There was thirty weeks of training to become a Dentist.

Some of it was classroom based, learning law and practising scenarios.

Some was environment conditioning, such as training to see better in the dark or getting used to the sight of blood.

But a lot was physical training.

Before arriving at the headquarters, potential candidates were expected to be able to handle at least a 9.6 grading on the standardised bleep test, an achievement of one hundred press-ups, sit-ups and squats within fifteen minutes, and also a cardio obstacle course involving crouching, crawling, climbing and dodging.

That last one didn’t start with a C, and it was disappointing.

However, once the training truly began, it escalated on an almost daily basis.

The first day alone was designed to break you, the second day was to destroy you, and then finally it was to rebuild you into the right type of physical condition. Vampires were unnatural, so it made sense that you needed to be that way inclined also.

And then came the combat training, run by the legend for his brutality alone…

Culhil Madris.

He was easily in his late-seventies/early eighties and yet he was jacked. He was slender, but he had stacks of muscle and a prominent six-pack. He was always barefoot, wearing black leggings and bandages over both his arms, and nothing else. He believed that armour held Dentists back, and so he considered most clothing to be a weakness.

He did own a stunningly long silver moustache which twitched sometimes with dissatisfaction, and he never blinked. Ever. Because blinking meant that you may have missed something crucial.

He would always be sweating when they arrived in the air-conditioned training room from his own training, with the sweat steaming off his body into a powerful aura.

And then he would fight them.

“None of you have a killer instinct.” He said on one particular hard day, standing in the centre of the room. His breathing hadn’t become laboured in the slightest, and yet he had just dismantled each of them with ease.

The group of ten (at the time) were all scattered in various positions throughout the gym. They were twisted, lying down, or even unconscious but nobody was standing with the exception of Scarlet Aizen who was, however, holding her knees.

Two of them had vomited, but they weren’t permitted to leave just yet.

This was a lesson.

“You are fighting against creatures of the Night who wish to consume you. They do not play fair. They will come at you with instantaneous movement, in ways and directions you won’t expect.”

He stamped onto the ground, his leg muscles bulging and a pressurised burst overwhelming the defeated students.

“They are stronger than you. They defy logic and reason. They go for the kill always. And, as it stands now, they want this more than you.”

Ashyer twitched at that. It bothered him and, despite the pain and bruises atop bruises, he began to pull himself up. Around him he heard the others starting to do the same, but he wanted to at least be first.

He wanted this.

“You need to recognise that when you see the threat, you must instantly take action. You don’t want a fight with a Vampire to become a drawn out affair.”

He extended a bandaged arm. Beneath it, he had shown, had been slash, gouge and even bite marks by the various foes he had fought.

“You will bleed, they will feast on your blood, and then they will grow stronger. Especially at this level when most of you still can’t summon your Nova Pulse…”

There was a moment as the words rung through their ears.

The name of their type of magic, the magic of the self. Like a sun that burned in the sky, so too was their soul capable of burning and flooding them with impressive capability.

But, for now, it was out of reach…

Culhil Madris breathed, his muscles bulging as he appeared to radiate a powerful, invisible, inner force. This was sheer presence, sheer certainty.

He was strong.

“If you can act first and go for the killing blow, then I’ll have nothing more to teach you.”

Ashyer understood.

The classrooms would have you believe that there was a duty of care to victims, or perhaps a scene to be recovered and protected, but in truth they needed to be exterminators first and foremost and always.

To delay the act of slaying a Vampire with any other additional action was a delay that could mean that more people suffered and died. First aid was important, but it was secondary.

The enemy needed to die.

That was why he ran and leapt at his opponent, throwing an arm out in a powerful punch that he drove forward with all his remaining strength.

No delay. No hesitation.

It was wild, uncontrolled, and he saw the instructor assess it almost immediately as his arm was grabbed and he was tossed easily into the ground.

The ground shuddered with the impact, he gasped out as saliva burst from his mouth, and Culhil glared at the rest of them;

“Stand up. You have five seconds.”

Feeling the pain they groaned and began to stand, and as he no doubt sensed through some unnatural means who would be coming at him next, he prepared.

Though, he did look down at Ashyer one last time.

He was still struggling to stand.

He wanted to win.

“I like the look in your eye.” Culhil said; “Keep burning, because from this point on I am going to stop taking it easy on you.”

***

Upon the sight of the pair of fangs, Ashyer’s body moved.

He drew the katana with the sound of the blade scraping against the wood, and he discarded the unnecessary holder to the ground in the same moment. He was also running.

He didn’t just push himself into a steadily increasing jog to start out, but rather he ran with full, intense, speed as fast and hard as he could.

The ground shuddered with his steps, the heavy boots echoing outwards through the hallway.

And as he closed the gap, he swung the blade with a wide and violent arch. He wanted to take the head as soon as possible-

But he felt it collide against the wooden door frame with a loud, heavy, thud and a scattering of dust and debris.

“What’s for lunch?”

The dust cloud exploded as from within Ashyer moved. He had traced the question to the roof where the Vampire sat. It stared at him, the pupils dilated and hungry.

It salivated, but no drool came out of its mouth. Rather the upside down and viscous fluids worked with gravity and caused its body to sag at the skin.

“No idea.” He snapped, as he put all the pressure on his front leg and swung his blade in an upwards arch. It cut through the ceiling, but not against a Vampire, who had moved to the side and was crawling down the wall like a fleeing spider.

“Get back here!” He roared, running through the remaining ceiling dust that had rained down upon him and swinging the blade downwards as the Vampire skidded to a halt.

It raised an arm defensively, the blade slicing through the middle of the lower arm like butter, and it dropped to the ground.

He froze, waiting for a reaction, but none came. No blood seeped from the wound, no screams of pain came from its mouth, instead he lowered the arm and grinned like a continued madman. The silver was even burning at the spot of the wounds impact and, with a low gurgling noise, it reached down and picked up the separated limb.

And then it waved at Ashyer.

“What’s for lunch?” It wondered, and Ashyer scowled.

It was taunting him, and yet also giving him a lesson.

Vampires were Dead.

That much was obvious.

But it was lost on people exactly how dead they were.

The propaganda would suggest that your average Vampire had the capacity to hide amongst you, your friends and family and you would never even know until you finally felt the fangs in your neck.

And, truthfully, some were like that, but they were the exception.

Your average Vampire was dead.

They were a moving corpse powered by basic instincts save for the desire to feed on human blood, because it was the only thing that allowed them to feel anything.

They felt nothing. The wind on their skin made no impact, temperature provided no comfort, and their emotions were reduced. Hell, the lack of oxygen to the brain sometimes made them limited in speech.

Without fresh and oxygenated blood circulating, they had barely any capacity for anything. But, in the moments after absorption, they were granted a temporary sense of what it was like to be alive again.

And it felt… amazing.

“What’s for lunch?” It repeated, and Ashyer lunged forward into a wide slash.

Attacking was the method to win here. Hesitation was defeat.

His attacks were designed with defence in mind. Every action, every slash, provided limit routes for his opponent to strike back least it lost something useful.

It was already down an arm.

“I’ll get you some lunch if you just stay still!”

The dodging Vampire, unknown in age and wearing dishevelled clothing that didn’t appear to fit anymore, moved quickly to avoid the strikes but was… eerily still as it did so. Every movement seemed painful as its muscles, bones and skin cracked with the quick dodges. Not that it felt the pain, granted…

It also didn’t breathe.

That was the strangest part.

He should have, but he didn’t.

It didn’t even emotionally react when a wide sideways slash caught it at the hip. A further twist of the hips would have carved the creature in two, but likely acknowledging that it needed its legs to keep going it rolled through the air and landed back on the ground

“What’s for lunch?” It wondered, but Ashyer had chased it down with a running jump kick to the chest. The cut to its side meant it was off balance slightly and it reacted with the pressure by flashing fangs and reaching forward-

An upwards swing took the fingers away, the digits raining around the pair as Ashyer twisted the blade to his side.

He focused all his effort on moving forward and he could see the creature, reacting to his stance, move backwards- and bounce off the corridor wall. They had reached the turn and, glancing at what it had just hit, the Vampire then faced Ashyer with widened eyes.

Charging forward with a cry it felt like every instinct in his body reacted with one, defining, purpose.

Before him was the living dead. It was unnatural. A predator. It needed to go.

With what felt like fire in his nerves, he moved forward with all his strength and drove the blade into his enemies stomach and was rewarded with it penetrating all the way through to the hilt. The Vampire didn’t scream, but it did raise its mouth and opened it wide to reveal its hunger.

It proved that it’s only purpose was to feed, but with no working hands to grab him, Ashyer felt comfortable letting go- and stepping backwards as the adrenalin rushed through him.

“You’re not done,” Reginald said, stepping into the hallway darkened hallway; “If you’re not quick, it will remember it can turn into mist.”

Ashyer stared with his heart hammering in his ears, but the information rung true and he knew what his next action was.

He performed two swift actions.

The first, he drew the sword from the Vampire and was rewarded but it collapsing onto its knees. Not in pain, but rather due to the shift in weight.

“What’s for lu-?” It wondered, as the blade spun swung through the air and removed its head.

It bounced down the hallway, over Reginald who watched it go, and then the rest of the body collapsed to the ground.

Ashyer breathed a sigh of relief.

He stared at the corpse.

It was a Vampire.

And now it was very dead.

From the corner of his eye, Ashyer spied the scabbard of his sword being handed to him and as he accepted it he realised how exhausted he was. Sweat poured down the side of his face he suddenly felt how heavy the black uniform was as it clung to his skin.

It was a miracle he’d made it out unscathed, given how tired he now was.

“Nice work,” Reginald said, glancing down the hallway in case of any further Vampiric problems; “I was listening in in case you had any trouble, for the record. Doesn’t look like you did, though. Awesome job.”

“Thanks…” Ashyer said with a sigh.

It had taken a lot of effort to kill one low level Vampire.

He had a lot to learn.

A tap on the arm grabbed his attention.

“If you’re at all curious, that effort gets you about a hundred points.”