ᴅᴀʏʟɪɢʜᴛ || ʀᴀɴᴘᴏᴇ

• 18 •

Ranpo woke up to sniffling in the kitchen, and he instantly recognised it as Edgar's. He unsteadily rose from his bed (it was strange to sleep in his own bed now) and ambled into the other room. He was met with the glistening of a knife pressed Edgar's throat.

"Edgar what are you doing?!" He screeched, gripping Edgar's hand holding the knife. Edgar was silent, and his muscles were tensed. There was no blood, but the only way for a vampire to die was to be decapitated, and Ranpo wasn't an idiot - he knew what Edgar was trying to do. The vampire was shaking, and Ranpo could feel the resistance lessening. Eventually, the knife clattered to the floor, and so did Edgar. He was whispering in English phrases, and Ranpo had learned a little English to decipher what he was saying.

"I'm a monster, what is wrong with me? Ranpo, my light, my sun, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's okay Ed." Ranpo crouched down and wrapped his arms around the trembling body. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I need to die, I'm not worthy of being immortal. I want to die Ranpo! My chest feels tight, like someone is squeezing my heart. I can't breathe."

"Is this about tomorrow?" Ranpo glanced at the clock, 1:10 am. "Or today?"

"I'm just terrified it won't work, what if I stay a vampire forever? What if you die instead?"

"I won't die Edgar."

"But what if?"

"I think you need help, I'll ask Fukuzawa when you're human about therapy. Maybe all those years that you've endured have caught up with you."

"That sounds nice." Ranpo guided Edgar back into the bedroom, leaving the knife on the floor.

"Let's go back to bed."

Nikolai was there, at six in the morning, with Fyodor by his side. Fyodor was not looking well, his skin was sickly pale, his eyes were dark and his cheeks looked thin. He was wrapped up in a fleece blanket and he was still quivering. Edgar felt queasy at the sight.

They were inside a warehouse owned by the Hunting Dogs, it was barren and capacious. The walls were a rusted metal and it was apparent that no one had been inside for a very long time. There were still machinery dotted around, a forklift left unattended in the corner. Nikolai giggled as Edgar approached them.

"Ah my dear Edgar Allan Poe! I hope you have brought the goods!" Edgar held out the jar of venom, and Nikolai snatched it from him. He quickly turned to Fyodor, who was shrivelling in on himself and gently caressed his hand. "Drink this."

Fyodor seemed hesitant, but this could've been due to his fragility. He threw his head back and the thick, green ooze slithered down his throat. It wouldn't be long, he was very weak, and vampire venom lapped up weakness.

"Now the page." Edgar demanded sternly, and Nikolai reached into his back pocket. Grunts emitted from the convulsing body on the floor. Nikolai glanced at Fyodor worriedly, and Edgar cleared his throat. The other seemed reluctant - he appeared to be at war with his mind, the paper was tantalising close to Edgar's fingertips.

A tumultuous roar echoed the warehouse and Edgar was thrown back into the wall, far away from the page. He groaned at the impact, leaving a sizeable dent in metal. Fyodor's eyes were blood red with slitted pupils, his mouth curled in a vicious snarl. He was attempting to hungrily bite into Edgar's neck, failing miserably as Edgar writhed underneath him. Edgar had killed more people, but Fyodor had ingested pure venom from the Leader of Vampire's own fangs. It was a battle of strength, and Edgar was at a loss.

"Fedya?" A weak, scared voice wobbled, and the angry vampire snapped his neck towards the fresh meat. Nikolai's face paled as he saw very little of Fyodor's soul in his new body. He started to back away, the page was ripped in half on the ground, and Fyodor hissed and leaped towards him. Edgar had to save him, he may have more of the page. He also wasn't a monster, he knew how much Fyodor may regret killing Nikolai - the love of his life.