~Danse du Désir Noir~

"I'm not just here to dance~"

Fatima's voice took on a more seductive tone as her gloved hand played with Ayato's arm, as if promising him something more intimate, while he never took his eyes off the girl.

Isolde watched silently.

"Vera, pass me a bottle of holy water." Her tone was so dry that no one dared argue.

Vera, somewhat confused because she was trying to ignore the tension, slid it across the bar.

Ayato raised an eyebrow.

"What are you planning? Sprinkle a few drops on it?"

Lucien, theatrically:

"Ah! A delicate exorcism, a liquid metaphor to lay bare the truth."

But before anyone could stop her, Isolde calmly stood up, took the bottle by the neck, and...

CRASH!

She slammed it down on Fatima's head with all her might, sending the shards of glass and holy water tumbling to the floor.

The tavern fell silent.

Fatima staggered for a second, touching her shattered hat. Her expression wasn't one of hellish pain, nor of holy burns. It was pure indignation.

"...MA CHAPEAU?!" she screamed, staring at the ruins of her favorite accessory.

Ayato opened his mouth, speechless.

Lucien murmured, "This doesn't add up... not even a high-caste Vampire or a Dhampir could withstand that."

Vera paled and was stunned. "So... what is she?"

Isolde frowned, thoughtful at the paradox before her.

Rydia murmured mockingly, "A bastard... of mixed blood."

The tension cracked like glass under pressure. And so, amid broken glasses and poisoned glances, the tavern became the stage for the next clash.

The bar's dim lights flickered as Fatima stepped forward, a calculated smile on her face, her lips red as fresh wine. Her eyes locked on Isolde's, and suddenly, the air vibrated with a hypnotic cadence.

"Amour Éternel!" she intoned, her voice heavy with dark desire.

The illusory mist enveloped Isolde, projecting images of idealized lovers, stolen kisses, and eternal promises. But the woman remained still, her arms crossed, her lips pressed into a stern expression.

Isolde blinked once, her expression as dry as possible.

"...No."

With an almost lazy movement, she barely flexed the pinky finger of her right hand. An invisible impact erupted in the air, and Fatima was thrown, slamming into the bar wall with a wooden crack.

Rydia shrieked, ducking behind a barrel.

"W-was that just with your pinky finger?!"

Fatima stood up, disheveled and furious, but with her lips still forming a provocative smile.

"Quelle insolence... No one has ever resisted my spell like that..."

Ayato snorted.

"No wonder you chose the most insensitive of them all to try it on."

Fátima began to applaud. Slowly, melodically. As if each clap were a beat in a ritual.

And the unthinkable happened: the bar patrons—waiters, drunks, musicians—began to imitate her, caught up in the rhythm, their bodies obeying without will. The entire bar, transformed into an extension of her will.

With an elegant snap, Fátima ordered the musicians to change the key.

The flamenco guitar began to play, tense, carrying with it a restrained beat. It wasn't a joyful melody. It was a prelude to war.

The duel wouldn't be a battle.

It would be a spectacle.

"J'aurai ce que je mérite pour m'être humilié en public!"

A sweet air rose from Fátima's body, laden with an intoxicating aroma, and began to spread like an invisible mist. The patrons began to laugh for no reason, clapping without any rhythm.

Vera put her hand to her chest, stunned.

"What... what's wrong with me?" "I feel like..." Her cheeks burned.

Lucien, on the other hand, fell to his knees in front of Fatima, his eyes blazing.

"Oh, immortal muse! Allow me to be your knight in this stage of destiny!"

Ayato raised an eyebrow, coughing at the scent.

"...Great. She sprayed us with a pheromone perfume."

Isolde took a step forward, tense.

"Don't breathe, it's lust magic."

The flamenco music increased in intensity, as if each chord tensed the muscles of the air. Fátima danced between the beats with supernatural grace while the patrons attacked the group at will, but her body wasn't what moved most: it was the threads.

Thin filaments of dark energy unfurled from her gloved fingers—subtle at first, like hair floating in oil—but soon hardened, twisting like black snakes to the rhythm of her will.

They weren't red liquids, like those of her blood mates.

No. Fátima didn't ooze crimson like a traditional Dhampir of her family.

She wove shadows.

With a sweeping movement of her arm, the threads fanned out across the room, trapping chairs, glasses, even Lucien in a tangle of illusory passion.

But amid the chaos, Fátima focused her attention on Ayato. Her pupils glowed a deep crimson, and with a sigh heavy with a double meaning, she murmured:

"You... are no ordinary human. Your soul is a swamp of dark energy. Mon cher, you have within you the screams of tyrants, monsters, beasts... Delicious~"

Ayato gritted his teeth, feeling a strange warmth in his chest.

"I don't know what kind of strange psychoanalysis you're trying, but I'm not interested."

"Ah, mais si..." Fatima smiled, dragging her tongue over one of her fangs. "With me by your side, you could become the New Seigneur des Ombres. Take over the Demon Castle. And I... would be your concubine." Her words dripped with lust and ambition. "Together, we could rule vampires and humans alike."

The entire group froze. Lucien gasped, horrified.

"What kind of marriage proposal is that?!"

Ayato snorted, a vein popping out in his temple.

"...I'll pass. I've got enough to pay the bills, let alone a castle and a bloodsucking girlfriend."

Fatima's face darkened. She let out a guttural growl and charged at him with almost animal speed. 

Ayato barely managed to cross his arms in front of his face, blocking the impact. Fatima's fangs came dangerously close to his neck, and the energy threads pressed against his arms, trying to separate them with supernatural strength.

"Resign yourself..." she whispered, bringing her body closer to his, her cleavage brushing his chin while the tremors and bouncing of her chest seemed part of the same strategy to distract him.

Heat surged to Ayato's face, but his eyes remained cold.

"...I don't fall for those cheap tricks."

With a sharp movement, he bent his forehead forward and slammed his headbutt straight into her nose. The crack resonated like a whip. Before she could react, Ayato delivered a brutal uppercut that lifted Fatima off the ground, throwing her backward.

She fell back, gasping, her hat rolling to the side and blood dripping from her split lip. Still, she smiled with stained fangs.

"Mon dieu... How brutal... and how irresistible..."

With Fatima on the ground, Lucien regained consciousness, preparing his bow for combat.He took out some bombs containing sleeping smoke, combined them with his bow, and fired a shot so accurate that it put several patrons to sleep, resulting in no casualties.

"It's true that desperate times make heroes take desperate measures~," Lucien said, boasting about his actions.

"You only act seriously when it suits you!?" Isolde said as she alternated between sword and hand-to-hand attacks against several of the local warriors.

Fatima clicked her tongue, irritated.

"Tch... such vulgar resistance."

Crimson threads sprouted from her skin, moist and glistening, extending like fibrous tentacles. They wrapped themselves around the table legs, snapping them like dry twigs, and then launched themselves at Ayato.

"What the f--?!" Ayato barely managed to cover himself when he was caught, the threads tightening around his torso.

CLANG!

Rydia decided to intervene directly in the fight, intercepting the threads just in time with a blade of dark energy, dark sparks leaping from the contact.

"Tsk! Now you're going after my Court Jester? Don't you think it's fairer to start with someone weaker, like that Boastful Archer?!"

"Hey!" Lucien protested, hiding behind a barrel. Even so, he pulled out a small, decorative dagger and brandished it theatrically in the air. "I'll never allow you to sully his perfect arrogance!"

Fatima laughed. Her voice was a poisonous melody.

"It's not arrogance... it's poorly disguised fear. Évidemment, he's the only one who looks at me without falling. So... I'll break him first, but not before feasting on him in private."

Meanwhile, Vera was trying to cast her new spell.

"Sanctus—ahhh!" but a dizzy spell caused her to miss the shot, hitting the wall and disintegrating a wine barrel.

Sylphidia shot out of the burst barrel, soaked and happy.

"Free wine! Thanks, Vera!"

With a mischievous smile, she grabbed a jug and threw it directly at Fatima's face. The red liquid mixed with her aura, breaking some of its hypnotic effect.

"¡MAQUILLAGE RUINÉ!" Fatima shrieked, outraged more than hurt.

Isolde seized the moment, drawing her sword.

"This ends now."

With a precise slash, she severed several threads holding Ayato.

He broke free with a grunt, raising the Ashen Lash and snapping the remaining fibers with a whiplash.

"Don't touch me again with your damn bloody noodles, you degenerate!"

The threads recoiled. Some unraveled. Fatima hissed, covering her eyes with an arm. For an instant, her shadows lost coherence.

Vera took advantage of the opening and threw a sphere of fire that struck Fatima in the torso, staggering her for the first time.

"You're going to have to dance to everyone's tune now!" she yelled.

Fatima, her lip still bleeding and breathing rapidly, staggered to her feet. Crimson threads emanated from her body, crackling like whips of dark energy.

"Je ne suis pas finie…" she spat through gritted teeth. "No one humiliates me like that... and lives to tell the tale!"

With a feline twist, she extended her arms, and the threads coiled around a window, ready to launch herself and escape. Her silhouette blurred in flashes of dark magic, almost like a mirage.

Ayato clicked his tongue.

"Great, now the theatrical actress wants to play Houdini..."

Isolde tightened her grip on her sword, ready to chase after her.

"Don't let her escape! That woman knows too much."

Fatima arched her back, about to lunge... when suddenly, the bar's bathroom door swung open with a resounding BANG! that echoed throughout the tavern.

"I finally found some paper!" Sylphidia exclaimed, distracted and drunk, emerging with her flute tucked under her arm.

The door slammed directly into Fatima's temple, causing her to let out a stifled moan and collapse like a sack of flour. Her energy strands dissolved into thin air, leaving a metallic scent in the air.

Ayato blinked.

"...Really?"

Lucien, mouth agape, murmured,

"The muse has defeated the temptress with... a simple door? This is worthy of a comedy."

Tension filled the air. Isolde slowly lowered her sword, without sheathing it.

"Don't kill her. That woman knows more than she lets on... and I intend to extract every word from her."

Isolde sighed, but with a quick gesture, she pulled a pair of chains from her belt.

Between her and Vera, they handcuffed Fatima, who remained half-dazed, muttering incoherently in French as she tried to compose herself.

"Mon chapeau… mon beau chapeau…" stammered, tears in her eyes as she saw her elegant hat torn to pieces.

Rydia stepped back with a low whistle.

"...Did we just capture a dangerous half-blood vampire... thanks to a bathroom door?"

Ayato touched Rydia's shoulder, glaring at her.

"Now you're not getting away from me, beautiful. You owe me a couple of questions..."

Ayato led Rydia away, tying her hands with the Ashen Lash to the same spot where Isolde, Vera, and Sylphidia were.

Even Lucien pointed an arrow blessed with holy water at Rydia's head, as he said.

"And here comes the heavy part of the narrative..."

An awkward silence fell over everyone. Then, in unison, they all turned their heads to see the defeated Fatima, who, still handcuffed and with a trickle of blood at the corner of her lips, gave them a crooked smile, as insolent as it was seductive.

"Vous ne vous débarrasserez pas de moi si facilement…"

At that moment, no one was sure if she was an enemy… or the most dangerous ally they'd ever have.