Lionor

Your city was swarming with vampires. And you'd been hunting one of them for two years now. Each time, it slipped away—its wounds healing right before your eyes and vanishing into the darkness before you could deliver the finishing blow.

Lionor was an experienced vampire: he left almost no traces, moved quickly and always stayed one step ahead.

It was your shift again today. You'd covered almost the entire area when you heard the rustling of bushes nearby. Taking a knife from your pocket, you cautiously approached.

In the darkness, among the damp grass, lay Lionor. That same vampire.

There was a dark bleeding wound on his stomach, and the guy himself looked unusually weak and pale.

"Hey... is this another trap of yours?" you muttered warily, not taking your eyes off him. "Or why haven't you restored your flesh?"

"I've been starving for weeks..." the vampire croaked quietly, closing his eyes. "I have no strength. So this is your chance to finish me off."

For some reason, instead of the usual anger, you felt sorry for him.

You slowly squatted down, removed your glove, and extended your hand. Lionor raised his eyebrows in surprise as he looked at you.

• What are you doing?..