"What on earth are you?" Finlor demanded, eyes wide with horror and disbelief, his sword trembling as he leveled it at me.
He had just watched me descend from the sky, a swirling horde of bats coalescing into a blonde-haired man draped in white robes. The villagers, who had been moments away from charging Maelor and his company, faltered at my arrival. They would not have stood a chance against my elven underlings.
"You have bats and fangs, like a vampire," Finlor said, his voice wavering, "but you don't burn under the sun. What sort of abomination are you? Is this your new master, Maelor? You shame our kind!"
I scanned the ring of villagers that had surrounded us. Looking at them, one would not think them elves at all. They were thin and gaunt, their long black hair tangled and unwashed. Instead of the scent of flowers, they reeked of sweat and dried blood. Their rusted blades and patchwork armor spoke of long neglect and harder lives.
"He shames your kind, Finlor?" I entered the exchange with loud, mocking laughter. He looked startled that I knew his name. "Your kind is shamed enough. The high elves and the wood elves no longer see you as brethren. You are no more than woodcutters and hunters—nay, less than that."
"I will not stand this insult!" Finlor spat, lunging forward.
While I was not surprised by his aggression, I hadn't expected him to be competent. Frans had faced many foes in his lifetime, but even he would have found Finlor's form impressive. With swift, precise footwork, he closed the distance and leapt high for an overhead strike. His sword came down with the force of his entire body, cutting through the air like a whip.
I made a show of keeping my hands behind my back, a faint smile on my face.
His downward strike met the [Solar Guard]. For an instant, his expression froze in shock. Then, recovering quickly, he landed lightly and attacked again—this time with a side swing. The [Solar Guard] caught it once more.
Confusion flickered in his eyes, but he pressed on. His strikes were fast, measured, relentless. No wasted motion, no hesitation. He left no angle unexplored. Yet the [Solar Guard] was more than a match for him.
After a time, boredom crept in. I allowed one of his swings to slip through, stepping aside from its path. Finlor, who had been striking against something solid for minutes, suddenly found only air.
He stumbled forward, losing balance. I met him halfway—with my knee driving into his stomach.
The blow sent him sprawling. His sword slipped from his grasp, skidding over the dirt. He dropped to one knee, coughing violently.
Before he could recover, I summoned a solar blade and held it against his throat.
While he had been attacking me, his kin had turned their blades against Maelor's company. Their struggle had ended just as swiftly. My vampire-elves disarmed and restrained them with ease—none of them needed to kill to prove superiority.
"You insulted Maelor first, did you not?" I said, my voice calm but edged, "You mocked him for submitting to me. Yet are you not yourself subjugated? By mere serpents, in fact. You hide behind flimsy wooden walls. You live long lives, yet exist no differently than a band of goblins."
"What I granted your brethren," I continued, "is a path to truly living. They no longer hunger or thirst. Their strength and speed, multiplied tenfold. The serpents they once feared—they now hunt for sport. I made them lords of the dark forest, not scavengers in its depths."
I grinned. Frans had always been gifted in both blade and word. It was easy to master many things when you had decades to refine them. There was, of course, some embellishment in my speech—but a little gilding often helped the persuasion.
Or so I thought, until Finlor let out a short, sharp chuckle.
Frans' fragile ego flared.
"Save your breath, demon," Finlor said through a strained grin. "You cannot deceive me with your lies. Better you kill me now."
"As you wish," I growled, teeth gritting.
I was already gathering light for a solar beam when Maelor's voice cut through.
"Spare him, my lord!" Maelor dropped to his knees beside his brother, bowing his head low. "Allow me to speak with him. He's simply too shocked to think clearly. He would serve you well, my lord—he's a formidable warrior, a born leader. He would make a brilliant captain under your banner!"
"I can't believe you've bent the knee to darkness, Maelor," Finlor snarled.
"You don't understand—"
"Enough!" I snapped.
Maelor persisted, desperation breaking through. "We can restrain him, High Prince. Have him drink your blood."
That suggestion was absurd. The transformation intensified devotion among the willing—it did not rewrite the will of the defiant. If it had, the coup that ended Frans' reign would never have occurred.
"As willing as you were, Maelor, you were undeserving of my gift," I said coldly. "Much less your brother, who loathes me with every breath he takes."
I raised my hand, palm open to summon the solar beam.
Then someone clung to my leg.
"Please, lord vampire!" Lysandra's voice trembled as she pressed herself against me, eyes closed tight. "Please spare my uncle! He is stubborn, but he doesn't deserve to die."
"You too, Lysandra?" Finlor said, his tone softening.
"Please listen to him, uncle," Lysandra pleaded, still clutching my leg. "He saved my life. Father's, too—Floren's, and Vaelir's. He destroyed the serpents around the village, and their nest! He's not a bad person."
Finlor swallowed hard, at a loss for words. I could already tell—he shared the same weakness as his brother.
I don't he had what it took to call Lysandra a demon.