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The crimson spray soared and spread across the faces of the two remaining hunters like a sudden mystical rain, acidic as it blinded their eyes. "Vampire!" the woman on the left shouted as she attempted to shield her eyes from the blood that came upon her like sea spray.
The now limp and fast freezing body of the Tarquin's slain hunter made a small thump as it hit the forest floor like a doll. It wasn't so much hunting that caused Tarquin's blood to rush but the joy of pure and senseless slaughter that drove him on like raving dementia. But the fact that he got to feed while inflicting massive damage was merely a bonus to him. It was not just his vampiric blood lust that he had to satisfy but also the need for violence that came from his Hellion upbringing. Because Hellions were natural conquerors, though capable of having and maintaining a world of their own in times of peace, they could never go without war for too long. If they hadn't broke out of their realm and started to conquer other worlds, they would have undoubtedly started war amongst themselves. Animosity, after all, was never far beneath the surface
But a Hellion's mind was not just for war, they maintained several other useful abilities, one such being that they were dream eaters. Dream eating, as it was referred to in their home world, was a mental ability for Hellion's to enter dreams and consume the mental energy that created dreams while their victims slept. Because dreams were closely related to what lied deeply within the victim's soul, eating dreams allowed a hellion to perceive hidden desires; most often of which was meant to be kept secret. Though this was not an intentionally harmful ability, it did have its defects. Dream eating called for the consumption of mental energy and therefore, when used numerous and prolonged times on an individual victim, was capable of draining the sanity and leaving the individual permanently insane. Such an ability could only be done when one was in complete concentration and was unnecessary in something as primal and instinctive as hunting.
A malicious, savage grin spread upon his lips, curling with cruelty. "Come at me, hunter. Show me your best!" he uttered harshly toward the female captain who had successfully shielded her eyes from the blood blast. For reasons unknown a smidgen of interest caught hold of Tarquin as he turned his gaze toward Jyotika only for second, eying her curiously for taking her sweet time for the kill. The hunter was already incapacitated, his mind rant disdainfully. What was she holding onto him for?
His thoughts were cut short suddenly when he suddenly felt the sensation of cold steel sliding through his abdomen. It seemed a second was all the Vanguardian captain needed to run him through with her long sword. The slicing sensation from which the blow was delivered was enough to leave him stunned for a few moments, blinking stupidly at the hilt she had left there, feeling his blood slowly stain the fragile fabric of his shirt. Suddenly he rushed back to his senses, ignoring the pain of removing the blade and pulled it out of him. In a flash, he reversed the attack and dug the sword deep into the captain, catching her final partner off-guard. The tip ripped through her steel-plated armor like paper, tearing through her internal organs, particularly her stomach, and making her drop like buzz kill.
The sound of the Vanguardian falling effortlessly to the floor made the final hunter come to his sense and bolt for escape. He thought nothing of his intense, tactical training, of his Vanguardian oath, of honor, or of glory. with his commanding officer dead and being separated from the rest of his troop, he had nothing left to remember, save his own life. So he ran, mind blinding, deep into the wood, so that only he could live to see the light of day again.
But if there was something Tarquin loved more than stationary death, it was a good chase.
