I lowered the gun. My ears were still ringing from the shot. Several minutes I stared at the vampire lying on the ground. I don’t deny I felt satisfaction, but only for a brief moment. It didn’t change the facts I couldn’t bear to say aloud. The mere thought made my body convulse with pain. I leant down and picked up my sword. Slowly, I turned around. The monsters lay scattered everywhere. I heard no screams of pain and saw no signs of breathing. I couldn’t hear the sounds of the cars on the main streets. Even the wind didn’t whisper anymore. All was silent. It was as if my victims had taken all noises with them to the underworld. I was left alone.
A small word and yet, a terrible one.
I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t prevent my eyes from peeking. The lifeless figure lying on the doorstep attracted my eyes in a grotesque, magical way. I saw the black soles of his shoes. One foot lay outside of the church; its tip touched the unsanctified ground of the square. The other foot pressed against the doorframe. I saw black trousers, which blended with the material of his cassock. His white hands lay on the cold stone floor. I saw the arrow sticking out of his back. At first, it seemed innocuous, but the arrow was insidious and deadly. I knew that from my patrols.
I forced myself to look away. I saw his head, discovering a few dark strands. His shoulder hid his face. To see it, I had to go to him. I gasped for breath. Unwillingly, it filled my lungs, as if they didn’t want to take it in. For what? I had lost what made breathing and living worthwhile.
Slowly, I crossed the square. I stumbled over dead monsters, stepped into their blood, leaving a red track behind from there to the portal. I stopped at the Father’s foot, staring down at him. I moved carefully stepping over him, standing on his left side. Now, I could see his face. I didn’t know why I looked at it for such a long time. A part of me was still hoping for him to open his eyes. That was the stubborn part of me that didn’t want to believe what had happened. The other part of me, the reasonable and down-to-earth one that had seen too many horrible things, knew my wish was unrealizable. That part screamed at the stubborn one that it should stop wishful thinking. The two fought with each other. In the end, the mind won, though the heart asked one last time: “Can fate be really so cruel?”
“Yes,” the mind said.
The heart kept silent and cried.
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