The Guardian of Humanity

Milica hated the undead or anything intangible. Those things were ranked among the things she feared the most, number three and four, exactly. Number two was definitely fire.

“How come they can close the distance that fast!?” Leafhead was commenting.

Immature, Milica thought. Fritz should handle this more calmly.

“Take this, you demon-spawn!” Milica summoned her twin blades. The blades made two crimson arcs across the hooded, flying figures. She felt their hooded robes torn through her blood connection. “That will teach you!”

That did not teach them anything.

While her blades did graze the robes, those figures were annoyingly sneaky. They must have used teleportation or illusion to escape Milica’s attack.

“Either teleportation or illusion,” Fritz was saying. Now Milica had another thing she grated on; the dryad only kept saying what was on Milica’s mind. “A wide-range attack should do…”

The dryad stopped running. He knelt, hands on the ground. Milica transformed her blades into hands and lifted Fritz once more like a kitten.

“No, you dolt! Don’t use your power on them! Remember what Fratello said!”

Fritz gritted his teeth. “How come you just swallow his words obediently like that? That command of his endangers us!”

“Because he trusts me!” Milica snapped. “That’s final, Leafboy! I trust him, and we are going for that Misericordia even if my blood has to run dry in the process!”

This boy… so galling. Milica was jealous of Fritz a while ago, when the brilliant disciple could keep up with her brother on medical terms. There must be a reason Fratello obscured Fritz’s power, and though Milica could not see it, she would not dare disobey him.

They ran through a thick fog. Fearing a miasma, Milica removed her robe and wrapped Fritz in it. “Hold your breath,” she ordered. “Chatter, and I guarantee that’ll be your last words.”

She held a long breath and passed through the thick fog. Maintaining stanza recitation, hauling Fritz’s body, randomly slashing the air for incoming intangible figures, Milica began to run out of air. She remembered the night of the living dead. She remembered Dela’s anguished face when Dela became a Bride. She bit her lip, anger rising at her helplessness.

“Fie on this kingdom,” Milica muttered, and she broke through a broken wall.

Hematopoetry undone, Fritz rolled onto the broken marble road. Milica savoured the fresh air. She ran towards Fritz.

“Your sacrifice to our journey to save the kingdom will not be forgotten, Leafhead,” Milica said with mock solemnity. “Oh, Resia, you should know how brave Fritz was rolling when the dangerous pebble hit him…”

“I am not dead!” Fritz groaned. A recent bump on Fritz’s head immediately healed under the sunset’s light. “If you feel responsible for my well-being, do it properly, Bloodsucker!”

“Now you take Fratello’s words to heart,” Milica pointed out. “Way to thank someone for saving his… death.”

The last word happened because she recognized this place. Broken columns, walls giving way, marble paving. That explained the miasma outside. That explained the missing mass graves outside the wall. They were moved here.

“This is the back door of Moonchild Convent,” Milica realized. “We are standing on the Convent’s Cemetery.”

Milica hugged herself. She focused on her brother’s memory to fight the itch on her back. Despite no living corpses clawing their way from the earth, she could still smell the rot.

“Vampiress?” Fritz was saying. He only used that name when honoring her, which meant she was showing her pathetic side. “What’s wrong?”

“Let’s just move along.” She felt queasy. “One year ago, I was crucified in the Convent. My blood was used to feed the living dead.”

***

Extremely vigilant towards anything that casts shadows (which practically every tangible being does), Milica jumped every five seconds. She ignored every provocation Fritz threw because she was busy reciting hematopoetry. Her scars on her back throbbed.

“Something about your blood being used,” Fritz said. He seemed earnest now. He must have decided that Milica was more useful when her brain was distracted—which was true.

“I am a survivor of Upior,” she replied after avoiding an unmoving statue’s sword. “We are among the elusive clans that decided to break away from Maniattania’s dominance. Just like the fairy kind, we were decimated. But our blood has a special property… vampirism. Not only does it heal; scientists from Maniattania found that vampire venom continues to control the affected corpses independently of the original vampire.”

Fritz frowned. “Then who’s the one controlling the corpses?”

“No one,” Milica forced a laugh. “I was just building up suspense… Practically, the corpses wreaked havoc. That’s why the scientists wanted a way to utilize vampires’ blood and make the scientists the controllers.”

“And so they succeeded?”

“No, but not in the way you think.” They had passed the commoners’ burial ground. The dignitaries' burial ground was fresher, with more statues. The similarities to a garden gnome emporium put Milica in a better mood. “There was a stellar soldier back then refusing to use cheap tricks for his army. So he proved Maniattania’s humans were strong enough without resorting to monstrous power.”

Fritz was listening in boyish wonder.

“I guess boys really are fond of knight stories.” Milica rolled her eyes. “Will it put you in a good mood when I say that the soldier’s proof was burning the whole vampire town alive? Now, that’s the proper reaction, moron.”

Fritz looked away. “I apologize. I did not mean—”

“Of course you never meant it,” Milica mumbled. “Just like how that soldier used the fact that vampires can’t move under the sunlight. He laid siege to Upior with fire during the day. By the time the vampires came out, there was no escape, no way to procure food, no water, no air. Total victory within one night.”

Telling that story once more absolved Milica’s fear. She remembered the sky was burning when Volga, her mother, carried her outside the town’s border. Volga had returned to Upior, not to escape, but because Volga’s pride as a vampire would be dust if they went down without a fight. Milica had never felt prouder as a vampiress.

“Who goes there?”

One shadow finally moved and spoke. Milica and Fritz had almost reached the cemetery gate when a sitting figure by an ornate tombstone moved. Milica heard the same question echoed once again, and she froze.

The shadow stood, revealing a man clad in Maniattania’s army uniform. Simple armor adorned his chest. The man wielded a scarlet scythe with its blade as wide as a karkadann’s head. His grey eyes were like storm clouds; they reminded Milica of her number one fear.

“This is supposed to be my recess.” His full beard pulled as he frowned. “Normally I’d kindly ask you to leave, but you were disturbing my daughter’s rest, too. How would you like to rest along with her?”

The scythe made a shrill sound.

Milica clawed at her own hands. Was it fear? Was it sadness? No, she knew she had gotten past all those emotions. This emotion was anger.

“Vampiress?” Fritz said. He took a step back. “Shouldn’t we… parley?”

All of her brother’s orders evaporated from her mind. Milica summoned her twin blades.

“Remember the soldier I told you about?” Milica gritted her teeth. “You are facing him now. A genocider to Upior, a guardian of humanity in this accursed kingdom, General Amalfini.”

Milica lunged at him.

***

Their movements resembled storms of slash and parry; Fritz could not follow them. Twin blades clashed against a scythe. Amalfini countered every move with his scythe; its slashing trajectory cut Milica’s blades and the closest tombstone.

Amalfini kicked Milica’s abdomen. For a fearful second, Fritz had readied himself to pull Milica and scramble like cowards, but Amalfini put his scythe down. The General was not in a hurry; his expression was closer to interest than anger.

“Hemokinesis,” Amalfini called out. “You are a vampire.”

“Of course!” Milica snapped. “And you destroyed my home! You killed Mother!”

Blood was dripping from her finger. Amalfini had cut her, but Fritz could not see it. Amalfini’s eyes softened.

“A survivor from Upior…” The General mused. “You came here to enact revenge on me?”

That question seemed to derail Milica. Fritz knew she remembered their mission, ironically, from their enemy’s question. Fritz hurried to her.

“Calm yourself,” Fritz said. He ignored the Physician’s order to administer medicine via his roots. “Remember, we need to meet Mentor after he fixes Tutu and—”

“You kids know about Tutu,” Amalfini cut Fritz off. “Only the Royal Court knew that chicken. Did you come to free that shame out of its cage?”

Milica swatted Fritz’s roots. “That’s none of your business, Amalfini! I am here to sightsee this kingdom’s downfall—”

What a bad lie, Fritz thought.

“Make up a better excuse, young lady,” Amalfini stated, unconvinced.

“—but finding you is a huge bonus. I am from Upior. I am a proud vampiress and a proud sister. For my town and for my brother’s bitterness from one year ago, I will defeat you!”

The second time Milica lunged, Amalfini was not prepared. Amalfini had anticipated another blade throw, but Milica blinded Amalfini by throwing Fritz’s crumpled roots. Milica’s first slash landed, and this time, she was the one kicking the General.

Amalfini skidded five steps back, but he steadied himself.

“Are you ██████ ‘s sister?” The General stroked his beard, as if he had just realized the name was erased. “One year ago, you were there. I remember the Physician carried you the whole time.”

Milica lunged once more. This time Amalfini twisted his body to counter from below. One blade blunted its impact, but her hand was damaged in the process. The scythe recurved, Milica’s neck in its path…

Wooden vines wrapped around the scythe’s handle. Amalfini stared at Fritz, unbothered.

“He is too strong!” Fritz strained. “What sort of power does he have!?”

“You broke Fratello’s orders, idiot!” It was Milica who protested. “Pull your power down! This kind of distraction does not work on him!”

Amalfini sighed. Fire burned from his scythe. He freed the scythe and slashed at Fritz. The dryad pulled a statue to lessen the damage, but Fritz was cut anyway.

“Good instinct, but she was right. Interesting.” Amalfini’s voice was flat. “And you, vampiress, you have good sword forms, but unrefined. Either your study was interrupted, or you just copied the forms from a master.”

“My Mother taught me,” Milica barked. “But you killed her and any swordmasters from the town!”

Amalfini blinked as if it was just sinking in. “Mm. Alright.”

The fourth time Milica threw herself, Amalfini had already swung his scythe. The fight went too fast, but Fritz noted Milica was accumulating gashes.

“Are you really a vampire?” Amalfini asked.

“Don’t mock me, you murderer!”

Another of Milica’s reckless movements. This time she tripped, and Amalfini slashed—Fritz, who was sneaking behind.

“That was not a mockery to the vampire,” Amalfini said. He removed his chest plate and pulled up his undershirt. Below, Amalfini’s skin was riddled with many punctures and scars. “These are from Upior. What makes vampires so dangerous beyond their hemokinesis and vampirism is their persistence with self-healing. Cut them, and they heal. Retreat from a fight one day, and they come back stronger the next night. You may have hemokinesis, but not their stubbornness. You are a far cry from the vampires.”

Fritz felt queasy. Milica could stand beneath the sun. She hung out with Resia just fine. Those unhealing scars on her back…

“Fritz,” Milica called his name for the first time. She was scuttling nearer to him. “You are right that you should use your power.”

The dryad readied his vines. “Two on one, then.”

“To run, Leafhead.” Milica pushed him back. “I am all right. He can’t kill me. I am a vampire.”

The twin blades reappeared. Milica stared at Amalfini. Her recklessness before was replaced with grim resolve.

Amalfini must have noticed the change, too. Amalfini gripped the scythe with both hands.

“I take back the words I just said. You are a cut of vampire. They are scariest when they have a purpose. And that’s what makes breaking them worthwhile.” Amalfini’s air changed too. “I am the General of the Maniattania Kingdom, Pompierri Amalfini. To answer the green boy’s question, I use no monstrous power. Even if I have secret lineage, I refuse to cling to it. I have my human body to its utmost.”

Fritz pointed at the scythe. “Liar! That scythe breathed fire!”

“This is a weapon the previous king granted me.” Amalfini shrugged. “It was indeed made from a phoenix’s flesh and bones, thus the fire, but to honor you, just like the vampires, I will decimate you first before I use La Lacrima—the Teardrop. Now, state your name and your weapons before we begin the duel.”

Milica readied herself, two blades refined until they materialized as real iron swords.

“Milica Volgasdotter. Upior. The sister of the Physician you erased. My weapons' names are, uh…” Milica winced. Naming weapons never occurred to her. “A and B! Those are my blood types.”

“Not very poetic, are you,” Fritz commented.

“Oh, shut it!” But Milica used that moment to topple down a pillar. Fritz was now obscured—protected—by the rubble. “Find who Fratello requested. Be a good student. Don’t flaunt your power.”

Throughout the gap, Fritz wanted to protest. Milica’s fierce glare stopped him.

Amalfini drew his scythe. “You are a good team.”

“Watch it, old man,” Milica said. “I only teamed up with him as an emergency.”

“As I said, a person of purpose. It is an honor to strike the last of the Upior, Volgasdotter.”

“There is no honor in dying by your hands.”

Fritz dug out of the ground with his roots, cursing at his own cowardice. He heard blades clanging as he escaped.