Vaerion

❝He didn’t hunt for pleasure. He hunted to feed. And tonight, the city would bleed.❞

The night air reeked of sweat, sex, and rot—his favorite perfume.

Vaerion prowled through the alleyways behind the city’s busiest nightclub, the ground slick with old rain and sins not yet punished. The bass from the club throbbed through the pavement like a heartbeat. Like prey trying to run.

He didn’t walk. He moved—silent and fluid, shadows licking at his heels like obedient dogs. His eyes burned like dying stars, locked onto a trembling man slumped against a brick wall. Drunk. Broken. Ready.

“Help…” the man slurred, sliding to the ground.

Vaerion crouched beside him, voice smooth as oil.

“You asked for release. I’m simply answering.”

He placed a hand on the man’s chest. The soul squirmed beneath skin and bone—already frayed, tasting of rage and regret.

Good.

A single breath, and Vaerion fed. His palm sank into the man’s ribcage without breaking flesh, fingers curling around the core of him. The body convulsed. The mouth screamed but no sound came.

With a twist, it was done.

The soul—ripped free—dissolved into a thousand black threads that wrapped around Vaerion’s wrist, then slid into his skin, lighting his veins with power.

The corpse crumpled. Forgotten.

He stood, eyes closing in grim satisfaction. The buzz of agony and desire hummed low in his bones. He felt stronger, sharper. The taste of human fear always came laced with a bitter sweetness.

But it didn’t last.

It never did.

Because the hunger wasn’t just for souls anymore. Something deeper stirred in him lately—something colder. Older. It clawed at his chest in the quiet hours between kills.

He used to savor destruction. Now it just made him feel… hollow.

Pathetic.

His eyes snapped open.

More. He needed more.

He crossed the street in a blur of shadow, slipping into the line outside the club. No one saw him—mortals never did unless he wanted them to.

Inside, the place pulsed with heat and hunger. Bodies moved like animals in heat. Lust was thick in the air. Vaerion inhaled it like incense.

His eyes scanned the crowd, seeking someone fraying at the edges. Someone begging to break.

There.

A girl in a gold dress, too drunk to stand. A man pawing at her waist.

Vaerion smiled coldly.

He didn’t need to kill tonight. But pain fed him just as well.

He moved. Fast. Silent. The man screamed only once as his wrist snapped back at an unnatural angle. Vaerion leaned in, whispered something no human should ever hear. The man collapsed, eyes rolling back, whimpering as he crawled away.

Vaerion stepped into the pulsing dark of the dance floor, the throb of bass sinking into his ribs. Lights flickered.

He felt the soul of the city—raw, alive, begging to be devoured.

But something shifted.

Something strange.

A chill rolled down his spine.

And that’s when he felt it.

Not fear. Not rage.

Light.

It cut through the smoke and sweat like a blade.

He turned, and for the first time in centuries… he froze.

She wasn’t even looking at him. But Liliane moved like she was being worshipped by the dark. Laughing, hips swaying in a rhythm that didn’t belong to this world. Her soul shone through her skin—brighter than the neon strobes above her. Pure, wild, alive.

Something ancient inside him stirred.

He didn’t know her name.

Didn’t need to.

He would know it.

He would have her.

He would feed on that light until it screamed his name.

But not yet.

The hunt had just begun.