The convent grounds, normally a place of contemplative peace, transformed under Mercer’s direction.The dew-slick grass became a training field, the cobblestone paths obstacle courses.Soldiers arrived with the wagon to unload its contents—wooden targets shaped like human silhouettes, blunted weapons of silver-plated steel, and stopwatches to measure performance with mechanical precision.
“Your first exercise,” Mercer announced, “is simple.You will cross the courtyard, incapacitate the target, and return to your starting position.Speed is essential.Hesitation means death—yours or those you’re tasked to protect.”
Ruth was the first to step forward, her expression a mixture of excitement and uncertainty.At Mercer’s signal, she moved—not with the measured grace we practiced in the convent, but with the full predatory speed of our kind.The wooden target splintered beneath her impact, and she returned to her place in less than three seconds, her eyes bright with an exhilaration I had spent years teaching her to resist.
“Excellent!”Mercer praised.“You’ve been holding back your true potential.”
My flock took their turns at the exercise.Rebecca’s movements matched Ruth’s efficiency—clean, precise, deadly.Maria surprised me; beneath her usual control lurked a savagery that reduced her target to splinters.Thomas—still round-faced and boyish at his turning—struck with the cold accuracy of a born killer.Most concerning was Constance, whose struggle with blood-hunger I had witnessed firsthand.She completed her task with unsettling eagerness, catching Mercer’s eye afterward with a smile that didn’t bother hiding her extended fangs.
I watched with growing unease as Mercer’s exercises continued, each one designed to emphasize predatory instinct rather than human restraint.He had them track blindfolded, using only scent and hearing to locate targets.He taught them to move in absolute silence, to use shadows not as refuge but as weapons.Most disturbing was the blood exercise—vials of donated blood placed at increasing distances, with vampires timed on how quickly they could detect and retrieve them.
“This is wrong,” I murmured to myself, but loud enough for Mercer’s supernatural hearing to detect.
He appeared at my side, his movement so swift it would have been invisible to human eyes.“Is it wrong to excel at what we naturally are, Miss Bladewell?Or merely efficient?”
“We are more than our hungers, Captain,” I replied.“Our nature is a trial to overcome, not an advantage to exploit.”
His laugh held no malice, only genuine amusement.“You speak like someone who has never experienced battle.In war, any advantage must be seized.If God didn’t want us to use our abilities, why would He have permitted our transformation?”
Before I could answer, glass shattered behind us.One of the soldiers had knocked over a crate of donated blood vials during the unloading.Dark crimson pooled across the cobblestones, its copper scent rising in the morning air.Thomas froze mid-exercise, his head snapping toward the spill.His nostrils flared, eyes darkening to obsidian pools as his fangs descended involuntarily.
I moved immediately to intervene, but Mercer was faster.He didn’t restrain Thomas as I would have done.Instead, he placed himself between the boy and the spilled blood, meeting Thomas’s predatory gaze with his own.
“Control it,” he commanded, his voice resonating with authority.“Not because it’s wrong to hunger, but because a soldier who cannot master himself is useless on the battlefield.”
Thomas’s young face contorted with effort, muscles straining against invisible bonds, before finally he nodded and stepped back.The hunger receded from his eyes, replaced by shame.
“I’m sorry, Sister Alice,” he whispered.
I approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.“It’s alright, Thomas.You’ve made a lot of progress over the years, but even I struggle at times when exposed to blood.The path to control is long and—“
Mercer’s hand sliced through the air, cutting off my words.“He doesn’t need coddling,” he interrupted, jaw tight with impatience.“He needs discipline and purpose.Save your maternal comforts for your prayer circle, Miss Bladewell.We’re building soldiers here.”
The dismissal in his tone ignited something in me—a fire that had been building since Gantry’s ultimatum.I turned to face Mercer fully, aware that my flock watched this confrontation with rapt attention.
“These souls are in my care, Captain Mercer.Their spiritual well-being is as important as their military utility.”
“Spiritual well-being?”Mercer’s expression hardened.“I’ve existed for over half a century without the comfort of your prayers, Miss Bladewell.I’ve found purpose in service, acceptance through utility.What has your path offered them except eternal guilt and the fantasy of redemption?”
His words struck deeper than he knew, touching the doubt I wrestled with during my darkest hours.“And what becomes of them when they’re no longer useful?”I asked.“When the war ends and the military has no further need of ‘assets’ that might cause panic if discovered?”
A haughty smile touched Mercer’s lips.“The truly valuable are never discarded, Miss Bladewell.Nations may fall, but man’s capacity for slaughter endures.Your own Scriptures foretell wars and rumors of wars until judgment day, do they not?I’ve served through the War of Secession and the Spanish conflict.I’ll serve through this European madness and whatever follows.Such constancy of human depravity guarantees I shall never want for purpose.”
I studied his face, the revelation settling over me like a shroud.“You think we can become citizens again through bloodshed—that we might purchase our humanity with the currency of war.”
“I think we prove our worth by standing between them and harm,” he replied, his voice softening slightly.“As you do in your way.We differ not in destination, Sister Alice, but merely in the path we walk to reach it.”
I looked around at my flock, seeing the conflict in their expressions.Ruth appeared captivated by Mercer’s words, her natural fierceness finding resonance in his philosophy.Rebecca remained outwardly impassive, but I knew her calculating mind was weighing both approaches.Maria stood slightly apart, her loyalty to me evident in her positioning, while Catherine seemed torn, her eyes moving between Mercer and myself.
“Our methods reflect our understanding of what we are,” I said finally.“You see us as superior predators seeking accommodation with our prey.I see us as fallen souls seeking restoration.”
Mercer laughed, the sound devoid of warmth.“And yet here we stand, preparing to enter the same battlefield for the same masters.Perhaps the distinction matters less than you believe.”
He turned away, calling the flock back to their exercises with a sharpness that brooked no argument.Most obeyed immediately, though Maria and Rebecca glanced toward me first, seeking permission I could no longer officially grant.
I nodded, releasing them to continue their training while I withdrew to the chapel steps.From this vantage point, I could observe without interfering, pray without interrupting.The sight of my flock embracing their predatory abilities with such enthusiasm filled me with complex emotions—pride in their capabilities mixed with fear for their souls.
They were becoming efficient weapons.But weapons pointed at whom?And after the war, what would become of blades too dangerous to be allowed in peacetime?These questions haunted me as I watched Mercer molding my flock into something I had spent years teaching them not to be.
