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Extra Spacing, just in case

Times and times again, he had done this over the thirteen long years he'd been a hunter. When his younger brother had wed off, he'd left the family farm in his hands and disappeared, so to speak, cutting all ties with family because the less he had to care about, the less he had to lose. Those were the things his uncle Horace had once taught him as he'd still trained him to become what he was now and for a human, he was doing splendidly at surviving the brutal occupation.

It was an Ancient One he was after this time, tracking on foot because keeping a horse would have been much more noisier than he would have preferred and on foot, he could catch the change in the wind to stay downward of it with much more ease. It limited the amount of weapons he could carry on his person but he had faith in stalling until the nearing of dawn before making contact and winning himself that much extra aid from the nature itself. However, as he followed the monster into the castle, Damian felt doubt warning him to go back. It was nothing supernatural; nothing but experience telling him not to let himself be lured into a trap.

Naturally, the night he chose to ignore the voice of reason was the night he found himself facing down a vampire much sooner than anticipated.

The immediate shift in his muscles; the tension and caution building into them as the vampire swept down was obvious. That was how the game was going to be played then? A twitch of his lips left a small smirk curling across his face, bringing the silver ring piercing it to glint in the moonlight. "Flowers?" he scoffed, letting his own deep hazel eyes measure over his opponent. It was his first time of actually laying his eyes upon him and he could hardly consider himself surprised. Once you'd seen one and lived, the others were just the same - beautiful, elegant in their way, but so very lethal once they had a chance to get too close. Damian had no desire to make close contact with the monster unless it was to bury one of the many wooden stakes on his person deep into his chest. "I didn't know I was courting a princess."

There was no reason to shudder beneath the gaze of a predator but there was every reason to agitate him and see just what could have him lose his calm, if he was at it already. It was a calculative motion with which Damian unhooked the cloak he wore and let it drop onto the ground, out of his way because he knew all too well, he'd need all of his mobility. Having chased after the supernatural for so many years, all he could do was to keep himself focused; watch for the muscles before motion, avoid making immediate eye contact, and try and keep himself as alert as he could.

Now with the cloak on the ground the wolf fur of its collar removed, a silver cross was visible easily, hanging from the hunter's neck. A delicate thing by the look of it, hollowed on the inside and filled with his own mixture of garlic and holy water. It smelled strong, and from his experience in the past, it sure had a kick to it if it was slammed down the throat of an overly eager fanged one.

Hard leather was what covered his torso, tight around it, leaving little to grab and cling to but offering the light kind of protection that he knew he needed whether he liked it or not. It was the same kind of leather that was wrapped around his forearms, covering over scars left behind by numerous battles in the past. It stopped a little before his elbow and it showed that it left a weak spot, if the mound of pale scar tissue in the bend of his left arm was anything to judge by but it was an older injury. One that he had already overcome, for the most part. Both of the leather wraps held a thick wooden stake over the top of his arm, just the first line of defense, by the look of it.

When it came to height, Damian with his 5'11'' stood a few inches below the vampire but again, experience had taught him that if he was smaller, he could be faster for a human and that was only a good thing. Something to come to his aid, undoubtedly. Were one to look lower, they'd lay their eyes upon a wide belt around Damian's waist, littered with silver-tipped crossbow bolts, prepared to be fired by the weapon that hung on his back, currently out of sight. On his hip rested a dagger, not a sword. Swords were not only too heavy but also too slow for such a dangerous game. A dagger, however, although it wouldn't kill, it was certainly going to hurt for long enough to win him time and that was all he needed.

Down, lower yet, there were heavy boots, reaching all the way up to the knees of his dark pants, in which he'd hidden a few more tricks to keep up his sleeve, so to speak. Anything to defend himself from the kind of situation he'd ended up walking into.

He raised his head, scratching at the trimmed lining of beard that framed his jaw and grew into a more blossomed goatee the same shade as his messy and short cut light brown hair, and he studied the vampire across from him one more time, cocking his head before unceremoniously taking a slow step closer. "Didn't come here to have no dance, either," Damian noted lowly, exhaling a slow sigh. The crossbow was useless already. He knew the speed at which a vampire could sprint and he knew he'd get to him before he'd manage to get the bolt where it belonged, therefore... close proximity it was going to have to be. "No mood for games, so..." Damian smirked again, keeping his gaze on the man before him. "Shall we get this over with?"

"And here I was hoping to be a knight in... well, let's face it, this isn't a shining armor but it'll do," Damian countered, shrugging his shoulders. Although the gesture seemed uncaring, it was also undoubtedly something to hold a loosening quality for him, preparing him for what might come. It was draining already, mentally, to stand before a vampire of which he'd caught only rumors of terror. Many had stood before him like that and none heard of again, which was the precise reason he was avoiding making any kind of eye contact with him. When there was so much evil spoken about someone, the only reasonable assumption to make was that they had more than enough tricks up their sleeves.

With that first step taken forward, Damian stilled once more. Awaited, studied and watched and stalked to the side then. Another step, just one, not to close in more but to stalk around the vampire as a cat would stalk its prey. The only difference was that cats, from his experience, were sadistic just the same. They liked to see the terror in the eyes of their prey and well, as tempting as the thought was, he'd seen enough in his life to know better. "Puppet, eh?" Damian snorted a laughter, burly and genuinely entertained, "Heard that one once before. I have a nice set of fangs sitting by my fire back home from the one who last called me a puppet." Letting confidence blind him was not the goal, however. In fact, from what he'd learned, it seemed likelier to have it blind his enemies.

Back to the problem at hand, he still needed to either get close enough to assault or get far enough to do the same. Needed a momentum to stun the beast so he could do as he pleased and rather than stalking forward, he cocked his own head in a similar manner and crouched then, sighing. "Well, if you're not going to make my night interesting, I will," he spoke, reaching into his boot and withdrawing his hand, a small pouch drawn into his the palm of his hand as he straightened his back and marched onward, straight for the vampire. The pouch was frail, made of parchment but the contents inside were expensive and hard to come by. Silver much like all else was a luxury these days and all that he had had been payment, melted into what he needed. The contents of the small pouch, however, were shavings. Dust, so to speak. Anything to make it harder for his opponent to concentrate and he was willing to risk some serious pain to get that silver dust shimmering in the air.

Everybody knew that doing what he did was something that took serious bravery and serious stupidity. Usually equally so. For him, it was about pushing a point across - his kind, humans, might have been frail and ridden with illnesses these days, but they were not cattle. One of those days, he was going to die anyway, be it in the hands of something he hunted or from an illness of his own but it was going to happen. Death was not something he feared. On the contrary, it would be a release of sorts.

Ultimately, it was not a release he was looking for. No, as he swiped out his foot, slamming the heel of it to the ground to release another blade, he was looking for a weak spot. All of them had one. Everybody had one. The catch was finding it while avoiding looking at the beast himself. The next swift motion, for a human anyway, was a blow aimed right for the vampire's chest, hand balling into a fist as it neared, crushing the pouch of dust and leaving the air glitter just as much as he'd intended to, and leaving the sharp end of the stake pointed at the creature. If at all possible, that was where he'd retreat. Put a little more distance between him and the vampire and let him inhale and itch, and do as he ******** pleased for a short while.

Most predators liked to play with their prey unless they were doing it out of wrath. Damian was simply extending an invitation to up the game.

Damian hardly minded the silver dust covering him. It would make it more difficult for the vampire to end his life all together, the way he saw it but even he shut his eyes for the moment, not needing it in his eyes to blind him. His arm twisted, guided away from the vampire led to the stake attached to it cutting into the flesh of his cheek with the sharp end, leaving behind a rough bleeding scratch but that was the least of his problems and he knew it. There was bigger danger there, the very fact that although he'd faced vampires, he couldn't recall one quite that powerful in a long time. The sound of wood splintering reached him before he'd even realized the vampire had moved and it left him standing there even as the vampire had jumped back, swatting blood from his face and staring ahead at the vampire before him.

Although it may have been satisfying to stay and watch the vampire struggle, Damian did not still himself, either, he backed away, further, to put more distance between them and unhooked the crossbow from his back, slipping a bolt in place as his gaze used the short moment to seek potential shelter. "Fight fair?" Damian chuckled again, shaking his head, "I figured if you wanted a fair fight, this should help to bring you down a notch," he responded, slipping closer to the same gateway he'd used to enter the mansion in the first place.

The anger was only to be expected; Damian for one did anticipate it coming but he had no clue what else was coming until a stone hit him in the thigh, hard enough to penetrate and embed itself deep into his flesh, another one crazing his arm, drawing blood from there and a third passing through the hard leather to leave a shallower wound in his side before he managed to duck in shelter with an involuntary cry of pain, the hand that wasn't holding the crossbow going to press on his thigh that bled the most. "s**t!" Damian cursed. That right there was at least one power confirmed, and with the mention of puppetry earlier, he had no doubt that there was a good chance for another and he'd come alone. Alone, because other people didn't only hold him back, they needed protection more often than not.

What mattered, was that he was in trouble but stopping the fight was not going to happen. With the loaded crossbow he aimed and fired, reaching for fresh bolts with the other hand, trying not to aim directly at the vampire but rather trying to anticipate his motion and speed. Two more silver-tipped bolts fired, and he forced himself to move, limping to change position, to try and aim for higher ground while sheltering himself behind hard stone pillars as he went, half-slamming his body into a tall wooden door to enter the mansion.

Damian held no need for taunts, for nothing really. He was injured, bleeding, and if no other sense would help the vampire, the scent of his blood surely would, which meant it was time for another little trick up his sleeve. The strong stench of garlic oil would likely mark his presence just the same but at the very least, it was there to help him dull the vampire a bit more. It was the cross around his neck that he used, dribbling the contents of the hollowed cross after him as he half-ran, half-limped for the nearest case of stairs, knowing that it could be mere seconds before the vampire was after him. Wisely, he did not remove the silver object from his neck, leaving it hanging even after most of its contents were drained.

The dawn was still too far away for him to count on the saving sunlight, which again meant that while injured, his only current option was to survive.

Survival, however, might have just as well involved using himself as bait. Tricky thing that was. If he let the monster catch him, he could have his neck snapped within moments, and he had no real understanding of how much that one preferred to hunt for the slaughter, or hunt for the pleasure of draining his victims. If it was the latter, he at least had a chance of letting him take a bite and either killing him or severely injuring him then, while risking having his veins torn in a way that there would be no mending them again.

Death was a friend by now. There were enough scars on his body to speak for that but it didn't mean Damian would rely on baiting the vampire until he no longer had another choice.

The small clinks alerted Damian more than well that he'd missed. Vampires. Some of them were faster than the others, some more powerful than the others and of course, it had to be his luck to find an Ancient that seemed to have it all going for him. Rather than going for the little taunts that were only there to make it worse, to irritate him, make him restless and inject some sort of fear in him, Damian settled to try and make his escape for the higher ground.

Whether he liked it or not, he needed to take the time to stop the bleeding on his thigh and side, if nothing else. The leg worried him the most at that point, the arm being the least of his concerns as long as it worked. He could hear the vampire hollering after him as he climbed the stairs, trying to leave as little of a blood trail after him as he could before sneaking into a room up there that seemed as though it might have once been a library, decorated with hollow armors gathering dust and cobwebs and books simply gathering dust just the same, from the first glance anywho.

Sadly, Damian did not have the time to try and read. It was a luxury a few people had these days, to even know the written word, but he simply had no time to handle that. Not when he could hear the vampire climbing up the stairs, muttering something under his breath. He stilled for a moment, held his breath to try and hear him over his pounding heart and failing miserably.

That was it.

Survival was going to be the only goal then. Survival and letting the vampire feel as though he'd won already, luring him close enough to use what little he had left. Tearing a strip of a curtain there, Damian tied it tightly around his leg, gritting his teeth to keep quiet. Risking his life it was going to be then, he decided, as he reached into the side of his boot to draw out a metal stake, it was heavy and it was iron but much like the cross, it had been hollowed as well, the craftsmanship of the men who lived far in the south. From the stake a thinner silver needle could be withdrawn and that was what he went for, knowing that the heavier metal would be noticed far too easily.

The needle, about as thick as one would use for knitting a fair sweater, was what he slid under the leather arm guard, the iron stake squeezed between his belt as he glanced around the room to find anything else he could use. His gaze did rest upon a simple reminder that there'd once been wealthy people there - a longsword sitting next to the torn down armor, immediately considered too heavy and too big to moved around at all, especially against a vampire. That in mind, he drew the dagger and inhaled a deep breath, actually stepping out of the room.

If he lost too much blood, the survival plan would not work anyway so now... his hopes were on the vampire going for the blood not for his immediate slaughter. Inhaling one more deep breath, he concentrated, tried to recall his training, forcing himself to submit to the fact that there would be fangs sinking into his flesh and he'd have to push through for long enough to feel weak. Twisting the dagger as the only visible weapon he held in his hands, he measured his gaze over the vampire once more, still avoiding eye contact. "Oh, I still want to play," he murmured, a small grin flashing over his features, letting the silver ring in his lip glint in the little light there. There was blood that smeared his face, his hands from pressing over the wounds and as he took a slow step forward, the limp was obvious where the stone was embedded into his leg. "You wanna play?" Damian asked, stilling himself where he stood, putting weight on his good leg and watching the vampire, trying to anticipate his motion because he knew for a fact that he couldn't possibly be fast enough to do much more himself.

Trap. Injure. Destroy. That was the plan and to trap someone... well, he didn't have a much better bait to offer than himself.

It was equally satisfying to Damian to see the vampire once more, witness the depth of the burns he'd suffered, ruining the beautiful eternally young skin for even a brief period of time. "Come and see what I can do with it," the hunter taunted his response, a matching smirk curling onto his own lips. Pain was pain, anger and the need to survive could easily overcome even that; at least for a short while to try and do what he needed to have himself the time to escape.

Damian didn't flinch when the vampire charged for him. Getting him close was the plan, after all, but the way his wrist was grabbed and pulled, the sudden jolt of pain made him cry out whether he liked it or not, hissing, gasping his breath, trying to fight off what kept him from focusing, only to have the air squeezed away from him, raw rage and murderous intent flashing in his eyes even as he was forced to stare right back at the vampire, struggling, seemingly merely flailing about while he withdrew the silver needle and in the moment he could feel the vampire creeping about in his head, sense the dread that came with him and the sense of victory from the vampire combining in a twisted cocktail, he slammed the thin rod of silver into the vampire's flesh.

He would have gone for the heart; even the neck if he'd thought he could reach one or the other fast enough or without the vampire realizing what he was up to beforehand but twisting it into the monster's gut had to be good enough. With one hand basically useless the only thing he still relied on was the speed of his other one, practiced from wielding weapons but much too mortal none the less. With that, he reached for his belt, for the plain iron stake that he aimed to slam into the arm that kept him by the throat. From then on, running was the only goal left. Running and escaping to return more prepared for this specific one.

Escaping, while he still held control over himself; while he could still fight, body and mind, for not just his survival but for his freedom.

The air was becoming a burning necessity in his lungs by the time the vampire finally released his grip, allowing him the chance to wheeze for air as he stumbled back himself, coughing and trying to force himself to be ready; to put up more of a fight and take the vampire while it was as weak as was he. Every muscle in his body ached already, strained, worn out and pushed to the last limit and he sneered up at the vampire, already feeling the compelling words sinking right to the very core of him. "******** you," he hissed between grit teeth, stepping forward, forcing his feet to stop for a moment by the stairs, fighting the closing sensation in his throat, still reaching for the needle, unwilling to leave it, slipping it back in its home in the iron stake as he gave in, stepping down the stairs, fighting the throbbing pain in his limbs.

"We'll see, vampire, we shall see," Damian gave his response, limping down the stairs now with little support from the wall beside him. As long as he had the strength left to keep going, he would be fine; as long as he had the power to survive now that he'd fought claw and teeth for his freedom, he was going to be fine. That right there was a knowledge to cling to, to build his determination over once again, even as he sought for his exit from the mansion, his cloak left behind on the mansion floor once he got the gates open and did as he was compelled to - ran.

Every step hurt, every time his pulse quickened, he could feel himself grow weaker, more blood lost from the wounds, his dislocated wrist the only thing he could really press against his body, the forearm used to press over the side but it was a long time until the exhaustion took him and the freedom from the vampire's demand finally let him be. He'd run until the dawn; until the sun rose and basked him in warmth and found him sprawled out near-death in the middle of a road, having nothing left but the hope that someone would find him there, soon.

The gods did smile upon the hunter this time. It might have taken a while, a couple more hours until a traveling merchant came along and dragged his limp body on top of his parcels, bandaged him on the road and took him back to the nearest village, not that far away.

Damian was out of it for two whole days, drifting between life and death, fighting for his life; to keep his heart pumping, to push through and not give the vampire the satisfaction of having ran him to death. On the third day, with the sun slowly setting, he finally opened his eyes again to remain conscious, only to find himself laying in a room he did not recognize, bandaged and stitched up, even his wrist set once again, although the pain was still very much there.

What mattered was that he was alive.

Dehydrated, aching all over but very much alive and breathing and as he sipped at the water brought to him later, after having shared his tale and being comforted by the knowledge that the people there understood the threat he'd been chasing and respected him for that, he was thankful that he'd managed to push through. Next time... and he already knew there would be a next time, he would simply need to ensure he was more prepared for that specific vampire and if the mental link did not wear out by that time, all depending on how powerful the vampire was, he'd simply need to ensure he had back-up.

By the time the sun set, Damian was enjoying his first meal over a long time, sipping slowly at a meat broth in small portions trying to re-gain his strength and ensure he would not end up making himself feel worse.