"Aaaaah" she screamed in pain as she covered her mouth with her hand. The cut was deep — a sharp gash that ran from the sole of her foot up to her ankle.
Blood trickled steadily, staining the snow beneath her in crimson streaks.
How much farther was the next village?
The forest was blanketed in frost, and th cold gnawed at her skin like teeth.
Amelein gasped for air, her breath visible in the freezing wind. She had been wandering through the woods for over an hour. Aside from the distant hoot of an owl and the eerie mewl of a wildcat, she was utterly alone.
Until she heard it — it was a faint sound... but distinct.
Footsteps...
But it was not hers. And it didn't sound natural.
She froze, and her breath caught in her throat. Something was coming. Or worse...Someone.
And she was certain it wasn't good company.
Her injured foot throbbed with pain, leaving her at a clear disadvantage. Her instincts screamed one word:
Run.
But her body was failing her. She was weak, and cold, also losing a lot of blood. So instead, she whispered a desperate prayer — not for strength, but for escape.
What if it was a vampire?
Or worse... a black witch?
Heart pounding, she ducked behind a thick tree. Its wide branches offered a small haven. She eased herself down, resting her weight on her good leg and stretching out the injured one across the forest floor.
Snow soaked through her dress. The pain was sharp. But she stayed silent. Still. Listening.
Meanwhile a little deeper into the forest away from the injured girl...
Dante moved through the trees with practiced ease, scanning for signs of black witch activity.
The deeper into the woods he walked, the thicker the fog grew — rising to his knees and swirling like restless spirits.
They called it the Heart of the Forest. A cursed place where even brave men refused to tread.
But Dante wasn't just any man.
He was there on council orders — or rather, because others in his department were too lazy to do their jobs. A black witch was rumored to have brewed a potion that dulled the will of humans, preparing for a massacre in a nearby village. And the attack was likely happening tonight.
He didn't come to play hero. He came to get answers.
Just as he reached an old, rotting cabin — barely large enough to pass for a storage shed — a sharp scent pierced the air.
Blood.
His fangs extended involuntarily. The craving was sudden, overwhelming. But this wasn't ordinary blood. It wasn't human.
What kind of creature bled like this?
He followed the scent through a dense cluster of trees that arched into a canopy above, forming a shadowed dome. Raising his short revolver, he gripped it tightly in both hands, every sense on high alert.
Then—something reached his ears... It was a sound.
A heartbeat. Slow, but oddly calm. Yet... near.
He narrowed his eyes.
There—beneath the branches—he spotted fabric. A dress. Then the silhouette of a woman slumped on the snowy ground.
What was a human female doing in this cursed part of the forest?
She didn't look like a witch. She looked... hurt.
As he stepped closer, she suddenly screamed—a high-pitched, desperate shriek.
Then he saw him.
A vampire—no, a deranged one.
Its glowing red eyes were unblinking, its nails elongated like claws. Snarling, it gripped the woman with both hands, digging its claws deep into her arms. Blood spilled freely.
Dante didn't hesitate.
He aimed at the erratic creature.
Bang !!!
The bullet struck clean through the creature's skull. The corrupted vampire collapsed, limbs twitching before falling still.
And then—
Two bodies hit the snow!