Story:

Before the Vampire Lord's fangs could meet Shiro's tender flesh and draw her warm blood—a purple aura butterfly shot into his open mouth like a comet.

And exploded.

Bel gasped and wrenched his head back, fangs snapping shut on nothing but fire—staggering a step, the taste of violet detonation scorching down his throat—and before his snarl had even finished forming, the second butterfly came.

Then the third. Then countless purple butterflies, streaming out of the red night like a migration of living razors, flying straight at him in an unbroken ribbon of wings and light.

Bel released Shiro—her bound body crumpling to the flagstones, chain loosening—and stepped back, and back again, three measured strides, swatting butterflies from the air with sweeps of his hand.

Simple magic attacks, these—nothing that could truly hurt a lord of his blood, and yet each detonation stung, and he had no intention of letting a swarm of them explode across his face while performing the most delicate ritual of his unlife.

A dozen... a hundred... where is this much power coming from, on this mountain, tonight—