Chapter 5: A Grief-Stricken Night

A few steps away from the pit, Reuben gently laid her down on the damp grass, swaying back and forth aimlessly. Blood-red tears splattered her mud-soiled dress. Reuben wept for his love, for his humanity lost. It was only after his tears had long dried up that he rose. Internally, he felt hollow and drained. All his thoughts revolved around a single desire: revenge. Every single villager would die tonight. He wouldn't rest until he found them all and killed each and every one of them.

He moved silently through the night with soft paws. The villagers had scattered in every direction into the woods, but it was a vast forest. Nothing and no one would escape him here. He tore open the throats of those he encountered. None were spared—neither men, women, nor children. Each of them bore guilt for Scarlett's death. He reveled in their blood, tore them apart until their intestines spilled out, and ripped them to shreds, hair and all.

The morning was already breaking as Reuben rose from a young woman who was now nothing more than a bloodstain, scattered entrails, and severed limbs. She must have been the last one. And if there were any left wandering, his wolves would take care of them. He had done enough for one night.

Slowly, he returned to Scarlett and gazed at her blood-smeared body. Her dress bore burn holes, and her severed head had partially singed hair. His Scarlett.

Reuben knelt and buried his face in his hairless hands, grief washing over him. She was lost. The pain that realization caused him was indescribable. He had never felt anything like it, not in his human life or his undead one. He had wanted to spend the rest of eternity with her. Now he could do nothing more for her than find a proper resting place for her mortal remains. He knew just the right place.

Without transforming, he set off for the small grotto secluded in one of the many forests surrounding his castle. He traveled for a long time, but he didn't care. The sun was already sinking towards the horizon as he reached his destination. In the grotto, he dug a grave for her with his wolf claws and gently laid her to rest. He sat before it for hours, waiting for the grief to return, but it never did. He was empty. So empty, as if his soul had died with her.

Reuben felt nothing more.

The shadows in front of the grotto were growing longer. With stiff limbs, he got to his feet and set about closing the grave.

Here, then, lay the last remnants of his humanity.

---

A few months later… Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.

Reuben turned a page in his book. Beside him, candle wax dripped to the floor. He barely noticed it, just as he scarcely paid attention to the ever-present wails of restless souls. His gaze was once again captivated by the cryptic letters of the spellbook. In his relentless search for ancient, hidden magic, he had stumbled upon it in the archives of his magical chambers. Reuben couldn't recall how it had come into his possession. At the moment, he didn't care. This book contained spells as dark as the night. Primarily, they dealt with creating Nightstalkers in extraordinary circumstances, and it included numerous curse spells that required souls. If this book didn't help him, he knew...

Reuben paused, his finger tracing the line he had just read.

Headless. Beheaded.

Exactly what he needed. He turned the page so hastily that he almost tore it. His fingers trembled. Could it be possible that such a spell existed? A spell that would bring Scarlett back to him? Not as a mindless skeleton, but as a real Nightstalker?

His eyes raced across the page. It indeed described a ritual to turn a beheaded person into a Nightstalker. And not just any Nightstalker—an original generation one! Reuben 's eyes were practically glued to the pages as he absorbed the words. A first-generation Nightstalker would possess immeasurable power... Usually, Nightstalkers were always a generation weaker than their creators. But not his Scarlett! She would be the most potent Nightstalker of this time.

All he needed was the complete body parts of the target. Reuben slumped back in his chair. Unbelieving, he stared at the tapestry in front of him, which bore the coat of arms of the castle's previous owners.

He needed the blood of a person who had once shared a bed with a Nightstalker.

His stomach churned, and he would have thrown up if his last meal hadn't been over four hundred years ago. What a repulsive idea! He would never engage in intimate relations with a member of that abhorrent, inferior race! He might as well share a bed with a pig; at least the creatures still followed their instincts, unlike humans who foolishly attempted to use a mind they did not possess. But with Scarlett, it had been different. He had never viewed her as potential sustenance, not even as a human. Something about her made her special. In that, he agreed with the fat mayor: Scarlett was no ordinary human. She was destined for greatness, of that, Reuben was sure.

But having intercourse with a human... He didn't even want to know how the book's author had come across this ritual. Perhaps he had been in a similar situation, in the time of the Crusades, that was very possible.

Reuben shook his head. He had to focus on the matter at hand. There was no doubt that he would bring Scarlett back, no matter the cost. Even if it meant... He clenched his hands so tightly that his fingernails dug deep into his palms. What had he expected? He should consider himself lucky to have found a way at all. He had better start looking for a somewhat acceptable human woman. It was better than spending the rest of eternity as a lone wolf in this terrible world dominated by humans.