Chapter Text
Wolfwood doesn't particularly love his job.
It's a line of work that takes him to places most would avoid like the plague. The quiet outercity of May sprawled before him, as an example , a forsaken labyrinth of decaying buildings and boarded-up windows, a place left for naught but the 'fearless' or the 'foolhardy,' as his brother used to say.
It's the kind of work he excels at, a testament to rigorous training. In this unforgiving career, a misstep could lead to fangs sinking into his throat, turning him into a nocturnal feast. But the thrill of a job well done was enough to fuel his relentless pursuit.
This particular sector was his reward upon returning from his last hunt, the promise of a break evaporating upon his arrival. Instead, he was greeted with freshly sharpened stakes, cases of bullets, and a meticulous inspection of his trusted Punisher before another deployment.
As he lit his next cigarette for the night, Wolfwood muttered to himself about the 'honor of being a hunter' while the city's skirt waited in the shadows.
The luxury of a few days of nothing seemed as distant as dawn, a rarity he'd either earn on the day he met his end or when the last of these leeches were vanquished.
His lungs savored the burn of smoke, a momentary respite, before he ventured into the night.
Tonight's target shouldn't be a significant challenge, Chapel had informed him—a newly turned fledgling, causing the usual chaos and bloodshed. The growing number of fresh vampires was a matter of concern, they said. Wolfwood struggled to share their apprehension. These fledglings were volatile, yes, but also inexperienced and feral, leaving messy trails behind them. Easy to get to before they could make his work complicated .
The fledgling had been spotted the previous night, the location dropped in a letter to Wolfwood. It should be hiding in these outskirts, making a meal out of vagrants not easily missed.
If he could end the hunt early, a bar awaited him—an actual reward amid the relentless onslaught of job after job.
But until he had a lifeless fledgling turning to ashes in his grasp, Wolfwood couldn't dare to dream of a beer yet.
The chilled air bit at Wolfwood's skin, wind picking up ever so slightly. He could smell it now, the scent of blood growing strong as he ventured down the street. At least his own scent wouldn't betray him with the wind favoring his direction. With any luck, the vampire would be preoccupied, engrossed in its feast, and an easy target.
Wolfwood tracked the scent, throwing a silent prayer for the unfortunate soul who had found themselves beneath sharp teeth this evening.
Turning a corner, Wolfwood didn't need to search much further. His target is hunched forward, curled over a lifeless body in the alley, their surroundings painted in glistening red splatter. The spilled blood is shimmering under the moonlight as it drips down the worn walls. At least their death had been swift, sparing a hapless victim the agony of feeling their flesh being torn from bone. Wolfwood cautiously retrieved a silver dagger from his belt and, with blinding speed, flung it toward the fledgling.
Then, a gunshot thunders through the narrow alley, shattering the silence and ringing in Wolfwood's ears. His dagger was deflected, embedding itself uselessly into the brick wall at the fledgeling’s flank.
In a momentary shock, Wolfwood watched as the vampire spun around, its eyes wide and feral, locking onto him. Bloodied teeth were bared in a gruesome snarl.
Wolfwood's nose scrunched in disdain; the creature was absolutely drenched in gore and blood. It’s messy, wasting their own sustenance on everything but their own belly.
Raising his gun to take a shot, Wolfwood's eyes darted around, searching for the source of the gunshot that had redirected his dagger. He had a few choice words in mind for whoever, or whatever, had decided to turn the evening into a hassle .
As he scanned the alley, rooftops, and streets, his search yielded nothing. His focus was abruptly pulled back to the looming threat as the fledgling lunged toward him, intoxicated by the thrill of bloodlust. Wolfwood cursed under his breath; it seemed the fledgling had dined on more than one unfortunate soul that night. Its eyes shining bright in the dark, irises slitted into pinpricks.
His own gun held steady, Wolfwood fired his shots with deadly precision. Two bullets found their mark, shattering both kneecaps of the vampire, sending it crashing face-first into the unforgiving pavement with a satisfying crunch.
He had to move quickly, intent on procuring another silver dagger to finish the job. However, before the precious blade could meet the creature's skin, it was shot from his hands. Spinning off to the side and sending a searing pain through his digits.
"For fuck's sake!" Wolfwood shouted in building frustration, opting to put a bullet in the fledgling's head instead. It wouldn't kill the vampire, but it would keep it down while Wolfwood turned his attention to the individual making his job more exceedingly difficult tonight. His gun bangs and the fledgeling lays quiet with its skull cracked open.
This time, he found the assailant standing overhead on the roof at the end of the alley when he looked back up. The moon illuminated their back, casting their silhouette into stark relief. He raised his smoking gun, a shoot-first-ask-questions-later approach ingrained in him, and fired.
The intruder managed to dodge his shots, their arms flailing slightly as they stepped back with a surprised shout. "Hey, hold on-!" they called out, snapping their head back at Wolfwood, their body tense with dismay.
Wolfwood snorted. Another vampire, surely. No human could possibly move that fast on instinct.
Fine. — Fine.
Wolfwood had dared to look forward to a peaceful remainder of the night, but luck had other plans. He genuinely should have known better as to dream of a break. Another scumbag apparently had to make an unwelcome appearance, intent on ruining his week some more.
He spat out his spent cigarette, reloading his gun with practiced efficiency before taking aim again.
The figure overhead raised both of their hands, awkwardly waving them to draw attention to an surrender. Wolfwood spared it no thought, pulling the trigger again and again. Each shot rang out, reverberating against the narrow alley walls, failing to find their mark. Shells clattered against the ground as Wolfwood reached for his next reload. He ignored the shouted pleas of – "Wait!" – and – "Stop!" – The damn vampire couldn't dodge every single thing Wolfwood intended to hurl at him to end the night, surely.
‘But damned if you're getting under my skin by evading every single shot,’ Wolfwood thought.
"Can you fucking stop moving, freak!" he shouted, reloading his handgun but reaching for the Punisher, after, on his back instead.
"And let you shoot me?" the vampire retorted, their voice shrill. Wolfwood might have poked fun at the crack in their voice on any other day, but the mood for witty banter has started to leave him.
Wolfwood took aim, the Punisher cradled under his arm, and unleashed a spray of bullets. The vampire gave a startled shout, ducking deeper into the alley from the rooftop as bullets tore through brittle walls. Rock and dust exploded where the shots struck brick, drawing a crude like from where he followed after the vampire.
"What the fuck ,—" the vampire shrieked, "are you carrying around a machine gun for?"
Wolfwood clicked his tongue in irritation. The vampire was swift, he would grant it that. It wouldn't have been able to dodge every single shot, but it seemed the vampire intended to outrun him.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
The Punisher smoked, dutifully awaiting its next reload. Wolfwood grew increasingly frustrated with the lithe figure peeking around the corner at the end of the alley. Now properly illuminated, he could make out more of its features.
Jagged blonde hair peeked from under a hood, a face concealed with a tight black mask, and wide, frantic blue eyes staring right at him, his left eye crowning a beauty mark.
Something sparked in the back of Wolfwood's mind. He narrowed his eyes as he quickly scanned those distinctive features once more. The bright, cherry-red hooded jacket the vampire wore stood out starkly in the dark alley. He recognized this vampire, but try as he might, not a single bounty he kept track of in his mind coincided with the person in front of him.
"I know you," Wolfwood called out, his eyes briefly flicking towards the fledgling slowly regenerating on the ground in front of him.
A pause of silence followed, the dust settling, and the vampire foolishly daring to reveal more of himself from his hiding place. "You do?" the vampire asked inquisitively. His genuine surprise sounded suspiciously like interest.
Wolfwood stepped over the fledgling, taking note of the way its wounds are starting to knit close again, shortening the distance between himself and the vampire ahead. The vampire took a wary step back, raising his hands once again. "You're not shooting me again, are you?"
Wolfwood snorted. What the vampire had in dexterity, he surely lacked in wit. One imprudent remark followed another, making it fairly obvious that the vampire hadn't survived this long on smarts alone.
"What's your name?" Wolfwood inquired, leaving the vampire's question unanswered.
This seemed to be enough of a reply to the creature, who shifted his weight from one leg to another. Wolfwood kept a close eye on him. The vampire was an open book when it came to body language, and he could practically hear it weigh its options in its head.
"It's Vash," he replied, taking a step back for each step Wolfwood took forward.
Wolfwood mulled it over, mentally sifting through the documents and folders that had passed through his hands, searching for names from meetings. Nothing came up.
"Must be one of those faces, then," he murmured.
The vampire, Vash, moved to speak, but before he could — Wolfwood charged. He drew a silver blade from his belt and aimed it directly at the vampire's heart, close enough to make the strike quicker than the vampire could possibly dodge.
The clash happened in an instant, Wolfwood's jaw set as he put as much force as he could behind the thrust. He watched as the vampire's eyes widened, stepping back and raising his hands in defense. The blade would have passed through them easily, as long as it struck home, finally ending this drag of an evening right then and there.
Yet, where Wolfwood expected to tear through flesh and spill blood, the blade loudly rang against something metallic. Sparks flew between the dagger and the vampire's left hand, an awfully grating sound of metal grinding over metal ringing between them. The blade slid off, Wolfwood almost lost his grip,and both men stumbled briefly. The hunter managed to regain his step, but the vampire was sent flying back from sheer force and surprise. He fell, cursing, leaving Wolfwood precious seconds to think and reroute his actions before it could get up again.
‘Great. Just my luck. The thing has a metal arm. Of course, he does,’ Wolfwood thought to himself, frustration boiling over.
He spun the dagger in his hand, the blade facing upwards. Behind him, the fledgling groaned. In that split second his next decision was made, Wolfwood turned on his heel and threw the blade in the same breath. With nothing to stop its trajectory, it finally landed home, burying itself deep to the hilt in pale flesh. The fledgling let out a sharp shriek, curling back onto the dirty cobbled ground from where it was getting up, twitching and shaking.
Vash needed moments to react, but react he did. He shouted — “No!” — from underneath Wolfwood, pushing up and rushing towards the crumbling fledgling in an instant. Wolfwood watched with interest as Vash doubled over the fledgling, helplessly witnessing it turn to ember and cinders. His hands fumbled over the doomed creature, as if anything could be done to stay away its final death.
This night was just positively full of surprises. A vampire mourning another was definitely a fresh and unexpected sight.
"I'm starting to think you're the culprit behind that one turning," Wolfwood muttered, more to himself than to the vampire who now held nothing but ashes in his hands.
"You didn't have to kill him," the vampire replied, his voice calm but poorly hiding very obvious anger nonetheless.
Wolfwood snorts, carefully reaching for his last blade so as not to alert the vampire while it still has its back turned. Right now, all he wanted was a beer.
"I'd be a real lousy hunter if I didn't," Wolfwood retorted. "Besides, I don't know if you missed it, but that thing had at least three bodies of blood as tonight's meal. You're scolding the wrong person for murder here."
Vash huffed indignantly, seemingly either utterly unaware or uncaring that he was seconds away from meeting the same fate as the pile of dust beneath him.
"It's — it's not his fault. He didn't have the guidance or control. If he knew what he was doing, he wouldn't have killed those people," the vampire began to explain.
Wolfwood silently raised the dagger in his hand, moving as carefully as possible. He'd heard it all before — vampires swearing they'd never harm a soul and vampire sympathizers begging him to realize that these creatures were once people too. Frankly, he didn't care for it. He had a job to do, and he was damn good at doing it. Vampires are doomed from the start, corrupted souls cursed to feed on the living to remain in this realm. This is a mercy, as far as Wolfwood is concerned. That’s all they tell him at the guild either way.
After bringing the blade down swiftly, only to feel metal meeting metal once again, Wolfwood shouted in frustration. He was done being played with. Vash had turned around the moment Wolfwood had struck, using the same arm as before to catch the blade. Teary blue eyes now glared up at Wolfwood as his face is once again in view. Wolfwood could only imagine the pout hidden beneath that black mask.
"Will you just die already?" Wolfwood snarled. "I'm doing you a favor here, putting that bleeding soul of yours to rest."
Vash twisted the blade in his hand, turning Wolfwood's arm with it and forcing him to release his grip on the hilt. Vash let go of the blade then, trading it for Wolfwood's wrist, giving him no chance to draw another dagger if he even had any left.
Wolfwood moved quickly, too, grabbing for the gun on his belt with his free hand and opting to shoot point-blank instead. Vash caught on before Wolfwood could pull the trigger, twisting the barrel of the gun away. Shots were fired wastefully into the night sky, Wolfwood unable to overpower the vampire in returning it back towards its gut. He didn’t even dare dreaming of winning a contest in pure strength, knowing it would be absolutely futile.
Using the momentum, the vampire pushed Wolfwood back, pinning him against the alley wall. Wolfwood grunts as the Punisher digs into his back, stuck between himself and stone. They stood there for a few quick breaths, at an impasse, Wolfwood glaring down at the vampire.
"Now what, blondie?" Wolfwood's mouth moved as quickly as he thought of ways to get out of this position. He was seconds away from having his guts spilled on the pavement if the vampire so wished for it, with both hands uselessly pinned against the wall, and the Punisher crushed between his back and the brick.
"You're not going to stop trying to kill me," Vash hissed, his eyes narrowed with a hint of defiance. Wolfwood merely replied with a snort at the absurdity of this creature before the vampire continued, "I'm not killing you. See how easy that is? You should try it."
Wolfwood rolled his head to the side, then, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement. "Really? You're not even tempted?"
The vampire sputtered, and there it was — Wolfwood thought, — like clockwork, never missing the hour mark. Vash’s eyes fell down to the expanse of skin bare before him. "You can't tell me you haven't thought of it,” the hunter drawls. “Surely, this alley smells like the perfect evening meal right now."
He could hear the vampire swallow, all his previous talk faltering in an instant. Wolfwood needed that distraction to get free.
Any other person would be a fool to offer a neck like this, but the choker resting around Wolfwood's throat provided some peace of mind. The fabric was woven with fine silver, giving even the most bloodthirsty leech pause.
"The second your teeth hit my skin, you'll be draining me like that dog bled that poor sod over there," Wolfwood prodded, jerking his head toward the desecrated corpse lying a few feet away from them.
Vash's eyes followed, his brows furrowing with a positively pained expression before he turned his attention back to Wolfwood with a snap of his head.
"I can control it," he insisted, sounding like he was trying to convince the both of them. "You just-"
Wolfwood watched keenly, a smirk playing on his lips, and cut him off. "Oh, I've heard it all before. I smell divine , don't I? Positively delicious ?” — Like clockwork.
The vampire all but whimpered in response, needn't to affirm any way else that Wolfwood all but managed to read his thoughts. Pathetic .
Vash's fingers flexed, readjusting their grip on Wolfwood’s wrists. That was all Wolfwood needed. He jerked his head forward, nearly cracking it into the other's skull, while pulling his arms free. The vampire yelped in pain, his hands flying to cover his face, cradling a possibly broken nose. Wolfwood shouldered forward, bringing the vampire off balance while he reached for the Punisher.
Vash took several steps back, bristled and tense, his eyes widening as they locked onto the giant barrel of the Punisher, nose left to drip blood.
"Goodnight, Vash ," Wolfwood purred, giving the agitated vampire a coy wink before pulling the trigger. The vampire bolted at that same moment, shooting out of the alley as the spray of bullets followed him at the heel.
Wolfwood's smile shone bright as he heard the creature shout in pain again, tumbling forward as blood spilled from its shoulder. Be that as it may, it didn't stop Vash in his escape. He continued to flee down the narrow alley and took a sharp turn to the left.
Wolfwood cursed, only now realizing that Vash had no intention of finishing the fight or bleeding him dry. He was getting away. The hunter pursued, bounding out of the alley, turning left — and finding no one there.
Wolfwood turned his head, scanning the dead streets and rooftops quickly for any sign of red, a trail of blood, anything. But he came up with absolutely nothing.
"Fucker’s fast," he muttered to himself.
Wolfwood waited out a beat longer, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any hint of movement, a sign that a wounded vampire had passed through. The vampire's agility was nothing short of frustrating, defying its appearance of gangly, awkwardly moving limbs.
To an observer, it might resemble a newly born fawn, wide-eyed and trembling on unsteady legs. Just another reminder to not trust your eyes when it comes to these predators.
Wolfwood lit another cigarette, the alley's shadows closing in around him as he muttered curses under his breath while returning to the scene. Hunting Vash the vampire would have to wait for another day, he was sure. For now, he had bodies to take care of, the first of hopefully not many located in front of him.
The report on this was going to be an absolute drag .
⁂
After ensuring the proper arrangements had been made for the bodies to be located and cleaned up, and the fledgling's remains disposed of, Wolfwood returned to his rented room. It was a dimly lit and nondescript space that served as his temporary sanctuary. The flickering neon sign from a nearby bar cast erratic shadows on the peeling wallpaper. He had earned a reward, and his reward came in the form of a bottle of beer. He would have preferred nursing its neck at the bar across the window, but a report like this couldn't be written in public.
Wolfwood sat at a worn wooden table, a battered laptop in front of him. He had begun typing up his report when a nagging thought crept into his mind. The vampire he had encountered tonight, Vash, there was something about him, something naggingly familiar. His face, even half-hidden behind that mask, seemed etched into his memory. It's not like he didn't encounter blue-eyed blondes in this area, but the sight struck such a chord of familiarity that Wolfwood couldn't let it go.
Taking a swig of his beer, he turned his attention to a stack of documents, files, and photographs meticulously arranged on the table. These were the profiles of known vampires, their histories, and the bounties on their heads. Wolfwood was determined to match that face to a name, to confirm his hunch. It was the only way he should know this face— a personal encounter like this he would definitely remember.
But as he flipped through the documents, he couldn't find any active bounty or description that matched Vash. The disquieting feeling gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but think he knew this vampire from somewhere, from a time long past, maybe even before he had graduated into being a hunter.
Vash had only stood on defense, never once taking a proper swipe at him. The vampire had barely used his gun twice—shooting a blade from Wolfwood's fingers without causing him any damage, and another out of midair. That was precise marksmanship he hadn't seen before. Something about Vash should have come up in the system, but the time he wasted cross-referencing his findings delivered no satisfying answer. A vampire like that could have been mistaken for a human before, even by him.
Wolfwood leaned back in his chair, contemplating the beer bottle before him. He couldn't shake the sense of deeper familiarity, a chance meeting felt too convenient to just be it, and gnawed at his resolve. He needed to focus on his job, on the hunt. Vash would be a dead vampire soon, just like any other that crossed Wolfwood’s path. It was hardly worth the fuss he was making.
With a sigh, he closed his laptop and pushed the documents aside. His attention returned to the half-empty bottle of beer, a somber acknowledgment. Wolfwood wasn't one to dwell on the past, especially when the night was still young and no new bounty had found its way to him.
And so, he leaned back, lost in the dim room and the memories that lingered on the fringes of his consciousness, letting the noise of the more lively parts of Maycity outside wash over him.