Blood

Chapter Sixty: Bloodlust

Ethan’s body trembled, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. He felt a darkness coursing through him, an unrelenting fury that burned like fire in his veins. The world around him faded into a blur as his anger took over.

His skin began to grow pale, like the lifeless stone of the castle around him. The heat in his body evaporated, leaving him with an icy coldness that seeped deep into his bones. His senses sharpened, his hearing intensified, and every beat of his heart sounded like a war drum in his chest. His teeth lengthened, sharp like daggers, his fangs pushing through his gums with an audible crack. His claws elongated, the once-human hands now monstrous, and his once-black eyes glowed with an eerie red hue, a crimson fire reflecting his fury.

Without a second thought, Ethan summoned his powers. Energy erupted around him like a storm. Swords of pure light materialized in his hands, their blades crackling with searing energy. But as he held them, something shifted within him. His anger was no longer about control, about precision. It was about destruction, pure and simple. His weapons transformed into jagged blades of raw energy, and his movements became a blur of violence.

In an instant, Ethan was upon the shifters. His claws slashed through them with a speed so blinding that none could even register his presence before they were already dead. He tore through their ranks, each movement fluid and unstoppable. He slashed, stabbed, and bit with brutal efficiency, his fangs sinking into their flesh, draining them of life with a viciousness born from the depths of his rage.

Shifters crumpled to the floor, their bodies torn apart before they could even scream. Ethan was a blur of darkness and death, every strike a testament to his fury. He was no longer fighting to win—he was fighting to make them suffer, to make them pay for the death of Gregory. And the shifters, unable to even track his movements, fell one by one, unable to escape his wrath.

In mere moments, the room was filled with the lifeless bodies of the shifters, their blood pooling on the cold stone floor. But still, Ethan was not satisfied. He could feel their presence, could hear their panicked breath as some of them turned to flee. The cowardice in their hearts only fueled him further.

With a growl, he chased after the ones who had tried to retreat. He was faster than they could comprehend, faster than they could react. He grabbed one by the throat as he tried to escape through the door, lifting him off the ground with ease, his claws digging into the shifter's flesh. The shifter struggled, but Ethan’s grip was iron. His red eyes glinted with madness as he stared down at the terrified creature.

"Where... Is... Your... Leader?!!" Ethan’s voice was a growl, low and guttural, filled with malice.

The shifter’s eyes darted frantically, and with a trembling hand, he pointed to a distant corner of the room. Ethan’s eyes followed the direction with deadly precision.

In the blink of an eye, he snapped the shifter’s neck, the sickening crack echoing through the room as the lifeless body fell from his grip.

The others, seeing their comrades fall, scrambled to retreat. But Ethan was already on them. He moved with a fluidity that defied human limits, a relentless force of nature. One by one, the remaining shifters were torn apart, their bodies mangled, their lives extinguished without mercy.

As the last of them fell, Ethan stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with the unrestrained fury that still burned within him. The room was silent now, save for the sound of his ragged breathing.

Eliza stepped into the doorway, her eyes wide with a mix of concern and disbelief. “Ethan, wait. This isn’t you. It's okay. We've won. I’ll take it from here. I'll go and subdue their leader and bring him in for punishment.”

Ethan’s eyes, still glowing with an unholy red, locked onto her. His face was cold, devoid of any empathy. His voice, when he spoke, was like ice. “I’ll administer the punishment myself.”

Before Eliza could protest further, Ethan vanished from sight. The only sign of his presence was the faint rush of air as he sped toward the throne room, leaving nothing but the echo of his fury behind.

The throne room was dark, save for the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls. The man who had orchestrated the attack sat in his throne, a smug expression on his face as he regarded Ethan’s arrival. His eyes widened when he saw Ethan's transformation.

"You escaped? Now I'm impressed," the man said, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice. "You're really strong. You'll make a strong ally."

Ethan didn’t respond, his gaze locking onto the man. His red eyes gleamed, and his fangs glistened in the torchlight.

The man’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, you're just a vampire. What a shame. I thought you were something stronger."

He shook his head as he stood from the throne. With the speed of someone accustomed to battle, he closed the distance between them in an instant, throwing a punch that seemed destined to crush Ethan's skull.

But Ethan was faster. His hand shot out, catching the man’s fist with ease. The man’s eyes widened in shock as Ethan's grip tightened around his wrist.

"W—what are you?" the man stammered, his voice filled with disbelief and fear.

Ethan’s lips curled into a cruel, predatory grin.

“The last face you’ll ever see.”