Chapter Text
“I need to speak with Kyouka.” Zanka, out of breath, hunching over due to exhaustion, stopped in front of barricaded doors. Two guards had been stationed in front of her “office” since the last raid the human townsfolk attempted. They had gotten a little too close for comfort. Whose comfort he’s not so sure about. In all honesty Zanka had always thought how stupid it was to have other vampires guarding her. The Nijiku family had been running this sector and this coven, for centuries, humans deemed them as Hell Guardians for as long as Zanka could remember. They could not be bested by just anyone, especially not mere humans.
“You do not have permission to enter, leave this place immediately,” the shorter of the two guards spoke matter-of-factly, as if speaking to a dog that’s been misbehaving.
Zanka, wide eyed, digesting the tone in which he was spoken to, huffed and placed a hand on the door. The taller of the two guards lurched from his post to grab Zanka by the crimson collar of his shirt. The rough motion tore the fabric ever so slightly,“We have direct orders from Goka, your probation forbids you from coming this close to the central court, you have no audience here.”
As Zanka is pulled level with the guard he grabs back, fisting the uniform of the other and slammed their foreheads together, ready to bare fangs, “I have no business with Goka, let me speak with my sister, this is urgent.” He lets out in a hushed tone.
The guard tuts- forcing the hand of one of the Nijiku siblings is not a feat just anyone in the coven could pull off, even if said sibling has been on the verge of death by starvation for the past month. He had been itching for a fight, but the force Zanka fought back with was to be expected, it would be too much for a vampire of his rank to beat on his own. His position outside of the central court must have gone to his head.
Before Zanka could throw him to the side the second guard launched a fist, landing squarely on his face. His grip on the first guard faltered, just enough to allow him to counter, Zanka was pinned to the ground quickly. They wouldn’t allow the altercation to last any longer, they were lucky that Zanka was being lax with them. With all the deaths occurring on the outskirts of the sector Zanka wrongly assumed they would respect his authority today. The sound of the dog pile could easily be heard down the hall, either guard threw a few more punches and kicks for good measure.
Zanka grunted at the last kick sent to his ribs, finally a booming voice called from the doors, “Enough. Zanka, enter.”
Kyouka would be the person to allow someone to go through a beating after being down. She would claim it to be a lesson, room for growth. The thought alone pissed off Zanka more. Tough love my ass.
As the guards let up Zanka felt blood pooling in his mouth, so much it broke through to drip down to his chin. Living or rather existing in this coven had been a nightmare for the past decade. As the human population began to grow, rules around survival became “kill or be killed.” Letting one human go has completely ruined the youngest Nijiku’s reputation. Vampires even in the lowest ranks of the guard have come to look down on him, forgetting themselves the strength he still holds.
Zanka pushed himself from the cold ground, wiping sweat off his brow with his sleeve. The two guards who would later brag about their fight held their breath as Zanka rose. Rumors of him being gentle and merciful were only half true, that grace was only saved for humans. Zanka pulled his coat taut and opened the ornate doors into the heart of the commune. The last look from Zanka that the guards were granted could only translate into our next encounter will be your last.
The room was lit dimly, candles colored deep maroon, royal blue, greens, and blacks lined the walls. The light just barely reached the center where Kyouka sat. Her eyes locked onto a map sitting on her desk, she made no move to acknowledge Zanka’s presence. Turning ever so slightly towards the sound of shuffling, Zanka caught Goka’s gaze, he must have been playing assistant, shelving scrolls and organizing documents. The silence was sickening.
“Speak.” Again she made no move to even look in Zanka’s direction.
“Kyouka, I have been out for weeks looking out for our people on the outskirts of the town. Hunters are at our throats out there, we are no longer going to them, they are coming to us. If someone does not starve they end up killed. If this rate of death keeps up then half of the coven will be wiped out and the rest will die from starvation. I don’t-” Zanka could hear a stifled laugh from his brother tucked behind a bookshelf while he pleaded with the head of the coven.
A huff of air left Kyouka’s lips, almost mirroring her brother's laugh, “The weak may perish, whether one is strong enough to feed themselves for eternity or foolish enough to starve themselves,” Kyouka paused to look her brother up and down simply, quickly, “just enough to prevent death does not concern me. Those who survive survive and those who do not, simply do not.”
“Your habit of refusing to kill will be your downfall, Zanka. I am happy to extend your probation until you break that habit.” Goka’s voice is distant, both physically and figuratively, Zanka has not heard warmth in his voice for years.
The youngest ignored his brother’s remarks, “The ability of not draining people dry is easy, you’re so caught up in preserving honor and elitism you let your own die. I’ve heard forming pacts isn't out of the ordinary anymore either, you and this coven are a hundred years behind, besides vampires who claim to be Clean are only expanding, those with pacts will live and those without will starve or be killed, you know this. Why do you refuse to change, for your own preservation?”
“I have heard enough. Zanka, your resolve is strong but you have tainted our honor time and time again. You know nothing of pacts nor do you know how foolish Cleaners are. It is time for you to leave.” Kyouka looked up from her work for longer than a second, her expression dead, unfeeling, unmoving, uninterested in Zanka’s plea. “We as a species have always been far and few, if there are too many of us, humans will do what they must to also protect their own. When our numbers surpass what they are comfortable with, we are hunted, the weak will die, they have no place in this world. They will not afford to hold a place in this coven either, you act and speak as though you want to be a part of those who are weaker than us. I will grant you just that.”
While Zanka was often on what Hell Guardians called the front lines, attending to the starving, sick, and injured vampires that claimed to be a part of the coven, it was still just the outskirts of the towns that surrounded the commune. The townsfolk there, much like the vampires there, were very traditional in their ways of thinking, no grace would be made for a starving vampire, they were all considered killers. Hunters frequented the area yes, but most humans could hold their own against the local vampires. Between the coven and townsfolk, the fighting was like clock work. Enough of them would gather to charge the commune, and then the strongest vampires would come out to feed and have their way with them. Those who lived at the top stayed at the top, those below limped around the towns and fed from the scraps.
Zanka stepped forward, slamming a hand on the sturdy desk, ready to make another statement to defend the masses and himself. Kyoula gaze pierced through her lashes, not making any move to put up the fight that Zanka was ready for. Hands were on him in an instant for the second time that day, hell second time that hour, Goka had his head pinned to the cold face of the desk and held both of his arms in his other hand. While lower level sentinels may struggle in a fight against Zanka, he would still be no match for his own brother.
As Zanka’s short struggle against his confinement faded, Goka spoke in a steady tone, “You are a fool, how can you be so ignorant? Years ago, you were almost killed by your own victim because you did not finish them off. You leave your prey with their own openings to be the predator. That will continue to happen to those of you that share the same lifestyle. You will be charged for insurrection, you and I are true blood, so I will spare you this once, but I will pass the final sentence to Kyouka.”
The unexpected force had Zanka’s mind frozen, he blanked, what was meant to be a mere lecture or negotiation spiraled out of control. Never had Goka reacted in such a way. Zanka hadn’t even raised a fist yet. There was no reason to be charged over a sibling feud, was there? No. There must have been more to it. There was more to it.
“Zanka Nijiku, you will be cast out and may no longer use this coven as shelter, allegiance, nor a source of food. You may no longer bear the crest of Hell Guardians nor claim to be a part of the Nijiku family.” Kyouka rose from the ornate chair that accompanied the darkness of the room it lived in. Behind her was a grand fireplace that spouted bright flames, it cast an eerie glow upon her complexion. As she approached the hearth the amber hues aided in making her appear fiercer, as if she wasn't already the most intimidating figure Zanka had the pleasure of knowing.
Zanka could hear the sound of iron clinking together before Kyouka rounded the desk with a poker. Wood embers stuck to the burning tip. She was more than serious about removing any association Zanka might have with them. Instinctually struggling on the desk once more, Goka’s grip had loosened up ever so slightly.
Goka spoke, “Kyouka thats-”
“Goka,” Kyouka paused ever so slightly in her speech, she pulled back one of Zanka’s sleeves to uncover a circular seal that painted the center of Zanka’s forearm, the mark of the coven. “You passed the sentence to me, did you not? It would not be right to have him running around with the crest while having been banished, it will do him a favor, bearing our crest outside of this sector will get him killed in days.”
Goka caught himself questioning the decision, she was sound in her reasoning, and logical in following tradition, but something in him felt it to be too much to inflict on his brother. To completely estrange Zanka from the Nijiku name as well, he wanted to rescind all he had said, unprepared for this lecture's escalation.
Zanka could feel the heat of the iron prickle his skin, the smell of burnt hair reached his nose. With Goka’s grip letting up even more, it was just enough for Zanka to get away from the two. As the youngest of the three forced himself away from the heat, his ribs were crushed into the corner of the desk. He flinched as he spun around to face his siblings, eyes wide, holding his side.
Zanka wanted to protest, but he kept quiet, knowing there was no more reasoning with the pair. One could say he held an expression of betrayal, one of grief, sadness, anger. In truth all of those possessed him. He knew how firm Kyouka and Goka were in keeping the ways of the founder, keeping tradition. But with the amount of losses this week alone he thought their minds would finally change.
The longer he thought about the severity of his sentence, realization struck him. Zanka had been on probation from the center court for what only felt like months, but in reality it had been years.Years of Kyouka and Goka slowly pushing him away from any form of power or influence . Away from being able to change the minds of the coven through means of resistance and change. Zanka didn’t think they would go as far as banishing him, another descendant from the founder, it was unheard of. Clearly keeping the ways of old and refusing to evolve alongside humans would never be heard of for vampires deemed as Hell Guardians. Changing the image of a coven with the most brutal and murderous reputations would be impossible. Impossible to them.
“I’m going,” Zanka put his arms up, not necessarily to defend himself but to show his own surrender. The steps he took away from his sister were shaky, "I'm going.” He felt pathetic.
“Gather what you hold precious to you, you have until morning to make your leave.” Kyouka was done with his incessant need for change. If he chose to leave on his own she would gladly oblige. The head of the coven had no more intention of speaking with the youngest, instead she shot a piercing gaze towards Goka. Her fingertips found the end of the hot iron, whether or not Goka would be on the receiving end of punishment for defying her will was a decision she would make later.
Zanka walked backwards out of the room, still clutching onto his side, and on high alert. He knew that news of his banishment would spread quickly. Nothing could be kept a secret here, not even the words of Kyouka or Goka. Anything that could taint his image would reach the ears of the coven overnight. Zanka was gone from the commune before the moon reached its peak.
A week went by before traces of life popped up around Zanka. The abandoned house or car here and there made their presence known, but signage pointing in the direction of society was sparse. Unknown to Zanka, the closest city from the Hell Guardian's commune was south, he was just lucky enough to pick that direction to head. On foot, with the terrain, a week was plenty of time to reach the next sector’s cluster of towns and cities. However, the self-inflicted starvation Zanka brought upon himself, made that week feel like a lifetime.
The skyline of a barricaded city came into view, the sun had just barely ducked behind its tallest building. Relief washed over Zanka, with some newfound energy he made his way to the east wall, the shadows were just enough for him to shed the heavy cloak that had been weighing him down. The overcoat was a bit too much for the hotter weather down, but his sector was so far north that the garment was rather common, besides, the rays of the sun could have easily pierced through a lighter fabric.
Zanka approached one of the gates on the city outskirts, as he looked up, no one was around that he could see. Instead giant spot lights popped on one by one, the ground looked like a stage. The hollowness in Zanka’s stomach made itself known in the form of tightness in his throat. Hunger was starting to take over. Zanka knew if he entered the city the first person he came across would be dead, whether he wanted that to be the outcome or not. Sitting and resting was all he could think to do, hoping to pull his thoughts together and plan his next move now that he made it to another sector.
A large hole in the wall was uncovered by a spotlight. As Zanka approached, it seemed as though it ran up the wall surrounding the city, most likely rain drainage. At least he chose to believe it was a rain drain rather than a sewage pipe. The vampire opted to take cover here, rather than ruining his chances of finding the cleaners in the city or awakening to harsh sunlight in the morning outside. The pipe was easily twice Zanka’s height, enough room for him to sprawl out and stretch. No light came from the other end, Zanka would be safe tonight, or rather, people would be safe from him.
Exhaustion hit. The vampire unceremoniously fell to his knees, the cloak and small bag he carried in one hand plopped on the ground in front of him, they would play the role of pillow. Somewhere along the trek he had picked up the saddest excuse for a walking stick, half the time he didn’t even use it for walking, rather opting to string the bag to the end of it, lightening the already light load. However, it made for some pretty good company. For whatever reason Zanka hesitated to loosen his grip on the splintering wood.
There was never a need for him to stray too far from the collection of small towns that littered his sector. The knowledge of other sectors, covens, human cities, and so on was limited in his mind. Zanka spent plenty of days holed up in the central court reviewing documents, running from outskirt to outskirt, regulating the vampires who lived there, managing their kill count, and their death count. What few facts about other sectors came to Zanka in the form of glimpses at official documents and rumors around towns. Rumors of “clean” vampires reached his ears a decade ago, the first time Hunters had made their way to his sector, around the time he left his first human go.
The only saving grace for Zanka now would be to find one of the Cleaner units, groups of vampires that, for lack of better words, feed “cleanly”. They refused to drain people. Forming pacts with humans were becoming increasingly popular among them. Zanka could only pray that they would be generous enough to accept a Nijiku.
The stick finally clattered to the metal ground, echoes sounded down to the pipe. Before Zanka let himself become one with the floor, he held his breath. A heavy thud at the end of the tunnel answered the clatter, light footsteps followed after.
“Hey man you good?” a curious voice from far away struck Zanka.
There's no way. Zanka reeled, whoever made their way down the pipe was undoubtedly human. “Stay where you are, please.” He shouted desperately back.
“You sure don’t look good.” A young man came from the end of the tunnel. He was clad in black with a sliver of purple peaking out of the coat he wore. Illumination that shone from the spot light outside lit up the stranger's face, the purple brought something out in his gaze. Gold clasps littered his hair and matching piercings above his eyes glittered in the light. Oddly enough, it gave him an air of warmth.
At this point Zanka forced his gaze down, he hissed, “I promise, I’m fine, don’t come any closer.”
He could feel a single bead of sweat drip from his chin, his mouth watering. The position he held himself in front of this man was more than pathetic, Zanka was positive his body was shivering, as if his situation couldn’t become anymore humiliating.
The man had crouched over him, he was so close that Zanka could feel dark strands of hair brush the side of his face, the gold clasps were cold on his already freezing skin. This idiot wasn’t taking the hint to get lost. Absolutely zero preservation instinct. Zanka’s patience, and more so sanity, was wearing thin. A hiss came from Zanka, wanting to keep the little humanity that he retained as a vampire, he slammed his head into one of the metal divots of the drain pipe. The pain did not provide the distraction he was looking for.
“I’m begging, one step closer and I can guarantee it will be your last.” Zanka could feel the man take a single step back.
“Ah, I know what the deal is,” a sweet smell graced the vampire’s senses. Blood. “Someone’s hungry.”
The vampire's eyes shot to a shallow cut along the man’s forearm. Before tucking a curved blade behind his back, the human lapped up his own blood from the sharp surface.
Zanka swallowed hard, “What the fuck is your problem, got some sort of death wish?”
“C’mon man, you know a bite won’t hurt.” Zanka was met with a smile.
He was being teased. Taunted. A vampire that hailed from the Hell Guardians coven, a Nijiku nonetheless, was being toyed with by a human. One that acted like this wasn’t the most life threatening situation anyone could be in. After all the effort Zanka put into keeping humans safe, it would be forgivable to drain an idiot like him.
Another round of saliva coated the inside of Zanka’s mouth. He was practically drooling, his resolve was fading, he wanted to get away from this freak as soon as possible. There was tug on his side as he shifted to pounce. It tore his attention away from the man, the walking stick had snagged onto the baggy fabric of his pants. Rather than launching full force to tackle the stranger, Zanka settled on utilizing his stick friend. The stranger's feet were knocked underneath him. Zanka used the momentum of his twist to lift himself to his feet, anyone would describe the move as graceful.
Before the man hit the ground fully, Zanka was on top of him, the butt of the walking stick was slammed on cold metal next to the other's head. If the idiot’s ear didn’t start ringing from that then he really was a freak of nature, more so than Zanka. The vampire's other hand dug into the human's shoulder, Zanka could feel hot liquid bleed into the canvas material from the skin he pierced.
“You're quicker than I thought you’d be, I should be more careful with ya, but that's no fun.”
Pain shot through the vampire's arm. It had been twisted, he could feel the idiot’s skin ripping more as his arm was pulled from its grip on his shoulder. Zanka winced, but the human didn’t.
“And you're stupider than I thought you’d-”
The next thing he noticed was the lack of air in his lungs. The freak kicked him off with his legs, flipping him over like it was nothing. Zanka hacked up what little fluid was in his stomach once his back hit the floor.
The vampire's motions were mirrored by the stranger. Weight settled on Zanka’s abdomen. The human didn’t seem to weigh all that much, but he was strong. The cards were not in Zanka’s favor, the freak had gotten a better pin on the vampire than the vampire had on him. At least the alternating fists aimed at Zanka were easy enough to block from reaching his face. He had caught one of the human’s hands in his fist.
Slowly, warmth began to spread in his palm, it quickly developed into searing pain. The vampire wanted to let go, but that would place another point on the strangers scoreboard. As dark as it was in the tunnel, Zanka could make out several rings gracing the others fingers. They must have been silver.
They were definitely silver. Realization made Zanka stall, in the state he was in it was difficult to concentrate on anything besides kill or be killed. The human's other fist had an opening to reach his face. A pinprick of a burn bloomed on his cheek. Silver was hard to come by these days, the only people who would carry this much were hunters.
Of course the only person crazy enough to approach him would be a hunter. If he wasn’t running on empty then he would have realized sooner. The vampire wasn’t willing to let another punch land. Zanka threw the fist he had caught away from him as he reached for the end of the stick next to him. He slammed the end of the stick into the idiot’s side. There was enough force to throw him against the wall. Zanka could have sworn he heard a crack of bones mixed in with the smack of his body against the metal.
Heavy breathing from Zanka was the only thing penetrating the silence. The vampire figured if he had slammed into the wall with that amount of force he could walk it off. He doubted there was any human alive who would be capable of the same. Zanka turned to face the stiff body on the floor, the coolness of the metal ground soothed the burn of silver on his cheek. He took a moment to catch his breath. Getting up meant he would lose the comfort of the cool surface, and he would have to kill again for the first time in a decade.
Zanka pulled himself up with the help of the stick. It really was proving handy. “You are absolutely crazy. I told you to stay away and now I’m gonna have to kill you. Do you know how pissed off I am that I have to kill you?”
Small huffs of breath and what sounded like giggling came from the body on the floor. What the actual hell.
“Now we’re talkin’. That hurt like shit man,” a laugh came from the hunter, he was just as slow getting to his feet as Zanka, it was like he was resetting, “I know you got some more fight in you. C’mon we don’t have to kill each other yet.”
The man's agility and more so endurance, was strange to Zanka. Even at his weakest, top hunters had never been able to lay a hand on him, but this guy was running laps around him. Every swing of the stick was countered with some insane flip or dodge or counter. When Zanka even managed a hit, a punch, a wound, anything, the hunter responded as if it gave him more energy, it was uncanny.
Frustration was seeping into Zanka’s movements. Taunts from the hunter riled him up even more so. The hunter seemed to have picked up on the limited moves he could make with the stick. Decades ago he may have fought with a staff, the shape of and weight of the stick was familiar, but clearly he was rusty. Maybe the poor thing wasn't as handy as he thought. It was just slowing his movements, it was safer for Zanka to abandon it. Besides, he held out long enough without using his brute strength, he had a feeling the hunter might have been holding back too.
Silver glinting told the vampire that the blade had been pulled from its sheath once more. Erring on the side of caution, Zanka assumed the material itself was silver as well. That alone made something finally snap, Zanka felt the threat of death fully materialize when the blade cut the air in front of him. The two danced, every swish of the blade was met with swift dodges from the vampire. Abandoning the staff proved to be the right move. In between jabs from the hunter the vampire forced in some of his own hits. Blood began to run from the hunter’s nose, it pooled with blood from his split lip at the base of his chin. The hunter made no move to wipe any of it off. Any and all injury Zanka left on the freak was ignored, instead it was like he was putting the cuts and scrapes on display. It was like teasing a dog with a bone.
Zanka felt his back hit the wall, halting his retreat backwards. The vampire didn’t get the chance to propel himself back at the other man. He heard a tear before feeling another sting of silver. The blade had ripped through the top of Zanka’s sleeve. This cut felt hotter than the ring to his face or the fist of silver he caught earlier in the fight. Tingling made its way through Zanka’s veins. A gash matching the placement of the idiot’s own went straight through the seal etched into the vampire’s arm.
The hunter’s eyes widened after catching a glimpse of the wound he inflicted, some outside light must have shone down on Zanka, “Oh, no shit! You're one of those Hell vamps or whatever! That's crazy, you guys are like, a kill on sight kind of thing. What’s Dracula doing all the way out here?”
The vampire had no reason to answer, he really was not in the mood for talking, yet he was enticed to answer, “You could say I'm not welcome home at the moment.” Zanka was ready to send claws towards the idiot’s exposed throat, but the hunter's counter attack was already in motion.
“You should be careful exploring around here then,” the hunter spat out.
Zanka was cornered. He expected a fist to strike his ribs, instead he was met with stabbing pains lodged into his gut. The blade that the hunter had utilized on himself earlier had doubled. They were sharp, it burned, involuntary tears threatened to spill from his eye. He was sure that if he reached around to feel his back the end of the metal would brush his fingers.
The hunter had closed the gap between them. Zanka wanted to claw at his throat, he was close enough to tear into it with his fangs, but the pain made him dizzy. Instead Zanka’s head lulled forward, resting on the attacker's shoulder, he couldn’t control his breathing. He was hungry, he was tired, the blades hurt, his senses told him this was the end. It was so over.
“What? You really not hungry?” The hunter made it clear he knew he was wide open.
Why would he be waiting for me to bite him? Fucking freak.
Zanka grabbed the canvas collar of the other man, maybe for stability, maybe for comfort, “Finish it. What are you waiting for? Kill me.”
“You put up a pretty good fight, can’t kill you now,” the hunter paused to think, “nah I’ll do that when I’m gettin’ paid, it’d be more fun when you’re in top shape too.”
A calloused hand ran fingers up through Zanka’s hair, the grip that took hold was gentle. If Zanka had any more consciousness to spare, the touch would have sent a shiver down his spine. He was ready for whatever the hunter chose to put him through, he was predicting a slit throat. He felt pathetic, it was worse that his death was being prolonged.
Zanka hissed as the twin blades were pulled slowly from his stomach, he placed a pathetic grip on the hunter's wrist trying to stop the movement.
“Breathe man, you’re good, you’re good.” It was ridiculous, the hunter shushed him in a way a mother would shush a child overreacting to a skimmed knee.
The pain left him panting, open mouthed. As if it was an opportunity, the hunter pulled Zanka’s head back ever so slightly, positioning his mouth over bare skin. The feeling of warm flesh took over Zanka’s senses, he was done fighting himself. Instinctually sharp fangs sunk into the man's exposed shoulder.
The man’s shoulder dropped slightly, another natural instinct, “Fuck man, chill out.” The way in which he spoke was not harsh or scolding, he sounded humored, the bite elicited a laugh from him.
Any other day a human forcing him to feed from them would set off every and all alarms in his mind, but it had easily been several months since Zanka last fed. The warmth of the liquid graced his tongue and spread quickly to the rest of his body. The vampire was so knackered he could feel the aches from the fight and pangs of hunger wash off of him.
Zanka mentally kicked himself. He had sent his fangs so deep that the blood that poured from the hunters wound was too much for him to drink up. Small streams began to run down the others shoulder onto his chest, seeping into the collar that was pulled away. If the situation were different and the vampire had a little less decorum, if he had gotten to know the hunter under different circumstances, he would be ok with taking his time. Making sure to lap up any mess he made on the hunter. He hated to admit that he found the hunter to be charismatic, as irritating as he was. The strength of the human was impressive too, it didn’t help that he wasn't bad to look at either. Or maybe it did. Zanka would say he was interesting to look at.
The blood Zanka sucked up was sweet. Unusually so. It was addicting. While he fed much less frequently than others, he has tasted many different palates. The taste of human blood typically depended on one’s diet. The foods they ate, savory translated to savory, spicy to spicy, and so on, but the taste was always muted. The overwhelming taste of iron would always be complimented by the aftertaste of a human’s preferences. Zanka hated people who ate such bland food. Their blood was always bitter. But there was no taste of iron, the hunter's blood was sweet from the start.
Regardless, the hunter offering himself up after a ridiculous fight and tasting good didn’t improve Zanka’s mood in the slightest, he was still pissed. He let his arms snake around the hunters back, his claws pierced through the canvas of his clothes. He let his fingers run from the top of the hunters shoulder blades down some before sinking them into soft flesh. He could feel the human squirm underneath his grip, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to get away. Zanka was sure it was enough to leave behind faint scars. The pain of his nails in skin made the hunter hiss.
Zanka expected the stranger to interject with some snarky comment, but no such noise came from the other. Maybe he was finally unconscious. Something in the air told the vampire otherwise.
He was getting greedy. He could tell. The hunter had been holding his breath through it all.
The man’s hand was still loose in his hair, the thickness of his hair luckily prevented the silver rings from doing too much damage. But the vampire could still feel heat radiating off of them onto his head. Zanka bit down harder just once more before he decided enough was enough. He hadn’t fed roughly in awhile. There were some feeders who would seek out vampires to fulfill some weird fantasy of being bit and then some. Zanka easily figured this guys was the same, but in his mind being rough this time was meant as a fuck you rather than a fuck you.
The hunter yanked his head off of his shoulder, small bits of flesh were torn from the wound. Zanka cursed internally, if he had waited just a moment Zanka would have removed himself from the freak, with much less force. Blood splattered with the deep tear. Zanka could feel warm specks brush against his cheek, excess had begun to drip from the side of his mouth.
The other man cradled his head in a way that forced eye contact between the two. Zanka could tell he was getting to a breaking point, the hunter's eyes were heavy lidded, his gaze was enthralling.
“Got some pretty sharp fangs there Dracula, you got some nice ivories. I know some freaks who’d pay top dollar for a pair like that.”
“Shut it with that Dracula crap.” Zanka spat out. The vampire struggled to maintain focus on the other. His mind was still hazy with the taste of blood left on his tongue.
For a brief moment the vampire held his breath. The stranger had reached to wipe away the blood gathering at the corner of his mouth much like drool. The wipe was quick, it shouldn’t have held the amount of space in Zanka's mind as it did. Even on the brink of death by vampire he had the audacity.
“Alright Mr. Batty, what’s your name then?” The hunters grip on the other was firm. Zanka still had claws in the other.
“Zanka. Zanka Nijiku.” The vampire could make out an “ah-ha” look on the other's face after mentioning his name.
“Ok Zanka,” The hunter stretched out the first syllable of his name, testing the way it rolled off the tongue, “You gotta promise to land a few more punches next time I see you. You should probably drop the Nijiku name if you don’t wanna catch anymore shit from hunters in this sector, too. Not a lot of people around here will leave you in one piece if they see that tattoo on your arm either, you hear me?”
A faint “mhm” came from Zanka. It was all he could manage. He wanted to say more but something was wrong. At least he felt like something was wrong, but a lot of things were wrong, really wrong. The sweet blood soothed aches of pain and hunger that riddled his body. That in and of itself was normal, but Zanka still felt weak. Sluggish. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. He felt himself become heavy, the death grip he had held on the hunter let up. His arms fell to his sides, yet he remained in place.
Zanka felt his vision begin to blur, he could only make out so much of the stranger's features. The thick locs that framed the hunter’s face perfectly held all the clasps that glinted the same way his piercings did. He could only make out a few piercings on the other’s face. The hunter must have had a lip piercing or two, sparks flew when he laughed.
The vampire went numb. He could feel his entire weight shift in the other man’s arms, he would have protested but the calm that washed over him reached his tongue. No more questions, no more banter. Zanka’s mind knew he was being carried but his body said he was floating. In a matter of moments the outside world had shut itself out of his mind and replaced it with darkness. It was nothing scary, he felt as though a new moon had graced the sky, but all the stars had gone away as well.
Zanka wanted to ask for his name.
Zanka woke up with a cough. A silhouette stood over him, the figure’s shadow prevented any light from reaching him. The faint feeling of a boot poking at his side startled him, his side was sore, memories of the previous night flooded his mind. Quickly, Zanka reached the open wound on his stomach, he expected to be lying in a pool of his own blood, but he was met with dried patches on his shirt and a faint scar instead. He healed quickly, but never like that.
“Not looking too hot there are ya?” The figure spoke with a very lax cadence and had a cocky smirk to go with it.
The sense of deja vu added to the scowl on the vampire's face, he groaned, “What do you want, man, can’t you see I'm kinda in the middle of something.”
He was not in the middle of anything. However, he was not in the mood for another altercation. Zanka scanned the man for any traces of silver. None. He hoped this guy would just ask for some money and break. Maybe this guy just wanted him off of his property. A real upstanding citizen who didn’t condone loitering. That would be great.
“I’m not looking for anything in particular, but you look like you might be one of us, gotta check up on your own, y’know.” The other man flashed a smile at Zanka, revealing sharp teeth that matched his own.
Zanka spun his head around, drinking in the view of the alleyway he woke up in. It seemed as though Zanka had been moved into the city, tall buildings surrounding him shaded most of the sun's rays. The other popped open an umbrella when a small cloud released the sun again. Clouds were overcast in the distance, but still a ways away from the city. A wave of relief crashed down on the other vampire, he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding in.
Zanka decided to toss any decorum he might have spoken with previously, “Are you with the Cleaners, do you know them, where can I find them?”
“Cleaners,” another toothy grin spread across the other man's face, “I hear they’re spreading like wildfire, if you run into another vampire in any of the human cities they are pretty likely to be one.”
Zanka took the hand that was outstretched towards hims, with a huff he was pulled to his feet. The man was tall, taller than him, and sported blond hair that would have captured the sun's rays if it wasn't imperative of them to cover up during the day.
“Really? Are you with them? Can you take me to a coven leader?” Zanka could hear the desperation in his own voice.
With the way he looked right now any onlooker would assume a nice business man was being harassed by a street beggar. He was positive blood was caked onto his torn up clothes. The blood soaked in nicely against his crimson shirt, and his pants were dark enough to hide stains. But they looked more like rags than clothing after his encounter with a hunter last night.
The other vampire's face pinched ever so slightly. He looked down to where their hands intertwined in greeting. He caught a glimpse of the seal on Zanka’s arm.
“I’d love to help,” his smile remained, “But information comes with a price around here.”
“Sure, right,” Zanka released his grip on the other to turn around and search for his items, “you gotta be kidding.”
The shorter sighed, he hadn’t thought about the fact that the last place he was conscious was the city's water infrastructure, not an alleyway in what was easily the heart of the city. The freak from last night must have moved him to the surface. Everything he had with him he dropped at the entrance of the pipe. At his feet lay the walking stick that had been his closest friend for the past week, the idiot left him with nothing but the stick. The stick.
Zanka swooped down to grab the splintering wood, “Forget it,” He turned away, he wasn’t going to waste anymore of his time, “I must’ve dropped my stuff-.”
“Not so fast,” a firm hand was placed on Zanka’s shoulder, holding him still, “Let’s make a deal instead, name’s Enjin by the way.”
“Zanka,” He paused, mulling over how much he should give away about himself, “Just Zanka.”
“I’ve got some info for you, however, the next time our paths cross I’ll have a job for you. How does that sound?” The other vampire spoke as if he was sure they would see each other again. He didn’t like the uncertainty of it, but what else did he have to go off of?
Zanka sighed, admitting defeat in his mental turmoil, “Fine, deal, what do you got for me?”
“You’re not far from the founding Cleaner keep, it's in the center of a cluster of towns just west of us. Unfortunately I’m not quite headed that way so you’ll be on your own getting there.” Enjin pointed behind him. “It’s about 3 days out from here, you’re on the outskirts of this sector at the moment, but the way there is pretty populated, it’s not easy to get lost.”
“And how do I know this isn’t some sort of a set up? I bet there are hunters crawling everywhere out here.” As the words came out of Zanka’s mouth he realized how stupid of a question it was. If it were him back in his sector, he’d be running around checking on any and every vampire-in-distress.
The other man laughed, “You’re not as stupid as I thought you’d be.” Enjin tossed something up in the air, it glinted as it caught the morning sunlight ever so slightly, coming down right into the palm Zanka had held out. “There’s an outpost that Cleaner’s frequent on the way there, stop in, they’ll get you cleaned up, but I’d cover up your arm if I were you. They’ll protect their own, but only the ones that would do the same.”
Zanka turned over the coin that landed in his hand. It was a piece of silver that burned. In the middle was a circular seal, it was similar to his arm. It must have been the Cleaners’ emblem.
“See ya around Zanka.” He watched as Enjin strolled past him. The patch on the back of his coat matched the silver coin he gifted Zanka.
He wanted to ask Enjin another question, he wanted to thank him, but the distance between the two was too far. A drop of water landed on Zanka’s face and then another. As the rain began to come down he saw Enjin tuck his umbrella away and turn the corner, the last of his big coat trailing after him. He hesitated putting the coin away in his back pocket, he didn’t want to risk losing it. It burned in his hand for just a bit longer.