Rain hammered the estate. The windows, their solid iron shutters lashed shut, vibrated in their frames. Adding to the cacophony was the steady pounding of the front gates, a silver-tipped battering ram slamming into the wood again and again. Above, along the estate’s walkways, curse-bound skeletons traded fire with the besiegers. The torrential downpour made a mockery out of any attempt at accuracy, but neither side seemed inclined to let up; the humans were driven by zealotry and generational hatred, while the skeletons simply had no will of their own.

  In the great hall, a short corridor away from the buckling gates, a final stand was being mustered. Vampiric thralls, clad in plate armour of black and red, stood in small groups. Some were meditating by the feet of the hall’s pillars, others were talking, or sharing a last bottle of spiced blood. It could have looked normal, perhaps, if not for the tension. Behind them, on the landing where the great stairs met the tall stained-glass window before turning to the left and right, stood the mistress of this estate. She was a tall and collected noblewoman, her dark hair delicately braided and collected in a bun, while a slender sword hung from a gilded doe-leather belt that only somewhat matched the crimson gown she wore.

  “You must escape, my Lady,” said her companion, the only one allowed to stand on the landing with her. This one was a true warrior of the night, clad from head to toe in red-lacquered steel and burnished bronze, a slender dark silver greatsword with a ringed pommel held in one hand. It pointed down the stairs, as if the warrior was even now keeping the unseen - but not unheard - foes at bay.

  “Stella, you know as well as I do that there is no escaping this fate. Our own hubris saw to that,” the Lady sighed, one hand resting over the other on the pommel of her blade. “When even the kinslayer Dracula was laid low by these zealots…”

  “Then live to fight, my Lady. You know your aunt still remains secure to the south!” Stella exclaimed, her voice rising. She took a step forward, her free hand clenching, but then sighed and raised that hand to her chest. When next she spoke, her voice was quiet, meant for her lady alone. “Silla, I cannot have you die here, understand? Not to some humans! If you will not live for yourself, or for revenge, then please, live for me?”

  There was a pause, no doubt only a few seconds long, yet lasting an eternity to the two on the landing. Behind them the stained glass window’s shutters vibrated like a drum, while the gate - visible through the great hall’s open doors - splintered and groaned. They both glanced at it, and then at each other. Silla’s resistance lasted a few moments longer, her red eyes locked with the blue ones behind that demon-faced helmet. Then she abruptly looked away, whatever fight she had left leaving her in a sigh.

  “Very well,” she said, barely maintaining her noble posture. “But I expect you to join me at my aunt’s castle as soon as you can. Do you understand?”

  Then, in a lower voice:

  “Promise me, Stella.”

  “Very well, I promise,” Stella chuckled. She raised a hand to her helmet, pushing that demon-faced visor up to offer her lady a glimpse of her face. “I, Anastella of Fair Hollow, vow to rejoin my Lady Drusilla Sebastiane as soon as my business here is concluded.”

  Drusilla couldn’t help but to snicker at the formal vow, brushing at her eyes as if she could still form tears to wipe. Then she took a deep breath, and gave her champion a brave smile.

  “Then yes, I will leave you to it. Save as many of our people as you can.”

  Anastella nodded, and, feeling ever so brave, leaned in to place a soft-lipped peck on her Lady’s cheek. Taking a step back, she let her gaze linger for a moment before turning and walking down the stairs. Even as she shut her visor, she could hear Drusilla hurrying up and away. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she was met by Albert, the estate’s captain of the guard. Though the other thralls pretended not to listen in, she knew they were all focusing on her; all other conversation had stopped.

  “You managed to convince our Ladyship, then?” Albert asked, tightening the straps of his heather shield. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think a single one of us would be getting out of here alive. I’m glad our Lady will, at least.”

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  “You and me both, Ser Albert,” Anastella nodded. “I am afraid I might not be able to keep my vow, however.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “I swore to see myself and as many of you as possible to safety,” she explained, leading to a dry chuckle from Albert and scattered amusement among the guard.

  “That sure sounds like our Lady Drusilla,” Albert agreed. “If only all vampires were like her, maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

  “Maybe,” Anastella agreed. She reached into the black sash she wore around her waist and pulled out a small handkerchief, pristinely white. One end she tied around her armoured wrist, the other around the ring on her greatsword. The initials D.S were embroidered into the silken cloth, tied so that Anastella could see the stitching on her wrist. A little reminder what this was all for.

  Another boom rang out from the gate, louder this time; great cracks had formed in the ironoak, some large enough for thin beams of the stormy afternoon light to leak through. Almost immediately, the thralls leapt into action: the great hall’s doors of stained glass and bronze were shut, benches and tables and chairs were gathered and formed into barricades, crossbows were cocked and loaded. It didn’t take long before the gates shattered, bursting open with such force that wooden splinters tinkled against the inner doors like a pleasant bit of rain. Less pleasant was the charge that followed; humans, dozens of them, ran through the hallway to hack at the doors, breaking through the glass with a seemingly random smattering of weapons. Anastella could see spears, swords, axes, maces - but they were all dirty and battered and rusted, poorly kept and poorly made. With a gesture she ordered the thrall guard to fire, their fusillade piercing glass and human armour alike.

  The volley saw weapons fall away and fresh blood spatter the few shards of glass that still stubbornly clung to the bronze frame. It seemed like a rank or two of fallen men wouldn’t be enough to stop the assault, though; more and more surged forward, forcing the thralls to thrust over the barricades with spears as the crossbows reloaded. It was a slaughter, and for a moment Anastella dared to hope they might still win. Then, with a wave of searing light, that hope was dashed. Those thralls who didn’t take cover in time were burned, the golden rays turning their flesh to ash inside of their armour. Smoking piles of embers and scorched steel tumbled to the floor, the remaining thralls hard-pressed to hold the doorway. Another volley of crossbow bolts pushed the enemy back for a moment, but then the bronze frames of the doors burst open with such force that the barricades were toppled and pushed back, the thralls scrambling to avoid being crushed.

  Through the now-open doorway walked a tall man, his armour pure silver, the Church of Luminance’s dawning cross worked into the front of his greathelm in gleaming gold. The other humans cowered behind him, as if this knight was a shield to keep them safe. He carried a two-handed hammer with a head formed from a single, massive crystal, its striking face inlaid with text. There was a pause, as vampire and paladin sized each other up.

  Then two things happened at once: The paladin began to raise his hammer into the air, a gentle glow kindling within that crystal head, and Anastella burst forward, moving with the speed only one of her kind could manage. Her greatsword, held behind her, was swept up into a diagonal uppercut, one that the paladin only barely parried; he was pushed back, the light fading from his hammer. As if galvanised into action, human and vampire thrall alike surged into combat, their lines slamming together over the remnants of the barricades. The thralls held the upper hand in skill and equipment, but the humans seemed all but endless - and in the center of this battle, a fearsome duel took place.

  Anastella was fast, her greatsword moving in delicate arcs of razored death, and yet the paladin was a veteran of the Great War, more than able to hold his own against her. She slashed, he parried. He brought the hammer around for a sweep, she deftly danced away. Blow for blow they were evenly matched, but Anastella noticed the paladin was starting to slow down ever so slightly; blessed though he was, he was human. Pushing her advantage, she feigned weakness and stepped back. Blinded by an easy kill, the paladin surged forward, only for Anastella to leap high into the air; his hammer crashed into nothing but flagstone, and a moment later she descended, blade first, to drive the entire length of her sword into the side of his neck. For a moment they remained like that, the vampire crouched on top of the paladin, but then she kicked off into a backflip and dragged her greatsword out with her. She gracefully landed on her feet at the same time as his body struck the floor.

  Without taking even a moment to rest, Anastella surged forward, eviscerating four soldiers with a single sweep of her blade. Before she could manage a backswing, however, something grabbed her by the neck and threw her back. She twisted in mid-air and managed to land on the stairs in a crouch, sword held out to her side. Looking back to the battle, she saw the paladin on his feet once more; his armour was still soaked in his own blood, but a golden light flickered up from the wound in his neck. Her eyes moved to a woman stood in the doorway, behind a shieldwall of properly armoured soldiers, her raised staff emitting a soothing light that played around the paladin, already raising his hammer. Anastella tensed her legs to pounce, but she was too late; the paladin’s searing light was unleashed in full, bathing the great hall in the full radiance of the sun. The thralls were cast back, screaming as they burned. Anastella saw Albert swinging blindly with his sword, taking one of the humans with him even as he turned to embers and ash.

  She had rarely felt such pain as when she stood there, all but naked in the face of this wrathful light. Her entire body burned, and the stolen blood in her veins cooked. She roared, a wordless scream of defiance, and threw herself forward using every inch of speed available to her. Magic pulsing in her veins, she formed a veil of mist around herself that offered some protection from the light, but even as she crossed the entirety of the great hall in less than a second, she could see those mists burn away. To the humans, she simply vanished from the stairs, only to reappear in front of the paladin in the blink of an eye. She had thrust her greatsword forward like a lance and pierced his chest, blood running down the blade's fuller. Suffused with Luminance, the paladin didn’t even register the wound.

  He brought his hammer down, a thunderous blow that utterly bathed the vampire in its light while smiting her into the flagstones, leaving nothing but crumpled remains half-buried amidst stone and dirt.

  As her body burned, and her bones shattered, her final words were lost beneath the rain that hammered the estate.

  “S-Silla… forgive…”