[Three hours later…]
The training field was already filled with organized rows of recruits. The sun had risen high enough to illuminate the entire black stone track where the exercises normally took place. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat, iron, and anticipation.
Dozens of young vampires stood in position, forming almost perfect lines as they awaited the start of the day's activities.
Some spoke quietly about the events of the previous days, with Fither Cross, who had been completely humiliated along with his dear bully friends.
Others simply observed the field in silence, just waiting for the next orders.
Until the side door of the complex opened… Victor entered, the effect was immediate.
Conversations died mid-sentence, some faces turned towards him almost instinctively.
Silence.
Victor walked across the courtyard yawning loudly, running a hand through his still somewhat messy hair while his other hand distractedly scratched his stomach under his new shirt.
"Damn it…" he murmured, his voice slurred with sleep. "I couldn't even sleep properly… at least Mom's food was tasty." He grumbled as he looked around and scratched his stomach again, revealing a bit of his ripped abs.
He seemed completely oblivious to the attention he was receiving.
But the others weren't… Something was… different… Very different.
The Victor everyone knew was thin, almost frail by vampire standards. Always carrying that damned reputation of being a Bad Blood.
Now… Damn, now it seemed like he was just a stupid rumor! His shoulders were broader, his posture firmer… but what really caught the eye was his… heavier presence.
Even under his simple training shirt, the outline of his muscles was too clearly visible to go unnoticed.
Some recruits exchanged glances.
"Has he always been like this?" someone whispered.
"No… not a chance…"
Victor walked past them as if they didn't exist, yawning again as he shuffled his feet to his usual row.
He stopped.
He stretched haphazardly and stood there waiting, completely relaxed.
A few meters behind, a group was still whispering.
"Did he grow?"
"Was that… like… from yesterday to today?"
"What the hell happened to this guy?"
The main gate of the camp then opened with a heavy metallic sound.
Footsteps echoed… The conversation died instantly.
Ethan Cross entered the camp with his usual rigid posture, his cold gaze scanning the rows of recruits as if he were assessing defective merchandise.
Silence settled in again.
Victor looked in the man's direction… made an immediate grimace and murmured low enough for only those nearby to hear: "…Oh no."
He rubbed his face with his hand. "Of all people, this little shit today..." Then he sighed, "What fucking bad luck."
A short time later...
"No, no, that's not how it works!!" Ethan shouted while 'training' the vampires. Damn it, training was bullshit, this sicko was just taking out his frustration on them.
"You need to swing your sword a little more to the left, you imbecile!" he said to Victor, who just sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you!"
'It's good that I'm getting stronger... but pretending to be weak while listening to this nuisance is really difficult.' Victor thought as he swung his sword. Was it made of wood? But he would love to break it over Ethan's head.
"COME ON!" He shouted right in Victor's ear, just to provoke him... And well... he succeeded.
'Ah, fuck it.' Victor thought, and let the sword fall to the ground. The thud of the wood hitting the ground made a crack that simply shattered everything.
Everyone simply stared at Victor.
Ethan did it on purpose; he wanted a stage and wanted to debut as the protagonist. "What was that? Did you sway so much you lost strength in your little princess arms?" Ethan questioned, as if Victor didn't have muscles as big as his, if not bigger.
"Ethan." Victor spoke very calmly, but his voice came out sharp as his eyes turned a glowing red. He let out a sigh that, for a few seconds, seemed to have accompanied a small puff of smoke.
"W. What. Was. That?" Ethan spoke slowly, waiting for a reaction.
Victor smiled, bent down, and picked up the wooden sword. "Ethan, I can't participate in your class anymore because you're complete trash." He said, his eyes turning even redder, and with just a clenched fist, everyone heard.
KRARRCKT??!!
The wooden sword shattered completely as it continued to make brittle shards, "How did you manage to become a mid-grade swordsman with this disgusting level of skill?"
"What did you just say?" Ethan's face began to contort in fury; he was preparing to strike Victor, but…
Victor lunged forward before anyone could react. The broken half of the wooden sword came first.
CRACK!
The impact struck Ethan's face with brutal force, pushing his head back as his body lost its balance. The dry sound of the wood breaking apart echoed across the field.
Ethan fell backward onto the black stone.
Victor landed on top of him in the same movement.
For a second the entire field froze… No one breathed… No one spoke.
Victor no longer seemed to hear anything.
His red eyes gleamed wildly, almost animalistically.
"You bastard—" Ethan tried to react immediately, attempting to push Victor away. "THUD!"
The first punch landed on his face before the sentence was finished.
Ethan's head hit the ground.
"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!" he growled, trying to grab Victor's arm.
Victor only responded with another, even more powerful punch.
THUD!
And another.
THUD!
And yet another.
Victor's breathing was heavy now, uneven. Each blow was charged with something accumulated over years. Years of being called useless.
The Damned One.
Ethan's hand finally managed to grab Victor's wrist, trying to stop the next blow. "GET OFF ME!"
"Shut up." Victor growled low. "You bitch."
He pulled his arm away with absurd force.
Ethan tried to twist his body to escape, but Victor was already on top of him again, his knee pressing against his chest to keep him on the ground.
Another blow came.
Heavier.
CRACK!
A dry sound echoed.
Some recruits instinctively recoiled.
"STOP HIM!" someone shouted from the ranks. The other uncomfortable students even tried to approach, but no one dared after seeing the aura Victor was emitting.
It was as if they were all defenseless rabbits and Victor was an Alpha Wolf who had lived his entire life hunting... A little frightening, since Wolves refer to Werewolves, but the analogy still existed in their hearts.
Ethan tried to counterattack in a desperate reflex, his body reacting even before his mind could process what was happening. His fist came fast, heavy, hitting the side of Victor's face with a dry impact that echoed across the field.
THUD!
Victor's head snapped from the blow, his neck twisting slightly from the force of the strike. For an instant—just half a second—he stood motionless, like a statue frozen in time. Some recruits even held their breath, thinking that might be enough to make him stop.
It wasn't.
Victor slowly returned his head to its original position.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
His eyes now shone with a much more intense, deep, almost feverish red. His pupils seemed to burn beneath his tense eyelids, as if something wild were crawling out from within him.
The corner of his mouth curved into a crooked smile.
"...Finally reacted..." he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if each word were being scraped from his throat.
Then his hand shot out.
Victor grabbed the collar of Ethan's uniform with such brutal force that the fabric partially tore instantly. His fingers sank into the cloth and flesh beneath, lifting Ethan's body a few inches off the ground as if he weighed absolutely nothing.
For a second Ethan hung suspended, his feet scraping the stone.
The next second—
BANG!
Victor hurled him violently back against the ground.
Ethan's head hit first.
The sound was horrific.
A muffled crack mixed with the dull thud of his skull against the black stone of the field. The impact ripped a choked groan from the back of his throat as air was brutally expelled from his lungs.
A dark splatter immediately appeared beneath his head.
Blood.
Victor didn't hesitate.
His arm was already rising again, his fist clenched so tightly that the tendons of his forearm bulged beneath the skin. The muscles of his shoulders and chest contracted as he pulled his arm back.
The blow landed like a hammer.
CRACK!
Victor's fist smashed directly into Ethan's nose.
The sound was grotesque.
Cartilage giving way, bone cracking under pressure. Ethan's nose simply collapsed under the impact, sinking into his face as a hot jet of blood exploded in all directions. Some splattered on Victor's arm, some stained his shirt, some trickled down Ethan's already deformed face and began to spread across the stone below.
A torn scream escaped Ethan's throat.
Victor didn't stop.
Another blow.
THUD!
The fist struck the jaw this time, violently throwing his head to the side. A dry, dislocating sound traveled through his jaw, followed by the wet crack of teeth dislodging. Two of them simply leaped from Ethan's mouth along with a thick mixture of saliva and blood.
The surrounding recruits were completely paralyzed.
Some had pale faces.
Others simply stared, unable to tear their eyes away from the scene.
Ethan tried to fight now, his arms thrashing in panic. His hands gripped Victor's chest, pushing, scratching, desperately trying to pull him off.
Victor didn't budge an inch.
His knee pressed Ethan's chest against the ground with enough force to crush the air out of him with every attempt to breathe.
Another punch came.
CRACK!
This time it hit the cheek.
The orbital bone cracked under the impact. Ethan's right eye immediately began to swell grotesquely as blood streamed from the torn eyelid. The skin around it split open with the blow, forming an irregular gash from which blood began to run in thick streams down the side of his face.
Ethan was no longer screaming.
The sounds that came out were choked, wet, mixed with the blood that filled his mouth.
Victor grabbed his hair with one hand, brutally pulling his head upwards.
And slammed it back against the ground.
BANG!
More blood splattered across the stone.
Victor raised his fist again.
His eyes were completely lost now.
There was no more simple anger there.
It was something worse.
Something that felt like years of humiliation, contempt, and hatred finally reaching a breaking point.
The blow began to descend.
But before it could hit—
An overwhelming pressure swept through the entire field.
It wasn't a sound.
It wasn't a movement.
It was presence.
Something heavy.
Ancient.
Authoritarian.
It was as if the very air had suddenly become denser, pressing on the lungs of everyone there.
Even Victor felt it.
A voice echoed across the field.
Calm.
Cold.
But laden with an authority impossible to ignore. "Enough."
The word wasn't shouted.
Even so, it pierced the field like a silent thunderclap.
Victor's fist stopped in mid-air.
Just inches from Ethan's completely bloodied face.
For a moment, no one moved.
The entire field froze.
Some recruits only realized they were holding their breath when the air finally escaped their lungs.
Even Ethan, gasping and almost unrecognizable under the blood covering his broken face, stopped struggling.
Victor slowly turned his head.
Very slowly.
His red eyes shifted toward the main gate of the camp.
And in that instant, he felt it.
Without any doubt.
Someone… truly strong had just arrived.