It was late September, and Chicago was doing its usual thing—gray sky, a sort of indifferent cold that wasn’t biting yet, but you knew it would get there soon. Jake stood in the doorway of a pawn shop on North Clark, his guitar case leaning against the brick wall beside him. He wasn’t inside, not yet. He kept telling himself he was just taking a breather, waiting for the right moment. The truth was, he didn’t want to go in.
The guitar wasn’t anything special, just some beat-up Epiphone with a sticker on the back that said “Property of Nobody.” Jake had bought it off a guy in Pilsen for $60 when he was 15. He learned the usual stuff—“Blackbird,” “Wonderwall,” some Nirvana—but he never really got good. He wasn’t trying to be the next Bob Dylan or anything. The guitar was just something to hold when the house got too loud.
Now he was 18, standing there with $13.45 in his pocket, and a one-way ticket to Los Angeles sitting behind the pawn shop counter. The guy inside—some old-timer with a mustache like a push broom—had told him he could get $50 for the guitar if he was lucky. “Lucky” felt like a stretch.
Jake thought about how his mom would look when she found out he was gone. Maybe she’d cry, maybe she wouldn’t. She was like that. His little sister, Mia, would cry for sure, though. She’d cry because she didn’t understand. He hadn’t told her he was leaving, only that he had something big planned. “You’ll see,” he’d said, trying to sound cool. He didn’t feel cool. He felt like an idiot.
A couple of kids skateboarded by, and Jake tightened his grip on the neck of the guitar case. The city always felt big, but it felt bigger when you didn’t belong to it anymore.
The pawn shop bell jingled when he finally walked in, and the guy behind the counter looked up like he’d been expecting him. “You here to make a deal, or just window shopping?” the guy asked. His voice was raspy, the kind of voice that came from yelling too much or smoking too much, or maybe both.
Jake slid the guitar case onto the counter and popped it open. The guy gave it a quick once-over and made a face like he’d just smelled something bad. “This it?” he asked.
Jake nodded.
“Fifty’s the best I can do,” the guy said, already turning toward the register like the whole thing was settled.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “That’s fine.”
He watched as the guy counted out five tens and slid them across the counter. The bills looked small. Too small to get him from here to anywhere, let alone Los Angeles.
“You running away or something?” the guy asked, like he couldn’t help himself.
Jake stuffed the cash into his pocket and shrugged. “Just trying to get somewhere else.”
The guy nodded like he understood, but Jake didn’t think he really did.
Back out on the street, Jake felt the weight of the money in his pocket. It didn’t feel like freedom; it felt like compromise. He walked two blocks to the Greyhound station and stood in line, trying to look like he wasn’t scared out of his mind. When it was his turn, he handed over the cash and got a ticket in return.
The bus wouldn’t leave for another hour, so Jake sat on a bench near the boarding gate and stared at the ticket in his hand. He thought about what he was leaving behind—a city full of people who wouldn’t notice he was gone, a house that felt more like a waiting room than a home.
And then he thought about where he was going. Los Angeles. He didn’t have a plan. Just an address scrawled on a napkin—his cousin’s place in Echo Park—and a vague sense that maybe things would be better out there. Maybe he’d figure something out.
The bus finally rolled into the station, and Jake stood up, gripping the ticket like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He took one last look at the city through the station’s grimy glass doors, then climbed aboard.
As the bus pulled out, he leaned his head against the window and watched Chicago fade into the distance. He didn’t feel relief, exactly, but he didn’t feel stuck anymore either. And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.
Jake arrived in Los Angeles just after sunset. The city smelled like hot asphalt and hope gone sour. The Greyhound station was a mess of shouting voices, stale coffee, and buzzing fluorescent lights. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped out into the night.
The address his cousin had given him wasn’t far, but Jake didn’t have money for a cab, so he walked. The streets were alive in a way Chicago never was—neon signs humming, cars blaring music, people moving fast and not looking at anyone. By the time he got to Echo Park, the sky was ink-black, and the palm trees cast long, thin shadows across the cracked sidewalks.
His cousin’s place was a run-down duplex with a broken porch light. Jake knocked, and after what felt like forever, the door opened. A skinny guy with messy hair and a tattoo of a crescent moon under his eye stood there, looking surprised.
“Jake?” the guy said.
“Yeah. You Aaron?”
Aaron nodded and stepped aside to let him in. The place smelled like incense and something metallic. Jake tried not to wrinkle his nose.
“You hungry?” Aaron asked, already heading to the kitchen.
Jake shook his head. “Just tired.”
Aaron laughed, a dry, hollow sound. “You’ll get used to that.”
Jake wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t ask. He dropped his backpack on the couch and sat down, trying not to think about how sticky the cushions felt.
“So, what brings you to LA?” Aaron asked, handing him a can of warm soda.
Jake hesitated. “I guess… I just needed a change.”
Aaron smirked. “Yeah, this place’ll change you alright.”
-That night, Jake couldn’t sleep. The city was too loud, the couch too uncomfortable, and Aaron’s cryptic remarks kept circling in his head. Around 2 a.m., he heard the front door creak open. He sat up, just in time to see Aaron slipping out into the night.
Jake hesitated for a moment, then grabbed his sneakers and followed.
Aaron moved fast, weaving through alleys and side streets like he knew them better than the back of his hand. Jake struggled to keep up, his heart pounding harder with every step. Finally, Aaron stopped in an abandoned parking lot.
Jake ducked behind a dumpster, peeking out to see what Aaron was doing. That’s when he saw them—two figures stepping out of the shadows. They didn’t look human. Their eyes glowed faintly, and their movements were too smooth, too deliberate.
Jake’s breath caught in his throat as one of them lunged at Aaron. But Aaron was ready. He pulled a knife—no, a stake—out of his jacket and drove it into the figure’s chest. The thing let out a horrible screech and dissolved into ash.
The second figure hissed and charged, but Aaron was faster. He spun around, slicing through the air with a curved blade that gleamed in the dim light. A moment later, the second figure crumbled into dust.
Jake stumbled back, his foot hitting an empty soda can. The clatter echoed through the parking lot, and Aaron turned, his eyes narrowing.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Aaron snapped, stalking toward him.
“I—I heard you leave,” Jake stammered. “What… what were those things?”
Aaron sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Vampires.”
Jake blinked. “Vampires? Like… Dracula?”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “No, like the kind that hang out in LA and feed on clueless idiots like you.”
Jake stared at him, trying to process what he’d just seen. “So, you’re… what? Some kind of vampire hunter?”
“Something like that,” Aaron said. “And now that you know, you’re in it too.”
“In what?”
Aaron smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “The war.”
The next few weeks were a blur. Jake learned more about vampires than he ever wanted to know. How they hid in plain sight, preying on the city’s lost and desperate. How they could be killed—if you were quick and didn’t mind getting a little bloody.
Aaron wasn’t much of a teacher, but he showed Jake the basics: how to drive a stake through a ribcage, how to spot a vamp in a crowd, and, most importantly, how to run when you were outnumbered.
Jake wasn’t sure why he stayed. Maybe it was because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Or maybe, for the first time in his life, he felt like he was part of something bigger than himself.
One night, after a particularly close call in a nightclub downtown, Aaron lit a cigarette and looked over at Jake.
“You’re not bad at this,” he said.
Jake laughed, though it came out more like a wheeze. “Yeah? Tell that to my bruises.”
Aaron smirked. “Seriously. Most people don’t last a week. You’ve got guts.”
Jake didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded.
He still wasn’t sure if he’d made the right choice coming to LA. But as he looked out at the city, sprawling and alive and dangerous, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: purpose.
Jake’s new life as a reluctant vampire hunter was weird enough, but the night he found the sword was when everything officially went off the rails.
It started with a routine patrol in a part of Echo Park that Aaron called "No Man’s Land." The streets were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that made Jake's skin crawl. Aaron had ditched him earlier to chase a lead, leaving Jake to scope out the abandoned shops along Sunset Boulevard.
One of the buildings caught his eye: a boarded-up auto body shop with faded letters that spelled out “Marv’s Garage.” Jake didn’t know why he stopped. Maybe it was the way the air seemed heavier near the door, or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to kill time until Aaron came back. Either way, he pried open the rusted side door and stepped inside.
The place smelled like oil and decay, and the floor was littered with tools and broken glass. Jake swung his flashlight around, half-expecting to find a nest of vampires, but the shop was empty. Almost.
In the center of the garage was a car lift, and on it sat something that definitely didn’t belong: a sword.
Jake froze. The thing was stuck in a slab of concrete like something out of a bad fantasy movie. The blade was glowing faintly, a soft blue light that pulsed like it had its own heartbeat.
“What the hell?” Jake muttered, stepping closer.
The sword looked ancient, but also weirdly modern. Its hilt was wrapped in leather, and the blade itself was etched with symbols Jake couldn’t read. He reached out, then stopped, suddenly remembering every story about cursed objects he’d ever heard.
But then the light grew brighter, and Jake felt… something. A pull. Like the sword was calling to him.
“Alright, fine,” he said, mostly to himself. “Let’s see what your deal is.”
He grabbed the hilt and gave it a tug. Nothing happened. He tried again, putting more strength into it, and this time, the sword slid free with a sound like a whisper cutting through the air.
As soon as the blade was out, the whole garage lit up, the blue glow flooding every corner of the room. Jake stumbled back, holding the sword awkwardly in both hands.
The light faded, but the symbols on the blade kept glowing. And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, a voice spoke.
“Bearer,” it said, low and resonant, like it came from somewhere deep inside Jake’s head.
Jake dropped the sword. “What the—”
“Do not be afraid,” the voice said.
“Too late for that!” Jake snapped, staring at the sword like it might explode. “Who—what—are you?”
“I am the weapon,” the voice said simply. “And you are the bearer.”
Jake blinked. “The what?”
“The bearer,” the voice repeated, as if that cleared up anything. “You have chosen me, and I have chosen you. Together, we will destroy the darkness.”
Jake shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what kind of Excalibur thing you’ve got going on, but I’m just a guy. I’m not… chosen.”
The sword pulsed in his hands. “You are more than you believe.”
Jake groaned. “Great. I pull a glowing sword out of a rock, and now I’ve got a motivational coach in my head.”
Before the sword could respond, Jake heard a crash behind him. He spun around, raising the blade instinctively, and saw three vampires stalking toward him, their eyes gleaming red in the dark.
“Well, this is just perfect,” Jake muttered.
The lead vampire lunged, but Jake moved without thinking. The sword’s glow flared, and the blade cut through the vampire like it was made of paper. The creature dissolved into ash, and the other two hissed, suddenly wary.
Jake gripped the sword tighter, his heart pounding. The second vampire came at him, claws out, but the sword moved almost on its own, slicing through the air in a blur of blue light. Another pile of ash.
The third vampire backed away, growling, then turned and bolted.
Jake stood there, breathing hard, the sword still glowing in his hands.
“See?” the voice said, a hint of smugness in its tone. “More than you believe.”
Jake stared at the blade, then at the empty garage around him. “What the hell did I just get myself into?”
The sword didn’t answer, but Jake had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.
As the days went by, Jake began to understand the sword wasn’t just a weapon—it was alive, in some strange, unnerving way. It whispered to him in his sleep, filling his head with dreams of fire and shadows, of endless battles against the creatures of the night. At first, Jake thought he could handle it. After all, he was already killing vampires; the sword just made him better at it. Faster. Deadlier.
But the more he used it, the more it seemed to use him.
It started small: the voice got louder, more insistent. It didn’t just guide his hand in battle anymore—it urged him to fight, even when there was no immediate threat. Once, when Aaron tried to stop him from charging into a nest alone, the sword’s voice roared in his mind, calling Aaron weak, unworthy. Jake lashed out, nearly striking his cousin before he managed to pull back.
“Jake, you’re losing it,” Aaron said that night, his voice shaking. “That thing’s messing with your head.”
Jake shrugged it off. “I’m fine. I’m just… doing what needs to be done.”
Aaron didn’t believe him, and Jake didn’t blame him. He didn’t fully believe it himself.
The turning point came one night in an abandoned mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Aaron and Jake had tracked a vampire coven there, a dozen of them at least. It should’ve been suicide to take them on, but the sword pulsed in Jake’s hand, filling him with a confidence that wasn’t entirely his own.
“We should wait for backup,” Aaron said, gripping his stake nervously.
Jake shook his head. “No time. They’ll scatter if we wait.”
Aaron hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
Jake didn’t answer. He was already moving.
The fight was chaos. Vampires swarmed from every corner of the mansion, but Jake cut through them like they were nothing. The sword’s glow lit up the room, its whispers turning into a deafening roar in Jake’s mind. He didn’t even feel like himself anymore—just a weapon, an extension of the blade.
By the time it was over, the mansion was silent. Jake stood in the center of the room, covered in ash and blood, his chest heaving.
Aaron stumbled in, his face pale. “Jake… what did you do?”
Jake frowned. “What do you mean? I took them out.”
Aaron pointed to the corner of the room. Jake turned and saw a body—a human body. A girl, maybe sixteen, her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.
“She was human,” Aaron said, his voice breaking. “She was just hiding.”
Jake’s stomach turned, but the sword’s voice cut through his guilt like a blade. “She was a liability. The weak must fall so the strong may rise.”
“No,” Jake whispered, dropping the sword. “I didn’t—”
“She was in the way,” the sword said, its glow flickering. “You knew this.”
Aaron stepped forward, his hands trembling. “Jake, you’ve got to get rid of that thing. It’s not helping you—it’s controlling you.”
Jake looked at Aaron, then at the sword, and for the first time, he saw it for what it really was: not a weapon, but a parasite.
He reached for the blade, intending to destroy it, but the moment his fingers touched the hilt, the glow surged. The room spun, and suddenly, Jake wasn’t in the mansion anymore.
He was back in the auto body shop, standing in front of the concrete slab. The sword was embedded in it once again, its glow faint but steady. Jake reached out, but before he could touch it, a voice echoed through the room.
“Another bearer,” it said, low and hungry. “Another fool.”
Jake tried to step back, but his feet wouldn’t move. He looked down and saw roots growing out of the concrete, snaking up his legs, pulling him closer to the sword.
“No!” he shouted, struggling against the pull.
But it was no use. The roots wrapped around him, dragging him to his knees. The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was the sword’s glow, brighter than ever, and the faint outline of another figure stepping into the shop, their eyes wide with wonder.
“Do not be afraid,” the sword whispered to the newcomer. “You have been chosen.”
And the cycle began again.
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