Tuesday, 04:00 AM — Abandoned Factory.
A grotesque symphony echoed through the cavernous factory, metal beams trembling faintly under the vibrations of guttural, inhuman sounds. Shadows stretched and warped across the walls, flickering in the dim glow of broken overhead lamps.
There, a figure crouched over something—or someone—its movements deliberate, primal. Elongated nails scraped against flesh. Teeth, jagged and yellowed, tore with feral precision. Ears twitched like a predator tracking prey, crimson eyes gleaming against ashen, almost corpse-like skin. Each breath came in sharp, ragged puffs, a beast's growl rumbling deep from the chest.
Thud.
A mutilated body hit the cold concrete floor, blood pooling in dark rivulets that reflected the fractured light. The victim's gender was impossible to determine; all that remained was a fresh stain on the factory's gray, industrial floor.
A low, malevolent chuckle echoed, bouncing off steel and brick. "Hmm~ that was a nice meal. Should I look for more?" The voice carried a terrifying depth, an unnerving blend of human and monstrous tones. "So much fresh meat… hehehe."
He stood at two meters tall, a lean build that radiated controlled power. Designer clothing—expensive, immaculate—hugged his frame, a clear signal of someone born into the upper echelons of society. Every movement oozed confidence, yet his sharp gaze betrayed a hint of wariness.
"Wow~ what a mess you've made. Who's gonna clean it up? Got a maid or something?"
The voice was soft, gentle almost, but laced with mockery, curling into the man's ear like smoke.
He spun on his heel, leaping back instinctively, creating distance. Eyes narrowing, he studied the intruder. How did he get so close without me noticing? Unease knotted his chest. He could have ended me before I even knew what hit me.
Max mirrored the scrutiny, calm, calculating. Every twitch, every muscle contraction was noted. He's tough, Max thought. Go in for the kill now, and I won't succeed… might even get hurt.
"Vampire, huh?" Max's voice was casual, almost bored. "Can't say I'm surprised… though I was hoping for a werewolf."
The words were a calculated provocation, dismissing the man as background scenery. It worked. Anger flashed across the man's features—sharp and dangerous—a predator realizing he might have been underestimated.
Max's posture remained relaxed, but his eyes—cold, calculating—tracked every micro-movement, every possible opening. The predator had found another predator.
"Boy, you're very arrogant. Didn't your parents teach you to respect your elders?"
The man's voice slithered out, vicious and jagged.
Max's reaction wasn't fear. It was laughter—sharp, amused, almost musical in the echoing rot of the abandoned factory.
The man blinked, thrown off. Is he… brain dead? The thought flashed across his face like a neon sign.
Max tilted his head, eyes narrowing with mock offense. "Oi. You just thought something nasty about me, didn't you?"
The look on the man's face confirmed it. Max sighed and shook his head lightly, like a weary teacher dealing with an especially dumb student.
"Well… that settles it. You gotta die."
He said it casually, as if announcing the weather. Then, almost as an afterthought, his expression dipped—just a shade.
"But for the record, I don't have parents. They died when I was a baby. So nope—no one taught me how to respect my elders. Especially ones as disgusting as you."
Disdain dripped from every syllable, enough to curdle blood.
The man's jaw clenched, fury twisting his features. "Good. Very good. Then I'll just have to educate you myself—in their place."
His snarl cut the air like a blade.
The moment the word "parents" left his mouth, something inside Max snapped. His gaze dropped to a depth colder than grave ice. A quiet, lethal chill spread through the room, like winter had stepped inside.
"You'd better be able to back up those words," Max said, voice low—flat—dangerous.
It wasn't anger.
It was executioner's calm.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Silence pressed against the edges of the abandoned factory, broken only by the soft scrape of a distant chain, the faint drip of blood onto cracked concrete.
Cling~
The man appeared behind Max in a fluid motion, his elongated nails grazing the edge of a one-foot katana-style blade. Max didn't flinch.
"So impatient," he murmured, his tone indifferent, almost bored.
In a single motion, Max swung his first blade, knocking the man's arm aside. Using the momentum, he spun, driving the second blade forward like a spear aimed at the vampire's chest, targeting the heart.
The man reacted instinctively, twisting sharply to the right, taking a step forward. His other hand came down in a deadly arc, the tip of his blade slicing the air with a whisper of steel. Both moved with lethal intent, neither willing to yield, neither wanting to die.
Max's first blade intercepted the strike with a metallic clang, a spark flying off the contact. A shallow cut opened on his palm, crimson blood staining his glove. He leaped back a meter, landing with the grace of a shadow, chest rising and falling steadily.
Quick reflexes. Tough skin. Hard steel-like nails. Uncontrolled breathing. Instinctive attacks.
His mind raced through the encounter, analyzing each movement, each tell, each strike. Untrained in combat, yet not an easy prey. He's fast, aggressive, but sloppy… this will be a difficult fight.
Max's gaze hardened, eyes narrowing beneath the hood and mask. The fight had only begun, but already the taste of blood and steel promised a battle neither would forget.
Max felt a subtle shift in the air behind him, a silent warning of the man's approach. He really likes attacking from behind, Max thought, a hint of annoyance threading through his calm composure.
Without hesitation, he dropped low, rolling into a sweeping kick that cut through the space like a scythe. His back foot connected with the man's jaw, sending him sprawling backward five steps, the designer cloth stretching and tearing with the impact.
The moment wasn't enough to relax; Max's senses sharpened, reflexes dancing at the edge of instinct. The man's arm shot up just in time, blocking a strike aimed at his face. Crimson light from a flickering overhead bulb reflected off the metal clasp of a belt and the bloodstained floor, turning the encounter into a chaotic interplay of shadow and steel.
"Hu~ Not bad, kid," the man drawled, licking a trickle of blood from his lip. "Seems you've got skill. But…" His smile twisted wickedly, eyes gleaming with cold amusement, "I'm curious how far that will get you."
Max's frown deepened. The stance, the unpredictability, the mocking tone—it grated against his nerves.
"Well, I wish you alllll the best. Hahahaha!" Sy's voice erupted in his head, playful but irritating, adding fuel to Max's focus.
The factory walls seemed to close in with the tension, shadows twisting and stretching as sparks flew from metal clashes. Dust and debris hung in the air, glittering like fragments of fire as the two combatants circled each other, each movement a calculated dance between death and survival.