Kiss of the vampire "the Girl with the Sharp sword" volume 2
Mission 17: welcome home!
"They said he'd be a savior.
No one said he'd bury them all first."
---
The engine hummed low.
Rain tapped steadily against the windshield. The sky outside was a dull gray—not dramatic, not storming—just uncaring. Like the world didn't even notice the fire that just devoured his life.
Deyviel sat in the passenger seat of the Black Order van, forehead against the window, arms crossed tight.
He hadn't spoken since they left.
Maya drove.
Hands steady on the wheel. Back straight. Her breathing even—but only just. She glanced at him once. Then again. Then didn't look for a long time.
The silence hung between them like fog.
Until Deyviel spoke.
His voice was hoarse. Quiet.
> "So… Catherine's your aunt?"
Maya exhaled slowly through her nose.
> "Yeah."
A pause.
"But not anymore."
Deyviel blinked at the window. "What happened?"
Maya didn't answer right away. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers gripped the wheel a little harder.
Then—slowly—she started talking.
> "My mother was her twin. Queen of the Silver Court. Kind. Strong. Better than Catherine in every way. And Catherine knew it."
Her tone wasn't angry. It was... restrained. Like the words had burned for too long to come out hot now.
> "One night, I heard them shouting in the throne hall. I was just a kid. Maybe eight. Hiding under the staircase."
Her voice dropped lower.
> "Catherine said something like, 'You already have everything—why him too?'
My mother said, 'He was never yours to begin with.'"
A breath.
> "Then she screamed."
Deyviel slowly turned his head toward her.
Maya didn't stop driving.
> "I ran in. She was already on the ground. Her throat half-open. Her eyes still wide. I don't even remember screaming. I just remember the smell. The blood soaking into the floor."
Her hands were trembling now. She didn't look at him.
> "My father… He was one of the last vampire lords who hadn't bent the knee to Lancer. When he found out what Catherine did, he tried to take me and escape the castle."
A faint smile—sad and bitter.
> "Didn't make it far."
> "Lancer stopped us himself."
Deyviel's jaw clenched.
> "He killed my father while I watched. Like it was nothing. Like he was swatting a fly."
> "I don't remember much after that. Just cold nights. Running. Hiding. My feet bleeding from walking. I must've gone mad a dozen times. But I kept moving."
She finally looked at him for a second.
> "For the next hundred years, I walked. Town to town. Killing vampires. Saving whoever I could. Sometimes people thanked me. Sometimes they screamed and called me a monster. I just kept going."
> "Then… I met Ben Rayleigh."
Deyviel blinked.
> "He didn't save me. He just... saw me."
> "Said I had a choice. To stop running and start building."
A pause.
She looked back at the road.
> "Then I met you."
The silence returned, but it was different now.
He looked at her longer this time. Really looked.
"…I didn't know," he said.
"I never told you," Maya replied simply.
---
They passed the old signs.
The curve in the road.
The leaning mailbox.
And Deyviel's chest tightened.
Something deep inside told him: This was the moment.
He clenched the chocolate pudding in his hand, the one he bought without thinking.
Maybe Lina would be waiting.
Maybe Touru would be mad he was late.
Maybe Momo would jump into his arms.
The van stopped.
He stepped out.
And and as he blink a flash of light greeted him . As he open his eyes he saw his house and heard them laughing Then he smiled.
The sun was setting, painting the hillside in soft gold. The trees rustled gently. Birds chirped like they didn't know the world had monsters in it.
Deyviel stepped out of the van with Maya beside him, both still in partial armor, dirt on their boots, and exhaustion dragging at their shoulders.
But the moment he saw the house—the worn-out fence, the half-painted porch, the wind chime made of old spoons—
He smiled.
"Home," he muttered.
Before they could knock, the front door flew open.
> "Hey, you brat!!"
A familiar voice bellowed from inside.
> "Stop standing there like a lost puppy—get your ass in here! The kids are starving!!"
Deyviel chuckled.
> "Heh… yeah, yeah… we're coming, old man."
Maya laughed softly under her breath, shaking her head.
> "You never tell him to tone it down?"
> "He is toned down."
As they stepped inside, the smell of food hit them first—garlic rice, something fried, and Touru's favorite baked sweet potatoes. The hallway was cluttered with old shoes, scattered books, and cat fur on every step.
And then—
Two little missiles launched from the living room.
> "DEEYYYYYY!!!"
> "MAAAAYAAAAA!!"
Lina and Touru barreled into them like they hadn't seen them in years—even though it had only been a week.
Lina wrapped her arms around Deyviel's neck and clung like a baby monkey.
Touru leapt straight into Maya's arms, grinning like a wild gremlin.
> "How's school, brat?" Deyviel asked, tousling Touru's hair.
> "Fine! I got a lot of stars today! Look, look!!"
He dug into his backpack and pulled out a crumpled paper filled with red star stickers and a shaky drawing of a "chimera."
Deyviel looked at it like it was priceless.
> "Damn, that's terrifying. I'm gonna frame this."
> "Don't say 'damn' in front of the kids!" the old man's voice barked from the kitchen. "Maya, slap him for me!"
> "Later, when he's not holding a child," she called back.
The house was loud.
Messy.
Alive.
Momo weaved between their legs, meowing for attention. The old man clanged plates together, muttering curses in his usual cheerful way.
Lina climbed onto the couch and patted the seat beside her.
> "Sit, sit! I saved your spot!"
Touru had already dragged Maya toward the dining table, rambling about his week like every detail was life-or-death.
And for a moment—
Deyviel just stood there.
Taking it all in.
The laughter.
The warmth.
The noise.
He wasn't a soldier here.
Wasn't a weapon.
Wasn't a cursed heir of anything.
He was just…
Home.
And Deyviel—
He just stood there.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
He blinked.
And the world changed.
The lights vanished.
The laughter died.
The smell of garlic was replaced by smoke and blood.
He was no longer in a warm living room.
He stood inside the ruined husk of that same house.
Blackened beams crumbled above him. The floor was soaked with ash and rainwater. Sirens howled faintly in the distance, distorted and far away—like echoes from a warzone that no one noticed.
The rain started again.
Hard.
Relentless.
It fell through the broken ceiling, landing on his shoulders, on his cheeks, on his lips. Cold. Heavy. Like the sky was trying to erase the memory.
Deyviel blinked again.
Lina wasn't on the couch.
Touru wasn't yelling.
Maya wasn't laughing.
Just ruin.
Charred wood creaked underfoot.
> And he was already inside the burned house.
Somehow.
Like he'd walked without realizing.
Or like the world had dragged him here the moment he closed his eyes.
---
Now his knees hit the floor.
His fingers curled into the soot-stained ground.
The chocolate pudding slipped from his hand and landed with a soft, wet thud beside a pile of scorched stuffed toys.
His chest was tight.
His breath caught.
> "No…"
The flashback didn't fade.
It shattered.
And all that remained was this:
Ruins. Rain. And silence.
The house was gone.
Burned wood and blood-soaked ash had melted into the soil, until there was no telling what used to be alive.
Maya was screaming.
Not words.
Not names.
Just sound—raw and hollow—as she cradled Touru and Lina's lifeless bodies in her arms.
---
Deyviel stood still.
Eyes wide.
Expression blank.
Staring at the place that once gave him warmth—now nothing but flame-charred ruin.
The rain poured.
But he didn't move.
Not a blink. Not a breath.
---
His eyes dropped to a collapsed figure at his feet.
The man who had once picked him out of silence and called him something no one else had:
> "Son."
---
His adoptive father knelt there.
Still warm. Still bleeding.
Burned.
Bruised.
Sword broken across his lap like an apology he never got to give.
> "Zup… kid," the man rasped.
Deyviel flinched.
His breath caught.
His knees buckled.
> "I… I'm sorry… I failed to protect them… I…"
> "Don't," Deyviel whispered, falling to his knees.
His hands shook as he clutched his father's—rough, trembling fingers brushing his own.
> "I'm… glad," the old man said, breath ragged.
"Glad to be your father. I don't regret it… not even raising a blockhead like you."
A weak smile broke through the pain, blood mixing with rain.
> "Stand tall, my dear boy… and please… don't let vengeance consume your heart."
"You're not just my son."
"You're more than what the world will call you after this."
"Promise me… you'll keep your heart."
Deyviel opened his mouth.
But nothing came out.
His throat locked.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, quiet and endless.
The light in the old man's eyes faded.
His chest stopped rising.
He died with a smile—believing in the boy still kneeling before him.
> Deyviel's shoulders collapsed forward.
And for him,
the world stopped turning.
---
A weak meow.
Deyviel turned.
From the rubble, a small figure limped forward.
> "Mo…mo…"
The rain didn't fall.
It hammered.
Each drop hit like a curse.
Like the sky was trying to drown the earth—to wash away what had happened—but failing.
Her fur was soaked.
One leg gone.
Her eyes, dim… yet still burning with a final flicker.
She stumbled.
Collapsed.
Deyviel crawled over and gently picked her up—held her close to his chest, where his heartbeat cracked beneath skin and grief.
Her tiny paw reached his cheek, shaking.
> "Mee…ow…"
And then,
she was gone.
---
Momo's fragile body lay in his arms—too light, too quiet.
Her fur still warm.
Still soft.
Like maybe, if he just waited...
just one more second...
She'd blink at him again.
Purr like she always did when he got home late.
> She didn't.
---
> "Mo...mo…"
Deyviel's voice broke apart.
Tears spilled again—hot, helpless, endless.
He buried his face in her fur.
His arms wrapped tighter.
His body curled inward.
Shoulders folding like something had splintered from the inside.
> A boy breaking in silence.
---
His forehead hit the dirt.
His nails dug into the ground.
His mouth opened—wide.
Teeth clenched like he could bite down the pain.
And then—
He screamed.
> But no sound came out.
It was a scream that tore open the ribs.
A scream that lived in marrow and burned through lungs.
A scream too real for sound.
> Because it was louder in silence.
The rain soaked his back.
The wind slashed at his skin.
But he didn't shiver.
He didn't blink.
He didn't breathe.
He just knelt.
A statue carved from grief.
Breathing in broken pieces.
Dying in pieces, but still breathing.
> No one left to hear him.
---
Not Touru.
Not Lina.
Not the man who once picked him up and said:
> "You don't need to be anything. Just be my son."
Not even Momo.
> "I… I'm sorry,"
Deyviel whispered into her fur, voice barely a breath.
"I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry I let this happen. I'm sorry I didn't die with you."
He screamed again.
And again.
Until his voice shattered,
until his throat tore raw—
> But the world never answered.
---
This wasn't a hero.
This wasn't a monster.
This wasn't a savior.
> Just a boy.
Crying for the last time.
---
> "This isn't the story of how he lost them.
It's the story of how the world let it happen."
To be continued...