Warm blood trickled from the cut above his eye.
The man carrying the pipe slowly climbed the steps.
"You should've stayed out of our business."
He raised the pipe over his head.
"This is where it ends."
The pipe came crashing down.
CLANG!
It stopped.
The thug frowned.
His weapon hadn't reached its target.
A dirty hand gripped the rusted steel firmly.
He pulled.
It refused to move.
A slow groan echoed through the metal.
The center of the pipe gradually bent beneath the crushing grip.
The thug stumbled backward, letting go.
Standing between him and Dawsyn was the same homeless man who spent every evening outside the church.
His long brown coat was stained with dirt.
His boots were cracked with age.
Messy gray hair covered part of his weathered face.
Nothing about him seemed extraordinary.
Until he looked up.
Golden eyes met the frightened faces before him.
Ancient.
Calm.
Disappointed.
Elias let the bent pipe fall onto the church steps.
It landed with a dull clang.
His gaze shifted toward Dawsyn.
"You've got heart."
His voice was quiet.
"But heart alone isn't enough."
He sighed.
"This…"
"…is why you need to learn how to fight."
One of the thugs cursed and charged with a knife.
No one saw Elias move.
One instant he stood on the steps.
The next…
The thug was lying several feet away, gasping for air as the knife slid harmlessly across the pavement.
Silence consumed the alley.
None of the remaining men dared move.
Dawsyn tried to lift his head.
"Elias…"
His vision darkened.
Everything became blurry.
The last thing he felt was Elias lifting him effortlessly into his arms.
Blood dripped from the wound above Dawsyn's eye onto Elias's hand.
Elias stopped.
The scent reached him.
His breathing slowed.
His eyes lingered on the crimson blood.
It smelled…
Different.
Ancient.
His throat tightened.
For the briefest moment, the outline of elongated fangs pressed against his lower lip.
His gaze never left the blood.
One taste…
His jaw clenched.
"…No."
He closed his eyes.
"…Not yet."
Without another word, Elias carried Dawsyn through the weathered doors of the old church.
The heavy doors slowly shut behind them.
None of the men followed.
Across the street, hidden beneath the shadow of an old oak tree, Rico lowered the pair of binoculars from his eyes.
His expression had gone pale.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a battered flip phone.
The call was answered after the first ring.
"Speak."
Rico swallowed.
"The kid survived."
A brief silence.
"Why?"
Rico looked toward the closed church doors.
"…Elias."
Another pause.
"He stepped in."
The voice on the other end grew noticeably colder.
"Are you certain?"
"I watched him bend a steel pipe with one hand."
"He dropped one of our men before anyone even saw him move."
Silence lingered between them.
Finally, Rico asked the question that had been bothering him since the fight began.
"Boss…"
"Why is Elias helping some unknown kid?"
For several long seconds, only static answered him.
Then the voice finally spoke.
"No one Elias chooses to protect…"
"…is ever unknown."
The line went dead.
Rico slowly lowered the phone.
His eyes never left the old church.
For the first time in years…
He wondered what kind of monster had just walked through those doors.