Unholy

A gentle breeze blew, scattering the scent of wild blossoms growing along the cliffside. Those crimson eyes gazed deeply into Elenor’s.

Both of their hearts raced, yet there was no anxiety to be found. Only a rare clarity, like the surface of a lake before a storm.

"Yes, Killian. For the first time, I know exactly what I want. I—"

Elenor’s sentence was cut short. The tranquility shattered in an instant.

The tolling of bells from the center of Solstheim village suddenly echoed, heavy and rhythmic, like the pounding heart of a giant screaming a warning of danger. The mist of the Black Forest, usually still, was violently parted by a blinding flash of silver light. Among the trees, the willow branches that had been lost in thought just moments ago now trembled without a wind.

"They are here," Killian said.

His previously calm expression shifted instantly. The light in his eyes grew darker.

He hurriedly drew his black sword from its scabbard. Then, narrowing his eyes, he pierced through the dark fog with a vision that not even the night could conquer.

"Killian, there are too many of them."

Elenor stood up, the herbs in her hand spilling onto the ground. She could feel it even before she saw them. Holy energy rushed forth like a flooding river, violently striking back against the dark aura that had long shrouded Solstheim.

"I can feel an immense power coming from over there. This is no ordinary squad."

"Yes. I see it too."

"Let’s leave this place. Now!"

"No," Killian replied without looking back. "We finish this here."

Below the cliff, Solstheim, which had slept in peace for years, was now forced awake. The thundering hooves of dozens of horses shattered the morning silence.

Dozens of priests in white robes marched in a perfect circle, surrounding the small cottage with a purifying magic that radiated a pale blue light. The light was not beautiful. To Elenor, it felt like cold hands squeezing her chest from the inside.

At the very front of the line, a black-eyed man stood with his hand gripping the hilt of a holy sword. His posture was rigid. His smile, cold.

Latvan—the Sword of the Grand Temple—stared straight toward the terrace of the house, as if he had known all along where they were hiding.

"Saintess, we are here to retrieve you." His voice resonated like a divine decree—not loud, yet seeping straight into the bone. "Repent and return to the embrace of the Lord. Leave that wretched monster before he destroys you further."

Elenor froze.

Her fingers were now trembling violently. The leaves lay scattered at her feet. Images of the altar, the Pope's whip, and the chalice catching her blood drop by drop all crashed into her mind at once, like a broken tape forced to replay.

'Kneel, Saintess. Be silent. The Lord has already forgiven you.'

Killian stepped forward, placing himself directly between Latvan and Elenor. His power began to overflow.

"Saintess." Latvan ignored Killian entirely, his eyes remaining fixed on the woman behind the vampire’s back. "If you come quietly, perhaps I will consider sparing this creature's life."

"Whose life do you think you're sparing?" Killian’s voice was low, but the air around them vibrated. "Elenor came here of her own free will. There was no magic. No coercion. How dare you stand here acting as if you hold the moral ground."

"The Saintess must be under your influence," Latvan countered, his tone bordering on pity—almost. "It is impossible for the Daughter of God to follow a demon like you of her own full consciousness."

Killian fell silent for a second. Then, with a voice that was calmer, and because of that, far more menacing, he said: "You lot, who watched her suffer every single day from behind those holy robes—do you truly deserve to call anyone else a demon?"

This time, Latvan did not answer with words.

He merely raised one hand.

Instantly, the priests behind him began to chant a high-level spell. The sound was low, rhythmic, and felt like a saw scraping directly into the chest cavity. The air around Solstheim shifted, turning heavy and suffocating for anyone who did not carry pure human blood in their veins.

And sure enough.

Killian bowed his head slightly. Blood dripped from the corner of his lips, falling onto the cracked earth.

He wiped it away with the back of his hand, slowly, expressionless.

"This place will become your grave," Latvan finally drew his sword.

"Perish," Killian said.

The man in the white robe smiled, a look of sheer mockery painted across his face. He glanced at the vampire, saying, "The one who abducts the Daughter of God must perish. I will wipe out your entire clan."