Chapter 6

Walking through the dark city streets, Nicholas had a premonition that the night would not be as peaceful as it seemed; the shiver down his spine kept him on high alert, his eyes subtly scanning every dark corner.

Renegades were lurking nearby, and he secretly hoped they would step forward to provide him with an action-packed night with only the moon as a witness. Sketching a half-smile, he leaned against the massive streetlight that illuminated the small, deserted sidewalk.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched every movement on the other side of the street. A small bat circled, attracted by the streetlight that barely lit the entrance to a newly opened bar.

Humans stood in line, anxiously trying to get into the event of the moment—the so-called highlight of the week—entirely unaware of the danger they were in.

To him, it was just another bar, with music and endless alcohol as the main attractions, but also a siren call for those who thought the night was ripe for a good hunt.

Renegades were bloodthirsty vampires who operated outside the vampire laws, using humans as prey and hunting them without restraint.

Nicholas retreated further into the shadows, concealing his presence from the mortals.

One might think he would pass unnoticed among the humans with his leather jacket, black t-shirt, dark jeans, and combat boots—a trendy style—but that was not the case. If it weren't for the fact that he drew attention due to his size—a good thirty centimeters taller than the average human—his warrior-like bearing made many look at him with caution.

Training every day since his transformation, he had become an expert fighter in various martial arts, his body developing in accordance with his training—a difference noticed at first glance.

He could add two sharp, long, and deadly fangs, along with a thirst for blood that, if left uncontrolled, could create massive massacres.

In truth, with all these reasons and more, he was very different from the humans. He appeared to be thirty-two, but in reality, he was one hundred and eighty years old.

He had lived long enough to observe the changes throughout the world, accompanied by his blood brother, Mateus, to whom he had sworn loyalty when they created the clan.

The "Independent" clan emerged from the underground, opposing the cruel Masters who thirsted for power over all the vampires on Earth.

It was a clan that had earned respect hundreds of years ago by defending the weak, taking up their fights, and granting them asylum when they said "enough" to the abuses suffered by their creators, proving to the ancients that vampires could choose their family, their home, and their clan.

Much blood had been shed—a necessary cost for victory—and like in all wars, there were many losses, but in the end, they were not in vain.

The intent of the ancients, who wished to create nothing but slaves to their whims, was annihilated.

Now, with the passing years, they were the Law—a status achieved with strong warriors with powers developed to the limit, loyal to the cause, capable of judging and punishing those who dishonored the race and endangered its existence.

Across the street, the bar began to receive its first customers: teenagers looking for fun and drinks—just like so many others waiting for the same thing, though the difference was that, here, they would be the drinks and the entertainment.

Sensing the shift in the environment, he felt in his skin that the night was about to become interesting. Supernatural energy quickly surrounded him.

Lifting his gaze and analyzing the rooftops, he noted shadows in motion—a warning that attacks were imminent. Letting his predatory side take over, his green eyes darkened to black, and his sharp fangs inevitably throbbed in his gums, descending like two sharp daggers. Like a mist, he crossed the road, becoming inert and silent, waiting in the darkness.

The scent of a human quickly emerged, accompanied by a low moan.

Without warning, he leaped onto the vampire who was drinking from the female's jugular, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him with force against the side wall of the building.

The dull thud of the body falling indicated he was likely unconscious before hitting the ground. He checked the human's pulse—faint, but still strong enough for her memory to be wiped and for her to be compelled to go straight home. For her, the night had ended before it had even begun.

Nicholas growled inwardly, scanning the perimeter.

Concentrated, he advanced with confidence, without any fear, simply looking for another target to take down. He could sense them, hiding there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Simply seeing the victims of these bastards was enough to push him over the edge.

Vampires had their consensual donors; they did not need to take precious lives—after all, they should be caring for them, as their blood gave them life.

Thus, sending them to hell was his duty and his right, and he would do it without hesitation.

The silence became heavy. He remained alert to any movement; he was prepared, more than they imagined.

It lasted a second, the time it took to hear the war cry of one of the wretches wielding a firearm. His eyes, blood-red, shone with rage, and his fangs threatened him, which, deep down, became hilarious.

Quickly, Nicholas disarmed him with a precise strike, followed by another, blocking the punch that came next.

Without further delay, he limited the vampire's movements, grabbing him by the neck with supernatural strength; his bones creaked under the ferocious grip.

Without loosening his hold, he continued to apply pressure until the renegade lost consciousness, all while feeling the heat of the ambush.

Another renegade emerged behind his back, attempting to stab him, shrouded in the shadows of treachery.

With a wry smile and his predatory instinct, Nicholas waited until the enemy was as close as possible, spinning around the moment the bastard raised his arm, prepared to see his blood spill.

"Not today, not here!" Nicholas declared mentally, turning halfway and delivering an elbow strike.

He defended against the blow that could have been fatal, feeling the thin blade tear his t-shirt. The smell of blood made him even more savage, which impelled him to punch the bastard's face squarely between the eyes.

He fell stunned, and Nicholas used the renegade's own weapon to send him to hell, or wherever he belonged.

The sound of flesh tearing as the blade pierced his chest indicated that one more minute and it would all be over.

His grunt accompanied the circular movement of the blade; a smile of satisfaction appeared as he met the renegade's perplexed gaze before he vanished into ashes.

These renegades were novices, having only recently lost themselves to bloodlust; they were not as careful as their leader, a vampire he had been hunting for over a decade.

Someone with above-average intelligence, leading a well-structured network of delinquents and criminals who had been turned into renegades. He was smart enough that only his disciples could be tracked.

But Nicholas was closer than ever to having the pleasure of meeting him, and he would put an end to these cruel murders once and for all.

They were endangering the invisible coexistence between humans; survival depended on living in the shadows without too much confusion or attention drawn to their world.

Shaking his head, Nicholas frowned, slightly incredulous when a vampire appeared, clapping and laughing hysterically with excessive confidence.

He watched attentively to see just how much of an idiot this renegade could be. His trembling finger on the trigger of a silver Colt showed he was not as sure of himself as he pretended to be.

Without changing his stance, Nicholas waited, eyes fixed on the barrel from which the fateful ammunition would emerge.

What that guy didn't know was Nicholas's ability to be faster than a bullet.

At the same time that the thought occurred, the gun was fired. Like a breeze, Nicholas approached at supernatural speed, grabbing the arm that held the weapon and circling around him.

Immediately, the sound of bone breaking filled the air, quickly gifting the renegade a chokehold where his ferocious strength silenced the victim's screams of pain. Without hesitation, Nicholas snapped his neck, declaring in a cold and ironic tone:

"Excessive confidence leads to this!"

In silence, he observed the renegade's body, inert but not dead; the fatal blow to the heart that would leave him in ashes and at peace was missing.

He was too young to become a vampire, let alone a renegade. Breathing deeply, he picked up the Colt, appreciating it before placing it behind his back, tucked into his pants.

A grunt caught his attention.

Surprised, he observed the first attacker, who was waking up from the initial blow, giving him the certainty that it was time to clear the area.