1 Out of bullets

In the eerie darkness, the once-clear sky had been transformed into a canvas of swirling crimson and orange hues, as if the heavens themselves were ablaze.

Amidst the moonlit chaos, a solitary figure named Talos, his rugged face bearing a distinguished black mustache, staggered upon a scene that seemed plucked from the darkest corners of a nightmare.

The once-regal carriage lay in ruin, shattered and splintered into grotesque pieces of wood and metal. Its former grandeur was now overshadowed by the grim tableau of fallen comrades who surrounded it.

These fallen souls, dressed in attire both distinctive and foreboding, bore the unmistakable marks of the order to which Talos belonged. Tricorn hats, their three points casting long shadows in the moonlight, adorned their heads, while leather coats, adorned with various tools and weaponry, enveloped their lifeless forms.

Their stance, even in death, was one of guardianship, as if they had perished in the line of duty, standing firm against an unknown menace.

Talos himself was no exception to this attire. Clutched to his chest was a rifle, its polished steel and polished wood gleaming faintly in the moon's ethereal glow. His belt, a veritable arsenal of weapons and tools, bore the scars of battle and bore witness to his countless skirmishes. From the gleaming barrel of his sidearm to the intricately designed daggers nestled securely at his waist, each piece seemed to whisper of a soldier's preparedness.

Talos cautiously surveyed the grim aftermath, his heart pounding in his chest. His comrades, who had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him in some unknown battle, now lay lifeless, their faces contorted in agony.

The nearest body, his friend, had a grotesque wound on his neck, bitten out with savage force. It was clear that they had encountered something far more sinister than they could have ever imagined.

The fallen corpse clutched a chest that seemed to have been smashed open, spilling a dark, malevolent substance accompanied by the shattering of glass.

Amidst the chaos, there was one vial that had miraculously survived the onslaught. It lay unscathed amidst the wreckage, a small vessel of potential power. Talos bent down and gingerly picked it up.

From the shadows, a slight yet chilling chuckle echoed through the air. Talos instinctively reached for his flintlock rifle, gripping it tightly as he forced himself to stand.

The figure that emerged from the darkness was nothing short of nightmarish. Belze, a towering creature with translucent skin, revealing twisted black veins coursing beneath the surface. His mouth was filled with an array of tiny, razor-sharp fangs, and his eyes glowed a sinister shade of red. Long, sinewy limbs dangled from his slim frame, each one tipped with wicked claws that swayed menacingly in the breeze.

"Give me the last vial of the angel blood, headsman," Belze demanded, his voice carrying an unnerving menace.

Talos narrowed his gaze, refusing to show any sign of weakness. "And why would I do that, bloodsucker?" he retorted, mustering a defiant smile, though it quickly faded when he realized, after rummaging around in his pocket, that he was out of bullets.

"Because you're out of bullets," he taunted, lunging toward the headsman with blinding speed.

Despite the dire situation, Talos remained remarkably composed. "You clearly never met a headsman before. We always have a trick up our sleeve,"

In a daring move, he reached into his mouth and yanked out one of his own teeth, its silvery gleam shimmering under the moonlight.

As Belze's inhumanly long arm slashed through the air, Talos effortlessly dodged the attack, moving with a speed that mirrored the vampire's own. Swiftly ducking under the arm, he closed the distance between them.

With the butt of his weapon, he delivered a powerful blow to Belze's chin, aiming not to kill, but to throw the creature off balance.  In that fleeting moment, Talos seized the opportunity to load his flintlock rifle while airborne with his silver teeth. His aim was true, and he fired at the vampire's chest. Yet, in a display of uncanny resilience, Belze recovered at the last instant, evading the lethal shot but gettin hit in the shoulder.

In the air Talos have no way to dodge an attack.With a sinister grin, the vampire retaliated, slashing Talos' legs deeply, causing both combatants to recoil in pain.

The agony of the silver bullet seared through Belze's body, and with a grimace of anguish, he swiftly tore off his arm to rid himself of the offending metal. His unnatural regeneration began to repair the wound, leaving Talos to struggle with his own injuries. Blood gushed from his leg, and he quickly fashioned a makeshift tourniquet with his belt to stem the flow.

"Your time is up, headsman. We will rule the earth once more" the vampire hissed between labored breaths.

"Not as long as I and my brothers are standing in your way," he replied with unyielding conviction.

"Well we are working on to change that. Now you will die, and with you your angel blood shipment. Pretty big damage to your clan, doesn't it? Without it, you can't make new headsman" says Belze.  "Even if you are right about me dying here, that I don't intend to do, one shipment is not the end of the world" says Talos.

"You think that, right? But how long you think there will be more supplies? Your leaders of faith maybe get reckless about your clan, as it an old relic from the past. What if your supply will be fully cut off, huh, headsman?" snickered Belze as he tried out his newly regrown arm.

"You think angel blood makes a headsman? No, no. It's our heart that makes us," he declared, his words echoing with pride.

"Well then I have to just rip it out, doesn't I?" as Belze finished his words, he was already on the attack. He jumped in the air. "Endless reach!"

With a blood-curdling battle cry, he launched his fearsome special attack. His regrown arm shot out like a lethal spear, closing in on Talos with deadly precision.

Talos's body was already at his limit, he knew that he could not outrun the vampire's attack in his current state. He rolled away from Belze's lunging limb, hoping to create some distance between them. But to his horror, the vampire's limb contorted at an unnatural angle, following him with chilling determination.

"So I have no other choice, I have to do it, and bare the tool that it takes on my body," he whispered to himself. Talos summoned the untamed power within him, revealing one of his eyes that turned yellow. "Beast mode!" he growled, embracing the primal energy coursing through his veins.

With a surge of excruciating pain, Talos underwent a transformation. His clothes tore apart, unable to contain the overwhelming force coursing through him. His limbs elongated, stretching thin like gnarled fingers with deadly fangs forming in their stead. Joints cracked and shifted, and his nose turned stubby as his teeth grew sharp and pointed.

The agonizing metamorphosis turned him into a formidable mix of human and wolf, stripped of fur, but with all the ferocity of the wild.

As Belze's fist reached him, Talos reacted with a savage bite, ripping the fist from the vampire's arm. Utilizing his elongated arm, he ran on all fours with predatory grace, closing in on his enemy. His deadly claws sliced through the air, tearing Belze's regrown limb apart.

The night echoed with the guttural growls and frenzied snarls of the adversaries as they scratched, bit, and tore at each other with primal ferocity.

Finally, seizing a crucial moment, Talos managed to grip both of Belze's arms, a vice-like hold that threw the vampire off balance. With a powerful thrust, he flung the regrown limbs away, creating a brief opening to finish his enemy.

Talos grabbed the vampire's head. He sunk his legs into Belze's abdomen, using the leverage to apply even more force in his attempt to rip the head from the vampire's shoulders.

The tearing commenced, and he was almost halfway through when a sudden searing pain halted his progress.

A gasp of agony escaped Talos' lips as he looked down to find Belze's arm impaled through his own body.

Belze, seizing the opportunity, threw Talos away, dislodging the arm from his body and retreating with a frantic sense of fear in his eyes.

Despite the overwhelming pain and his body's weakened state, Talos mustered the will to rise from the ground. Blood oozed from his wounds, staining the earth beneath him.

"You bastard. Keep your last vial, it doesn't worth much anyway. I am getting out of here," Belze spat, the desperation in his voice evident. holding his head in place he fled.

Talos, his body reverting to its usual form, coughed up blood as he struggled to maintain his composure. "I won't let you escape," he declared.

Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, he unleashed a haunting whistle, and in response, a magnificent horse emerged from the shadows, galloping to his side.

****

Back in that day in the afternoon, the rhythmic sound of wood chopping reverberated through the forest.

Amongst the towering trees stood a fourteen year old boy named Alfred, his muscular upper body glistening with sweat under the sun's warm embrace.

He paused to wipe his brow, pushing back his long blonde hair, as he looked at the tree he had been working on. His clothes were patched up, showing signs of wear and tear from a life of meager means.

Alfred took a few steps back from the tree, his gaze scanning the area to ensure no one else was nearby. With a confident swing of the axe, he struck the wood with precision, sending splinters flying in all directions. The tree groaned under the impact, its fate sealed by the young boy's skilled hands.

As he prepared to deliver the final blows that would bring the tree down, Alfred noticed a figure in the distance.

An elderly man slowly made his way through the forest, his posture slightly hunched, and his steps deliberate but slow.

The elderly man caught Alfred's gaze and waved as a greeting, but Alfred didn't reciprocate it, just watched at him with a strained face.

The old man, mistaking his intent, interpreted it as a mocking stare. "What are you looking at, kid?" the old man grumbled, raising a gnarled hand to wave off the supposed taunting.

Alfred's brow furrowed as he struggled to find the right words.

"You got a problem? I will teach you a lesson, even if I'm old," the old man threatened, advancing toward Alfred.

Alfred strained to recall the right word. Finally, it came to him, and he blurted out, "Ginger!"

The old man paused, his expression morphing into one of confusion. "I am bald, you brat. Can't you see?" he retorted, pointing at his hairless head.

Alfred quickly corrected himself, his voice tinged with urgency, "Oh, I got it. Timber!"

His words hung in the air for a heartbeat before the tree cracked loudly, tilting precariously toward the old man's direction.

With a shocked expression, the old man took a few hurried steps backward.

Time seemed to slow as the tree fell, crashing to the ground with a thunderous impact. The old man was thrown off his feet by the force of the falling tree, landing several feet away from where he had been standing just moments before.

Alfred rushed over to the old man's side, extending his arm to help him up. "Geezer, I am glad you're okay," he said with a wide smile, relief washing over him.

The old man lay on the ground, his face frozen in shock from the near miss.