A thought I had while thinking about Meier Link's line 'when the last vampire is extinct, who will mourn our passing?' It got to me, and I suppose I was feeling a bit emo at the time. So, what would happen if D died?
His pale face shone out from the unfeeling ground. Ivy twisted its slow tendrils about the pile of fresh dug earth, just waiting for the chance to be left in peace with the man who lay in the grave. To return him to the earth. He was beautiful, dark curls splayed around his face, framing it; as if you could reach out and touch his cold, marble cheek and he would wake from a deep slumber. But no. The hunter lay in his final grave, and would never wake again. Those midnight eyes would never again look mournfully out on the empty world.
All his life he had hunted the masters of darkness in cold retribution for his own existence, reducing their number single-handedly to a sparse scattered wisp of mist. They feared his name, his reputation, the very aura that permeated confidently from his black-clad frame. Each flash of his blade drew noble blood, but there was no pride in killing. No glory. He had done as he had because, shunned and despised by both the Light and the Dark, he had walked a dagger's edge alone, merely existing from death like those he killed. The irony was not lost upon him.
This had been another hunt. A young girl whisked away by the ruby eyes of a vampire and the bitter charms of his tongue. He had followed diligently through territories most would never dare enter, encountered horrors prohibited from the most fearful nightmares. And here, finally, in the ruins of an old monastery, he had ended; impaled on his opponent's sword just as his own had pierced the vampire's heart.
To see him now would evoke tears, even to those who did not know his story. The face of a fallen angel, pushed from grace to live as a peripheral shadow, so beautiful and tragic and still that all who see it are brought to regretful silence.
But who will see the fate of this greatest of hunters? The people he saved? No. They discarded him like the rest, shoved him away when all he had done is help. He was half-bred, they jeered. He couldn't be trusted. A few were grateful, and would have mourned him, had not they been lost to the sands as everything must be eventually. Their bones were already dust, even as he rested for eternity in the ruins.
Someone may one day come riding past, and see by the side of the path a rusted sword hailing them, vines of ivy twining around it like leafy snakes. A small stone, laid by the last one he saved, will speak through the veil of time. But the words will be too weathered for them to make out, and they will move away, disinterested and disturbed by the lingering sadness of the place.
A dark angel fell here, remember him.
Here lies D, the Dunpeal hunter of vampires. He fought boldly on this earth as he did hundreds of times before, risking his life to save those who would never be grateful for his help. The world is safer by his sacrifice, and darker for his loss. Remember Him.