As the vampires kept swarming the deck, their snarls and hisses filling the air, Herald thrust his sword into the chest of another vampire attacker. The blade pierced through with a sickening squelch, black blood spurting from the wound and splattering across his weathered face and clothes. The vampire staggered, its hands clawing feebly at the blade lodged in its chest before Herald shoved it overboard with a powerful kick, sending it plunging into the dark waters below.
But the victory was short-lived. All around him, more vampires descended upon the ship, their pale faces twisted with hunger as they sank their fangs into his crewmates. Screams of pain echoed over the seas as the men fell, one by one, to the bloodthirsty attackers. Herald could barely keep up, his sword arm growing weary as he fought to defend his ship and crew. His weapon, now slick with black vampire blood, gleamed ominously in the moonlight.
Nearby, Alec fired off shot after shot, his enchanted bullets blasting through the heads of the vampires with deadly precision. But for every vampire that fell, another seemed to take its place. The ship began to rock violently under the strain of the battle, the wooden planks groaning as the seas beneath them churned.
On the sentry ship, Daire stood tall and unmoving, his crimson eyes fixed on Vivi. He watched her with an eerie calm, as if he were waiting for something—waiting for her to make her move. His gaze pierced through the chaos, through the bloodshed, as if he were staring directly into Vivi's soul.
Vivi and Clover fought side by side, their movements swift and precise. Clover, though still harbouring fear of her werewolf nature, unleashed her strength in short bursts, slashing through vampires with claws that tore through flesh like paper. Her reflexes kept her one step ahead of their attacks, dodging and countering with lethal speed.
But the vampires they fought—each one they stabbed or shot—began to regenerate, their wounds slowly closing as they continued to fight. It was an exhausting cycle of destruction and rebirth. As Vivi cut through another vampire, only to watch its arm regrow before her eyes, she gritted her teeth in frustration.
Herald, panting heavily, ran toward them, slashing through a vampire that had lunged at Clover. "Hold them off until sunrise!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from shouting orders all night. The horizon was beginning to lighten with the faintest hint of dawn, but the night still clung stubbornly to the sea, keeping the vampires strong and relentless. "The sun'll drive 'em back!" Herald yelled, his eyes bleary with exhaustion.
The prospect of fighting through the rest of the night weighed heavily on them all. Vivi wiped sweat from her brow, her chest heaving from the exertion. She knew that at this rate, they wouldn't last long. The vampires were too many, and their regeneration made killing them nearly impossible.
She clenched her fists, her mind racing. There was one weapon she hadn't used yet, one she only called upon in dire situations. Her demon weapon—the Soul Eater—given to her by the seven sins when she'd made her dark pact. It was a weapon that consumed both flesh and souls, a tool of destruction that fed on its victims, and Vivi had been hesitant to summon it here. But now, with the crew dwindling and the vampires closing in, she knew she had no choice.
With a sigh of resignation, Vivi dropped her ordinary sword, letting it clatter to the deck. She raised her hand slowly, her eyes glowing with a deep, malevolent red. Clover, who had been fighting fiercely beside her, stopped for a moment and glanced over, her eyes widening as she sensed something changing in Vivi.
Herald, who had just finished cutting down another vampire, turned and stared, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you—"
Before he could finish, Vivi whispered, her voice low but full of power. "Soul Eater... come to me."
In an instant, the air around Vivi seemed to darken. A grotesque red hilt began to materialize in her hand, dripping with a slimy, pulsating substance. The weapon twisted and shifted as it formed, turning into something alive—something hungry. The blade emerged from the hilt like the birth of a monster, its shape grotesque and unnatural, ending in a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. The blade itself was a living, writhing creature, its tongue flicking out from the gaping maw of the weapon.
