Chapter 57: Anita’s Fight

Chapter 57: Anita’s FightThe moon was high. Blood soaked the parking lot like rainwater. Bodies lay twisted—wolves and vamps, all torn and silent. But the night wasn’t done bleeding.

And neither was Anita.

She stood atop a cracked streetlamp base, red hair matted with sweat and streaks of black blood. Her eyes gleamed violet in the dark, narrowed and sharp, mouth curled in that lazy grin she wore when the killing got good.

Both her hands dripped blood—but none of it hers.

A werewolf lunged at her from behind, leaping with fangs bared. Big one. Muscle stacked. Smart enough to aim for her blind spot.

But not fast enough.

Without looking, Anita flicked her fingers—and blood burst from the corpse at her feet, shot into the air, and skewered the wolf through both eyes before he even landed.

He howled, stumbled mid-leap—then her dagger met his throat.

SHNK.

One smooth slice. Head off clean.

The body dropped at her feet, steaming.



She didn’t stop. Not even to blink.

Her blood twisted in the air like ribbons now—two long strands swirling behind her like wings, pulsing faintly with her heartbeat. The daggers danced between her fingers, spinning, flipping. They never stayed still. Not for long.

A vampire tried to come in low—fast and sleek, sliding like a blur across the asphalt.

Anita’s dagger met his knee.

CRACK.

He fell face-first.

She knelt, one hand slapping against his back—blood flowed out of him like it was answering her call, draining upward in thick, sticky lines.

The vamp started to scream—then choked as the blood solidified into a spike mid-air and stabbed back down through his spine.

He twitched once, then stopped moving.

Anita giggled.

"Don’t crawl if you don’t wanna die like a bug," she murmured.

Another werewolf—two, actually—charged from opposite sides. Trying to flank her. One had brass knuckles, the other glowing claws.

She didn’t back up.

Instead, she spun on one heel—fast, graceful—and the blood floating in the air curved like blades.

SHHHK. SHHHK.

Both wolves halted mid-stride.

Then their torsos slid clean off their hips and fell in two.

She blew a strand of red hair off her face, letting her blood-slick daggers float beside her. They hovered, spinning lazily. The blood around her rippled like water.

Something moved behind her—fast. A vampire girl, all in black, blinking in and out like she was teleporting.

Anita caught her wrist mid-phase. Not with magic. Just fast reflex.

Then she twisted it.

SNAP.

"Don’t disappear on me," Anita whispered.

The vampire screamed as Anita slammed her head into the ground hard enough to crater it.

Then—Anita bent over her.

Dragged a finger across the vamp’s lips, gathering a single drop of blood.

She licked it.

Then spat it.

"Blegh. Cheap blood."

Her blood ribbons lunged.

Like snakes, they pierced into the girl’s body, twisted, then tore her apart from the inside out.

Chunks scattered across the cracked concrete. Anita didn’t even flinch.

A group of three wolves came next—working as a unit. They circled. One up front, two behind. Smart formation. They were communicating silently, waiting for her to pick a direction.

She didn’t.

Instead, she crouched—and slammed her palms on the ground.

Blood from every corpse nearby surged forward like water breaking a dam.

The wolves froze.

Too late.

A dome of blood rose around Anita—then exploded outward.

The wolves were caught mid-motion. They tried to shield. Block. Dodge.

Didn’t matter.

The blood hardened midair, became spears, knives, razors, hammers.

CRACK. SPLAT. SPLICE.



The front wolf lost his arm. The one behind him lost his head. The last one got impaled through the gut, lifted off the ground, and pinned to a burned-out car.

His screams echoed for a second.

Then stopped.

Anita stood again, chest rising, not out of exhaustion, but excitement.

Her grin widened.

"This is so much better than date night."

She flicked her wrist. Her daggers flew into the air, slashed across the throat of a charging vamp from behind, then returned to her grip with a satisfying snap.

All around her, the blood twisted, curved, danced. Some of it floated, some of it crawled along the ground like living veins, sniffing out enemies.

A vampire sniper tried to take a shot from the rooftop. Anita looked up—just once—and raised a hand.

The blood below leapt up like a whip, arched high, and yanked the bastard down.

He fell screaming.

She stepped aside at the last second.

His body hit the pavement with a sickening crunch.

She looked down at him.

"Wrong angle."

Then stabbed both daggers through his chest without ceremony.

Splatters painted her cheeks, her shoulders, her boots. Her skin shimmered faintly, glowing with bloodlight.

Another wave was coming. Maybe five or six—wolves, vamps, mixed. Desperate now. Angry.

Anita just smiled, flipped both daggers, and began walking toward them.

No sprint. No dash.

Just a walk.

Like the kind killers make when they already know they’ve won.

The group hesitated. One of them—a big vamp with glowing red tattoos—barked something.

"Surround her! Go for the legs!"

Bad move.

Anita crouched.

Whispers echoed from the blood at her feet—tiny, high-pitched, almost giggles.

Then all the blood near her surged up—and turned into blades.

A lot of blades.

Dozens.

They floated for a half-second—then shot out in every direction.

The group got shredded.

Blood sprayed like fountains, limbs flew, heads rolled. One of the wolves tried to run—Anita snapped her fingers and his own blood exploded inside him like a grenade.

BOOM.

She didn’t even look at him.

"Running?" she said. "Nah. You came here to die."

Her blood ribbons writhed again, sharper now, humming.

She closed her eyes for a second. Let the scent of blood fill her lungs.

When she opened them, her pupils were glowing.

Two vampires rushed in blind fury, screaming curses.

She dashed forward.

No tricks. Just speed.

She ducked under a swing, rammed her dagger into one vamp’s jaw and dragged upward—his face split in two. She kicked off his collapsing body, flipped mid-air, and landed behind the second vamp.



Before he could turn—

SLASH.

Her ribbon of blood curved around her like a boomerang—and took his legs clean off.

He hit the ground howling. She ended it with a stomp to the neck.

CRACK.

Then silence again.

She looked around. More bodies. Less noise.

In the distance, Lucifer threw a werewolf straight through a building. Ruka slashed down another with a beam of light from his sword. Alessia? Gone again. Probably lurking in someone’s shadow, painting another horror show.

Anita wiped her face with her arm. The blood clung to her skin like it belonged there.

She laughed softly.

"This city’s gonna need a mop."

Then she spun both daggers again—and walked toward the next fight like it was a festival.