Sol laughs harshly, the noise scraping against the inside of his throat. His breath comes in harsh pants, loud in the night air.

“That’s the second time you’ve gotten me.” He says, a breathless smile coming to his lips, curling the corners of his mouth in a way that might be on the edge of deranged. “You truly are as skilled a hunter as they come.”

His gaze flicks to the dagger in Faust’s hand. He grins.

“I recognize the carvings on the blade,” he says, shifting his weight between his legs, blood still pouring from the stump of his shoulder, soaking his clothing and splattering across his limbs. “The seal of the Silesius family. I know their ways well.”

Faust doesn’t reply - he grips the dagger until his knuckles go pale, careful to keep Caius shielded behind him, watching Sol’s slow movements and adjusting to them.

“I knew it the first time, but you are a formidable threat.” Sol says, his teeth shining in the lamplight, the unsettling smile still on his face. “Between you and the throat-ripper, Gallus City has become much more interesting than the last time I was here.”

As he speaks, his arm is already regenerating, a stump of muscle and sinew growing grotesquely out of his torn shoulder socket. On the ground, his discarded arm is quickly dissolving, leaving nothing but a pile of denatured mush, colored with splotches of white and purple, and a pool of blood that has started to separate into red and clear liquids.

Faust moves forward slowly, seeming loathe to waste the chance to attack a wounded adversary, but still keeps himself within protective range of Caius. 

Sol takes one, then two steps back in retreat.

“I didn’t plan to be killed today.” He says, clutching his regenerating stump. His gaze falls to Caius. “Don’t forget our deal, little hunter. You and Silesius need to finish that other vamp for me.”

Before Caius can say anything, he turns - the motion leaves a splatter of blood against the cobble - and disappears into a dark corner of the street, dissolving into shadow.

The alley is suddenly empty. The only hints of the vampire’s presence are the pile of gore on the road and the pools of blood. 

There’s a loud clatter - Caius realizes he’s dropped his knife to the ground. As soon as he has the thought, his knees falter, liquifying, and his legs give out from under him. 

Faust whirls around at the noise - he reaches out to grab him, but he’s not fast enough, and only manages to steady Caius’s upper body as he drops to his knees on the cobble, coming to a crouch beside him, gripping his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” He asks, a frown of concern pinching his features.

Caius shakes his head and lets out a shaky exhale.

“That’s twice I haven’t been able to do anything.” He says, looking at his hands because it’s better than looking at Faust’s face. “In front of a vampire. I couldn’t move. Again.”

Faust looks at him for a moment, then scoffs.

“You think pretty highly of yourself.” He says, leaning back now that he can see that Caius isn’t about to lose consciousness. “Consider it a miracle you even survived two encounters with a vamp, and a superior-class one at that.”

Caius finally lifts his face to look at him.

“That’s only because you’ve held your ground against them both times.” He says, honestly.

Faust grimaces.

“I’m not exactly an example that young people should aspire to.” He grumbles. He picks up the knife Caius had dropped, checking it over for nicks or dents before pressing it into Caius’s hands. “If you drop my weapons again, I’ll kill you, nevermind the vamps.”

Caius lets out a weak laugh.