The night reeked of iron.
Sky smelled it before he saw it — blood, old and fresh, splattered through the alley behind the university block. His pulse kicked. His wolf stirred.
Then came the sound — the faint, broken sob of a human.
He moved.
By the time he reached the narrow passage, it was already too late for some.
Five students — barely more than kids — surrounded by shapes that didn't belong to any world of man. The air shimmered around them, thick with rot and void-magic.
The creatures hissed, their eyes slick and black, their bodies stretched wrong — like shadows that had learned to walk.
Two humans lay crumpled in red, eyes glassy.
Two more barely breathed.
One girl still conscious — trembling, clutching her friend's hand, blood on her cheek — looked up as Sky stepped in.
"Run," he said softly.
Then the first creature lunged.
Sky moved on instinct. His body knew this rhythm — the dance of death.
Claws tore at his jacket, teeth scraped his shoulder, and he slammed his palm against the creature's skull, silver light cracking through its body like lightning through glass. It screamed — not in sound but in vibration — and exploded into ash.
The others hesitated. Only for a breath. Then they attacked together.
Sky spun, kicking one backward, catching another by the throat. But there were three, and he couldn't protect the humans and fight all at once. His knuckles split open; his breath came sharp. He could feel the light humming in his veins, the Guardian's power begging to be unleashed.
No. Not here. Not yet.
He tried to hold back.
But then the girl screamed — a creature dragging her by the leg, claws slicing through her jeans.
That was enough.
Sky's eyes burned gold.
He let the power take him.
The world erupted in silver.
Light exploded from his chest, from the mark near his heart — pure, searing, ancient. The creatures shrieked, convulsing as the brilliance ripped through them, dissolving flesh to vapor. The street cracked, glass shattered, and the night bent under the force of it.
When the light faded, silence followed — thick, unnatural.
The girl lay fainted but alive. The others—he didn't dare check.
Sky staggered, blood trickling from his nose. His veins glowed faintly silver beneath his skin — every pulse burning like molten metal.
Then something slammed into his back.
A fourth creature — hidden. Waiting.
Its claws sank deep. Pain shot white-hot through his ribs. Sky roared, twisting, stabbing his dagger through its throat — the silver blade flaring as it died.
He fell to one knee, vision swimming. His chest mark burned so bright it lit the street.
That was when he felt it.
A pull — electric, ancient, intimate.
His mark answering another.
Nani.
The Supreme's power brushed against his, like a whisper through the dark: cold, commanding, protective.
He's coming.
Sky clenched his jaw, pushing himself to his feet. "Stay down," he rasped to the unconscious humans. "Help's coming."
The shadows behind him shifted. The wind howled. His heart stuttered once, then steadied.
And somewhere above the rooftops, the sky cracked — thunder rolling where no storm had been.
---
The air split with a sound like the world breaking.
Nani landed soundlessly on the cracked pavement — the scent of blood, smoke, and burnt ozone hit him first. His eyes flared gold. His breath turned to frost.
The ward he had cast across the district was shattering, one sigil after another, under the pressure of the Guardian's power.
And then he saw him.
Sky.
Half-kneeling amidst the ruin, his body trembling, the light still spilling from his chest like molten silver. The glow carved through the night, pure and terrible, burning the air itself. His shirt was gone, the mark of the Guardian seared bright against his skin — and right above it, Nani's own sigil, pulsing in answer.
"Sky."
Nani's voice barely left his throat, almost devoured by the hum of power.
The light was beautiful, yes — but to him, it was death.
It licked at his skin like fire. The Guardian's light — the only force that could burn a vampire's blood from within.
He stepped closer anyway.
Sky turned, his eyes half-gold, half-silver — lost between pain and fury.
"Stay back," he rasped, voice shredded. "I can't control it—"
But Nani was already beside him, hand outstretched.
The moment his palm met Sky's shoulder, his own blood ignited.
The Supreme gasped — the sound tearing through the storm of light.
His body arched violently as the Guardian's radiance tore into him, veins burning from within, bleeding crimson and gold beneath his skin. Smoke curled where their marks met — the scent of singed flesh, iron, and wild electricity filled the air.
The contact was agony.
Every pulse of Sky's power seared through him like molten sunlight, eating away at centuries of darkness. His own blood hissed against it — ancient, defiant, trying to hold shape against something divine. Sparks erupted between them, fracturing the night like shattered glass.
The light wanted to destroy him. The curse demanded it.
The Guardian's touch — sacred and pure — was death to what he was. The light burned his shadows, unmade his darkness, called him by names he no longer remembered.
But Nani didn't let go.
His fingers dug deeper into Sky's shoulder, holding him through the blinding brilliance. His own sigil came alive, the black ink along his chest and throat flaring molten red, crawling like living fire up his neck and jaw, glowing through his veins like liquid magma. His fangs bared — not in hunger, but in defiance.
Sky's voice broke through the roar, ragged, terrified.
"Stop— you'll burn! Please—"
His golden eyes — wild and pained — locked on Nani's face, horrified by what he'd done, what he was doing to him.
Nani's lips twisted into a half-smile — desperate, tender, and wrecked.
"Then I'll burn with you," he rasped, the words trembling through clenched teeth.
The light flared once more — blinding, roaring, divine.
And still he held on.
The energy between them became a storm, sacred and cursed.
The Guardian's light — meant to purify.
The Vampire's blood — meant to devour.
Two forces that should never meet, yet always find each other.
The curse born of the Mara — Blood and Moon can never intertwine — clawed at their connection, trying to tear them apart, to erase what wasn't meant to exist.
And still they clung to one another, bound by something older than the curse itself.
Nani roared — a sound ancient and inhuman — forcing his power to yield, to wrap around Sky's light, to cage it, calm it, cradle it.
His blood answered the Guardian's call. Ancient command met divine instinct.
And slowly — agonizingly — the chaos bent to his will.
The silver light softened to gold. The roar faded to a hum.
The night stilled.
Smoke rose from Nani's skin. His arm trembled, half his sleeve burned away, flesh charred where their marks had met. But his eyes — molten gold, fierce and fragile — stayed fixed on the man in his arms.
Sky slumped forward, breathing shallow, the glow under his skin dimming.
The Guardian's mark pulsed once — then went quiet.
Nani's body shook with exhaustion and pain. He should have collapsed. Instead, he caught Sky against him, pulling him close — as if even now, the world might try to take him away.
"Always the same," he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking through blood and smoke. "Always burning me… and I still can't let go."
The air smelled of ash, moonlight, and love cursed by the gods.
Then the sound of footsteps — hurried, metallic — broke the air.
----
When William and his team arrived, the smell of ozone and blood hit first — sharp, metallic, sacred.
The earth was scorched in a perfect circle, trees around them bowed and blackened, their leaves trembling as if in prayer.
And in the center stood Nani.
His once-pristine shirt was torn open, burned at the edges. Smoke curled from his skin where light and shadow still warred beneath the surface — the faint shimmer of gold tracing his veins like dying fire. His hand was locked around the unconscious wolf in his arms.
Sky's head rested against his chest, bare skin streaked with soot and ash, his guardian mark dimly glowing near his heart — intertwined with Nani's sigil, both pulsing in slow unison.
For a moment, none of them moved.
Even the air refused to breathe.
William stepped forward first — quiet, deliberate — his eyes taking in every detail.
The damage. The power residue. The scent of burned divinity.
He had seen his lord in battle, in fury, in centuries of bloodshed…
but never like this.
"My Lord…" he breathed, the title trembling. "You're bleeding."
Nani didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed downward, somewhere between the boy's face and the memory of a thousand years.
His expression — unreadable, terrible, and heartbreakingly human — told William everything.
The Supreme Vampire, the First Blood, the creature who could command death itself — was standing in the ashes of his own undoing, holding the one being who could destroy him.
"He called the light," Nani murmured, voice rough and low, like gravel soaked in sorrow. "And I tried to cage it."
His fingers brushed Sky's hair back, an almost tender gesture — one that didn't belong to a monster.
"He doesn't know what it does to me," he whispered, more to himself than to them. "He never remembers."
William's throat tightened. He wanted to ask who Nani meant — what he meant — but something in the air warned him not to.
The ancient wards still shimmered faintly, the kind that burned through even a vampire's shadow. One wrong word, and the street itself might turn to ash.
Gawin and Billkin exchanged stunned glances. They'd heard their master fight armies, tear apart creatures with his bare hands — but never bleed. Never waver.
Never hold someone like this.
Finally, William stepped closer, carefully. "We should move, my Lord. The humans— the bodies—"
Nani's golden eyes flicked up, sharp and unyielding again — the Supreme returning to his throne in a single blink.
"Clean it," he said, the command soft but absolute. "No one must know the Guardian was here."
"Yes, my Lord." William gestured quickly to the others, who moved with silent precision, erasing traces of battle as if it were a sin.
Then, as William turned back, he saw Nani one last time — standing amid the ruin, the moonlight washing over him and the unconscious wolf in his arms.
Smoke drifted up from his skin. Blood marked his collar. And still, even wounded, he looked untouchable — like a god who'd chosen, against every law of heaven and hell, to love something mortal.
William swallowed hard, forcing composure.
"You'll destroy yourself for him," he muttered under his breath.
"And you'll still call it mercy."
Nani's gaze flicked briefly toward him — sharp, ancient, and knowing.
A faint, broken smile ghosted across his lips.
"It always is."
And with that, he vanished — the night swallowing them both.
Only the faint echo of power remained, humming through the burned soil like a heartbeat that refused to die.