![]() Lord Ruthven materialized behind Godan and put him in a headlock. Where he go, he thought, getting back into a battle stance. Godan watched as Lord Ruthven disappeared. “FUCK YOU!” he yelled, pointing at the vampire. “Yes, you stupid canine! Just how thick is your goddamn skull?!” “You’re coming after me for burning down your house?” “Like I said,” Lord Ruthven took his hand away and balled it into a fist, “ you burnt down MY. “No, I don’t give a fuck about that werewolf freak!” “Jesus, Christ,” Lord Ruthven mumbled as he face palmed himself. ![]() “Because I was fucking Dia while you weren’t around, then she up and died?” “Revenge? Yes, I…wait, what do you think I’m here for?” I saw everything they saw-what you did to them, what Dia did-” “Just as my assassins were mentally linked to one another, I’m connected to them as well. “That was easy enough.” Lord Ruthven tapped his temple. “See? I knew you were just playing dumb.” “You’re him,” Godan stiffened, “You’re Dia’s lover- ” His thoughts immediately went to the portrait he first saw in the hallway of the house when he broke into it, which featured a man wearing a suit and a woman in a lab coat wearing some sort of crown. “Come on, really?” He suddenly glared at Godan and bared his teeth, revealing fangs. “You spent all that time in my house-surely you saw a picture or two of me hanging about.” “Take a good look, dog,” the figure said, crossing his arms. “WHAT ARE YOU BABBLING ABOUT?!” Godan yelled, getting into a battle stance. “Yep, my assassins weren’t imagining things.” Gareth’s hair turned gray, and his claws grew, as he transformed. He looked down the gondola and sw Gareth tying on his mask. The figure noticed that Gareth was no longer in front of him. “I’m starting to think I got the wrong guy.” “Pathetic,” the figure said as he swatted the bottle away. He grabbed it, and threw it at the figure. Gareth felt his hand brush the neck of his whiskey bottle. ![]() “Never mind,” the figure said, brushing his hand through his buzz cut, “it’s just a sweatshirt. He tried to stand up, but the trains movement made him stumble back down onto his backpack. Gareth caught the second blow, and pushed him back. The figure punched Gareth in the face, making his head bounce against the gondola. “That’s my sweatshirt you’re wearing,” the figure said, leaning forward. He turned around, looked up, and saw a muscular figure wearing a sleeveless undershirt and jeans standing over him, licking his nail. In the moonlight, he saw blood cover his palm. “I could probably get drunk on your blood.” “You really have been pounding the bottle hard,” he heard someone above him say. He screamed, turned to the side, and covered his cheek.
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