It's been two years since I first joined the Fang Hunters—two years that have felt simultaneously like an eternity and the blink of an eye. Even now, as I write these words in a small, candlelit study at the Reinherz mansion, I can't help but recall the path that led me here. I'm not sure if it's the flickering shadows on the walls or the hum of distant wards thrumming in the corridors, but memories keep flooding back, refusing to let me rest.
I suppose it's time to lay them out, to make sense of it all. I owe that much to myself, to my sister, and maybe even to Victor von Reinherz—the man who changed the course of my life.
I remember how it started, at least for me. My sister Mizuki had lost her sight in the incident that cursed me with these "All-Seeing Eyes of God." We ended up in the Vatican, our parents desperately seeking a miracle from Cardinal Vasco Strada, while I discovered a harsh truth: miracles don't come freely, and some curses can't be undone by faith alone.
Victor found us—saved us, really—from a monstrous vampire that cornered us in the silent streets of Vatican City. In that moment, I saw what a single Fang Hunter could do, and I realized how powerless I was in comparison. My sister was suffering, my parents were grasping at straws, and I was caught in the middle, carrying the guilt of having my eyes at the cost of Mizuki's.
When Victor asked me to join him, I hesitated. I was no warrior. But he said he might be able to help Mizuki. He had resources, connections, and a plan to dismantle the vampire race from the ground up. I didn't fully believe him, but I needed any glimmer of hope I could get. So I agreed.
That was two years ago. It feels like a lifetime.
A month after I joined the Fang Hunters, Victor announced he would be undergoing major surgeries to graft something called attributes onto his blood. Fang Hunters typically have one attribute—like Klaus, Victor's surrogate father, who wields Incarceration. But Victor insisted on getting two: Incarceration and something rumored to be even rarer—Destruction.
The day of the surgery, I recall being told to wait in the side wing of the mansion. Valerie Tepes, a vampire under Victor's protection, sat with me. She offered me tea, her crimson eyes betraying no hostility, only mild curiosity at my presence. It was surreal, sitting across from a vampire in a quiet parlor, while a team of mage-surgeons and Church-approved doctors performed arcane procedures on Victor.
The Incarceration attribute, from what I'd read in their records, was standard among high-level Fang Hunters. It let them seal vampires more easily, forming prisons of blood or conjuring cross-shaped shackles that suppressed a vampire's regeneration. Klaus had it, and so did many veterans, though each manifested it differently. But Destruction was something else entirely—unheard of, they said. It would let Victor destroy the mana within a vampire's body, unraveling their supernatural existence at a fundamental level.
I remember flipping through a tattered codex while Valerie quietly explained that Fang Hunters were still human, no matter how many modifications they underwent. They aged, they could be wounded, they died. The attributes gave them a fighting chance, but at the end of the day, they remained mortal. That was why the Church supported them with advanced relics, sanctified weapons, and hallowed grounds. Even with these advantages, the war against vampires was always on a razor's edge.
I asked Valerie if she feared Victor's new power would make him unstoppable, even to her. She smiled sadly and said, "It's not unstoppable. It's just enough to tip the scales in his favor—for now."
Late that evening, the door to the operating chamber opened. A group of exhausted mage-surgeons emerged, their robes stained with blood—Victor's blood. Klaus followed, his face grim, though I detected a hint of relief in his eyes. The surgeons assured us the operation was successful, but that Victor would need weeks to recover.
I snuck into the recovery room, ignoring Klaus's protests, to see Victor. Tubes and runic wires connected to him, feeding specialized potions into his bloodstream. I caught glimpses of arcane sigils carved into his arms and torso. It looked painful, horrifying, and I couldn't help but feel my stomach churn at the sight.
That was when I realized the lengths Fang Hunters went to. They subjected themselves to these brutal procedures, rewriting their biology to ensure their blood was lethal to vampires. It was more than just a job—it was a vow to fight monsters with monstrous means. And Victor was taking it to the extreme by claiming both Incarceration and Destruction for himself.
I felt my cursed eyes tingle, as though they were trying to perceive the changes in his blood. Wisely, I shut them tight, not wanting to risk a repeat of the pain I'd endured when I tried to read a powerful vampire's true name. The last thing Victor needed was me collapsing in his recovery room.
For two weeks, Victor lay in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. Valerie often stood watch, quietly adjusting the intravenous lines that pumped him full of potions meant to stabilize his new attributes. Klaus hovered too, arms crossed, his stern gaze betraying an undercurrent of worry. Fang Hunters might accept death as an occupational hazard, but losing Victor would be a blow they couldn't easily recover from.
During that time, I had my own tasks: deciphering names, sorting through old manuscripts. The Fang Hunters had assigned me a small room next to Victor's so I could be close by if my eyes were needed. They asked me to look into the lineage of a lesser vampire clan in Eastern Europe, and that was how I learned that not all vampires were equal. Some were basically mindless thralls, while others—Elders—were older than entire human civilizations. And then there were the True Ancestors, culminating in the legend of Dracula himself.
It frightened me to realize that even with these surgeries, Fang Hunters remained at risk. They were still human, reliant on external gear from the Church—holy water, consecrated swords, relic-based guns. Even a strong attribute could only carry them so far. The older and more cunning a vampire was, the more you needed a synergy of resources, knowledge, and raw power to stand a chance.
At night, I'd watch Victor's chest rise and fall, hoping he'd survive this transformation. I felt a pang of guilt, wondering if I'd roped him into helping me and Mizuki when he already had enough burdens. But in the quiet hours, Klaus told me that Victor had chosen this path long before meeting me. He was always pushing the boundaries, determined to "even the odds" in the endless war against vampires.
When Victor finally awoke, the change was palpable. His presence felt heavier, like the air around him was charged with static electricity. Incarceration let him conjure cross-shaped prisons from his blood, a refinement of the Brain Grid Blood Battle Technique he'd already mastered. But now, those prisons were conjured more swiftly and seemed to latch onto a vampire's essence, preventing regeneration more effectively than ever.
Destruction was even more terrifying. Victor's blood carried a resonance that literally tore mana apart at the cellular level. If a vampire was equal in strength to him, that vampire might as well sign its death warrant the moment it engaged him. He only needed a single scratch to inject his blood, and the synergy of Incarceration and Destruction would unravel their supernatural advantage. A high-level vampire could still put up a fight, but only Elders or True Ancestors might truly outlast him.
Yet, for all this new power, Victor was still a human. Klaus made that clear, reminding him that the surgeries didn't make him immortal or unstoppable. He could bleed, he could age, and if he faced an Elder who'd walked the earth for a thousand years, he might still lose. The Church's support—holy relics, advanced wards, and higher-level Clergy Magic—remained crucial.
I remember Victor quietly nodding, his gaze distant. He was never one to boast. He simply accepted the limitations, strove to overcome them, and prepared for his next hunt.
Word spread quickly among the Fang Hunters that Victor von Reinherz now possessed two attributes. Some called him a prodigy, others viewed him as a reckless experiment. But none denied that his successes soared. Within months, he sealed multiple vampires that had eluded the Fang Hunters for years. Lesser vampires fell like dominoes under the synergy of Incarceration and Destruction, and even the mightiest ones had to flee or risk being sealed.
The Church took notice, offering him better gear—holy firearms, relic-laced crossbows, swords etched with scripture. He studied up to Level 5 Clergy Magic, which further amplified his attacks against vampires. With incantations, he could brand a vampire's flesh with holy runes mid-battle, incinerating them from within. Combined with the unstoppable force of his blood, it was no wonder people began to whisper that the vampire race might be on the brink of collapse.
But behind every victory, I saw the toll it took. Victor's body remained human. After each major hunt, he'd return battered, bruised, and sometimes close to death. The surgeries made his blood the bane of vampires, but they didn't grant him immortality. The Fang Hunters as a whole still faced staggering losses—colleagues, mentors, friends—because not everyone had the same advantages as Victor.
Where did that leave me? Mostly in bed, ironically. My cursed eyes made me a valuable resource, but each attempt to glean an Elder's true name was a gamble. For lesser vampires, I could see through illusions and glean their identity with a mild headache. For Elders, the strain was so severe that it could lay me out for weeks, my eyes bleeding profusely as if they threatened to burst.
And then there was Dracula—the one vampire that truly mattered. If he fell, the entire vampire race would lose its blessings. They'd be weakened, their hold on immortality shattered. I tried six times to read his name from ancient portraits and cryptic manuscripts. Each time, I collapsed in agony, only to emerge with the faintest fragment of his name. Six attempts, six syllables, and I'd guess there were at least a dozen more to go.
I felt guilty for not being able to do more. Guilty that my sister's eyes were taken so I could have this "gift," and all I had to show for it was partial success. But Klaus and Valerie insisted I was doing enough—every snippet of an Elder's name gave Victor an edge, leading to successful hunts that chipped away at the vampire strongholds.
Where did that leave me? Mostly in bed, ironically. My cursed eyes made me a valuable resource, but each attempt to glean an Elder's true name was a gamble. For lesser vampires, I could see through illusions and glean their identity with a mild headache. For Elders, the strain was so severe that it could lay me out for weeks, my eyes bleeding profusely as if they threatened to burst.
And then there was Dracula—the one vampire that truly mattered. If he fell, the entire vampire race would lose its blessings. They'd be weakened, their hold on immortality shattered. I tried six times to read his name from ancient portraits and cryptic manuscripts. Each time, I collapsed in agony, only to emerge with the faintest fragment of his name. Six attempts, six syllables, and I'd guess there were at least a dozen more to go.
I felt guilty for not being able to do more. Guilty that my sister's eyes were taken so I could have this "gift," and all I had to show for it was partial success. But Klaus and Valerie insisted I was doing enough—every snippet of an Elder's name gave Victor an edge, leading to successful hunts that chipped away at the vampire strongholds.
In the quiet times, I found myself talking more with Valerie Tepes. At first, I was terrified of her, but she turned out to be gentle, even playful in a subdued way. She was grateful to the Fang Hunters for saving her from a bleak fate under certain vampire factions. She repaid them by maintaining the mansion's wards, weaving her own brand of vampiric magic into the existing spells, ensuring that even if a powerful vampire approached, they'd have to contend with layered defenses.
Our relationship was strictly platonic, much like her bond with Victor. She had no interest in humans as prey, nor did she see them as romantic interests after all what kind of humans would date a mouse? they would die before we could even perceive it the lifespan difference is far too big for it to happen. We often sat together, sipping tea, discussing the intricacies of the wards or my slow progress in deciphering names. I appreciated her perspective: she understood the vampire world from the inside, recognized its brutality, and still chose to stand with humanity.
It felt surreal. A year ago, I would have fled at the sight of a vampire. Now, one was teaching me about runic arrays and how to channel faint bits of holy energy without burning my retinas out.
Despite these successes, the war raged on. The Fang Hunters might be strong, but they remained mortal. I lost count of how many times a fellow Hunter failed to return from a mission, how many tearful goodbyes the mansion's halls witnessed. Each coffin brought in hammered home the point: We are not guaranteed victory.
Victor's double attributes gave him an edge, but the true Elders—and especially the True Ancestors—still lurked in the shadows. Every new name I deciphered chipped away at their advantage, but the real endgame was Dracula. Seal him, and the vampire race's blessings would vanish. But that was easier said than done, especially when just glancing at his image could shatter my eyes for weeks.
Sometimes, I found myself staring at my reflection in a mirror, noticing the faint lines under my eyes from constant migraines. I'd wonder if Mizuki was doing any better, if her eyes still ached with that cosmic void. I prayed we'd find a solution, even though I no longer trusted in miracles. I pinned my hopes on the Fang Hunters' dogged determination to break curses and slay nightmares.
So here I am, two years after I said "yes" to Victor's crazy proposition. I see him forging ahead with unstoppable conviction, balancing the power of Incarceration and Destruction in ways no other Fang Hunter can. I see Klaus guiding him, ensuring he doesn't lose sight of his humanity. I see Valerie weaving wards that keep us alive another day, her presence a quiet reminder that not all vampires are enemies.
And me? I'm somewhere in between. A boy with cursed eyes, unraveling the names of ancient bloodsuckers from the safety of a warded room, hoping each syllable might tilt the war in our favor. Hoping that one day, when the war ends, we can muster the resources and knowledge to break the contract that robbed Mizuki of her sight.
I remember the night Victor emerged from his surgeries, the bandages around his arms stained with his own blood, his eyes shining with a resolve I'd never seen before. In that moment, I realized that no matter how monstrous our enemies, or how punishing our burdens, we keep going—because we must. Because someone has to.
Incarceration pins them down, Destruction erases their mana, and Fang Hunters remain the last line of defense for a clueless humanity. My cursed eyes glean the secrets that let them do it, piece by agonizing piece.
And I accept that. For Mizuki's sake, for the memory of who we once were, and for the promise that maybe, just maybe, once Dracula's name is fully known and sealed away, we'll have earned the chance to fix what was broken.And plus mr Klaus said that this eye is here to witness an uphaul and a world changing event never to intervene directly maybe just maybe the fall of dracula is the said events, and if it is? Then my contract is complete and mizuki's vision will be restored.
If that day ever comes,and we do get to pin down dracula. I'll open my eyes fully—not just to see illusions, but to witness the moment we tear down the last stronghold of a race that thrived on blood and fear. Maybe then, my sister will see the sunlight again, too.
Until that day, I'll keep going.
I'm Kenji Motohama, a reluctant Fang Hunter, a boy with eyes that see too much. And this is the path I've chosen.