SWNOVELS Chapter Progeny vs Master
Darius
The longer I engage in conversation with Stefan, the more my thoughts seem to blur. My grip on William slips with each passing moment. I try to reach out to Viola, urging her to take Elliott and flee, but she is nowhere to be found.
Stefan has done something—he is clouding my mind. A maker naturally exerts influence over their progeny, and he must be exploiting this connection against me.
Before Viola, I had never turned anyone, but even then, Viola’s transformation is a unique situation—am I even her maker? She didn’t actually turn into a Vampyre as intended. Nothing about our situation is normal, so I don’t really understand it from Stefan’s perspective.
I had hoped that the presence of Viola’s witch’s blood in my veins would grant me resilience against Stefan’s influence. However, her immunity to magic did not extend to me, not even momentarily.
Amidst my efforts to control William and locate Viola within the myst, I fail to notice the footsteps walking along the rooftop of William’s manor. Stefan’s gaze shifts, and I follow it to see Viola standing on the roof, her lips lightly stained with blood. Her gaze is fixed on me, and her demeanor radiates danger.
Stefan remarks. “Just as I suspected. Magnificent.”
Viola jumps from the roof, her landing barely making a whisper—she was light-footed as a human, as a Dhampir, she’s weightless.
I watch as she saunters towards us, revealing the silver sword gleaming in the light of the moon.
“What is she?” I hear Stefan mutter behind me.
I sigh. “Trouble incarnate.”
As I move to approach her, Stefan grips my shoulder, his nails piercing my flesh. I wince in pain as his hold grows stronger.
“Your heart beats, and you feel pain?” Stefan remarks, his tone laced with curiosity. “One would think you’re human again, but I sense the Daemon still within you.”
As Viola draws closer, the scent of William’s blood on her lips fills the air. Her gaze remains fixed on mine until she reaches us, and she lets out a long sigh of exasperation.
“What in the blazes is going on here?” Viola’s voice carries a hint of boredom.
Stefan’s grip on my shoulder intensifies, pushing me down to my knees and eliciting a growl of pain from me. Pain is a sensation I’m unaccustomed to and one I find little enjoyment in it.
Viola’s eyes shift to Stefan. “Mr. Dixon, why are you tormenting my pet? I didn’t free him from my husband for your entertainment; I did it for my own.”
“So, my progeny hasn’t informed you about me?” Stefan interjects.
Viola turns to me, her gaze inquisitive. “Is this your maker, pet?”
Though I’m unsure of Viola’s intentions, it seems she has a plan. I don’t mind the new nickname, either.
Even through the pain, I smile like a love-struck idiot. “Yes, mistress.”
Viola’s eyes widen with a sort of sinister delight as she chuckles. She looks at Stefan with her blood-stained mouth, gradually letting her Daemon emerge while maintaining a grip of iron on her brilliant mind. She is truly remarkable.
“What a serendipitous turn of events!” Viola smiles brightly, and her tone turns sultry as she gestures toward Stefan, taking a few steps forward. “That means you could transform me into a full-fledged Vampyre?”
Viola shakes her head in disappointment, pointing her sword at me. “My pet attempted to turn me, but as you can see, he failed miserably.”
I struggle against Stefan’s grip. “No! You will not lay a hand on her!”
“Quiet, boy!” Stefan’s powerful kick sends me skidding forward.
I groan as I sit back on my heels—my shoulder sears with pain. Viola looks down at me, a hint of mischief in her gaze and a smirk playing on her lips.
She tilts her head to the side. “Right where I want you, pet.”
Viola lets the silver sword slip from her hand, tossing it directly into mine. Though my shoulder isn’t healing as rapidly as it should, I feel my magic slowly taking effect to help dull the pain. I rise to my feet and position myself in front of Viola.
I twirl the sword in my hand, familiarizing myself with the weight of the blade. Ending my maker will be a formidable and immensely challenging task, but I see no alternative.
Stefan looks perpetually bored as he lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “You know, Darius, it’s moments like these that make me regret turning you.”
“It just occurred to me that since I’ve been unmade, Darius Kane is dead. You should address me with the name my father bestowed upon me.”
Without warning, Stefan attacks—he’s much faster and stronger than I am, but his movements are clumsy and desperate. After dodging a few strikes, I note he still hasn’t learned how to use his strength efficiently—he puts all of his power behind every strike.
I almost killed Stefan when I was human. He underestimated me then, and I used this to my advantage. But now, he’s older and more familiar with my skills—skills he’s unaware I spent honing during my travels throughout Japan. Yet somehow, I feel weak, slow, and more sluggish than usual.
I unfurl my wings and use them to deflect Stefan’s relentless attacks. Vampyres do not tire or run out of breath. The more injuries I’m able to inflict on him with the silver blade, the weaker his magic will become, and the only way to restore it is by feeding.
I don’t understand, I’m faster than this. Stefan is able to block and evade all of my strikes—my sword cuts nothing but air. What is happening to me?
Stefan throws blow after blow with all his might, likely hoping to end this quickly. He lands a hit on my shoulder, dislocating my arm—the pain is excruciating. I leap backward, again and again, as he slashes me with his claws.
The fog in my mind gradually begins to dissipate. That’s when the idea strikes—the charm—Stefan must be employing William’s charm to weaken me. If he continues to use his magic like this, he’ll be drained in no time. It explains why all the residual magic in Viola’s blood that I had within me has depleted—I relied on it to retain control over William until Stefan’s suffocating myst rendered it ineffective.
I sprint towards a nearby tree and forcefully maneuver my shoulder back into its socket, emitting a low growl of pain. Again and again, I defect his blows—his strikes diminishing in strength.
Stefan’s influence over me weakens, I sense my connection with Viola reestablishing, and my body initiates the healing process at an accelerated pace. Finally.
Stefan charges at me with remarkable swiftness, but I manage to deflect his assault, slicing through his flesh with my silver sword. Stefan emits a pained groan with each strike I land on him—the solid silver blade burns against his skin, sapping away a fraction of his magic with every cut.
Finally, the red myst dissipates completely, liberating my body and mind, yet the fight has drained me. I need to end this quickly.
I manage to sever his arm in one calculated move. Stefan howls in agony or frustration. Despite his anguish, he grits his teeth and compels his hand to regenerate at an astonishing pace, depleting even more of his magical reserves.
Stefan charges at me and seizes both of my wrists, exerting such force that he fractures the bones in each one, causing me to lose grip of my sword.
He repeatedly slams his forehead into mine, causing blood to trickle down from my scalp and into my eyes—my vision blurs, and my ears ring from the impact. The pain of being alive is undeniable. If I survive this ordeal, I vow to intensify my training in evasion techniques.
Two can play at this game. I retaliate by smashing my head into Stefan’s, followed by driving the blade-like pointed edges of my wings into his flesh. If my aim is accurate, I will have severed the ligaments in his shoulders. Stefan’s arms go limp, and his grip on me weakens—the understanding of human anatomy proves useful in combat.
Stefan recoils with a hiss. I can’t help but chuckle despite the pain—his reaction, no matter how threatening, strikes me as comical.
I attempt to wipe the blood from my eyes, but all I achieve is getting more in my eyes. I don’t need them, Stefan groans as he musters whatever remnants of magic he has left to heal his shoulders.
Gathering the last of my magic, I focus on healing my right wrist as much as possible before retrieving the sword. With a swift motion, I hurl it toward the center of Stefan’s indistinct form. His scream confirms my aim, but the exact location of the blade remains unknown to me—my guess would be the heart.
I take advantage of the moment and use the end of my shirt to begin wiping my eyes clean.
The sound of the sword hitting the ground rings in the air, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of Stefan’s life force seeping from his body. The wound inflicted by the pure silver blade will not mend without fresh blood—he’s drained.
“You know, Darius…it’s moments like these that make me regret turning you,” Stefan growls in Dutch, blood flowing from his mouth as he speaks.
Stefan spits blood as he approaches me, determined to finish this one way or the other. Suddenly, he halts, his movements still as he frantically sniffs the air. His eyes shut momentarily, a look of satisfaction crossing his face as he draws in a deep breath, savoring the unmistakable fragrance of salt and sea.
“Strawberries,” Stefan growls, opening his eyes and turning his attention away from me.
I follow his gaze to where my Viola stands, glowing under the light of the stars in her thin silk nightgown, the side of which is stained in blood—her blood.
My Viola—she’s bleeding.