"Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."
—Proverbs 6:9-11 KJV.
Tristan left Drusilla at the bar but not before getting another glass of his new favorite beverage. The demon couldn't believe that for centuries, something as potently delicious as this existed, and he had heard no news or praise of the beverage, even on the other side. He wove through the bustling crowd of other hotel inhabitants, eyes observing. Most of the hotel guests were so absorbed in their activities that they ignored him. Occasionally, one of them would catch him staring, and they would begin to murmur to themselves, walking away hurriedly.
Some would shoot him looks of disgust or confusion; others would try to match his stare, but something about the sheer focus of Tristan's predatory, scarlet eyes always brought him out on top. Tristan did not care. To him, they were mere lab rats that existed only for him to observe and draw conclusions from. After spooking a few more guests, Tristan continued to wander the hotel, following signs until he found himself in the gym.
Upon stepping in, he could already sense that everyone in the room was a vampire. The familiar scent of copper that permanently lingered on their beings gave them away even before the faint human musk that accompanied it. The gym was mostly empty as he expected, with only a handful of vampires gathered in the corner of the room. Salt and exertion hung heavy in the air, sharp enough to sting the back of his throat.
Tristan was surrounded by state-of-the-art fitness equipment. Some he understood; others seemed too complex to operate without prior knowledge. The training area was massive, and at its center stood an elevated combat ring enclosed by thick black ropes and reinforced canvas. A shrill whistle caught his attention.
"Hey man! Bet you've never seen one of these. Wherever the fuck you're from, that is!" Someone jeered from the corner of the room.
Tristan ignored the voice and remained entranced, observing the ring's structure. He began to approach it when a figure blocked his path—a broad-shouldered, bald man who stood at least a head taller than him, arms crossed as if he expected that alone to be intimidating.
"You deaf or something?" the man questioned angrily.
Tristan's first thought was sticking his arm through the vampire's chest and stealing his heart—a modest exchange for the insult. But Drusilla's warnings surfaced before he could take action: making a scene here would terminate his business agreement with her and his access to this place.
This steaming pile of feces is not worth my time or ichor, let alone whatever Drusilla has in store for me.
"No, I'm not deaf. I have a problem addressing inferior life forms like yourself," Tristan replied through gritted teeth, his voice cold as ice.
His reply drew snickers and chuckles from the other vampires.
"Looks like we've got a comedian here! Think you're funny, eh?" he taunted, baring his fangs.
Tristan met his gaze with scarlet eyes, his expression unreadable. His patience was wearing thin, but he chose to indulge the vampire a bit longer.
"You clearly misunderstood me. Let me be clear: referring to you as inferior is a gross understatement of how far beneath me you actually are," Tristan brushed past him, climbed the steel steps, and slipped between the ropes.
"Of course, it's always you fucking halos, thinking you're better than everyone else. You don't even realize you're speaking to a member of the Nocturne family!"
Meanwhile, Tristan barely acknowledged him, testing the tension of the ropes with a gentle tug. On mention of the Nocturne family name, a grin flashed across his face.
Is this one of Drusilla's kin? No wonder she has so many enemies.
"Nocturne? I have no interest in vampire politics. Is that name meant to mean something to me?" he sneered.
One of the vampires shook her head.
"Someone doesn't know what territory they're on. Don't worry, Terry," she said, glancing at the man who'd jeered from the corner. "I'll educate him," a young lady in a crop top said.
Terry crossed his arms and said nothing more, happy to let her handle it.
"The Nocturne family is one of the 3 great vampire families that were big enough to become factions. Their influence has spread far and wide in the United States, but the heart of operations is in New York. You're on their—no, you are on our property as we speak," she added, expecting the words alone to humble him.
Tristan finally let go of the ropes and turned to face her fully, a look of pure amusement plastered on his face.
Do these ants think marking their territory with fancy names and borders means anything to me?
He said nothing, watching her the way he'd watch any other creature explain the rules of a cage it didn't know he could walk through.
"Ants, whether black, brown, or red, are ants regardless. What difference does it make? Do yourselves a favor and live out what's left of your pathetic lives—don't force me to take it from you," he replied, his eyes glowing scarlet.
For a moment, a silent ripple went across the gym. It was soon drowned out by laughter; vampires doubled over.
"You know, Seraphite, you're a man of many words but few actions. Tell you what: I love your confidence, so I've decided we won't just outright gang up on you. But I can't let you go without answering for mocking my family's name," Terry said, making his way to the ring.
Tristan's smile returned; he loved where this conversation was going.
"So why don't you fight me here? Mano a mano, no weapons, abilities, or any of that halo crap."
The demon chuckled to himself. It was ironic that he, of all people, was being referred to as a Seraphite due to the ability he stole. Elise had been born with a gift she never deserved—a gem wasted on a pigsty from the very start.
It seems this mortal is ever so eager to seal his fate.
Part of him wanted to drape the entire gym in the innards of these insolent vampires, but he had already concluded they weren't worth it. An idea sprang into his mind.
"I'm afraid I would accidentally kill you regardless of whether I use my abilities or not. So let's make this more favorable for you: if you can lay even a finger on me, I'll give you a thousand dollars. If you can't, you all pay up."
The woman in the crop top raised an eyebrow at his request.
"Just a thousand? Not five? I could give you a thousand dollars for just having this conversation with us," she chuckled.
Terry walked up the stairs, entering the ring with an air of confidence.
"Don't be insensitive, Rita. Maybe a thousand bucks is the largest this nobody has seen in his life! Anyways, you have yourself a deal, halo-scum."
Terry grinned, cracking his knuckles.
"Easiest grand I'll ever make."
The second Terry agreed to the wager, the sinister grin spread wider across Tristan's face. He was going to savor this moment.
At the same time, Terry flashed his fangs, staring down at Tristan. Initially, he'd been skeptical about a one-on-one confrontation. Not anymore. This man was nothing but a prideful fool. He'd met plenty of Seraphites like this in his line of work—prideful creatures convinced they were God's own children, everyone else beneath them. Even now, the redhead smiled down at them—like he wasn't the one who signed his death warrant.
The angry vampire clenched his fist.
This fucker doesn't know what's coming for him.
He wouldn't stop at one hit. He'd cripple this man for life. The image of his mangled body materialized in Terry's mind. His brown eyes glazed over with bloodlust, nails lengthening.
My very first Seraphite blood bank. Delivered to me. It seems God has his favorites amongst his children.
The two men stood opposite each other, the tension in the ring growing with every passing second. Without warning, Terry leaped from his position, swinging his hand at Tristan's neck in an arc.
So it begins.
Tristan just watched the attack approach, unfazed. At the last second, the demon stepped back, the attack completely missing its mark. The angry vampire hissed and lunged again, this time with a thrust aimed at his chest. Tristan weaved to the side, effortlessly evading it.
Terry took yet another swipe, this time aimed at his temple. Unfortunately, Tristan moved like smoke—there and gone before the strike could land. The cocky demon pivoted back a step, mischief dancing in his eyes as he reveled in the vampire's frustration.
"Oh, Terry, you have to do better than that! Where's that burning devotion you showed earlier? Is this how all members of the Nocturne family fight?" Tristan sneered, his eyes still trained on the vampire.
"Enough!" Terry hissed, his eyes flashing crimson as he charged again.
He raised his knee to Tristan's midsection but hit air.
"Always one step behind! Always too slow! Always falling short! You vampires have and will always be nothing!" Tristan taunted, dodging Terry's fist.
Looking at the vampire, he almost felt bad for him. He had no idea he stood in the presence of the very race that had given birth to his own.
Small beads of sweat dripped down from Terry's head as he stared back at Tristan. Anger swelled in his chest as he observed the Seraphite's cocky position.
There he is, standing tall and unbothered while I'm here almost exhausted and not a hit to add to my name.
Something had to change, or he was going to lose this bout.
Watching patiently from the sidelines was Terry's crew.
"This... this doesn't look good," a fairly small, brown-haired vampire muttered.
Rita lightly smacked the vampire on his neck, shaking her head.
"What is it now, Dom? The fight just started, and you're already counting Terry out?" she asked.
Dom watched as the two fighters traded positions like blurs moving across the ring. He wasn't the best fighter, but he knew how to pay attention to detail. By no means was he counting Terry out, but he had made a shocking discovery before the others: each time an attack was about to connect, the Seraphite moved out of the way. It was just like the man mocked: Terry seemed always a second late. It didn't matter what it was, punches or kicks.
It's almost like he is toying with Terry.
A feeling of dread ran down his spine; what had his friends gotten him into?
Once again, Terry lunged at Tristan, breaking the distance between them in a couple of seconds.
"Just DIE!" he screeched, throwing out a haymaker with reckless abandon but outstanding force.
Tristan reacted immediately, ducking out of the way of the punch and putting distance between them, but the enraged vampire chased after him. Terry replied, turning his body in an arc and delivering a devastating spinning kick.
Tristan immediately threw himself across the canvas, noticing something was different in that attack.
That kick. He got faster?
He knew the vampire still posed no threat, but knowing that the inferior being still held back some of his power made him irrationally annoyed.
"So you hold back when the entire honor of the Nocturne family is on the line?" Tristan mocked, circling Terry.
The vampire stood in place, his crimson eyes still glowing.
He is right. I shouldn't hold back.
Terry shot off from the canvas, knee aimed at Tristan's head. Once again, Tristan effortlessly pivoted backwards, evading the attack.
"Predictable!" Terry hissed, landing on all fours and lunging across the canvas towards Tristan's feet.
Tristan was slightly startled at the sudden outburst. The demon kicked off the floor, leaving Terry's claws raking across the canvas.
So he learns!
The demon was almost impressed by the attempt.
Terry's heart was pounding in his chest, adrenaline pushing him over his limits as he pursued the demon around the ring, relentless in his assault. He lunged again, this time at Tristan's neck. The two continued to trade positions, Terry playing the predator, hunting the untouchable Tristan, who effortlessly danced across the ring.
By now, the other vampires had begun to notice something was wrong.
"Man, Rita, I dunno, but I think little Dom was right. That halo hasn't even gotten tagged by Terry once, and you know how fast the boss is," a young vampire whispered.
Dom glared at the girl but reserved his comments, grumbling to himself.
Rita observed the fight, her hands crossed.
"Yeah, whatever, Elara. Don't count Terry out yet, though; you know he would do anything to win this bout," Rita replied.
These remarks didn't go unnoticed by Tristan.
Surely this speck of dust doesn't have any more tricks up its sleeve, does it?
Terry's eyes were now completely bloodshot, his gaze unwavering.
I can't lose. Not to this halo scum that disrespected my family. No: I won't lose!
With a cry of desperation, Terry attacked Tristan, thrusting his claws in a spear motion at Tristan's chest. Tristan just watched the hand approaching him, unmoving. This was Terry's fastest and most powerful attack, but to a monster like Tristan, it was nothing.
Tristan gazed deep into the vampire's eyes as the attack approached.
It's over, ant. Know your place.
The attack was now inches from Tristan's chest, yet he just stood there and watched.
Terry felt his nails pierce through the Seraphite's chest, the warmth of his blood flowing down his fingers. He saw the smug look vanish from the prideful man's face as his body slumped to the floor.
"YES! Who's the ant now? Die a thousand deaths, you fucking halo scum!" Terry laughed ecstatically.
A couple of claps came from behind him, interrupting his celebration.
"Bravo, little vampire. You have triumphed over your inner demons. But alas, I remain."
Tristan sneered, sitting across the ring.
That voice.
Terry snapped backwards in disbelief. There he was, sitting on the canvas completely unscathed. Not even a bead of sweat was present on him.
"How! I watched you die; I watched you fucking die!" Terry screeched.
He couldn't wrap his head around what had just occurred. One second, the Seraphite was dead, a gaping hole in his chest. Next, he mocked him from behind. Even the bystanders were equally confused; they hadn't even seen Tristan move.
He was holding back the whole time. What kind of monster of a Seraphite was this?
Dom trembled at the thought.
"Forfeit. Unless you want me to further demonstrate the difference between—"
Tristan was interrupted by a dagger whizzing towards his skull. He couldn't help but smile.
And of course he cheats. Predictable mortals.
Tristan snatched the dagger out of the air effortlessly, grabbing the blade with his palm.
Not even strong enough to cut me.
Tristan let the dagger fall to the canvas.
"I see you have chosen to violate the terms of our agreement: a pathetic attempt at victory by a pathetic creature like yourself. Now you owe me 5000 dollars," Tristan said as he got up and approached Terry.
"5000 spent on a fucking bum like you? I'd rather di—"
"This fight is over!" Rita interrupted, raising their group's share of the wager in her hand. "We'll all pay as promised, and Terry will pay his 5000 for cheating."
Terry turned his gaze at Rita, his eyes still red with rage.
"Like hell I will! This isn't over, halo scum! I'm gonna make your life miserab—"
Rita clapped her hands, cutting Terry off.
"It's over, Terry; you lose. We lose. Just pay up so we can get some blood bags and call it a day!" Rita persisted.
Terry looked at Tristan, loathing burning in his eyes. He couldn't believe he was going to let the Seraphite who openly mocked the Nocturne family on their territory go. But the vampire had to admit he was completely spent; his hands were slightly trembling from fatigue, and he was struggling to stand.
Another time.
It didn't have to be today or the next, but one day, he would get his lick back against the Seraphite.
Terry fished into his pockets and pulled out a couple of notes and handed them to the smug demon.
"Take it and fuck off. And you better not show yourself in this gym again!"
Tristan couldn't help but laugh.
"Large words for an ant who couldn't even lay a finger on me. I just hope I was able to show you the distance between a worm and the heavens," Tristan replied, snatching the notes from him.
The demon made a mental note to get some more apple juice with his newly acquired funds.
Or I could ask Drusilla.
The demon was still getting used to their business arrangement; he didn't want to add more to his part of the deal, or he was sure she would demand more.
Tristan got out of the ring and grabbed his dues from the other vampires.
"Oh, and another thing," he said at the gym's exit. "You weaklings speak so highly of this family, yet you shame it with your weakness. Perhaps you should hone your skills, so you have more bite than bark. If you couldn't even touch me, how are you going to prove your superiority over an actual Seraphite?"
Once Tristan was out of earshot, Terry walked out of the ring, fists clenched.
"That fucker thinks he can talk shit about the Nocturne family at Logzeros Hotel? He is a corpse walking!"
Dom shook his head frantically, slightly shaken from the exchange.
"No. You guys can go ahead and antagonize that man, but count me out of it!" Dom declared, walking into the ring to retrieve the dagger.
"Of course you don't wanna be a part of this, you fucking coward!" Rita replied angrily.
"Can you all just listen to me for once!" Dom screeched, startling the vampires. "Yes, I'm not as strong as you brutes, but listen to little Dominic for a second. If you all value your lives, you won't go after that dude. You all saw how he utterly toyed with and embarrassed Terry—our strongest member! For God's sake, you couldn't even touch him!" he complained, Terry staring daggers at him.
"The man was holding back, and that's not even the worst part. He didn't display any abilities. And look at how fucking fast he moved at the end; Terry's mind couldn't even comprehend it, and he almost lost it at the end of the bout!"
Rita didn't want to admit it, but the kid was right.
"I can now see why I lost; I've been surrounded by cowards unwilling to step out of their cocoons and evolve. Do whatever the fuck you want," Terry spat and stormed out of the gym.
Rita inched forward to give chase, but a hand grabbed her.
"Give him time; the boss might keep this grudge, but he isn't a fool. He won't go after that Seraphite in the state he is in. Let's just go back to our rooms," Elara offered.
The two vampires grabbed their gym bags and began heading for the exit.
"Dom! Are you gonna keep gawking, or are you coming?" Rita called.
Dom waved them off, explaining that there was something he had to do. Once they were both gone, Dom looked down at the dagger in his hand. His heart thundered in his ears as he examined the weapon—or what remained of it.
The blade was completely gone, scorch marks coating the hilt.
How does someone effortlessly reduce a high-tier dagger to nothing in a matter of seconds? And the way he used the word Seraphite, like it was some kind of slur. Like, he didn't even belong to the species.
Dom slipped the ruined dagger into his bag and hurried to catch up with the others. Yet no matter how quickly he moved, he couldn't shake the image of that man from his mind. There had been something deeply unsettling about the way Tristan had fought. He hadn't looked like someone defending himself; he had looked like a predator playing with its food, deliberately allowing Terry to exhaust himself before effortlessly putting him in his place.
Dom shuddered at the memory. The man had been toying with them from the very beginning, and the worst part was that he had never once looked threatened.
And deep down, Dom was certain of one thing.
That man wasn't a Seraphite.