As the crescent moon's current position signaled that the night was to end soon, Alder, wrapped in his typical long, dark cloak, stood alone on the grassy terrain lurking beneath Bell Gate Bridge as he had been doing since the night started. The only sound to go about in the background was that of rushing water flowing on in the river behind him, where the bridge stretched over. The strigoi himself was still contemplating his decision to do this, but no matter what, he was dead set on facing the hunters and their weapons of slaughter.

Hearing a rustling of grass, he turned around slowly to see the two, familiar shapes he was hoping to see were now standing before him. They both looked as though they were dressed in thick brown trench coats of some sort, with high collars that concealed all but their eyes. Sitting on either's head was a wide-brimmed hat that helped to conceal themselves further, matching the coat's color and function. By far the most distinguishing feature of the pair was the swords of silver they each held on specially-made bracers attached to one of their front hooves

"It took you both longer than expected," Alder spoke to them both, clicking his teeth together in a loud, rapid chitter.

"What's this about, Alder?" Zeffith demanded to know. "You never had the guts to face us in person before. All you've ever done is run from us or sent your minions to attack."

"I've lived a hundred lifetimes. I've made and lost innumerable friends and allies. I've seen sickness and death, much of which was caused by my own hooves. You can see where my words are going, can you not? We all know that no matter what, someday my life will come to its conclusion, and I thought you two deserved a fighting chance to claim it for yourselves."

"Where's your moroi?" Ebonwind instantly inquired, taking a single step forward. "The short one with the scarf?"

"I've... relieved him of his duties." The words left the creature's hidden mouth with a slight roll, as he lifted a hoof and began to push his hood down, revealing what lied beneath. "He is of no more use to me."

Though obviously equine in origin, Alder's pale white, hairless face looked horrendously mutilated and disfigured, to the point of showing bits of bare skull in some parts, and Ebonwind couldn't help but flinch slightly at just how hideously rotted and corpselike it was. His eyes, nothing more than a pair of bloodshot spheres with veins covering their once-white forms like a bed of crimson vines, looked at his opponents unblinkingly, and his ears, both torn enough to having tips that resembled jagged points, flicked about in the wind with anticipation.

"Now, shall we begin?" he spoke, showing the misshapen teeth that littered his jaw. Clearly visible on it as well, as with all strigoi, moroi and their ilk, was a long, vertical scar that started at his chin and ended at the base of his throat. Zeffith, nodding quickly to Ebonwind, dashed forth and obliged him.

Waving his sword downward, Zeffith missed by scant inches when his enemy sidestepped to the right at a supernatural speed. Ebonwind joined in and thrust his own weapon forward, but that missed as well. With the two hunters attacking simultaneously, all Alder could do was dodge them for a good few seconds in the hope of tiring them out, before suddenly jumping several feet back.

Flapping his feathered wings, Ebonwind lunged at the strigoi with the intention of landing a hit before he could get comfy with the distance he put between them, but Alder was ready for him. Just after Ebonwind made a single swing that missed by an inch, Alder ducked to the left and raised his arm. Bringing it down, he backhanded his hoof against Ebonwind's side with strength greater than the average pony, tossing him away. Soaring through the air, the pegasus impacted against the side of the concrete, graffiti-strewn wall connected to the bridge's base with a loud clatter, and fell to the ground with a cry. Forgetting all else, Zeffith immediately rushed to his student and helped him up.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," Ebonwind coughed, slowly getting onto his hooves. "Just got the wind knocked out of me, that's all."

"Then you'd best take a breather. I'll take it from here," the zebra ordered, turning to face his foe once more. Alder simply stood there and watched the two, as if patiently waiting for them to recover. Pointing his sword at the creature, Zeffith left the pegasus' side and began to walk to him at a slow pace that picked up into a full run. With a roar of rage he swung his sword with all of his might, but Alder simply raised his hoof, catching Zeffith's wrist in it, stopping the weapon, and proceeded to throw his other hoof at the zebra's chest with most of his might behind the attack.

It hit well, but Zeffith, despite his advanced age, endured the blow with a gritting of his teeth. Holding onto the creature's leg the moment it hit him, he quickly grabbed something in his pocket with his spare hoof, and flung what appeared to be a glittering cloud of silver dust at Alder's leering face. The metallic particles hitting the desired location fully, Alder broke off from the zebra's grip and winced away several dozen feet, pawing at his eyes with his hooves, screeching in agony as the stuff burned right through his flesh like acid. Just as he finished and seemed to recover from the blow, he let out a gasp just as he made out the sight of Zeffith's figure coming upon him with his brandished sword flashing in the moonlight, successfully impaling it in the location of his heart. Alder looked shocked for a second or two, but before long, a wide smile that stretched from ear-to-ear spread across his jaw.

"You know how to slay my kind well. But tell me, old friend, how shall you pierce my second heart?" the strigoi asked with a wretched smile, grabbing the sword and pulling it in deeper with a sickening noise of flesh. "How is it that such a feat can be accomplished now?"

"Like this!" a voice shouted from behind. Alder only had time to widen his eyes before he felt an incredible burst of agony break out on the left side of his body. Crying out again, he looked down to spot the sight of a second silver blade protruding out of his chest, stabbed directly through his second heart from his back with deadly precision.

"How did... you recover so fast?" he asked in a wheeze, trying desperately to turn his head enough to stare at the pegasus behind him.

"I'm a fast flyer," Ebonwind growled. Alder stumbled about, both swords implanted in his chest and their wielders connected to them, before deciding to stop and just stand where he was.

"So... this is how... it ends?" the strigoi asked in a small and surprising intimate voice to the zebra, a stream of red falling from his dry, deformed lips as he looked at both the blades embedded within him. Moving his head slightly, his eyes soon met Zeffith's, and the pair stared at each other in silence for the next few seconds.

"This is for my wife and son," Zeffith muttered in a calm, but fury-filled voice. "You took them from me all those years ago. You turned them into feral, mindless beasts with your fatal bite, and I had to put them down for good myself. No one, pony, zebra, deer or otherwise deserves to do that to those they hold dear."

"I suppose I may have done... such a d-deed. There are so many I have wronged in the ages I've been cursed with... this," Alder mumbled, sinking to his knees. He let his tired head go limp onto Zeffith's shoulder with another round of click-esque chittering of his teeth, and rested it there for some time, taking in several pained gasps as he struggled for air. "Forgive me, if you may," he then whispered into his longtime foe's ear. "It's... the nature of my kind. I cannot help it, that those who die to my bite transform into those savage mullo."

"The only comfort I find in your words is that they're your last," the zebra murmured. "Your plague ends with you."

"So it might, so it might not..." the strigoi coughed, still smiling crookedly. Ebonwind, who still held his blade firmly, looked visibly confused at these words from behind his coat's collar. Looking over the creature's shoulder to Zeffith, he saw his mentor nod to him, and instantly understood what it meant. With a grim look on his face, he tore his sword from its resting place in Alder's hide, and Zeffith did the same with his own. Unleashing a sigh that seemed to ripple through the air the moment the weapons were removed from him, Alder toppled to his side and burst aflame before he even landed on the ground.

The two hunters shielded their eyes with their coat sleeves as the bright glow illuminated their surroundings, soon dying down and fading away into nothing. Finally able to witness clearly what became of him, the pair could see that all that remained of their adversary was nothing but ash and parts of a charred skeleton, before that crumpled to dust as well. The cloak he was wearing, or what little was left of it from the blaze, fluttered away like a kite in the wind, where it sailed into the river nearby.

Ebonwind stared at the smoldering pile long and hard, and didn't realize how just long and hard he was doing so until he heard the sound of hooves slowly walking away from him. He looked up and saw Zeffith had started to wander off along the shoreline of the river, where he eventually found a rock and plopped himself against it in a tired fashion.

Tossing his sword to the ground, folding the collar down from his neck and tugging his hat from his head, he let out a mighty exhalation of air and stared up at the dark sky and the stars littering it that were slowly disappearing as the sun prepared to emerge from the horizon. From the young pegasus' perception, it looked as though his zebra friend had just lifted an enormous weight from his chest, and more than understood just how incredulously heavy that weight was.

"It's done," were his first, choked words as he saw Ebonwind approach from the corner of his eye. "It's finally done. Fifty-seven years I've waited for this moment, and it's over in less than a handful of minutes. It's done."

After a few seconds of checking around, Ebonwind found a spot and sat next to his mentor. "How do you feel, old-timer?" he asked, placing a hoof on his shoulder.

"How do I feel? Joyful... ecstatic... a little empty too, but that's just because all I've wished for is now complete..." he mumbled something to himself before allowing a small smile to come onto his black-tipped snout. "...And I guess my chest hurts a fair bit from that punch I received, and my leg's a little sore as well, but it's always felt like that."

"Cracking jokes, are we?" the pony chuckled, patting his back. "I never thought I'd see the day."

Zeffith smirked. "You know, what happened tonight may just put a spring in my step, Ebonwind."

Ebonwind joined in on the small bit of laughter the zebra began to let out, and then a lengthy, peaceful silence came between them. Ebonwind's happy expression started to turn solemn as he used the time to think. "What do you think he meant by those last words of his?" the pegasus asked next, remembering the strigoi's enigmatic final sentence.

Zeffith hummed to himself, entering a few moments worth of deep thought. "Of that, I do not know," he said. "But what I do know is that we still have one last scarf-wearing bloodsucker on the loose. And he's most likely still somewhere in the city."

"And your plan?"

Zeffith took in a deep breath. "We wait for him to make a mistake."

Page-Turner awoke on her own as the morning progressed from the night. Slowly she allowed her eyes to open, and discovered that she was looking at the mattress. Picking her head out of where it lied face-down on the bed, she pushed her mane out of her face and looked around.

The shades to the window were down, but through them the translucent glow of the sun could be seen. Other than through the cracks that the drapes didn't cover, there was little light in the room, which filled the pony with a good deal of comfort at not being immediately blinded. Deciding to see what time it was, her fogged, groggy memory soon remembered the pocket watch she had left on the counter next to the bedside. Without hesitation, she reached for the silver object through the desecrated remains of the covers that were sitting over her once-sleeping body.

The moment her hoof touched it, she let out a small grunt and retracted her limb as she felt a terrible burning sensation hit it. Confused, but also curious, she stretched her hoof forward and placed it on the watch again. Once more, she sharply pulled it back as a hot feeling stung her hoof. It was as if the thing had been sitting in a forge's fire for an hour.

"Why does my watch feel so hot?" she wondered to herself in a murky whisper. Rubbing a hoof through her disheveled mane, she let out a huff as her stomach let out a noise of its own, a reverberating rumble, and only then did she just realize how unbelievably hungry she was. It felt like a thousand ravenous rats were gnawing at her stomach in unison, drilling it into a desolate pit.

She clutched it and moaned both hungrily, and tiredly. She stayed in a sitting position like that for some time, until the sound of the door to her room opening with a creak took her mind off of the cramps. The door clicked shut, and Page could see a figure appear before her - a purple-furred earth pony - dressed in a maid uniform. In one hoof she held a plastic basket, carrying something inside of it.

The unicorn soon recognized it was the maid she had seen while suffering from the effects of those aches and pains. The same, helpful one that helped her pay for her stay here.

"My, my..." the pony said in a light tone, upon laying her eyes on Page-Turner. "You're up."

"Heh... that I am," she chuckled back, her voice hoarse and sore. "I guess I pulled through after all..."

"I'm exceptionally happy that you're okay," the maid spoke again with a cheery smile, setting her basket down to the side. "You sounded like a dying cat for almost two days, for lack of a better term."

"I was... I was like that for... two days?" Page inquired, as her stomach began to rumble in a cacophony of vibrations once more.

"Pretty much. You slept completely through the third one without a sound," the maid answered. You looked so weary that the manager decided to keep anypony from disturbing you. But, since you're awake now, might I be able to change those covers of yours?"

Page looked back to what shredded remains of the sheets lying on her bed over her, and lowered her horned head dejectedly. "Of course. Sorry that I tore them up..." she apologized. "I was in so much pain that I guess I... did that."

"There's no need fret over it. We'll just replace them. That's why I brought these," the mare smiled warmly, motioning to her basket. Giving a smaller grin back, Page began to crawl out of her bed at a snail's pace, her mane, tail, and posture low in a droopy fashion. Humming an earworm to herself, the maid began to work on the bed.

As Page moved about, her joints felt stiff and weak as they supported her body on the ground. She was only walking around for a few seconds before the maid took notice and turned her head slightly from the bed after she successfully de-sheeted it.

"You look as though you can barely move, your eyes are bloodshot, and you're as pale as death," she spoke, her eyes slanted with worry. "Don't worry, I'll just fix these new blankets right up, and you can rest yourself once more."

"Thank you," Page whispered, sitting herself down on a nearby wooden chair. As the maid returned what she was doing, pulling covers from her basket; nice, neat ones bearing a flowery smell, and casually tossing the old ones into it, Page used her magic, illuminating from her horn in a rather sickly glow, to lift her book and a select few other objects around the room. Bringing them up to herself and her backpack one-by-one, she began to pack all of her things away into it in slow succession. She planned on leaving the moment she was fit enough. By the looks of it, to her glee, that time would come soon.

Then the rats began to gnaw again.

Placing the last object, her feathered quill, into the bag, Page suddenly grabbed at her entire body, from her chest to her waist, in visible pain. It was as if something inside of her was trying to push its way out, begging to be released. Begging to be fed.

The maid had just finished her duty and tossed the last of in the nearby basket when she heard Page's long groan. "Are you alright, deary?" she asked, clearly concerned.

"Ugh... yes. Just hungry... very, very hungry..." Page responded. She looked up from the chair, a small bead of sweat falling from her horned forehead, and when she looked at the maid's busy form, a smell entered her nose. It was a scent that bore a metallic texture, but one that brought a positively delicious sensation in its wake. Not only was this smell suddenly intriguing, but Page now swore she could hear the crisp sound of the mare's heartbeat. And it sounded... lovely.

"Um... excuse me miss, but why are you... looking at me like that?" The words of the maid tore the pony out of her trance-like state, and she sighed.

"I-I'm sorry..." Page quickly apologized ashamedly, turning her face away, before inevitably turning it back with her jaw slightly ajar, drool beginning to bubble at the base of her mouth as her widened eyes scanned over the mare once more. "I-it's just that... you smell rather good. Like... like a... nice, juicy hayburger."

The maid looked extremely uncomfortable when she heard the "compliment", and only snapped out of her awkward glance when she coughed into her hoof. "Well then, I'd best not stand here and dawdle," she spoke hurriedly with a skittish chuckle, spinning about to leave with the basket of ragged sheets in hoof. "I'll just go and let you be. When I'm done cleaning the other rooms in this shift, I'll bring back something good for you to e-"

The last thing the earth pony remembered before eternal darkness took hold of her was a vividly sharp prick in the back of the neck. With a shocked look painted on her face, the sheets fell from her grasp and she collapsed to the floor below with them. Sticking out from where she had been struck, bearing a blackish-red color, was a long, thin, tongue-like appendage. Where it had emerged from was Page's open mouth, and her lower jaw, which had completely split open in a bright red, upside-down triangular display to allow such an object to pass through, was lined with jagged, hook-shaped fangs at its left and right edges, and webbed flesh was what appeared to be the only thing that held it together, starting at the base of her windpipe. On her face, flashing like a siren light, was a grim glare only a predatory creature would put on.

As soon as Page regained her wits and her grimace disappeared, the projection snapped back from its resting place and retracted back into her mouth, where it vanished back into her body. Her split jaw slowly clamped shut, returning to the plainness it was originally, and all was silent. The only thing that remained permanent and visible was a thin, light scar that ran from the tip of her bottom lip, over her chin, and traveled to the bottom of her throat, just above her collarbone.

To say Page was both surprised and horrified by what she had done was a great understatement. With shaking hooves, she touched her mouth, feeling around inside for what she just unleashed, but found nothing. She was left speechless even after checking herself out.

Then a new scent hit her nose, and like a magic spell her expression changed, and her attention was stolen away. The unicorn looked back to the maid and watched as a small speck of blood began to trickle from the tiny wound she had inflicted on her, and like a moth to a flame, Page began to pace up to her. Upon realizing what damning thoughts were starting to circulate through her head, Page struggled to stop in her tracks. Clutching at her mane with her hooves and pulling on her hair, Page tried to tear her reddened eyes away from the mare's prone body, trembling with pure and utter disbelief at the understanding of what was happening to her. However, with her begging, whining stomach causing her to inch closer with every shaky second, she was soon standing directly over her victim's unmoving form, and fell onto it without a choice.

"I... I can't... Your blood is so... so... I'm sorry..." she whimpered profusely and incoherently, large tears streaming from her semi-closed eyes in a river of sorrow and unkempt starvation. With no control over her actions any longer, now driven solely by the urge of appeasing the unrelenting hunger screaming like an indigent child in her ear to be sated, Page quietly placed her hooves on the pony's body, pressed her mouth over the wound she inflicted in her neck, and began to drink deeply from it. She could feel an intense, searing pleasure the likes of which she had never before experienced the moment the crimson ichor graced her lips and rolled over her tongue. But as the horrific realization dawned upon her, that something truly unnatural and abhorrent had been done to her, she also felt an intense, disturbed, hate-filled loathing of herself for succumbing to its influence. Either way, one fact was abundantly clear as she started to drain every last drop of life-sustaining blood from the helpless pony.

There were no more rats.