Too late!
Raphael threw himself backward — and the claws caught him anyway, raking three lines of fire across his face.
He hit the floor with a dull impact that rattled up his spine, and when he tried to open his eyes, blood ran into them and the world smeared into red and blur.
Through the haze, Henry was already raising his hand again. Aiming for the throat.
No hesitation. Raphael rolled hard to the side.
The claws came down and punched into the floorboard where his neck had been.
Crack.
Splinters. Henry — or whatever was wearing Henry's face now — let out a screech, arm pinned for just a moment by the embedded claws.
Raphael used it. He swept up the pistol that had been knocked loose in the ambush and dropped to one knee.
He raised it to aim.
His vision exploded with symbols.
[Sinner's Hunting System connected.]
[Scanning…]
"Are you serious right now—"
He didn't finish the thought. The abstract code was already multiplying, layering over itself, eating his entire field of vision until there was nothing else left.
He couldn't see anything.
He dropped the aim. Put distance between himself and Henry instead, moving blind on instinct alone, jaw tight.
[Scan complete.]
[Physical Functions: Excellent. Physical Conditioning: Excellent. Physical Resistance: Average. Arcane Resistance: Weak.]
[Composite Rating: S+]
[Sin: 19.8 / 20.]
[Error: Insufficient Sin. Cannot process mutation.]
[Error: Hunt incomplete. Mutation unavailable.]
Every second stretched. Every second he couldn't see was a second Henry was moving, repositioning, coming at him from an angle he'd never know about until the claws were already in him.
He'd faced worse odds before. He'd never faced them completely blind before.
[Complete your first hunt.]
The symbols vanished.
Henry was already mid-lunge — had been moving the moment his claws came free, crossing the distance at a speed that stopped making sense —
And Raphael barely got the gun up before an open hand slapped it sideways, shearing the suppressor clean in half.
The second hand came around.
Rip.
The front of the trench coat split open from collarbone to ribs.
The ballistic vest underneath held — barely — Kevlar fibers visibly frayed and splayed at the tear line.
Whoosh.
Another swing. Raphael twisted away, got a hand on Henry's arm, tried to control the limb—
And couldn't.
The strength was wrong. It wasn't the strength of a person anymore. Henry grabbed him back with one hand, and the world inverted, and Raphael was airborne.
He hit the edge of the desk with his back.
Everything on the surface crashed to the floor. The impact folded him over the corner and sent white sparks across his vision, his face twisting against his will at the shock of it.
He breathed through it. Raised the gun.
Fired.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
9mm rounds punching into Henry's torso at center mass, blood spraying at each impact — and Henry didn't even slow down.
He came forward with the same lurching, wrong-jointed stride, snarling, and threw himself on top of Raphael, pinning him down against the desk.
Up close, this was worse.
The jaw stretched wider than it should have. Saliva dripped.
Those teeth — elongated, serrated at the edges — descending toward Raphael's neck with methodical, patient hunger.
The symbols came back. This time they latched onto Henry.
[Analyzing… Complete.]
[Lv1: Artificial Vampire.]
[Cardinal Sin: Superbia.]
[Classification: Demon.]
"A vampire. Perfect."
He jammed the gun against Henry's chest and pulled the trigger until the slide locked back empty.
Henry's shirt was soaked through with red. His eyes had gone completely feral.
His free hand dragged three deep furrows into the desk surface, and the claws were moving toward Raphael's throat—
Raphael grabbed the nearest book off the desk and shoved it in the way.
The claws punched through it like paper.
Through every layer — hundreds of pages — until the tip stopped a hair's breadth from the skin of his neck, snagged on the last few sheets.
One second of resistance.
Henry's mouth found his throat.
The fangs went in.
The pain was immediate and specific — skin punctured clean, the bite catching the carotid — and then a pulling sensation, rhythmic and relentless, like something being drawn up through a straw.
The edges of Raphael's vision began to darken. His face went from pale to white.
"...Shit."
He could feel himself getting weaker. It was measurable, almost clinical — the strength draining out of his limbs with each pull, the world getting quieter and further away.
Meanwhile, Henry's grip was getting tighter. The bullet wounds across his chest were closing, the flesh knitting back together in real time.
Raphael's hand moved across the desk surface without urgency. Careful. Searching.
His fingers found the quill pen.
He got his thumb against the cap.
Then he drove it into the side of Henry's neck. Dead center on the carotid. Precise.
The blood pressure of a vampire mid-frenzy turned out to be considerable.
It came out in a fan — a sudden arterial spray that hit Raphael like warm rain, soaking his face, his collar, the front of what remained of his coat.
"AAAHH—"
Henry reared back, the sound coming out broken and raw.
Raphael brought both feet up and kicked him square in the abdomen, hard enough to send him sailing across the room toward the mounted deer head on the wall.
The antlers went through him.
A wet, decisive sound. Henry hung there, impaled through the torso, a gaping wound front to back, pinned to the wall.
Raphael sat up slowly.
He pressed a hand over his throat. Two puncture wounds, clean and deep — but his blood loss had already outpaced what could bleed freely. His palm came away barely wet.
He sat there for a moment. The room tilted. He breathed through it deliberately, took stock of his body, and decided he wasn't going to die in the next two minutes.
That would have to be enough.
He stood up. Did it slowly. His hands found a fresh magazine by feel and he reloaded with the kind of careful, imprecise movements that came from a brain running on too little blood.
"A vampire." He looked at Henry hanging from the wall — still alive, still twitching, still making sounds. "No wonder the rounds didn't stop you."
He reached across the desk and picked up the oil lamp.
He bounced it once off the surface, hard enough to crack the base, then hurled it directly at Henry's face.
Glass shattered. Alcohol soaked through the fabric.
"Die, monster."
He aimed at the door lock beside Henry and fired once. Sparks bit into the wet cloth.
The fire caught immediately.
It moved faster than fire had any right to — climbing the soaked clothing, spreading outward and upward, consuming Henry from the surface inward. The screaming started.
Skin blackened, split open, the subcutaneous fat catching with a low blue flame before the deeper tissue followed.
Raphael stood back and watched.
Henry tried to pull free. Tried to get upright. Each time, Raphael fired — not to kill, just to stop the movement, one round at a time, keeping him down until the fire finished the job.
The smell changed. First seared meat. Then something worse — protein cooking down to something acrid and chemical.
Henry stopped moving.
[First hunt complete.]
[Sin acquired: +2.]
"This is Raphael, I need to—" He reached for the earpiece.
Gone.
"...Goddammit."
The symbols were back, filling his vision again, but he didn't have the capacity to read them anymore.
His eyes went dark at the edges first, then the center, and then the floor came up to meet him.
He hit the ground.
His hand extended, reaching — the earpiece was visible somewhere in the direction of the hidden room, and there were voices coming out of it, muffled and urgent — but his fingers stopped moving before they got there.
He went under.
[Sin: 21.8 / 20.]
[Current Level: Lv1.]
[First Hunting Ground authorized.]
[Mutation in progress.]
On the floor, Raphael twitched. Something moved beneath the skin — slow, deliberate, systematic.
[Hunter identity confirmed.]
[Cardinal Sin: Superbia.]
[Raphael Alanster — the hunt begins.]