22
“Sir... it's Vangzali. She's dead.”
“What happened?”
“Two runaways broke into her apartment and killed her. They used her pendant to escape.”
The High Vistor clutched the arm of his throne. The news disappointed him immensely, and someone had to die for it.
“Who were they?” He said, his voice rasping like stone on steel.
“From the footage we secured, we’ve identified a shifter male. Logan Nash, property of Jago Vangzali, and a female vampire, Ruth Summers, property of Igo Kasper.”
“Bring Kasper. Now.”
Igo Kasper was drinking in a captain’s bar when the messenger arrived. He dismissed it as a poor joke at first, but then the messenger presented the Vistor’s official seal. The arrogant smile had dropped from his face as soon as he realized the gravity of the situation.
“When?”
“Now.”
Kasper appeared before the Vistor a few minutes later.
“State your name Warden.”
“Igo Kasper, Sir.” The vampire trembled back.
“Jago Vangzali is dead, killed by two prisoners. One of them belonged to you.”
Kasper’s whole body shook in fear. “No sir, not possible, I’ve had no prisoners sir, I’ve not—”
“Silence!” The Vistor shouted, his voice echoing across the dark hall like a war drum. “You brought her here. Ruth Summers. An unregistered arrest, an unregistered escape.” He shook his head and spat onto the high polished marble floor. “You are unfit to be a Warden.”
“No, sir!” Kasper begged. “It was a mistake sir, I assure you!”
“You think it's appropriate to second guess my judgment?”
Silence answered.
“That’s what I thought. For your failure you have signed your own death warrant. Should you wish to live, there is only one way of removing that fate. Find and capture this girl. If you do not bring her back the next time you return. You are deceased. Is that clear?”
Kasper nodded his head, leaving as a trembling and shaking wreck mere seconds away from stinking of piss.
The Vistor returned to his private palace after the summons. The news of Vangzali’s death had been most unwelcome. Vangzali was an instrumental part in taking down the dynasties. With her death, the Vistor would have to start again, finding a new way to remove the families and make the prophecy fail.
Distribution of Black Fang crawled to a halt since Vangzali’s death, but they had accrued a good stockpile. She had been the one in charge of its production and strategic dispersal. In her absence, the spread of the disease had stalled. Vampires on the outside suspected that Black Fang had disappeared, and started to drink from humans again. The Vistor didn’t mind this too much. When he found someone suitable to replace Vangzali, they would infect humans again. With the elevated stockpiles, Black Fang would spread faster than ever, starving thousands of vampires every night.
Every vampire that died gave him a better chance of toppling the prophecy. Bringing the prophecy to failure was the only thing that mattered.
“And as for you.” The Vistor said while looking through Vangzali’s files. “Ansel Draco… it seems you are the last living descendant of Vladimir Vrakos.”
Vladimir Vrakos. The original vampire. The immortal son of Lucifer who vanished thousands of years ago. The Vistor pulled the picture of Draco closer, noticing a faint resemblance between them.
“I'm surprised I still have heirs living to this day. Even after I tried so hard to kill them all.”
The Vistor learned a long time ago that direct descendants of his were the only vampires that could really challenge his power, so he’d killed them all. Now Draco was on his radar, it was worrying. The Vistor wanted no one to stand in his way. With Draco alive, there was a chance the prophecy might be saved. That wasn’t an option for the Vistor.
Vangzali was the only other one who knew his secret. The Vistor was Vladimir Vrakos, and he’d lived under this false title for the last few centuries. It had been 10,000 years since The Vistor had last known sleep. 10,000 years of suffering. As a mortal man, his dream had been to rule the earth. After defeating Lucifer’s army, the dark prince himself cursed the Vistor with immortal life. He was the first and the immortal vampire, never able to know death, never able to know peace. How he envied Vangzali, and every other creature just like her. A bullet to the head couldn’t kill the Vistor, and he should know. He’d tried countless ways over the last millennium to kill himself, but nothing ever worked. He was invulnerable and invincible, cursed to this walking nightmare for the rest of time.
But now there was this prophecy, and with it there was promise of an end. If the prophecy failed, then all vampires would die. Surely that meant he could finally die too?
There was only one way to find out.