Using Wendy's notes, the vampire managed to locate where that man would be that night. He would be at a bar. Demian had discovered everything about that man: his name was Samuel, and he was from outside the city, working as a mercenary. This explained a lot about why he was able to fight against Demian even though the boy had his vampire powers.
Samuel was a former soldier; his skills with all kinds of weapons were obvious, and he liked to use knives.
It was with one of his knives that he almost killed Demian.
The vampire took a deep breath. He had trained not only to physically improve his fighting style but also his abilities; he wanted to make his instincts more powerful.
He also knew that everyone in that bar had already encountered him before and were the same group that helped Samuel almost kill him. It would be a difficult fight, but Demian trusted that he could win.
"It's time," he said to himself and kicked the bar door open.
The door flew inward, hitting a man standing in front of it and knocking him out. Immediately, everyone's attention turned to that, and Demian didn't waste any time. He lunged at two men nearby, hitting one with a punch to the stomach and the other with a kick that threw him into a table, breaking the glasses and bottles on it.
Demian moved quickly, his vampire-enhanced reflexes allowing him to dodge incoming blows with ease.
The other men in the bar rushed to confront him, but he was a whirlwind of calculated strikes and brutal force. A swift uppercut sent one attacker crashing into the wall, while a spinning kick knocked another out cold.
The air filled with the sounds of shattering glass and grunts of pain. Despite being outnumbered, Demian's confidence grew with every hit he landed. He could feel his instincts sharpening, his senses heightened, every movement fluid and precise.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door at the back of the bar swung open, and more men appeared. This time, they were armed with baseball bats and moved swiftly to strike. They were fast and well-trained.
Demian barely dodged the first swing, feeling the air rush past his face as the bat narrowly missed him. Another attacker swung from the side. Demian ducked just in time, countering with a sharp elbow to the assailant's ribs. The force made the man stagger but didn't stop him.
With his heightened vampire reflexes, Demian weaved between the swinging bats, blocking one blow with his forearm and delivering a quick punch that sent another attacker crashing into a wall.
One of the attackers tried hitting Demian, the vampire dodged, and the wooden bat cracked against the counter and glass bottles on top of it.
Demian grabbed the baseball bat and yanked it from the hand of the man who had attacked him, quickly using it to strike the enemy, destroying the bat and knocking him out.
The bar fell silent for a moment. Everything inside was destroyed.
It had been easy, and Demian felt good, enjoying the thrills of battle.
However, none of those defeated on the floor were the man he was looking for.
"Show yourself! I know you're here!" Demian shouted, his voice angry and still charged with the emotion of the fight.
Demian heard footsteps coming from the upper level of the bar—heavy, confident steps.
Finally, he saw a figure descending the stairs in the corner behind the bar counter.
The man with blond hair and a black leather jacket revealed himself.
His gaze swept the destroyed scene before him, a cold smile playing on his lips. Without hesitation, Samuel drew a long, sharp knife from his coat, the blade gleaming under the dim bar lights.
"I always have to clean up the mess others make," Samuel said calmly as he stepped forward, eyes locking with Demian's.
Demian said nothing. He tightened his grip on the bloodied bat, his fangs slightly visible between clenched teeth. His heart pounded—not out of fear, but the thrill of finally facing the man who almost ended him.
Samuel moved first. Fast. His knife flashed toward Demian's throat. Demian barely dodged, tossing the bat aside and answering with a savage kick to Samuel's chest. The mercenary stumbled back a step but smirked.
Their movements were a blur. Blades clashed against supernatural speed, fists collided with forearms, and every impact cracked the walls and splintered the floor.
Demian's breathing grew heavier as they continued to attack each other without being able to get a good hit on each other.
Damian needed to concentrate more if he wanted to win.
With a low growl, he let his instincts take over. His fangs extended fully, sharper and longer. His nails twisted into claw-like blades, glinting under the flickering lights. His eyes turned a deeper red.
Samuel raised an eyebrow but didn't back down.
"I knew there was something weird with you." Samuel grinned.
Demian rushed forward, his claws slashing fast and wild. Samuel blocked one strike with the flat of his knife but took another across his arm. Blood dripped from the wound, but he only laughed.
Samuel dodged one of the strikes and drove his knife into Demian's hand, making him scream like a wounded animal.
"You'd make a damn good mercenary," Samuel said with a cold grin. "But you're wasting your talents."
Samuel countered with brutal efficiency.
Demian grew angry at those words. He didn't believe he was wasting his potential. In fact, he had always trusted in his abilities. Fighting was all he had ever known since young. Like Wendy, he had always been alone.
The difference was that Wendy had her power from the beginning. Demian only received his after he was older.
After taking many beatings throughout his life.
"I won't let a weak human surpass me!" Demian shouted.
He let his instincts and rage take over. His hatred surged.
He believed only in natural power and not in developing new skills. He couldn't accept the idea that someone could simply train and reach the same level as him.
That was something unacceptable.
If Samual was a vampire or another magical creature, he would respect him, but he couldn't bring himself to respect the power of a human.
Everything seemed to go dark, as if the world itself had been swallowed by his overwhelming emotions. Demian felt something inside him snap, like a dam breaking. He let the monster within take control.
There was no more thought. No more control. Just rage. Just instinct.
Flashes of motion. Blood. A blur of violence and shadow. The sound of something crashing, something breaking—maybe furniture, maybe bones.
Then there was only silence.
Demian blinked. He was panting heavily, his vision slowly clearing.
He was standing in the middle of the wrecked bar, blood dripping from his hand. In his grip was Samuel's knife.
Samuel was lying on the ground, lifeless... Demian clenched the knife tightly then threw it to the floor, where it stuck into the wooden floorboards. Everything had happened so fast that he didn't have the satisfaction of victory, but still, it was over.
He left the bar before anyone else could arrive and report the massacre to the police.