Adolescente studieuse et discrète le jour et tueu
Adolescente studieuse et discrète le jour et tueuse à gages, la nuit, en rentrant chez elle, Freya reçoit une singulière demande de contrat. Un contrat de garde du corps. Jusque là, rien d’anormal, sauf qu’il est question de devenir la garde du corps d’une fratrie de vampires aussi capricieux que mystérieux.
Freya, with her tousled auburn hair and piercing blue eyes, looked like any other student at the prestigious Academy of Arcana. She blended in seamlessly, a quiet, studious girl who spent her days poring over ancient texts and dissecting complex spells. But beneath the innocent facade, a shadow lurked. Night after night, she transformed into the city’s most elusive assassin, a whisper in the shadows known only as “The Raven.”
Her apartment was a testament to her duality. Bookshelves overflowed with arcane knowledge, while a hidden compartment in the floor held a collection of deadly weapons, each perfectly balanced for her deadly precision. Tonight, the silence of her apartment was broken by the insistent buzz of her burner phone. A new contract, the message read, a simple guard detail.
But as she read further, her eyes narrowed. The client was none other than the infamous Crimson Claws – a clan of vampires notorious for their cruelty and capriciousness. She knew their reputation. They were feared and loathed, their dark magic whispered about in hushed tones.
The Crimson Claws, it turned out, were a family, their lineage as old as the city itself. They had four children: a fiery, volatile eldest son, a cunning and manipulative daughter, a quiet, brooding second son, and a youngest child, a small, seemingly harmless girl with a disturbingly quiet gaze.
“What kind of fool would hire an assassin as a bodyguard?” Freya muttered, tapping her chin with a manicured fingernail.
The next day, she met with the Crimson Claws, their mansion a gothic behemoth looming over the city. They were a spectacle, each radiating a chilling power that sent shivers down her spine. But they were also oddly… normal. They were bored, discontented, their lives seemingly devoid of any real purpose beyond their insatiable thirst for blood.
“We’ve heard tales of your… talents,” the eldest son, Valerius, said, his voice a chilling baritone. “We need someone who can keep us safe, someone who can handle… disturbances.”
Disturbances. The Crimson Claws were not only threatened by mundane threats, but by something far more insidious. Their bloodline was ancient, a source of power for the dark magic that coursed through their veins. They were being hunted, not by humans or rival factions, but by something far older, something that sought to destroy the very essence of their existence.
Freya, in her usual calm, collected demeanor, agreed to the job. But she was not just a bodyguard. She was a hunter, and the Crimson Claws were not her prey, but her allies. They were the last of their kind, a dying breed, and they needed her help to survive.
Days turned into weeks, and Freya became a silent guardian, her vigilance ever-present. She discovered that the children were not the monsters their reputation suggested. They were tormented souls, trapped in a life of darkness, yearning for something more. She found herself drawn to their vulnerabilities, their shared fear of the darkness that hunted them.
The night the hunters came, Freya was ready. A legion of shadows, fueled by the ancient hunger for the blood of the Crimson Claws. They descended on the mansion, their power palpable. Valerius, with his fiery rage, led the charge, his magic a raging inferno. The daughter, Amara, her mind sharp as a viper, laid intricate traps, turning the mansion into a labyrinth of death. The younger sons, Elian and Silas, stood by her side, their silence masking a chilling power that slowly revealed itself.
But the hunters were relentless, and Freya knew that brute force would not be enough. She needed to turn the tide. She delved into her own knowledge of ancient magic, a spell she had learned from a forgotten text, a spell that could amplify the magic of the Crimson Claws, giving them the power they needed to fight back.
As the hunters surged, the Crimson Claws, fueled by her spell, unleashed a torrent of magic, turning the mansion into a battlefield of fire and shadow. They fought with a fury they had never known, their desperation a tangible force. Freya fought alongside them, her own skills honed by years of training, her movements a blur of deadly grace.
The battle was long and brutal, but in the end, the Crimson Claws prevailed. The hunters were vanquished, their dark energy dissipating into the night. Standing amidst the wreckage, Freya looked upon the Crimson Claws, their faces drained and weary. But their eyes held a new light, a spark of hope. They had fought together, and they had survived.
Freya, the assassin, the Raven, was no longer just a bodyguard. She was their protector, their friend. And as she looked into their eyes, she knew that this was only the beginning, that their story was far from over. The darkness still loomed, but they would face it together, the Crimson Claws and their silent guardian, the Raven, ready to face the night.
