The Vampire's Crimson Kiss (Editing)

Interlude: Strategy and Tactics

Beneath the labyrinthine network of ancient tunnels that crisscrossed beneath the historic streets of London lies the clandestine heart of the Defiance. Here, in the dimly lit recesses of forgotten catacombs and disused chambers, their headquarters stood as a middle finger to the darkness that had engulfed the world. The building itself was a patchwork of makeshift shelters and reinforced barricades, constructed from salvaged materials and remnants of a bygone era. The walls, etched with graffiti and marked by the passage of time, echoed with the whispers of rebellion. Tattered banners hung from the ceiling, bearing the emblem of the Defiance—a clenched fist raised defiantly against a backdrop of flames.

Within these walls, the Defiance thrived—a guerrilla organization fueled by the fervent determination of its members. Lean and starving soldiers, mostly young and idealistic, roamed the corridors with a sense of purpose that belied their lack of skill or talent. They were united by a common cause, bound together by their unwavering dedication to the fight against their vampiric oppressors.

At the heart of the resistance stood General Crab, a formidable figure whose presence commanded respect and attention. His weathered face bore the scars of countless battles, his steely gaze reflecting the weight of leadership in a world teetering on the brink of oblivion. Despite his grizzled exterior, there was a fire in his eyes—a burning passion that fueled his every decision and inspired those around him to stand tall in the face of adversity.

General Crab was more than just a leader; he was a symbol of hope—a beacon of light in a world consumed by darkness. With every stride he took through the tunnels of the Defiance headquarters, he carried with him the hopes and dreams of those who dared to defy the night. And as he prepared to lead his troops into battle once more, he knew that their struggle was far from over—but with courage and determination, they would fight on until the last breath of humanity echoed through the halls of their underground sanctuary.

Today, he was in conference with the hero who had stirred whispers throughout the Defiance. It had taken a significant number of vampire and familiar deaths to persuade him to risk meeting her in person. In truth, she didn't appear as dangerous as her reputation suggested. After witnessing her return from numerous raids unscathed, he had grown to trust her presence, even with her French companion by her side.

"What you suggest is the abandonment of strategy," said General Crab, reclining in this chair at the meeting table. The generals staff and advisors looked on. 

"As I have stated, I have deduced many things," said John Rene the Ferryman. "The coven is weakened, their numbers few, and they will be further depleted during the impending wedding of the Duke and Duchess. Subsequently, their forces will bolster, and the demand for blood from your people will inevitably rise."

"You have explained your plan's rationale, but what leads you to believe such a bold scheme will succeed?" questioned the General.

"In a word, her," responded Rene, gesturing towards Elizabeth beside him. As people moved about, the candlelight danced, illuminating her figure clad in a green uniform, with short military hair and worn boots, dust clinging to her from nights spent watching the tower.

"I don't trust her," interjected one of the Captains.

Elizabeth grew visibly agitated. "How many of their kind must I kill before you believe me? I am not one of them. I loathe and detest every single one. I will not cease until each one lies dead and their bones turn to ashes on the wind."

Elizabeth harbored no desire for yet another loyalty test. Each night, her nightmares tormented her, and in her dreams, she tore at flesh like a wild animal. The taste of vampire blood was satisfying, but her thoughts often drifted to the taste of humans, finding herself licking her lips at the mere thought. She sought solace in Rene's whippings, believing them to be a penance for her sorrow and guilt over the retaliatory attacks.