The moon hung heavy in the night sky, its cold light bathing the ruins of Nagoya in a spectral glow. A young woman, brown-haired and wide-eyed with terror, stumbled through the crumbling streets. Her ragged breaths escaped in panicked gasps as she glanced over her shoulder at the grotesque creature pursuing her. Its guttural growls echoed off the broken walls, a haunting prelude to the inevitable.

"Please..." she whispered, her voice trembling with desperation. "Somebody... help..."

The beast drew closer, its misshapen form lurching with predatory intent. She tripped, falling to the ground with a cry, and turned to face her fate. Her lips moved in silent prayer as she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the end.

But the killing blow never came.

The sound of the creature's body hitting the ground jolted her eyes open. Standing before her was a tall man, his silhouette imposing against the moonlight. His crimson hair caught the light, glowing like fire, and his muscular frame radiated an otherworldly presence.

"T-Thank you, sir..." she stammered, relief flooding her voice. But as the man turned to face her, the gratitude died in her throat. His eyes—red as blood and burning with hunger—locked onto hers, freezing her in place.

"..." He said nothing, his gaze raking over her with a predatory intensity. She scrambled to her feet, her instincts screaming to flee, and ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

From the shadows, another figure emerged—a woman with flowing purple hair and a smirk that promised mischief. "Crowley-sama? Aren't you going to take her blood?"

Crowley Eusford, the red-haired vampire who had lived through centuries of blood and war, did not reply immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the girl's retreating form. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and velvety. "Not yet."

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

For nights, Crowley roamed the desolate streets, his mind consumed by the image of the girl. Something about her stirred a long-dormant memory, an ache buried deep within the layers of his undead existence. He sought her with an urgency he hadn't felt in centuries, until at last, he found her again.

The girl was huddled against the wall of a ruined building, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Crowley moved like a shadow, silent and swift, and in one fluid motion, he had her pinned to the cold ground.

"Please... I don't want to die..." she whimpered, tears streaming down her face. "Forgive me... don't kill me..."

His grip tightened as her pleading turned to whispered prayers. "God, please save me..."

At her words, his crimson eyes flared with a dark rage. "God will not come," he said, his tone chillingly calm. "No one will save you. The world is cruel, and that's all there is."

With a single, deliberate motion, he tore the fabric of her collar, revealing a delicate antique cross hanging around her neck. The sight of it brought a flicker of something—anger, perhaps sorrow—to his otherwise emotionless face. Without another word, he sank his fangs into her neck.

Her scream was muffled as his hand clamped over her mouth. The warm, sweet taste of her blood flowed into him, igniting a hunger he had forgotten he could feel. He drank deeply, greedily, until an image from his past surfaced in his mind—the cross, and the face of an old comrade long lost to time.

Crowley pulled back, his lips stained crimson as the girl slumped weakly beneath him. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her life hanging by a thread.

"This cross," he growled, his voice rough with an intensity that startled even him. "Who did it belong to?"

But the girl was already unconscious.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

When she woke, the girl found herself lying in a bed far too fine for someone of her station. The sheets were soft, the room dimly lit. Pain radiated from her neck, and her fingers instinctively sought the cross. But it was gone.

"Looking for this?" a deep, mocking voice asked. She turned to see Crowley sitting casually at the edge of the bed, the cross dangling from his fingers.

"Please..." she began, her voice hoarse. "If you're going to kill me, at least return that. It's all I have left of my family..."

Crowley tilted his head, studying her with unsettling interest. "Why? It's just a trinket. I could toss it away, and it would mean nothing."

Her eyes widened with despair. "No! It belonged to my ancestor... It's the only thing they left me before they..." She trailed off, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Crowley's gaze darkened. "Your ancestor?" he echoed, his tone laced with curiosity and something colder. "Tell me who he was, and you'll live."

She hesitated, unsure if she could trust him, but the weight of his stare compelled her to speak. "My family is from Europe... This cross was made during the Crusades..."

Her words faltered as Crowley moved, pinning her to the bed in an instant. His face hovered inches from hers, his eyes blazing with an intensity that left her trembling.

"The name," he demanded, his voice a growl. "What was his name?"

"J-José," she choked out. "That was his name..."

Crowley's breath hitched—a small, involuntary reaction. Memories surged forth, memories of a name he hadn't spoken in centuries. The impossibility of it all only fueled the storm raging within him.

Before she could utter another word, his fangs were at her throat again. She screamed, but her voice was swallowed by the darkness that consumed her.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

When she awoke once more, she was in a different place—a quiet, modest room. Her fingers flew to her neck, feeling the bite marks still fresh on her skin.

"You're awake," a young boy said, his innocent face peering down at her. "You were attacked by a vampire. Do you remember anything?"

Her hand tightened around the cross, now back in her possession. She closed her eyes briefly, a single name echoing in her mind.

"Crowley..."

"Crowley?" the boy asked, tilting his head. "Is that your family?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No," she said softly. "But perhaps... once, long ago."

The boy looked confused, but she offered him a faint smile. "Thank you for saving me."

As the boy walked away, she whispered to herself, clutching the cross as though it held the answer to all her questions.

"Crowley... The great hero who once stood by their side... Could it really be?"

She closed her eyes, the thought haunting her as much as it intrigued her.

-END-