Insert usual Disclaimer stuff here. Larva and Miyu, the Shinma, the Vampire Killer and the Belmont family name are not my characters, nor are any other properties belonging strictly to Konami (Castlevania) or the ingenious creator of Vampire Princess Miyu. "Seiko" is a modified version of my own personal character, made a Shinma for the purposes of this fic. And yes, it may be noted that my Miyu is apparently older than the 13-year-old most commonly portrayed in the OAVs. That's because I'm trying to stick more to the TV version, from the two episodes I've seen, and in these she seems older (in the second, she supposedly enrolled in a high-school, and I think that's a little above a 13-year-old). Anyone who thinks I've gone TOO OOC with Miyu, Larva, or any of the rest? Bite me n.n This is fanfiction, call it artistic license. And to those willing to take all of this with a grain of salt? On with the show...
'From Hell's Heart'
"G'rk!" Maximilian Belmont grunted, backpedaling to his left and barely retaining his hold on the still-coiled Vampire Killer whip. He nearly didn't manage to kick-shove himself off the neatly trimmed hedge he almost fell into, at the same time sending him hurtling away from another razor-edged lunge. "D-Dammit!" The third attack would have skewered him, had he not carried over into a head-over-heels roll down the open path from whence he'd come, somehow managing to stop on one knee. Still, the distance didn't buy him enough time, and he scarcely vaulted clear in time to avoid the blade that pierced the ground where his feet had been. "Son of a—!"
God, but I hate eccentric people with hedge-mazes. Especially when they're hiring for big money. Not enough room in such cramped space and close quarters to use the Vampire Killer, even if he could get a truly good look at his quarry. The only thing that had kept him alive so far was pure Belmont family reflex, born of years of training and a full run through the Castle of the Damned itself. How embarrassing would that be, to die now after traversing Castlevania from bottom to top and back?
Still, it would be wrong to say that the Belmont Clan hadn't kept up with the times, modified its techniques over the years. And Max, child of the twentieth century that he was, was no exception.
The moment he managed to steady himself on his feet, he whirled in the direction of his would-be pursuer, let the whip drop for the moment, and reached his hand instead over his right shoulder to curl around the butt of the weapon slung into a holster behind it. The cool metal slid easily from its leather casing, barrel plopping into his left hand as the right curled its way to the trigger. A single pumping-motion was all it took to cock the twin-barreled, sawed-off shotgun, and he couldn't suppress a sly grin as he turned its barrels in the direction from which the flashing blades had last come. "Hail to the King, baby!"
The squeeze of the trigger let loose a rolling boom, and sent a shower of leaves and bits of twig flying helter-skelter. And, to his own immense relief, sent the invisible shape that had been bearing down on him crashing into the hedge behind it with a very visible outline. That was all he needed.
The shotgun dropped at the same time as he stooped for the Vampire Killer, but as he snapped it down along an open pathway to the side, a burst of searing blue-white flame trailed along from the grip to the weapon's metal-studded tip. Neither sparks nor flame set fire to anything they touched, conspicuously enough; the grass underfoot and the hedge to either side stayed whole and pristine. Unlike the patch he had just blasted, he realized with a wince. In the wake of the strange fire, however, was the true wonder. What had been braided leather coil, intended perhaps to lash and leave welts but do no serious harm, was now a length of sturdy silver chain, tipped at the end by a many-spiked silver ball where had been but a tiny metal stud.
The second snap of the whip—and it did, indeed, snap much as it had before, though the sound carried a more metallic air as metal link caught on metal link—reached impossibly far, to where the strange invisible creature was only now struggling its way up from the hedge to leave eerie looking indentations in the grass underfoot. There was another explosion of bluish flame when the spiked ball impacted the invisible body, and again the demon was sent flat to its back. At least, so it appeared from the indentation of the grass.
"Heh. It's over." Manually coiling the cool silvery chain up in both hands as he walked, a confident swagger that had become almost characteristic for him, he smirked down at his quarry's invisible form. "You might as well show yourself. Before I send you back to Hell, that is."
If it understood him—which didn't seem likely; it probably spoke Japanese like all the other blasted demons and monsters in this country—it ignored him. And he wasn't about to consult his little translation booklet just to address something he was about to slay. Whip coiled, but still in chain form, he fastened it back into its harness at his belt, and reached one hand into the dark navy blue greatcoat he used to carry his cache of armaments.
Pinning the invisible body down with one knee, he withdrew an ornate silvery cross, a sapphire gemstone set into its center. This, he laid across the body above his knee, and from it spread the horrendous hiss of charred flesh...as well as the external image of the creature he held pinned. It was vaguely human in general body-structure, and even shape of the face, but it was all an inky blue-black in color and its wild eyes were blood-crimson where they should be white. Gender was impossible to determine, if it had any at all: it was slender of build, almost feminine, but bore no identifying parts. Its hands, predictably enough, seemed malleable, shifting from claws to blades to God-knew-what as it flailed helplessly under the burn of the cross laid upon it.
"Say goodnight," he went on, reaching into his coat again. Leaving the cross in place, he rose, still clutching the beaker of crystalline blue fluid that he had withdrawn. He stepped back several long paces, counting them silently until he had reached five, then drew back his arm and hurled the vial with enough force to shatter it against the grass next to the body. "Burn!" On contact with demonic flesh, blue water ignited into searing blue flame, flame that touched and, indeed, seared only the creature and not the greenery around it. The horrendous wailing was likely loud enough to wake at least the mansion's inhabitants, if not the distant neighbors as well.
When it was done, there was nothing left but the cross in a patch of flattened grass, and a few flecks of ash. The droplets of Holy Water had burned themselves out and utterly incinerated the demon as well. All that remained was to collect his evidence of the death, and then his pay.
He had just reached into his coat yet again to retrieve a small bag he had prepared for this purpose, when the faint sound of clapping came from above...accompanied by an equally faint, echoing, girlish giggle he had mercifully almost forgotten. He flinched, and kept his eyes closed as he turned his face toward it, as though hoping that when he opened them it would have proven to be a figment of his imagination.
It wasn't. Atop the hedge to one side, clapping her delicate hands in mock-applause, was the eerie vampire-girl he had pursued and met no more than days ago. The one who called herself "Miyu".
"Well done, Hunter," she said, speaking obligingly in his own English, as her clapping drew to a close. "A splendid display." She lifted one hand, and he was startled to note that she had produced seemingly from nowhere a small, reed flute. This, she lifted to her lips, fingers dancing over the holes as she piped a brief, haunting melody. "To celebrate your victory," she intoned wryly as she finished and brought it down. Just as abruptly as it had appeared, it was gone as she pushed herself down from the top of the hedge, to land on her feet with the uncanny accuracy of a cat.
"Don't mock me, vampire," he grumbled as he returned to the task at hand, pointedly looking forward at the ash and not at her as he dug the pouch out of his coat and knelt next to his handiwork. "What is it you want, now?"
"I thought I would tell you, first, that this is not the Shinma we seek. Any of us." He didn't have to guess that she was including him as well as herself and her strange, silent companion Larva. "No Shinma would fall so easily."
"Easy?" he snapped, "You call that easy? I was almost shish-kebobbed." Grunting quietly, he used a small spade he'd borrowed from the mansion's gardener to scoop demon-ash from the grass into the sack he held open, carefully working around his cross. It wouldn't be good to touch that just yet: one never could tell, after all. Placed in the pouch, though, the creature would be effectively sealed even if not already dead.
"Then you may wish to reconsider tracking a true Shinma. You will die. And neither of us wishes that." Her voice became somber again, and when he lifted his head her hands were folded behind her back, presumably behind the large bow that kept her sash in place.
"And why do you care, exactly? We're competing for one another's job, remember?" He looked back down, shoveling the last few flecks of ash up and dumping them before dropping the spade to yank the drawstring closed. There. Good night's work.
"I do not like to see beautiful people waste their lives." Again, the hint of playfulness was back in her voice, and he had to remind himself that though she looked like a child, she was every bit as ageless as the rest of her kind, bound only by physical appearance.
"Doing what's right, doing good by the gifts you're given, isn't a waste." He grunted again as he pushed himself to his feet, cross and pouch in hand, and set about tucking each somewhere into his coat.
"Mm. A noble ideal." Before he could finish tucking the cross into his coat, Miyu stepped around before him and lightly plucked it from his hands, turning it over and over in her own and studying it with luminous golden eyes. "One I myself can sympathize with. But you can do nothing for anyone if you die in a foolish chase after a prey beyond your power to hunt. There are other tasks more suited to humans, other creatures than Shinma that prey upon them."
"You said yourself that I've fought and killed them before," he shot back, more than a little unnerved that a vampire had so little difficulty handling a cross specifically intended as a divine weapon against their kind.
She touched the briefest kiss to the sapphire gem set into the cross, then returned it to his hands and looked up at him with disturbingly ancient eyes. "I did. You are different, Maximilian Belmont. You are...strange. I have never seen your like among humankind before."
Max, for his part, was already turning to walk back and retrieve his shotgun, firm in his resolve not to be entrapped by her golden eyes and mesmerizing tone again. Not like last time, when he'd almost let her...no, no more thinking of that. When he stooped for the shotgun, her voice came again.
"There is more to you than meets the eye, Belmont. Something in your blood is different. I can feel it from here. ...I can almost taste it." The last bit was murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear, and he wasn't sure he liked the implication. So when his fingers closed around the barrel of the shotgun, he turned again with it to face her...and pumped the lever again.
"You can keep that thought out of your mind right now," he answered with a glower, keeping the barrel trained on her. He knew damn well he'd never pull the trigger, though, not unless she lunged at him outright. But she didn't, of course. She walked as slowly and sedately as before, until she stood directly before him, and pushed the barrel aside. Golden eyes held his again, as helpless as their last encounter, and a tiny pink tongue ran slowly over her lower lip.
"There will be a reckoning between us, someday soon, Hunter. It is inevitable. Until then...stay alive." Then the girl lifted herself up on the balls of her feet, hands coming to rest at the front of his coat, and for the briefest of moments touched her lips to his. Not even long enough to be considered a kiss, but the instant the fleeting touch was done, she was gone. He blinked wildly for a moment, before he caught sight of a beribboned right foot dangling from the hedge above. This time her back was pressed into the cloaked bulk of Larva, her silent protector. "I will see you again, Hunter." With that, they were both gone.
Max shook his head as though to clear it, and lifted the shotgun to tuck it back into the holster behind him. His earlier estimation of her apparent age, somewhere between thirteen and fifteen, he now realized to have been inaccurate. Her slender build and short height had deceived him. Fifteen would be a young estimate; perhaps somewhere between that and his own seventeen years. Even so...
He sighed, frustrated, and then turned again. Now to find his way out of this damnable hedge maze. God, I hate eccentrics with hedge mazes...
* * *
"You are lingering too close to this human," Larva's voice reproached from behind his mask. "He is simply another meddler in something he can't possibly understand."
"I know." Miyu answered simply. The two of them perched atop a street-light at the edge of the manor grounds, conveniently overlooking the hedge maze and the young Hunter trying to work his way through to the entrance.
A higher-pitched, almost squeaky voice sounded from over her shoulder. "I don't see what's so special about him anyway. He's just human." The little rabbit-eared ball of gray fluff tumbled into her lap, and Miyu stifled an amused giggle in spite of herself. No sense giving herself away.
"I'll be the judge of that, Shiina." The puffball was, difficult as it was to believe, another Shinma like Larva and herself. For the most part she was just that: a ball of gray fluff with a vaguely rabbit-like appearance, including two elongated ears, one of which flopped eternally over its right eye. A subtle shift, however, revealed why. While Shiina's left eye was more or less normal, proportionately sized if a bit beady...the right eye was grotesquely distorted, a bulging, veined yellow orb.
"I still say—" Larva began, but Miyu cut him off.
"I know what you say, Larva. But I say this is too important to let go. There is something different about this Hunter."
"Very well." Larva didn't sound happy about it...but he was devoted and that was what mattered. So when she picked up Shiina and floated to nestle herself into his voluminous cloak, his gaunt, elongated arm folded the garment around her and they faded without a sound.
* * *
Max shook his head in disappointment, tucking the yen he'd been paid into the spare wallet he used to separate it from his American cash. He hadn't been paid what his work had been worth, but that was nothing new here. Not that the Japanese were necessarily cheap; but his kind of services were a dime a dozen here, among the much more spiritual natives. There were still plenty of skeptics just like back home, but—
—he lifted his head suddenly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and snapping the wallet closed. Something there...Miyu? No, not her. But nevertheless, there was that eerie feeling of being trailed, a feeling that pricked up the hairs along the back of his neck.
Hunter...
He froze. No, this definitely wasn't the same gently prodding, childishly amused Miyu. This was a sneering voice, more mental than audible, derisive and mocking. And male. Max's eyes narrowed, but he resumed walking as normal, lest he draw stray eyes and unwanted attention. It had been difficult enough getting to the hotel with a shotgun slung over his shoulder without drawing overt attention. It was easier with it put away in his room for now, but he didn't want to take too many chances.
Weaving his way through what other people still roamed the streets this late in the evening, faceless masses who paid him as much attention as he did them in most cases, he turned off into a small side alleyway, much like the one to which he'd tracked Miyu and Larva before.
"Who are you?" he demanded of the invisible presence, once he was safely out of earshot of other pedestrians, "Show yourself."
The sound of disdainful laughter came, again mostly in his head. You must truly think me a fool, Hunter.
"Don't flatter yourself," he retorted dryly, "You give my estimation of you too much credit."
The Guardian is enough nuisance, without your interference.
"So you're one of these 'Shinma' I keep hearing about. And I'm more than willing to bet, the 'vampire' that's been causing all the trouble, too. I didn't think Demon-Gods would be such cowards. At least you bothered to 'speak' where I can understand you."
Only because I wanted you to know, Hunter, who it was that would be putting and end to your career.
"You're from back home, aren't you?" He smirked, almost sneered, as he crossed his arms in front of him and turned slowly. Not toward anything in particular...just following a tingle at the back of his neck. "You followed me all this way? Who put you up to it? Vlad? Death?"
You die. That's all that matters.
"All right, then. I'll give you a fight." His hand dropped, to pull back the side of his coat, but the Shinma spoke first.
Not here, you simple child. Not enough room. I want to give you a sporting chance, before you die.
"How generous..." he muttered to himself. "Where?"
Oh, but that takes all the fun out of it! You'll see, soon enough, Hunter. Leave the Guardian out of it, unless you want a fiasco in the middle of a crowd.
"You're psychotic..." he muttered. Stupid thing to say to a demon of any description, but he was running short on witty comebacks.
Be ready. was the last he heard from the silent voice. Then, there was nothing.
"Great...This just caps off my day." Max sighed wearily and shook his head, and began walking toward the mouth of the alley. He didn't get that far.
He wasn't sure what it was that snagged the back of his coat, and hauled backward. All he knew was that one instant he was in mid-stride toward the light of day again, and the next he was flying backward through the air, until his back hammered into the brick wall at the back of the alleyway, the wind torn violently from his lungs.
I changed my mind, came the amused "voice". I'm not going to take any chances.
He was still slumped against the wall with which he had collided, shaking his head and blinking wildly to clear his bleary vision, when the silhouette rose over him, so black it seemed to swallow what little light struck it. All, at least, save for the ghostly pallid face rising above the dark clothing.
For nearly six hundred years, your accursed bloodline has continually disrupted the natural tide of fate, kept we Demon-kind banished to the Darkness while spiritually and psychologically inferior Humans walked the day! The Belmont Clan has defied the natural order for too long. There was nothing amused in the probing voice that seared his mind now, nor in the shockingly crimson-irised eyes that locked onto his. He could see, now, that the figure was vaguely human in shape and structure, and appeared to be wearing a great dark long-coat, with deep pockets into which its—no, his—hands were now tucked.
"Ugh...couldn't one of you guys just do thinks the civil way once and have an intellectual debate over it...?" Max muttered, one hand working its way unsteadily along the wall behind him in an attempt to pull himself to his feet. It was still a little difficult to breathe fully, and his head was still just a bit unclear.
Spare me the attempts at wit, Belmont. This has ceased to be amusing. Your death will be mercifully painless, but only because I am pressed for time. The Guardian won't be so fortunate.
At the sudden, haunting trill of flute-music, the Shinma's scarlet eyes went wide. The tune was short, though, and as it trailed off, a soft, familiar voice lifted in its wake. "So certain are you, Shinma?"
But for all the dark figure's trepidation, he was still focused enough to follow through with what opportunity lay before him. One hand bolted forward, with a speed that seemed inhumanly mind-boggling...
...only to slam, palm-first, into the wall where Max's head had been, crunching brick and cement to powder and sending cracks spider-webbing out from the center of the impact. Max, his own speed long honed for similar such purposes, had managed to roll over his shoulder and away a hair's breadth in front of the attack, and was even now up on one knee with a hand delving into his coat. Too close to use the Vampire Killer, no shotgun...that left precious few options. Silver throwing-dagger, Holy Water perhaps, or the bladed cross he kept tucked away. Maybe even a throwing-hatchet would work.
But not if he wasted all day deliberating on it, as the Shinma painfully reminded him with another forward lunge. This time he wasn't quite fast enough to get out of its reach. However, all the God-Demon did was latch fingers onto his neck and then begin to lift him up along the wall, both their feet lifting off the ground until reaching the lip of the building's rim. A swift flick of the wrist was all it took to toss the struggling Belmont across the roof to skid to a stop several yards away.
"How dare you?" It was Miyu's voice, but the childish amusement was gone, replaced instead by a wry sense of possessive indignation. The Shinma didn't turn, hovering still across the roof from where Max was struggling to his knee again.
Wait your turn, Guardian. Be patient, we will have our dance in due time. After I've dealt with this one.
"This one is mine. You cannot have him."
A flicker of gold caught Max's peripheral vision, but he didn't turn, keeping his eyes trained instead on his Shinma assailant. He did speak, however. "Miyu?"
This time the hint of familiar playfulness, even perhaps a wan smile, was audible in the tone. "I told you that you would get yourself in trouble, Hunter. Seems it is left to me, and to Larva, to get you out of it."
"Heh...thanks, I think," he muttered, pushing himself to his feet at last, and reaching to his right hip to loose the Vampire Killer and snap-uncoil it off to one side.
Oh...oh, now I see. So is that how it is? The cool sneer on the Shinma's face bespoke smug understanding. How disgustingly pleasant. Stealing prey from the Guardian.
"Enough," Miyu started, but the Shinma wasn't finished. The next words were clearly directed at Max.
You do realize, don't you? You're only being "saved" so you can be held in reserve for a, shall we say, midnight snack? The Guardian stands against me because she wants to feed from you, herself.
"I'm not stupid," Max shot back, though he did wince inwardly that the realization hadn't struck him before now. Ensnared by those damn golden eyes again. "I'm a Vampire Hunter, a Belmont, not some starry-eyed punk. After I'm finished with you, she's next."
This time he heard the faintest sound that may have been a gasp, and again golden eyes glittered in his peripheral vision. Strangely enough, there was no hint of the presence of her mute protector. Perhaps that was the reason for her uncharacteristic trepidation. No matter. The hand holding the Vampire Killer slowly drew itself back behind him, but it wasn't the whip that struck first. In a motion quicker than an eye-blink, Max's hand darted into his coat, and with a sharp reverse arc of the motion a tiny indigo blur darted from his fingertips, striking the Shinma smartly in the midsection. Crimson eyes widened for the briefest moment in shocked realization, but it was too late. An obscure gesture from Max's extended free hand invoked the Agunea Crystal's power, and in a cacophony of thunder-claps, tendrils of blue-white lightning, raw Holy power leaped from the very air surrounding the Hunter and to the crystal's blue depths.
The dark Shinma doubled over, clutching at his midsection, but the stone was riveted in place. Nothing short of an explicit command, or a loss in Max's concentration, would free it from its resting spot. Of course, if this Shinma were truly anywhere near as powerful as some of the other Greater Demons he'd fought, in the castle alone, then this still wouldn't be enough to stop it. He had intended more a delaying tactic, something to give him a moment to think. One definite enemy, potentially two if the vampire girl decided to get hostile too. It was hard to say if she would or not, considering the rate at which things were going now.
He didn't have much more time to worry, though it took a moment to register that the Shinma's posture had somehow changed, however subtly. It finally struck home that the reason it was doubled over was no longer pain...but rather, laughter. In spite of the lightning driving home into his midsection, the dark figure's shoulders were shaking in silent mirth, and he was even now beginning to straighten his back and lift his blood-red eyes to the Hunter's own. Miyu, he summarily dismissed, focusing instead on Max.
So be it, then, Belmont. Finish me. If you can. He didn't see the Shinma pull the crystal free, but it almost pegged him in the forehead. Instinct was what saved him, really, a reflexive stumble to one side followed by a lightning-quick lash of the leather bullwhip. The Vampire Killer ignited in mid-swing with a sparking shower of cobalt flame, and though the dark figure was safely away before the tip could strike, the whip had already coalesced in its chain-link form. Even as the Shinma moved, Max could hear Miyu's voice rise for the first time. "Larva!"
There was a blur of motion and then a sensation of movement, as a sound flooded his ears. Max had to blink a few times and shake his head soundly to clear it before the ground would stop wobbling under his feet. Three realizations reached him at almost the same time: his feet were no longer on the ground; where his feet had been there was a smoldering patch of soot in a roughly star-burst pattern; and behind him, holding him aloft by the collar of his coat, was the immense blue-cloaked bulk of Larva, Miyu's masked bodyguard-Shinma.
The Guardian is fiercely protective of her meal, I see. How interesting. But the matter is between me and the Belmont, Guardian. The Shinma's hands were back in the pockets of his coat again, crimson eyes narrowed on Max even as Larva let go his collar so he dropped to his knees. The whip, at least, was still thankfully in his grasp. But before he had the chance to rise, to even move, Miyu stepped forward from where she'd been blocked from his sight by Larva's vastness.
"Shinma. Seiko." The Shinma's eyes went round, and he froze on the spot. "Larva." Miyu's voice was once again calm, but rather than the usual soft serenity there was the icy hardness of steel.
The protector needed no more specific command, apparently. With a speed that was mind-boggling, given Larva's size, the masked Shinma glided around Max and forward, one wraith-like hand crossed before his cloaked upper body, the other lost somewhere in the depths of his cloak. Seiko, though still rooted to the spot, at least managed to tense himself for the oncoming rush, and though one of his own hands darted out from a coat-pocket when Larva passed, it was clear who the victor had been.
Larva remained hovering in place several paces beyond Seiko's suddenly immobile and wide-eyed form, inhuman hand extended to one side. After a moment, Max's eyes fell upon the only sign of damage on the masked Shinma's part: a tiny rift in one of the many folds of his cloak, only enough to reveal yet more blue-black fabric and nothing of the enigmatic being's actual form. Seiko's own ruby eyes followed Max's down to the pale, dark Shinma's midsection, where was rent a vast tear. But rather than blood, some formless dark matter leaked free, more like a noxious cloud than a bodily fluid.
"Shinma." It was Miyu again, stepping now before Max and lifting one hand forward, palm-up. In the curve of her cupped hand, a flame sparked to life, its blue center roiling with a strangely live vigor. "By right of your True Name, I bid you return to the Dark from whence you came." Larva's hand, Max now saw, had mimicked her own gesture, and as her palm turned forward to point the flame toward the ravaged Shinma, Larva's own inordinately large hand did the same. Twin streams of searing flame converged upon and cascaded over the Shinma, who threw his head back with a wail that could have put Vlad Tepes Dracula's death-cry to shame.
But Seiko was not done yet, it would seem, for even as the flames washed over him, seared pale flesh and dark clothing alike into the same formless black matter, his eyes lifted to Miyu's and narrowed hatefully.
For Hate's sake...I spit my last breath at thee... Max froze, in the midst of pushing himself to stand at last, and his eyes jerked up to the same red ones. From Hell's heart...I stab at thee... And the vague shape that had once been an arm lifted amidst the flame to point a grotesquely distended extremity that may once have been a finger...directly between Max Belmont's shoulders.
Time seemed to slow, as though he had clicked the stopper on the enchanted watch tucked in the depths of his coat. He saw the killing stream of black light sear through the air toward him, needle-thin and too fast even for his battle-honed reflexes to avoid. He saw one end of the double-stream of fire gutter out, and a red, brown and white blur dart forward. He saw twin, beautifully hypnotic golden eyes lock with his, brown hair bound with a scarlet ribbon sway in a sudden jerk of the head. Golden eyes remained locked with his as the figure, that strange vampire girl sank to her knees before him.
It still hadn't quite registered, what had happened. Not until he heard the Shinma's, Seiko's final echoes of derisive laughter as the flames died to a stop, and the cloaked form of Larva loomed behind Miyu's kneeling form. Only then did Max's eyes travel down, down to the front of the girl's white garment just between where her collarbones should be...and saw that the white fabric was stained bright red in a steadily growing patch.
His eyes lifted then, to Larva's, as the Shinma's white arm swept the vampire girl close against his bulk and swaddled her with fatherly care in his blue-black robes. But even as Larva worked, the eye-slit—Max could see now that only one was actually an open slit, the other "eye" was sealed solid—remained locked on the Hunter's face, and the undisguised, venomous malice in that single scarlet point of light chilled him to the bone.
Peeking from within the blue-black cloak, Miyu's own eyes, a strangely different expression, remained focused on his.
"...remember this, Hunter..." was all she said, before her eyes closed. "Larva..." Needing no further command, the Shinma vanished. And Max fell to his knees, the Vampire Killer slithering limply from numb fingers to rattle to the roof beneath him.
"You should not have done that, Miyu," Larva admonished, cradling the wounded vampire-girl within the folds of his cloak. "It was unnecessary. You could have told me to move him."
"It would have taken too long. You know that as well as I." Her voice was still distressingly weak, and muffled against the fabric of his cloak so that even he could barely understand her.
"You are too protective of this human. His profession is dangerous and he knows this. He puts himself at risk and so should reap the rewards of what he sows."
"...Larva?"
He instantly turned his masked visage down to her, his crimson eye focused on her golden ones. "What is it?"
"Are you..." the amusement was undisguised, in her next word, "...jealous of him?"
He could have lied or changed the subject, but he knew her better than that, and for now the best thing would be to placate her. "Perhaps."
"Hmm." She spared herself a moment of quiet laughter, to which he responded with only silence. After a long moment, one of her delicate hands reached up from where she was still bundled in his robes, came to rest against the side of his mask, and carefully slid it off. The features revealed, reflected as they were in her golden eye, he seldom saw anymore. Slender visage, almost boyish one might say, crowned by pale blue hair, and irises a contrasting blood crimson that glowed as though with inner light when illumination caught them properly. "Larva..." The mask tumbled carelessly from Miyu's hand to the black ground at Larva's feet. The same hand slid back up, brushing for the briefest of moments over his cheek before lifting to push the hood off his head.
He remained stoically silent, as ever, even as her arm curled itself around behind his neck and she hoisted herself up. The quiet gasp she gave as her arm slacked gave that away as a mistake, and he gently hefted her the rest of the distance. She leaned her head close, brow resting against the side of his neck, and sighed quietly. "I will be fine, Larva...worse has been done to me."
"Not by yourself. That bolt was meant for the Hunter."
"Larva, jealousy does not become you...you should know that you cannot be replaced in my eyes. ...even should I bind another to me by blood. Shiina should be proof."
"Shiina is another matter entirely." A tiny, indignant huff sounded from somewhere, but Larva patently ignored it.
More quiet, wan laughter ensued, and then Miyu's head shifted so that it was her lips and not her brow that rested against him. "Larva. I leave you to your own devices..." her hand negligently indicated his mask on the ground, and then plucked at the shoulder of his cloak. "Will you leave me to mine...? This Hunter fascinates me. I still cannot understand him."
"He is strange, I'll admit." By now, Larva had grown accustomed to her more forward behavior, and so was able to maintain his usual cool demeanor. Still... "You are still weak. You lost a good deal of blood, Miyu."
"I know..." He need speak no further, nor did she need ask. As petite fangs sank with two tiny pinpricks of pain into the side of his neck, one of his inhumanly elongated hands lifted and came to rest at the back of her head, eyes drifting closed.
"Rest well, Miyu..."