A merry chase through Deadland

Crimson ran, his breaths heavy and a thin fog of mist that he barely had time to admire appearing before him over and over again. His legs ached from the fatigue his lungs burning from the need for air. Blood flowed freely down his arm in a stream of red.

Adorned in a long flowing leather jacket that covered most of the bleeding, a chain link of mithril undershirt beneath his white cloth. A long sword hung within its scabbard across his back while two daggers lay on his belt, at least the ones visible. His red hair the reason for his name flowed down to his back whipping in the wind from his run. Hiding behind it were the pointy ears of an elf. Yet Crimson was no elf.

Glancing at the still trickling blood he sighed in annoyance on spotting the trail it created behind him. A trail he knew led to him. Yet he couldn't afford to stop. He had to keep moving no matter what. The taste of copper in his mouth was the last thing he thought of as he bit harshly on his tongue.

He found it annoying and unbelievable how far they had chased him. From the Tistol Woods where he'd fallen into their path past the Black mountain chains of the Dead Lands and even far into the plains.

At this point, he had been certain of these folks being no mere hunters. Even hunters gave up a chase when it severely disadvantaged them.

For them to prolong this hunt dar into the acclaimed land of the Dead then they were definitely not hunters. At least not the normal ones.

'Well it explains the Silver Erken wood' his mind went to the bolt used to injure him. Normal wounds would have healed already for him but due to the Silver Erken wood, a very nasty crossbow bolt imbued with both accursed silver and the original Erken tree part to which his kind was more susceptible to damage.

Damage that unlike those incurred from normal tiered weapons refused to seal up. He knew the wound wouldn't last especially after he managed to get his hands on some lifeblood. Yet there was none.

The hunters were no option as they usually filled their veins with Erken Leaf Poison.

There was also no life within the dead lands to supply him with the much-needed lifeblood. In shorter words, he was tired, wounded, and weak with no regenerative reserves.

'I'm screwed' The look in his eyes was one of defiance against the odds though. An unacceptance of the situation was clear from his gaze. As he ran along the flat plains his vision caught onto something from the distance.

'The Cursed Castle Black. The last and only sealed gate to the highest echelons of hell. Or so they say.' he mused in his head. As he ran his eye continuously glanced at the castle a strange idea brewing in his head.

'Ah, ill be dead either way. Might as well take them with me' With this thought, Crimson made a turn and aimed for the looming ruin in the distance. A burst of speed in his steps as a glint of fire illuminated his crimson eyes.

A grin was visible on his lips as the pointed tip of a fang poked out. From the corner of his vision, he watched as his chasers eight in all seemed to slow down. then speed up once more.

"I guess it's to the death then" he muttered to himself his grin not reducing.

Far behind eight figures chased after the fleeing vampire with grievances in their hearts. They were the ones hunting but now the prey was playing them for a fool.

The first hunter a middle-aged man had a frown on his face as he chased harder.

"I'm gonna cut those fangs of his off and make them into necklaces. Just you wait bloodsucker" he kept muttering on and on spewing different profanities out at the vampire who was too far off to even hear him.

To his left and right were his henchmen, two ruffian-looking men who were more capable of being thieves than hunters. The rest of the squad was made of just two women and then three men.

Each carried a weapon that was familiar to them. Yet they also wielded the most basic of the basic. Stakes, both normal and exotic.

Their bunch was unknown to Crimson just a half-cocked team led by a rich stuck-up aristocrat with more pride than gold in his pocket.

Getting a huge stock of better quality vampire ammunition he had pulled in this little rag-tag bunch. Seeking to make a name for themselves why not just get one of the most feared and costly bounties?

Vampires.

Back in the empire vampires were at the top of the list of most dangerous. Not because they were as brutal as werewolves, or because they were undead like the true undead. Not even because of their ties to blood magic like most demons.

But purely because unlike the rest of the hunted creatures vampires survived on human blood.

While other empires and kingdoms had more priorities like wolves or demons the human empire was keen on wiping the bloodsuckers off the face of the planet.

As such vampires were rated as solid class C to A monsters. With C being the newbloods and A being the older ones. Only ancients which were as impossible to find as getting gold from the rain were in class S.

To these hunters, Crimson had effectively evaded them, survived the strike from a Silver Erken wood, and traveled through the Black mountain chains to this point.

If that wasn't a class A or at least B then they'd never hunt again. Newbloods were known for their very low if existent resistance to Silver Erken wood. One hit was able to end them. An instant kill in not too many words.

So yes they were sure of their prey being high level enough to get them the points and fame in the adventurer guide that they sought.

So as such they all ignored the destination the prey was taking them to and followed suit. Gold signs in their eyes and praises and reverence in their imaginations.

"He can't run forever and he won't stop to feed either. He's as sure as dead. We just have to persevere."The middle-aged man Rolock encouraged his merry band on. Not like he cared for them but who else would take on the vampire while he stood safely and commanded? His band of course. So yes he had to encourage them to push on.

"How much more stamina bottles do we have?" He asked. There was a bit of silence before a male voice from the rear replied in between gasps of breath.

"About fourteen bottles left Sir Rolock. "

'Aish. He'd better stop soon. Fortunately, we've weakened him enough. Good thing I hired that girl. Hehehe.' From the side of his vision, he stole a gaze at one of the females. A cute but cold-looking girl that barely looked tired from all the running a huge crossbow hanging from her shoulders. How she carried that thing despite her size was beyond him.

"Good thing he is weak enough now. If he wasn't he would probably have left us in the dust long ago" The henchman to his right commented a strain on his face completely unlike the girl.

'Ah. What a monster. Yes. Recruiting her was indeed right' with that self-praise and nodding his head mentally Rolock looked ahead his eyes finding the running form of Crimson.

A sneer crossed his face as he couldn't help but imagine finally catching the vampire and doing things that even demons would fear for making him exert himself in this hunt.

'Run, run, run little batsy. Your granddaddy's coming to play. A deeper sneer appeared on his face as he led his band after the injured vampire.