Guilt
The shrill of the creature's final cries still rang in the tight alleyway, a song of beauty and justice.
John looked on, the corpse still. Sometimes they attempted to fake it, catch him unaware, but he was slowly learning, slowly beginning to trust his heightened inhuman senses.
There was no soft thump of a barely beating heart, no breathing, no circulation of the blood beneath the skin. This often meant nothing when dealing with the creatures.
Minutes passed and only then he was sure that the blood sucker was dead. His footsteps were silent in the concrete while he approached and leaned down over the vampire.
She had been beautiful, once. Fine features, high cheekbones, full lips still twisted back in a snarl. Even her fangs were not so terrible. He risked a smile at that thought. Beauty should not go to such waste.
John set to work removing the fangs, one more beautiful pair for his collection.
In all the months that he had spent hunting, honing his skills, becoming better than Hunter, racking up a kill count, he had never again found the one that had made him. He didn't feel anger anymore, either, but... unrest. He wanted to know why. He wanted to kill him and be done with it all.
The fangs were threaded through the string, joining his collection, which he then tied around his neck, listening to the very soft sounds they made while he moved.
A movement caught his attention, just beyond his vision. A girl stood at the mouth of the allay, staring down, wide eyed at him. He could see her, scantily clad, heavy make up, ready for the clubs.
“John? Is that... is that you? Brother?” The last word barely a whisper, yet all too audible to him.
It was as if a bullet had hit him, straight to the heart. His breath stopped and he stared, wide eyed, at the girl. His... his sister. They thought he was dead, the hunters had told them he was dead, how could she recognise him? When he was in the dark, when he was supposed to be dead.
“John...” she began to approach, reluctant but determined steps, was she insane?!
He turned and ran.
John looked on, the corpse still. Sometimes they attempted to fake it, catch him unaware, but he was slowly learning, slowly beginning to trust his heightened inhuman senses.
There was no soft thump of a barely beating heart, no breathing, no circulation of the blood beneath the skin. This often meant nothing when dealing with the creatures.
Minutes passed and only then he was sure that the blood sucker was dead. His footsteps were silent in the concrete while he approached and leaned down over the vampire.
She had been beautiful, once. Fine features, high cheekbones, full lips still twisted back in a snarl. Even her fangs were not so terrible. He risked a smile at that thought. Beauty should not go to such waste.
John set to work removing the fangs, one more beautiful pair for his collection.
In all the months that he had spent hunting, honing his skills, becoming better than Hunter, racking up a kill count, he had never again found the one that had made him. He didn't feel anger anymore, either, but... unrest. He wanted to know why. He wanted to kill him and be done with it all.
The fangs were threaded through the string, joining his collection, which he then tied around his neck, listening to the very soft sounds they made while he moved.
A movement caught his attention, just beyond his vision. A girl stood at the mouth of the allay, staring down, wide eyed at him. He could see her, scantily clad, heavy make up, ready for the clubs.
“John? Is that... is that you? Brother?” The last word barely a whisper, yet all too audible to him.
It was as if a bullet had hit him, straight to the heart. His breath stopped and he stared, wide eyed, at the girl. His... his sister. They thought he was dead, the hunters had told them he was dead, how could she recognise him? When he was in the dark, when he was supposed to be dead.
“John...” she began to approach, reluctant but determined steps, was she insane?!
He turned and ran.