“I agreed to this… Amelia.”

The duo ascending to the surface had exhausted most of their explosives and fuse. Lurking just beyond the reach of the torch’s light, the abyss was customary, comforting even. Only a few of the barrels remained.

“Correct.”

“This is a steep price for my freedom… becoming a monster.”

“It is also a price you already paid.”

“I will be free soon, but I doubt the person who wanted to be with every fibre of his being is still alive. When was it you poured your blood into my feed… when who I used to be died?”

“Yesterday.”

“Then that was the day I lost who I was. I should feel regret… but I don’t, simply because I can’t feel regret. You forced this curse upon a man who thought he had nothing to lose, but was wrong. You-”

“Mogren,” she interrupted, “there is no going back. Accept what you have become – you can handle the consequences without me.”

He tried to find the words to reply, but was rudely interrupted by a blade shooting from a hole between the masonry.

He fell, trying to dodge the attack and failing – it hit him, somewhere in the centre of mass. It retreated as fast as came out, preventing Mogren from catching more than a glimpse. He tried to stand up. He couldn’t.

A thorough diagnosis revealed half of him was missing. Particularly, the lower torso and below could be seen lying next to him, quite aways from their ideal position. His fresh wound was leaking blood and bowels in uncomfortably large amounts, seeping into the small piles of explosive powder spilt during his dodge.

He accepted death, for what else could he do?

He felt something wrap around his arm, then body- the woman had picked up him and began to run.

“Doesn’t hurt… not surprised…”

He felt that his newfound immunity to pain was quite welcome at this particular time. He could speak still, as much as his body would physically allow.

“Mogren, I… I am Joakim, I killed Mogren.”

His next breath came as a gurgling gasp.

“I wanted to… frame hi-”

He coughed.

“frame him… for stealing… then guards would think he… already … ate it. Nobody would look …for it.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, Joakim. Brace yourself.”

He didn’t have time to do much bracing before her torch hit the half-broken barrels. The explosion rocked the tunnels, the shockwave strong despite the spilt gunpowder. Chunks of masonry flew in all directions, exposing the many layers of the floor. More importantly, the wall that hid the origin of the blade disappeared.

Chunks of burning wood created an eerie light, filling the ocean of black created by the lack of a torch. They illuminated the tunnel, and the room behind the wall; he could see the fuse she laid beginning to spark.

He saw a glint. It whistled and cut the air as if the hook of a fishing rod about to be dunked, swinging freely in all directions. A blade, attached to a tentacle; this tentacle was, in turn, attached to a creature. In the dim light, the being resembled a cyclops without a skeleton – an overwhelming mass of sore-covered skin and fat; a gaping maw with sparse teeth which could be passed off as a mouth undulated, drooled and wheezed, while its nose above was no more than a bloody hole in its face. The many wounds leaked multi-coloured juices into small puddles on stone.

The eye opened. It looked around, frantically. Then, it stopped. Staring into his eyes.

The tentacle contracted, and Amelia parried the first blow with a dagger. The strange appendage was flung away, swayed then came whistling back, before she had recovered. A sidestep into a pirouette brought her out of harm’s way, then another parry deflected the next swing.

Mogren… no, Joakim stretched out his clothes and tied them into a makeshift knot. It was only partially successful in preventing blood and organ leakage. Satisfied that he did all he could, he looked back at the fight.

A jump, a slice, an impact. The weapons collided, recoiled, then struck again. The tentacle swung, then sprung away and sliced downward. The woman fell for the feint – despite her following pirouette, her leg sprayed blood. The assault was unyielding, giving her no time to recover.

She didn’t need it.

Reading the next feint she ducked beneath the tentacle, and left the dagger in her place. Blue blood began dripping with its every motion, the creature letting out a guttural gurgle in response.

The dance continued.

The woman’s body reacted to every new bend, every motion of the blade, twisting, jumping, spinning gracefully in a seemingly instinctual way. The tentacle would bend or turn, and she would glide around accordingly. The jagged zipping of the creature’s appendage and her fast, intricate manipulations blended together into a beautiful tune, a stalemate accompanied by the endless staccato scraping of metal against metal.

Except, she was advancing.

Two steps back and three steps forward… slowly but surely, the woman’s efficient dance brought her closer to the monster. She was patient; her graceful hops, ducks and turns brought made use of all available space.

It was no longer than a few seconds - yet no less than a century, it seemed - before her dagger found its way into the eyeball; it caught both Joakim and the monster by surprise. The tentacle attacked, but she was already gone; it instead struck the eyeball, creating a second slice. Taking advantage of the distraction, she gripped the creature’s own gruesome weapon, held it in place and began sawing it with her dagger.

A deep, animalistic yell echoed off the walls of the ruins as blue liquid leaking from the eyeball and tentacle coated the surroundings. The blade squirmed inside the gash it made, held in by the woman’s iron grip as her dagger continued its journey down. The creature was helpless, and tormented.

Finally, the tentacle came apart. The section still attached to the creature began swinging as if its end was a fly trapped in a box; the mouth stretched wide and released a scream – a visceral, horrifying scream – to echo across the walls of the tunnel.

She held onto the blade, still stuck inside the deflating eye, and pushed. The creature squirmed, its sores excreted rapidly, the tentacle swung even faster; all while the blade, then her arms, moved further into its head. The scream came into a crescendo, then abruptly cut off.

The tentacle flopped down. All Joakim could hear was the soft trickle of its blood spilling out onto the stone, a stark contrast from the metallic percussion and ear-piercing yells. She pulled the blade out – it was covered in pink chunks, which she carefully wiped off using the body.

“Im… pressive.”

His voice came as little more than a croak. He continued, to no-one in particular. He spoke with the conviction and wistfulness of a man with the knowledge that every next breath, every next word is borrowed. If not for his curse, he would not have even been conscious at this point in time.

“It feels… strange. Whenever I thought… about spending my last momen-”

A cough, weak. A few more blotches of red seeped through his knot, adding to the growing red pool; the flow was slowing. The many times he inhaled were accompanied by an unending and unyielding gurgle.

“I thought I’d… think of my family… my… children. I would… remember them even… while I was… alive, that was what… drove me…”

His arms had fallen limp by his sides. The man’s eyes appeared to be staring into a single spot on the ground, for he could not see. Vampires never lose consciousness, but they do die.

“…drove …to frame my brother, then… escape… or, try to…”

His head rolled down. His own voice sounded distant, quiet; he didn’t notice it was now no more than a whisper. The gurgling was becoming quieter.

“…now, I don’t… think… all I want now… blood… give me some, before I… go…”

Amelia paused, then dropped her blade. She wiped her blue hand on one of the few remaining unstained sections of her white overalls, then touched the wound on her leg. With a bloodied finger, she kneeled and traced a red line on his cold, stiff lips.

The body lay in its own blood, motionless, unresponsive.

She stood up, picked up the blade, and continued on.

She didn’t look back.