “And what? You will snap my neck?! If so, why hesitate?!”
Hesitating? Perhaps yes. Lucas had gone 300 years without needing to spill blood on his hand. Ever since that grim night—when she died in his arms—he vowed to never let himself be tainted by the blood of others. But his anger, the sadness that overwhelmed him as Martha died in his arms, they act like a devil tempting to end his sacred vow right there and then. Should I? That single thought crossed his mind and stray further from his conscience. He had every right to kill this vampire.
Thud!
And yet despite his every essence begged him to kill, Noir collapsed back to the ground, violently coughed and gasped. Dark bruises appeared around his neck, a dangerous testament that Lucas could very much end him a breath ago. So why didn't he? Noir could not understand. Not a single thought could rationalize why Lucas had chosen to release him—or the existing conflicts and raw emotions in those hollow crimson eyes. What worse, Noir himself seemed to recognize that look… far too well.
The mask resurfaced, shielding away those emotions like they never existed, that startled Noir more than anything Lucas did. “Leave this town. Unless you wish to attract those hunters with your careless hunt, I suggest you heed my words.” Lucas turned away and began walking. “They're not as merciful as I am.”
Lucas did not hear any protest from him, Noir had already fled into the abyss of night. For the first time in two months; there had not been anybody found dead in the morning.
Martha and her granddaughter's funerals were held two days after the incident. Lucas had voluntarily arranged all the necessities needed for her burial. To him this was an act driven by obligation—as someone who was closest to Martha—to be the one who made sure she and her granddaughter could pass on in a peaceful and dignified way. The funeral ceremony was kept minimal, only those who knew them attend, as such it was done in just 2 hours.
Lucas was the last one to linger around the freshly covered graves. He placed a bouquet of red roses on Martha's grave, honoring her with her favorite flowers for the last time. Not long after that s set of footsteps echoed until they stopped right behind him. A familiar citrus and earthly scent from the vampire that caused him this funeral.
“Why are you… becoming this?”
“Should I not?” he was calm, no longer harboring intense rage at Noir.
“What is so sentimental about humans dying? They are weak, fragile, unfit for your grief nor anger!”
Lucas let the silence dragged between them. He observed Noir in silence. Tearful eyes that held deep resentment, ragged breath as if he struggled to breathe, and fists that clenched tightly in his sides. He had seen it before. A man tortured by conflicting emotions and regret—unable to forgive himself for what he had failed to protect. A man whose sun once disappeared and led his world plunge into a chasm of abyss that gnawed his every essence. Lucas could understand him and what he felt.
“Did you lose someone?” Lucas asked. He saw Noir’s shoulder tightened but his face looked confused and caught off guard. Lucas directed his gaze back at the cemetery stone, hands clutched in his coat pockets. “How did they die?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business!” a sharp rebuttal from Noir gave it away.
“I am no stranger to those emotions. The rage, the despair, they drowned you… and I was once like you.” Lucas took a step back, turning to Noir. To Noir, his blue eyes held an indescribable emotion but they pulled him in like an ocean current. “She was the one who… could make me truly feel something meaningful. For the first time in centuries of my existence—I found someone that filled the void in my soul…” There was profound sorrow in his voice and the way it reflected with his pale features seemed softening. This was neither the fearsome and bloodlust “Lucifer” or a “Vampire”, this was Lucas for all who he was now—devoid of labels.
“You…” all of the sudden Noir found himself stuck. He had never felt so seen and inarticulate, yet overwhelmingly scared. Scared of how accurate Lucas had read him. “I must say… I would not have foreseen my interaction with… The Lucifer could be this…” he trailed off, unable to find the right word to express his feeling.
“I do not associate with that name anymore.” Lucas corrected him.
A silence stretched again. Noir crossed his arms, “you lived amongst humans. You socially engaged with them… and yet you knew—creatures like us could never keep a bond with them… so why?”
Lucas shook his head. “I don’t know. All I felt…” he took a deep breath to brace himself, “was joy. A genuine connection I longed to have… after she was gone. Truly, over these years, traveling, seeing, and living as nobody had been… enlightening.”
“Is it really… possible?” there was a hopefulness laced in his question.
Lucas’ eyes held a steady gaze, he came closer to Noir. “Yes. It's possible…. Though, I do not know how deep you've fallen in this grief. But I know you are angry.”
Noir threw his face away, perhaps in a momentary shame, perhaps he tried to mask his emotions.
“If things ever feel that unbearable… perhaps it's time you learn to let go.”
Noir head snapped back as his body jerked back, as if Lucas physically hit him. “HOW DARE YOU!?” He bellowed. “Telling me to forget her?! When you, yourself have not done it!” His words were stung and sharp. “Look at how pathetic you are! Wallowing for a human —”
“—that you killed... perhaps out of your own bitterness.” Lucas cut in, voice stern and challenging. Noir lips pressed tight, eyes glanced at the graves behind Lucas, a flicker of conflicting emotions resurface. “Still, those humans are innocent men. But I am not, and will not, preach what morality you ought to follow, I'm not fit for that. I will—however you might think of me—wish you'll find peace within yourself.”
Lucas walked away while Noir was speechless and confused. Never in centuries that Noir heard a good will prayer spoken to him. It baffled him that the first to say that would be a vampire—known for his bloodlust and the tragedy he brought with his presence. A vampire but could very much be mistaken as… human.
“Forever is a long time, even for immortals like us, Noir. It's best for us to cherish what you can find today and be free to embrace tomorrow.” Lucas stopped to look back over his shoulder, there was a rare genuine smile, full of warmth. “And if in the distant future we cross paths again—I hope it shall be in kinder circumstances.”
And so Lucas left the young vampire alone with the echo of his words. Though their brief meeting has come to a conclusion, Lucas was convinced that Noir will continue in his own journey.