Solen awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the bed so fast it woke Falin.

  'Did you hear that?' he said.

  'Hear what?' said Falin.

  'The clashing.'

  Solen leapt onto his feet and stormed into the kitchen. He looked out the window and reeled. Two figures fought in the street; they were blurs of unimaginable speed, so fast Solen could barely make out that they both wielded swords. It was the Hunter, battling a tall, pale male human.

  It was the vampire, and it caused cold terror to clasp his heart.

  'Daddy?'

  He spun to find Kelth approaching from the hallway.

  'Kelth. What are you doing awake?'

  'I heard you wake up, Dad,' she said and looked out the window.

  'Jaroai,' said Kelth, reeling. 'Is that-that the vampire?'

  Solen didn't answer; he couldn't, he was so in awe. His eyes had adjusted, and he could somewhat follow the fight now. Solin was just a miner; he'd never even seen a sword until this night. He'd heard of the Hunters. That they were skilled and powerful, but he never imagined they were that good, that fast.

  What the hell was this Anargrin? He was no average elf — no normal mortal.

  What the hell was a Hunter?

  Solen knew he should get Falin and Kelth and run out into the night. But what good would it do? That vampire was beyond anything Solen imagined.

  If it won, there was no point in running; it would catch them no matter what they did.

  And kill them.

  Anargrin parried yet another killing blow. The parry's timing and precision were perfect; it had to be or else he'd be sent stumbling or worse, disarmed by the vampire's superior power.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  Anargrin sidestepped a thrust, then weaved under a horizontal cut and cursed beneath his breath. He could sense them now. Many of the locals were awake, watching the fight.

  Anargrin danced and darted through a flurry of thrusts, then riposted into a downward, diagonal slice. The vampire attempted to back-peddle, but he wasn't fast enough, and Anargrin cut across his chest. Blackened muscle and black ichor burst from the wound.

  The vampire just laughed and threw a front kick that sent Anargrin stepping. Anargrin had cut the bastard numerous times now, but none would even slow the vampire.

  Anargrin slid from a slash aimed at his leg and parried a stab. He riposted with an upward cut for the vampire's elbow. But the vampire pulled his arm back, and Anargrin missed by less than a millimetre. Anargrin dashed forward, into a horizontal cut. The vampire ducked it and threw a hook punch at Anargrin's throat. Anargrin weaved from its path and cut diagonally upward, sending the vampire reeling back.

  The pause caused the fatigue to hit Anargrin. His instincts screamed he'd been at this for three minutes now; he'd never taken part in such a long duel.

  'Who are you?' Anargrin said.

  The vampire barked out a laugh. 'Do you think I am so foolish that I would give you my name?'

  'What? Are you afraid you'll lose?'

  'I am not going to fall for such petty baiting, Hunter. I am old enough and wise enough not to. So do not even try.'

  Anargrin frowned, then lunged and cut, causing the vampire to slide back. Anargrin flowed on, into a vertical over-slice, the vampire parried. Anargrin ducked the cross-cut counter and then sidestepped the vampire's thrust. Anargrin lunged away from the vampire's low slice, then darted away a few metres more.

  He couldn't keep this up much longer, but he needed to last at least two more minutes.

  The vampire charged into a stab, Anargrin slid aside of it and parried the following horizontal slash.

  Anargrin's counter was a diagonal cut that forced the vampire back again. Anargrin shuffled to gain more space racking his thoughts to figure a way to delay the fight, to live long enough.

  His first thought was to run and hide, but the vampire's vision could pierce the darkness with ease, and even if Anargrin managed it, the bastard might start killing innocents to lure Anargrin from hiding.

  So Anargrin clenched his teeth and held his ground, despite his limbs beginning to ache, his heart leaping in his throat, and his muscles feeling like they were made of silk.

  The vampire barked a laugh.

  'Are you tiring, little elf?' the vampire sneered. 'You Hunters are so much better than mortals, yet so very normal. Although there is one thing I do find confusing, you have just used your sword. All you Hunters are supposed to have magical potential. Why have you not used it? I know your kind do not often use magic, wishing to hide it from the church. Resorting to it only in times of desperation, but the stench of desperation comes off you like the aura from a priest.'

  Anargrin didn't reply, unwilling to admit his infamous inability to use magic.

  The vampire licked his teeth with a slug-like tongue, then, without a further word, charged.