Hunt In Reverse

The butler bristled with indignation. It was one thing for the county executive's expert to recognize Sergeant Kane, but how did this stranger, brought here by Miss Rose, also know him?

A chilling thought crossed his mind. If they were all acquainted, then what vampires was there to eliminate? He feared they might be in league, plotting to devour the Hightower family from within.

Wade's expression hardened.

His initial suspicion solidified the moment the young man in black spoke. The tone, the arrogance... it was all too familiar, echoing the numerous vampires who had sauntered into town, demanding fresh meat or young women.

I stood silently, my face impassive, unaffected by the young man's insolence. After a long moment, I spoke, my voice calm but firm. "Everyone, please leave the room."

The moment the butler heard these words, he wished to slap himself for bringing cops here on a whim. As if the situation wasn't chaotic enough already!

The idle gossipers outside believed the rumors, but how could he, after managing the Hightower Mansion for so many years, be so easily swayed?

"Just look at the police force," he grumbled under his breath. "Do they even look like a vamp-slaying unit?"

As the flustered butler turned and left the room, Wade remained silent. His eyes flickered between the sergeant and the stranger, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his dagger. He couldn't shake the suspicion that this was a tactic to lower the vamp's guard, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

After a tense pause, Wade exhaled a defeated sigh and reluctantly raised his hands. "Yes, sir," he conceded, trailing the butler out of the cottage.

... ...

As they exited, they encountered the Wiry Samurai and Butcher Garcia in the courtyard. The samurai's face softened slightly at the sight of the butler's frustrated expression.

"See?" he said, a smug smile playing on his lips. "He's just a young hothead, got a bit of luck and now he can't see straight. It takes a fall from grace to teach some people humility."

"Which of us hasn't had our own good fortune, which of us isn't a genius in our own right?" he continued. "But who else is as ungrateful and arrogant as him?"

"A fool is a fool, and rotten wood cannot be carved," the Wiry Samurai concluded, his tone dismissive.

Butcher Garcia, seemingly uninterested in his colleague's gloating, squatted down, plucked a blade of grass, and chewed on it thoughtfully, his expression returning to its usual stoicism.

Wade, however, recoiled at the Wiry Samurai's words. The so-called "expert" suddenly seemed less impressive, even repulsive.

No matter how incompetent Sergeant Kane had been in the past, he had single-handedly faced the horrors of Tukwila and returned with a truckload of vamp heads, all for a meager two-thousand-dollar salary.

This man, on the other hand, had been in Pinewood County for weeks without lifting a finger, content to criticize and belittle others. Was he truly worth sixty thousand a month?

"Something on your mind, young man?" The Wiry Samurai's voice cut through Wade's thoughts, his sinister eyes piercing the air.

He could tolerate Kane's defiance, recognizing the potential of a fellow First Realm warrior. But a mere officer daring to show him such open disrespect was unacceptable.

His black coat billowed as he extended a skeletal hand, its fingers curling into a predatory claw. A surge of oppressive energy enveloped Wade, pinning him in place.

Wade's face paled, his teeth clenched against the overwhelming pressure.

Normally, he understood the importance of restraint, of bowing his head and accepting his place. But today, a fire burned in his chest, fueled by righteous indignation.

With a defiant snarl, he drew his pistol, the gleam of metal catching the dim light.

"Since when does a private security firm have the right to interfere in official police business?!" he roared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. "Sergeant Kane serves the people, not you! Who are you to criticize him? Hold your tongue!"

The Wiry Samurai stood frozen, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.

The butler's legs trembled, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

People from private security firms were most afraid of the suspicion and suppression from H.A.R.M. The Wiry Samurai's fury simmered, his expression dripping with a murderous intent.

This insolent officer would have to shed that uniform sooner or later... Did he truly believe his sergeant could shield him indefinitely?

Only Butcher Garcia remained unfazed, squatting on the ground, chewing thoughtfully on a blade of grass. After a moment, he spat it out and let out a silent chuckle.

His gaze drifted towards the cottage, curiosity piqued.

Interesting, interesting, he thought. This officer didn't unsheathe his weapon against the vamp, but couldn't resist drawing it after a few words against his superior. What kind of leader commanded such loyalty and respect?

… …

In stark contrast to the commotion outside, a tense silence filled the cottage.

The young man in the black shirt casually flicked his wrist, sauntering over to Kevin Stone's remains. With a hint of contempt, he tore off the remaining half of the arm and began to gnaw on it.

"Saved me the trouble of a long explanation," he remarked, his tone nonchalant. "I know the rules. Just call me Master Seven from now on."

I observed him dispassionately, neither revulsion nor pity stirring within me. I had witnessed too many scenes of similar brutality. The only disturbance I felt was a pang of regret that a fellow vamp hunter had fallen.

"It's not that I blame you," Master Seven continued, his voice laced with a hint of irritation. "She told me I could come to you if I needed anything. I waited patiently, but you never showed up. I had to take matters into my own hands."

He paused, tearing off another chunk of flesh. "From now on, I'll be coming here every three days. Don't worry, I won't overstay my welcome. A few months at most."

I let him continue his gruesome feast. The reason why I let the others go out was just because of this one question: "Where is she?"

"What, Master Seven's words don't carry weight? Does she have to tell you herself?" Master Seven grumbled, his brow furrowed as he devoured the meat. He strode towards me, his gaze intense.

He wiped the blood from his lips, his voice impatient. "She's been out enjoying herself for a while now. Gone back to North Cliff to visit her mother. She'll be back in a couple of days. If you let Master Seven go hungry, I'll deal with you myself, even without her orders."

Suddenly, he noticed a disappointed frown marrying the young cop's brow, a subtle shift in his expression… It's similar to when himself was a cub, digging into a rabbit hole expecting a whole nest, only to find a lone, scrawny rabbit.

Our eyes met, and a chilling coldness radiated from mine.

Master Seven's face paled, and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. A tremor ran through his body, his posture rigid with fear. It was a visceral response to imminent danger.

A heavy silence descended upon the room.

… …

Wade's face paled, his grip on the pistol tightening. The Wiry Samurai stood opposite, his expression cold and unyielding. Caught between them, Hightower's butler looked like a trapped animal, desperate to flee the escalating tension.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash shattered the tense silence. The ornate mahogany door splintered into a thousand pieces as a dark figure hurtled through the air, a crimson spray erupting from his mouth.

The impact sent shockwaves through the courtyard, the stone pavement cracking beneath the weight of the falling body. The figure rolled several times before coming to a stop, a groan escaping his lips.

Butcher Garcia, unshaken, rose to his feet with a casual air. The butler, however, clutched his head in pain, a low moan escaping his lips.

The Wiry Samurai's composure faltered, his mouth open in disbelief. Wade stood frozen, his pistol held limply at his side. All eyes turned towards the gaping hole where the door once stood.

Amidst the swirling dust and debris, a tall figure emerged, his police uniform impeccably crisp, as if untouched by the chaos.