Chapter 87

Chapter 87
I glanced over and saw Nathalia approaching, her steps slow and heavy. She was supporting Randolf, his arm slung over her shoulder as they trudged together toward us. Both looked completely worn out, as if they had given everything they had left.

The only ones still standing strong were Oscar and Brix.

They had done everything in their power to fight The Fifth. They fought with unwavering courage, refusing to give up, even when the odds turned against us. But it wasn’t just us who were exhausted—not anymore. Even the enemy’s leader was visibly struggling to stay upright. His stance was no longer as confident as before. He was panting heavily, his eyes dulled from fatigue and pain.

“Shit...” Nigel muttered under his breath, the single word carrying the weight of despair and shock.

That’s when I saw him—a man standing not far from the battlefield, his presence chillingly quiet. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched, like a phantom looming on the edge of death. His aura alone sent shivers down my spine. There was no mistaking it.

From his dark cloak to the unsettling pressure he emitted, I knew who he was.

He was one of The Fifth Cloaks.

“One of The Fifth Cloaks…” Lady Nathalia muttered beside me, her voice weak but full of tension. “Two Cloaks now? Fuck it!”

She barely managed to take a few more steps before her legs buckled beneath her. Without hesitation, Erikson and Nigel rushed to catch her. They steadied her, trying to get her back on her feet. She whispered something, but her voice was so faint I couldn’t make out the words.

This isn’t the end.

I knew it in my bones.

Despite the bloodshed and the endless screaming, despite the exhaustion seeping into every fiber of my being, this battle wasn’t over yet.

I stood frozen in place, watching Brix and Oscar as they argued in the middle of the chaos. Their words were too far to hear, but the emotion in their voices was clear. Brix was trying to make Oscar leave the battlefield. His expression was firm, but underneath it, I could sense his desperation.

Oscar, however, refused to move.

I understood why. He was the kind of man who would rather die on the battlefield than retreat. But from the way he swayed on his feet, I knew he was already at his limit. Any more fighting, and he would collapse—for good.

Then I saw it.

Brix raised his sword and, with a single clean movement, stabbed Oscar in the chest.

I gasped, frozen in disbelief.

Oscar dropped to his knees. Blood trickled from the wound, his breathing shaky. And then he slowly fell forward, unconscious—or worse.

Brix…

He didn’t do it out of malice.

He did it to save him.

It was clear now. That stab wasn’t meant to kill, only to stop Oscar from continuing the fight. It was a brutal choice, but Brix had made it to protect him from himself.

What are you planning, Brix?

He stood tall and motionless, his silhouette soaked in blood and rain. He looked like a man who had accepted his fate. A warrior prepared to fight alone, if he had to.

Even the enemies—those who remained loyal to The Cloaks—didn’t move. They just stood there, watching silently, as if they were waiting.

It was because of that other man—the Cloak who had yet to move or interfere. His presence alone demanded respect, even from his own soldiers. He was observing, watching closely, perhaps even judging who would win this war without him needing to step in.

“Give it up!” The Fifth roared from across the battlefield. His voice cracked slightly from strain. “It’s over, Brixton!”

“Over?” Brix echoed with a low, sarcastic laugh. “I don’t think so.”

“Stop fighting now! You’ve lost enough!”

“No.” Brix shook his head calmly, even as blood ran down his side. “My queen gave me the signal to end this war, but she never told me to give up. I take orders from no one else but her. You? You’re just The Fifth Cloak... and I am Brixton Wenz Cardinal.”

Those words were like a war drum echoing across the field.

It was now down to the final duel—The Fifth Cloak versus Brixton Wenz Cardinal.

“Then I will kill you, Brixton Wenz Cardinal!” The Fifth shouted, fury twisting his features.

I held my breath as the two warriors charged at each other.

As always, The Fifth’s wooden cane vanished into thin air—his signature weapon. I knew it would reappear at any moment, probably to strike from behind. It was his trick.

“His cane, Brixton!” Nathalia yelled from the sidelines, trying to warn him.

But I trusted him.

In the blink of an eye, both blades pierced through each other's chests. A moment of silence followed—time seemed to freeze. Neither fell, not yet. They staggered back, blood staining the ground beneath them.

They weren’t done.

Brix, despite his injuries, prepared to attack again. But just then, the spinning cane reappeared like a ghost and struck him right in the chest. He dropped his sword, coughing violently.

But with the last of his strength, he reached forward and pulled The Fifth into an embrace.

He held him tightly.

The cane pierced through both of them.

“M-my daughter is waiting for me...” Brix choked out, his voice trembling. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. “I-I need to fulfill her wish... whatever it takes. Do you fucking hear me? My daughter is waiting for me!”

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision until I could barely see them anymore. I wanted to scream, to run to him—but I couldn’t move.

Brix let out a guttural cry, a sound filled with heartbreak and raw power, and shoved The Fifth away with all the strength he had left. The cane shattered between them.

He stumbled, picked up a sword from the ground, and turned to face his enemy one last time.

The Fifth could no longer stand. His own weapon—the one he had relied on for years—was lodged deep in his chest, leaving him helpless.

“For the second generation...” Brix whispered with a small smile.

And The Fifth, despite it all, returned a faint, defeated smile of his own. He knew it was over.

“Y-you’re really something, Brixton Wenz Cardinal...” he murmured.

With a final breath, Brix raised his blade high and beheaded The Fifth Cloak.

And just like that, it ended.

All of The Fifth’s allies dropped to their knees, surrendering in silent grief or perhaps awe. The war was done.

I collapsed into sobs. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

Brix, drenched in blood and barely able to stand, picked up the severed head and walked toward the remaining Cloak—the one who had stood silently the entire time.

He threw the head at the man’s feet.

“I’m done with The Fifth,” he said, voice like thunder. “Are you next?”

The other Cloak stepped forward. His eyes met Brix’s with something like admiration.

“I can still fight,” he began—but then stopped. He looked around at the battlefield, the bodies, the blood.

“The Cloaks have something to say,” he said instead. “If you still stand against—”

“We’ve seen enough,” the Cloak interrupted himself, lowering his gaze. “We’ve watched this battle. You defeated The Fifth. And because of that... you made us believe in the second generation of vampires.”

Behind me, cheers erupted. My allies cried out in celebration. Finally, the suffering had meaning. Finally, it was over.

Even Oscar, lying weakly on the ground, gave a sigh of relief and managed a small, pained smile.

And then, slowly, Brix turned to me.

“Astra...” he called out softly, his voice trembling.

“You did it, Brix,” I whispered, running to him.

I caught him just as his knees gave out and he collapsed into my arms.

He let out a weak laugh, his body trembling with exhaustion.

“Thank you... for trusting me,” he said against my shoulder.

“Aya is waiting...” he added, his voice breaking.

“Yes,” I whispered back through my tears, clutching him tightly.

“We’re finally going home, Milady...” he breathed, as the wind carried away the final cries of war.