Danmachi Familia from Hell

20

- Healing magic? - the bloodsucker exclaimed in astonishment.

Over more than seven hundred years of his life he had seen such sorcery so few times that he could have counted them on the fingers of one hand.

- You never cease to amaze me, elf.

The ability to summon skeletons; a weapon more durable than any metal alloy, which moreover wounded the unworthy at a mere touch (the burned skin and blisters had only just finished fading); and now, on top of that, a spell that could wrench people from death’s grasp.
Healing versus regeneration. Under normal circumstances their fight could have dragged on for hours, until one of them finally collapsed from exhaustion.

It could have been Belakher, whose spell—necessary to keep pace with his enemy—would eventually squeeze every last drop of energy from him. Or it could have been the vampire, whose ability to reconstruct his body would exceed its limit if he continued to suffer such grievous wounds as he had so far. The white-haired one had the advantage that he could be torn to shreds and still survive, whereas in Landgrave’s case a single thrust to the heart or brain would leave no doubt as to the outcome.
Unfortunately, time was working against the bloodsucker. The longer the fight dragged on, the closer dawn crept, and he had no idea how many more abominations that cursed mage still kept hidden in the darkness. He was glad he had not used all the blood taken from his opponent to create a stake. Around black-haired one’s feet there was still a puddle that had yet to soak into the ground.
A faint smile appeared on the vampire’s face, sending a shiver down Belakher’s spine.
He’s coming, the elf thought, preparing for the next attack. He stepped one foot forward, bent his knees, and extended the bident before him, holding it at hip height. Meanwhile the vampire opened his mouth as wide as he could, and the puddle around his opponent began to tremble strangely. Another of Landgrave’s techniques, learned from Hades, consisted of launching himself forward with maximum force while simultaneously being pulled by the divine weapon. In this way one gained greater speed, accuracy, and reach, without the feet touching the ground at all during the charge.
When the long-eared one was already flying toward the vampire, something brushed his cheek. A red blur flashed before his eyes, far outpacing him. It took only a moment for the violet-eyed elf to realize that it was the blood he had lost—and where it was headed. The liquid poured straight into the bloodsucker’s maw; he swallowed it at once and eagerly licked his mouth clean of the remnants. The instant his lips came together again, Belakher’s weapon was already centimeters from his forehead.
At that moment Landgrave blinked. An ordinary action, performed automatically by everyone, so fast that it does not interrupt our vision at all. For the elf, it changed everything. Before his eyelids closed, he had been on the verge of piercing his enemy’s skull. As they met, he heard the sound of claws colliding with the bident’s prongs. When he opened his eyes again, he was already flying toward the wall, knocked back by his opponent’s parry. Instinctively he managed to curl up to lessen the impact, but he still crashed with tremendous force. He did not fly outside; instead, he landed in a heap of shattered bricks, rotten through from within.
Dear Hades, lord of the Underworld, what was that?! Though he screamed in his thoughts, the ringing in his ears caused by the blow drowned it out.
Aren’t vampires supposed to drink blood by sinking their fangs into some unfortunate victim’s neck?! Oh, what are you thinking, fool? Everything you know about this creature comes from made-up stories told around campfires after draining a wineskin. You have no idea how his powers work, nor how his body functions.
These thoughts, combined with clawing his way out of the pile of rubble, took him exactly a second and a half. He assumed a defensive stance as quickly as he could, thinking the vampire was charging at him to deliver the final blow. Once again, however, he was wrong.
The bloodsucker was still standing where he had been before, yet he could hardly be called an unmoving statue. A mist of intense crimson was seeping from his body—not like sweat steaming off a man after great exertion. This cloud was magical in nature. Blood for lord of the province was the only sustenance capable of sating his hunger, and at the same time the source of his power. The more he drank in a given time, the stronger he became, and the blood of those who had received divine blessings tasted especially exquisite to him and affected him in a unique way.
His silhouette—especially the upper parts of his body—became far more muscular. His feet, previously humanoid, began to resemble bat limbs. His face no longer merely resembled that of a night hunter; it was identical. The only differences were the fangs, which now grew not only from the upper but also from the lower jaw. They were much thicker and longer, reminiscent of the dentition of Ligerfangs. The scarlet eyes with sharp pupils turned into empty, glowing orbs, ceasing to differ in any way from those of common monsters. Chaos itself seemed to seize his disheveled hair, transforming it into a tangled, leonine mane.
Seeing what kind of monster his enemy was becoming, Belakher made preparations to defend his life.