He had lived for centuries, but he never felt alive. He was a vampire, but not by choice. He was cursed by a witch who wanted to punish him for his arrogance and cruelty. She made him immortal, but with a terrible price: every 100 years, he had to kill seven people with seven different historical swords and drink a cup of their blood to survive. If he failed, he would suffer unimaginable pain and agony in hell for eternity. He had used many swords over the years, some famous, some obscure. He had wielded Excalibur, the legendary sword of King Arthur, Zulfiqar, the scimitar of Ali ibn Abi Talib, the son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad, Tizona, the sword of El Cid, the Castilian noble and fighter, and many others. He had killed kings and peasants, soldiers and civilians, men and women. He had no remorse, no guilt, no empathy. He only cared about his survival. But everything changed when he met her. She was a police detective who was investigating the murders he had committed. She was smart, brave, and beautiful. She had a sense of justice and compassion that he had never seen before. She intrigued him, challenged him, and attracted him. He wanted to know her, to be with her, to love her. But he also knew that she was his enemy. She was determined to catch him and stop him. She was getting closer and closer to the truth. He had to make a choice: to continue his bloody ritual and lose her forever, or to abandon his curse and risk his own life for her sake. He had another sword to use, another victim to kill. He had chosen the Sword of Goujian, an ancient Chinese sword that was in near-perfect condition despite being over 2,000 years old. He had planned to use it on his last target: a wealthy businessman who was involved in illegal activities. This would be his last kill and then he would be free again from his bloody past for another century. He waited for the right moment to strike. He stood in the shadows of his bedroom, unseen in the darkness. The darkness he had grown to know all too well. The smell of death lingered in the air as he approached the man lying on his bed. He's getting off lucky he thought to himself as he raised up his sword to strike, at least this one will die in his sleep. He was about to bring it down when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Freeze! Drop the weapon and put your hands up!" He turned around and saw her. She had a gun pointed at him and a badge on her chest. She looked shocked and angry. "It's you," she said. "You're the killer." He smiled bitterly. "Hello, detective," he said.
