The Night Flier

A Loud House fanfiction by Professor Pasta

Chapter One

It was a clear, moonless December night when Lucy Loud decided to visit her grave.

The Royal Woods Cemetery sat on the southern edge of the small Michigan town, starting in the grassy field beside the Church of Jesus Christ the Savior – the first church to be built when the town was settled almost one-hundred and fifty years ago – and stretching south for several acres into the rolling hills beyond the town's borders. A thin blanket of snow covered the property, snow-capped grey headstones like marble islands in an ocean of white.

Had anyone been awake around midnight and watching with a pair of night-vision binoculars, they would have been witness to a curious sight: a little girl approaching the graveyard, dressed in a pitch-black cloak that reached down to her feet, hood pulled up to frame a face paler than the snow itself. If this hypothetical observer were particularly astute, they might even notice that this odd visitor left no footprints as she seemed to glide into the bone orchard.

Lucy knew the Royal Woods Cemetery like the back of her own hand. When she was alive it had been one of her favorite hang-outs; she would make charcoal grave rubbings, sit beneath the old willow tree and work on her poetry, or simple wander around whilst pondering the fragility of life and the meaning of human existence. Even if she didn't have supernaturally-enhanced eyes allowing her to clearly see in the near-total darkness, she could have easily navigated through crowded sea of grave markers.

She moved swiftly and silently through the cemetery, allowing intimate familiarity to guide her path. She moved past the graves that dated back to the founding of Royal Woods; past the cluster of headstones from the tuberculosis epidemic of 1897; past the designated sub-sections reserved for the boys of the town who gave their lives in both World Wars, in Vietnam, in Korea. Farther and farther back she went until the headstones became sparser as reached those who had lived into the twenty-first century.

Sitting by itself a fair distance from its kin stood a lone gravestone. Simple yet elegant, it was carved from black granite and stood just two feet tall, curving slightly at the top. Set into the front was a bronze plaque that bore a name, dates, a brief epigraph, and some poetry.

Lucy Loud

2009 – 2017

Beloved friend, sister, daughter.

"All dim, all pale

So lift me on the pyre.

The feast is over

And the lamps expire."

The lines were from "The House of Caesar," by one Viola Garvin. It was one of Lucy's favorites, and she had pushed her parents to include the ending quatrain on her headstone. She thought it fitting to mark her final resting place with lines from a poem about accepting the inevitability of death.

Fitting and, given the circumstances, just a tad ironic.

For a while Lucy simply stood there, staring down at her gravestone, standing over a space where an empty coffin rested six feet beneath the earth. She let her thoughts drift to the day ten years ago when that coffin was lowered into an open plot while Lucy watched from the branches of a tree far to the south, watching as her family said their final goodbyes.

She thought of her mother and father, the only ones at the time who knew the truth about what happened, weeping for the daughter's fate and the terrible secret they were now forced to keep from the rest of their children. These days Rita was a moderately successful author of children's fiction – not enough to leave her job as a dental assistant, but enough to bring in quite a bit of extra cash – while Lynn Sr. was head chef at Aloha Comrade's and was working on getting a loan from the bank to start his own restaurant.

She thought of Lori, tears streaming down her face as she stood with her back straight and her shoulders squared, desperate to stay strong for her younger siblings. Lori now lived in Chicago with her husband Bobby, where she worked as a teacher after getting her master's degree in early childhood education.

She thought of Leni, sobbing uncontrollably as she gripped Lori's hand for comfort and support. Leni was in New York City now, serving as a personal assistant and protegee to a world-renowned fashion designer.

She thought of Luna, head hung low while her tears dripped down into the grass. She now worked as a clerk at a music rental store in Denver, and her band played at bars and clubs across Colorado.

She thought of Luan, who kept her face buried in her hands as she wept silently. Los Angeles was her home now, where she worked at a coffeehouse and performed at children's birthday parties, all while splitting sides during open-mic nights at the city's many comedy clubs.

She thought of Lynn, who stared in numb shock as her roommate's coffin disappeared beneath the dirt. Though she never achieved her dream of being drafted to a major market team, Lynn still made sports a big part of her life – after graduating with a degree in journalism from the University of Michigan, she now wrote for the sports column for a paper in Lansing, while also coaching sports programs at local youth centers.

She thought of Lola and Lana, crying as they hugged one another tight, afraid to let go. They were juniors in high school now, and Lola was set to compete in the Miss Teen USA Pageant while Lana just got her first job as a plumber's apprentice, working weekends and nights after school.

She thought of Lisa, trying and failing to maintain her composure in the face of a catastrophic loss. Lisa still attended high school despite being smarter than most teachers there, and found a steady stream of income tutoring those from all grade levels.

She thought of baby Lily, squirming in her mother's arms, uncomprehending of the sorrow that surrounded her. She was a rambunctious and carefree preteen now, and she often asked questions about the older sister whom she had only faint memories of.

And of course, she thought of Lincoln. Though he was now one of the four who knew what actually happened to Lucy, he had wept harder than anyone at her burial. Wept in sorrow that his first little sister was gone, wept in anger at the universe for taking her, wept in shame over his failure as a big brother to protect her. He still wept; some days when Lucy would awaken at dusk, she would find tear stains on the floor beside the coffin in which she slept.

A faint beep – extremely soft so as not to overwhelm her sensitive hearing – tore Lucy from her reminiscing. She reached into her hood, pressed the button on the tiny two-way communicator nestled in her ear, and spoke softly. "What's the situation?"

"We may have a problem," the static-filled voice of Lincoln Loud replied. "The station just received a call about a prowler over by Hamilton Heights. Male, older teen, crazy brown hair, dressed in just jeans and a tank top.

Lucy started. Could it be…?

"What's happening on your end?" Lucy asked, already moving north and east towards a lightly wooded area that flanked the cemetery.

"Me and Hastings are about to head over. ETA... fifteen minutes. You think this is the guy we've been hearing about?"

"Maybe. If it's a regular punk, I'll just scare him and leave him for you to haul in."

"And if it's not?"

Lucy clenched her free hand into a fist. "Then I'll take care of it."

She heard Lincoln sigh on the other end of the line. "Just… try not to leave too big of a mess this time."

"No promises."

"Yeah, I know. And Lucy?"

"Yeah?"

"… Please be careful."

Lucy's lips curved into a rare smile. "I'll see you at home, big brother."

By now, Lucy had reached the tree line. She drew a vial of crimson liquid from a pouch on her belt, downed the contents in one gulp, and vanished into the woods.

Eddie Foster heard stories.

In the two months since becoming a vampire, Eddie had taken time to learn all the heavy hitters in the supernatural world. Growing up in the shittiest neighborhoods in Chicago taught him that when you're a little fish in a new pond, you make sure you know exactly who the big fish are, and how to avoid them. He had spent days grilling his newfound sources, learning the ins and outs of this society that existed only in shadows. He learned all about the Order of the Veil, the High Council of Mages, the Sanguine Alliance of vampires, the werewolf packs that roamed the Rockies and Appalachians…

And the Night Flier.

Out of all the stories, that was the one that most caught his attention. Rumors had been floating about in the magical community for the last year or so about a young vampire – a child, supposedly – that stalked the streets of some dinky little town called Royal Woods, just outside of Detroit. No bodies drained of blood had been found, but small-time criminals like muggers and drug dealers had been winding up in the hospital, beaten within inches of their lives and whimpering of a monster dressed in black that patrolled the night. Apparently even a werewolf – one mean son of a bitch, the rumor mill insisted – had ventured close to Royal Woods one night over the summer, only to flee before sunrise with his tail between his legs and several teeth scattered along the ground. He wouldn't talk about what happened, except warn his paranormal brethren to stay far away from that little Michigan town.

"What a pussy," Eddie muttered to himself. The young man crouched down in some bushes on the eastern edge of Royal Woods, a forest to his back and a residential neighborhood to his front. Lights were on in a few houses, and his enhanced vision allowed him to see right through their flimsy curtains and watch the shadowed forms moving around inside.

Eddie licked his lips, digging his fingers into the dirt. His blood supply was running dangerously low; it had been far too long since his last meal. He had been extremely tempted to snack on a bum or two as he fled Chicago, but kept his hunger in check. He barely gave those Veil Inquisitors the slip, and a trail of bodies would have led them right to him. Another lesson the streets had taught him: when the fuzz is on your tail, you get out of the area and don't do anything to draw attention to yourself.

That's why he hadn't claimed any new victims since coming to Royal Woods, even as the nectar of life within him slowly drained. If Eddie was going to make this dump his new stomping ground, the first thing he had to do was take care of this so-called "Night Flier."

He had it all planned out. First, he stalked around outside a few houses, deliberately letting himself be seen. The cops were probably on their way, but he could handle a few pigs. His main target was the Night Flier; surely this Batman-wannabe wouldn't just stand idly by while the sweet, innocent folks of Royal Woods were being menaced by some creep in the woods. And after the Night Flier was out of the picture, then…

Then it would be time for a victory meal. Eddie couldn't wait to feel flesh ripping beneath his fangs. To taste that exquisite scarlet on his tongue. To see the fear in his victim's eyes as he ripped them limb from limb. To hear the ragged screams of the women as he-

-from behind him came the dry snap of a twig breaking.

Eddie whirled around, scanning the trees with his vampiric vision. The woods were dead silent, not a peep to be heard from a single nocturnal animal or insect. The local fauna could sense the fundamental wrongness of Eddie's state of undeath, and it triggered a primal response in all of them to get as far away from him as possible. Eddie knew this.

Which is how he knew that dark shape in the distance moving towards him couldn't be an animal.

Eddie charged forward. Running through a forest in the middle of the night was just asking for a twisted ankle and a face-full of dirt, but Eddie's powerful eyes and lightning-fast reflexes allowed him to deftly avoid every stray rock and gnarled tree root in his path. Branches slapped at him as he ran, opening shallow cuts in his pale skin that dripped no blood and healed in seconds. Eddie crashed through the brush, his lips parting in a wicked smirk as he set his sights on the shadowy figure, which now stood motionless. A small part of Eddie warned him to be more cautious, but he quickly crushed it. What did he have to worry about? Nothing was going to stop Eddie Foster. Not the cops, not the Inquisitors, and not the Night Flier.

Eddie came to a halt as the trees gave way to a small clearing. Standing in the center was a little girl who couldn't be more than ten years old. She wore black boots, grey pants held up by a brown belt lined with pouches, and a black shirt. A dark cloak splayed out behind her like a cape, the hood pulled down to reveal shoulder-length black hair and a face like a porcelain doll. Sweeping bangs hid her eyes. Her gloved hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

And Eddie couldn't sense a pulse coming from her.

"So, the stories are true," Eddie said, breaking the silence. "You must be the Night Flier."

The girl said nothing.

"People are talking about you, you know," Eddie idly put his hands in his pockets. "They say you're the youngest vampire anyone's seen in America in over a century. No one seems to know where you came from or who turned you. Apparently only a few people in the Order of the Veil and the Sanguine Alliance seem to know anything, but whoever they are, they're keeping their mouths shut."

Again, the Night Flier said nothing. She stood motionless, like a statue in the snow.

"Not much for talking, are you kid? That's fine. I just need you a listen."

Eddie smiled, revealing his fangs. "From now on, Royal Woods is mine." He pulled his hands from his pockets and jammed a thumb to his chest. "The streets, the houses, and people inside all belong to me. Their lives are mine alone to take, and their blood is mine alone to drink. There's only room for one vampire here. But since I'm such a nice guy, I'll give you until dawn to-"

The Night Flier giggled.

Her lips parted in an amused smile, revealing her own fangs. Despite being barely above a whisper, her mirthful laughter shattered the silence like a child's baseball through a neighbor's window.

Eddie lost his smirk. "Did I say something funny?"

The Night Flier continued to giggle, raising a gloved hand to her mouth to try and stifle her laughs.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was low, with a hint of gravel to it. "It's just… This is just adorable. I mean, here's some scrawny little prick-"

Eddie's eyes narrowed.

"-who probably just became a vampire and doesn't know a damn thing about what his powers can really do-"

His hands clenched into fists.

"-thinking he can come waltzing in here like he's the reincarnation of Dracula himself-"

His teeth bared in a furious snarl.

"-and claim that this 'town now belongs to him...' It's just so…"

She stopped giggling and stared at Eddie, her next word dripping with scorn; "pathetic."

Eddie shot forward. He burned the blood in his stomach, channeling it into his muscles to give him a surge of speed and strength. He cleared the space between them in the blink of an eye, belting a primal bellow of fury as he raised his fist and brought it down in an overhead punch with enough force to crush bone.

Which is exactly what happed when Eddie's fist passed through the space where the Night Flier had been just a millisecond earlier and slammed into the hard, snowy ground.

Eddie's scream of rage became one of pain as he felt the bones in his hand shatter, the skin and muscles splitting open, the sheer force of the impact sending lightning bolts of agony shooting up through his arm and into the rest of his body. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he burned more of his blood reserve, his hand bones mending and the skin knitting itself back together in seconds.

"Missed me," the Night Flier said, now a few feet in front of him.

Eddie roared and leapt forward, this time bringing his entire arm around in a savage haymaker. The Night Flier leapt into the air just before his fist would have connected, sailing into the sky and deftly landing on a thick tree branch.

"Your technique is laughably sloppy," she observed, "and you're putting too much energy into powering up your strikes, rather than making sure you actually hit me."

Eddie crouched and leapt after her, throwing his fist in a skyward uppercut. The Night Flier jumped to the side as Eddie's fist tore through the branch like it was made of tissue paper, the arboreal limb falling to the snowy forest floor followed shortly by the two vampires.

"I've heard stories about you too, Edward Foster," the Night Flier said, stepping back as Eddie closed in with a flurry of punches. She continued speaking as she dodged each incoming blow. "Born and raised in Chicago, where you came into the vampire scene about two months ago. You killed eight to ten people before the Inquisitors caught wind of you. Mostly bums and junkies who couldn't even defend themselves against a regular human, much less a vampire. That would certainly explain why you know so little about actual combat."

"Quit dodging and fight, you little bitch!" Eddie roared, flaring his dwindling blood reserve for a massive left hook. As his fist closed in, the Night Flier's hand shot up like a striking snake, grabbing Eddie's wrist in a vicelike grip. His attack was stopped cold and Eddie cried out from the jolt of the sudden stop.

"If you insist," the Night Flier said with a shrug before casually crushing the bones in his wrist with a squeeze.

Her other hand came up, fast. So fast that by the time Eddie realized it was moving he was already stumbling backwards, stars swimming across his vision as agony flashed from his shattered nose and broken teeth.

Eddie didn't even have time to begin healing before two more punches connected with his chest. Her tiny fists struck like speeding sledgehammers, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across his ribs and breastbone as the force of the blows sent him tumbling through the snow. Disoriented and wracked with mind-numbing agony, Eddie shakily climbed to one knee only for the Night Flier's foot to connect with the side of it. The crack of bones and tendons parting echoed through the forest.

A scream caught in Eddie's throat, and he fell forward into the snow. He flared his last bit of blood in a desperate attempt to heal, but he was trying to do too much with too little. His blood reserve emptied, leaving only a cold, stabbing hunger.

Eddie lay motionless on the ground. Each second passed like an eternity, waves of pain flaring from his ruined face, his shattered wrist, his splintered chest and mangled knee. The hunger was a million rusty needles jabbing from inside his stomach, demanding to be sated. And without blood to give him resistance to the cold, the frigid snow and icy night air bit into his skin, compounding the pain rather than numbing it.

Lucy Loud watched this wretched display for a few seconds. Then she reached down and flipped Eddie onto his back. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a strangled gasp.

"You lost, Eddie," Lucy said, planting her boot on his chest. Through the wreckage of his face, Lucy could see eyes that flashed with agony. "The Inquisitors will probably disappointed that they didn't get to you first," she paused to grind her heel into his chest, feeling shards of bone shift beneath her foot, "but I'm sure they'll be relieved to know that a threat to the security of the supernatural world was taken care of. Even if that threat was just a sad little piss-stain who couldn't land one punch on a little girl."

Lucy put a hand on her chin. "But that still leaves the question of how to keep more assholes like you from coming around. I thought that when I sent that wolfman packing a few months ago, I sent a clear message that Royal Woods was off limits."

Lucy took her foot off Eddie and crouched down in the snow beside his head. "I guess I'll just have to send another message."

She put her hands on both sides of Eddie's skull.

"Loud."

She placed her thumbs over his eyes.

"And."

Eddie's pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

"Clear."

Lucy pressed down, and Eddie finally found a voice with which to scream.

He didn't scream long.

Three days later, Officer Lincoln Loud of the Royal Woods Police Department was woken from his slumber by his girlfriend calling to him from downstairs.

"Lincoln? Someone's here to see us."

Lincoln groaned and slowly opened his eyes. The first thing to come into focus was his alarm clock, which told him it was 7:15. He had gotten home from another night shift with the department, crawled into bed and drifted off only half an hour ago.

"Unless whoever it is is dead or dying," Lincoln shouted back, shutting his eyes and turning over in bed, "it can wait a few hours."

A voice called up from below. A man's voice this time.

"What's the matter, Loud? Am I interrupting your beauty sleep?"

Lincoln's eyes shot open. He let out a sharp exhale and sat up in bed. "Should have known he'd stop by sooner or later…"

Lincoln wearily climbed out of bed and pulled on the shirt and pants he had shed thirty minutes earlier, too tired to care that his shirt was on backwards. He paused at the mirror to run a hand through his unkempt white hair, then headed out into the hallway and down the stairs.

Seated on the living room couch was a woman Lincoln's age, dressed in dark jeans and a simple purple blouse. Jet-black hair that cascaded down over her shoulders like an onyx waterfall, and her soft features were heavy with concern. Her name was Georgia Kiddman, but she was known to her friends and family by her childhood nickname of Haiku.

Sitting in the recliner across from the couch was a man dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, a grey tie around his neck and an American flag pin on his lapel. His black hair was slicked back, dark sunglasses hid his eyes, and a shit-eating grin spread across his face as Lincoln descended the stairs.

"Morning, Loud!" He said with a wave. "This looks like the start of a lovely day, wouldn't you agree?"

"Bite me, Flagg," Lincoln spat, taking a seat next to his girlfriend. "You know damn well I just finished my shift. Couldn't this wait a few hours?"

Special Agent Flagg of the Federal Bureau of Investigation shrugged. "Sorry, but I'm due back in Detroit in few hours. Gotta tie up some loose ends down here before I hit the road. And there are certain things that can't exactly be discussed over the phone or through email, you see."

Haiku picked up her steaming mug of coffee off the table between them and took a sip. "You're talking about that… man from the other night then?" She asked. "Foster?"

Flagg nodded, and Lincoln shuddered at the memory of that night. After he and his partner had reached the Hamilton Heights neighborhood around twenty after midnight, they had grabbed their flashlights set about searching the wooded area where the prowler was last spotted. It hadn't taken them long to find what was left of Eddie Foster. Poor Officer Hasting had lost his dinner in the bushes, and it had taken the forensics team over an hour to find all the pieces of Foster's head in the snow.

"I take you have things covered on your end?" Lincoln asked.

"Eee-yup," Flagg said with a second nod. "The Order's contacts at the Bureau took care of everything. As far as John Q. Public is concerned, Edward Foster was just a crazy thug who killed some homeless folk in Chicago, fled to Royal Woods and was killed by a wild animal."

"Sounds good to me," Lincoln said. "But why'd you come out here to tell us what I could have learned from the department?"

Flagg reached into his suit jacket, pulling out an unmarked white envelope. "Well, there's the little matter of the bounty."

Lincoln and Haiku exchanged surprised glances.

"The Feds put a price on Foster's head?" Lincoln asked as Flagg slid the envelope across the coffee table to him.

"The Order did," Flagg clarified. "They do it any time a vampire or werewolf or wizard or whoever goes rogue and starts killing mortals. We take any potential threats to our security very seriously. Even a relatively small risk like Foster."

Lincoln opened the envelope, and was quite surprised to see the face of jolly old Ben Franklin staring back at him. Several Franklins, in fact.

"That's… quite a bit of money," Haiku said, eyes widening as she leaned in for a closer look.

"It's just the Order's way of showing our gratitude for taking this guy out before he could expose our world to mankind."

"... And before he could kill more innocent people," Lincoln pointed out.

"Right, that too."

Lincoln stared at the envelope full more money than he'd earn in months, then frowned as a thought occurred to him.

"Wait, hold on," he said, setting the envelope down, "why are we just now learning about this bounty thing? When you brought us into the loop, I thought we agreed that you wouldn't keep anything from us."

"Inquisitor policy," Flagg said with a shrug. "This isn't the wild west where we hang up wanted posters. The whole purpose of the Order is to make sure humanity as a whole stays ignorant of the supernatural world, and taking these guys down quietly is a big part of that. We make sure the various paranormal communities know who these criminals are, but keep any bounties a secret until they're apprehended or killed. Then it's divided based on who took them down, who sent us tips that lead to the capture and so on. We've learned that making bounties public encourages some folks to take… unauthorized actions."

Lincoln glowered at the implication.

"But like I said," Flagg said, holding up his hands placatingly, "the Order extends our thanks to your sister for her service. And you know, our offer is still on the table…"

Lincoln and Haiku both groaned.

"Not this again," Haiku said, fixing Flagg with a glare.

"I was just wondering if Lucy had maybe changed her mind," he said, trying to sound casual, "after what's happened with Foster and all. The Inquisitors would be more than happy to add her to our ranks."

"Yeah, we know," Lincoln said. "We all discussed it after she came home that night. Lucy figured you'd come to town to handle things with that maniac, and that you'd try your recruitment spiel again."

"And…?" Flagg prompted after a moment of silence, a hopeful smile on his face.

"She said that, and I quote: 'Flagg can take his offer and shove it so far up his ass that it gets caught in his teeth.'"

Flagg's smile dropped. "I figured. Eh, was worth a try."

He sighed. "Well, I'd better hit the road if I want to beat the morning traffic." He rose from his seat and crossed to the front door. "I'll be in touch if any more psychos like Foster come to the area." He put his hand on the doorknob and paused. "Oh, and Loud?"

Lincoln looked up. Flagg turned his head, his expression serious.

"There's been come concerns among the Inquisitors and the Order about your sister's whole vigilante act. While she hasn't broken any of the Order's laws, she's walking a razor-thin line. If she should ever cross it-"

"She won't," Lincoln said immediately.

"I'm just-"

"She won't."

Flagg stared at Lincoln, who gave him a glare that could have liquified steel. The agent sighed again and opened the door.

"You folks have a nice day," he said, and left.

Haiku watched through the window as Flagg walked down their driveway, got into his car and drove off. She turned towards her boyfriend, who was glaring at the spot where Flagg had parked. His lips were curled in a frown, his breathing was heavy, and his hands were clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Lincoln?" Haiku asked softly.

"I won't let them take her, Haiku." He growled, fire burning in his eyes.

"Lincoln-"

"I don't care what happens or what the Order says. I can't lose her again. I won't lose her again."

"It won't come to that," Haiku said, cupping Lincoln's chin and turning his head towards her, "The Order can say what they want, but their words mean nothing. Lucy has a pure heart and a will like steel; she'll never end up like that monster."

Haiku watched Lincoln's anger evaporate, worry taking its place.

"I know," he said, his eyes growing misty. "I'm just… I'm scared."

"I am too. But no matter what happens, the three of us will face it together."

Haiku leaned in and kissed him. Lincoln remained tense at first, but quickly melted into it, feeling his worries and anxiety evaporate under Haiku's gentle touch.

"I've gotta get to work," she said when she pulled away. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

Lincoln nodded, giving his girlfriend a small smile. Haiku gave him one last peck on the cheek before getting up. Lincoln sat and watched as she grabbed her coat off the rack by the door, waved goodbye, and left. After her car pulled out of the driveway and drove off, Lincoln got up and went for the stairs.

But not the ones leading up.

The house Lincoln and Haiku shared was almost a century old, built in the 1920's at the height of Prohibition. The original owner was mobster who supplied illegal alcohol to Detroit, using the house as a waypoint between the city and the moonshiners deep in the country. He hid his illicit goods in a secret room in the basement, accessible either by a crawl space under the stairs or a secret tunnel they lead out far back into the woods behind the property. Instead of booze, the hidden room now held a vanity, a small wardrobe, a writing desk, a bookshelf full of horror and mystery novels.

And a child-sized coffin, carved from solid oak with a violet velvet interior. Lucy's request.

Lincoln looked down into the coffin, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. The light from his phone revealed Lucy's unmoving form, dressed in a black sleeping gown, her arms folded over her chest. Vampires didn't sleep like humans did, but they could enter a dormant state to conserve their blood reserves. Lucy, like most vampires, chose to do so during the daylight hours when her powers would already be weakened by the sun's rays. Vampires also didn't need to sleep in coffins, that was just a myth that Lucy was happy to embrace.

Lincoln stared at his sister in silence, emotion's swirling within him. Lucy's chest didn't rise and fall, for she had no need for breath. He reached in to gently stroke her pale cheek. Her skin was ice cold.

"I'll never let anything happen to you again, Lucy," he said, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. "I promise."

Author's Note: Happy holidays, everyone! And what better way to celebrate this season of giving then with bloodthirsty vampires?

I've been kicking around this idea of a vampire superhero for months now, and figured I could test the waters with a Loud House fanfiction, since Lucy's in-universe dream is to be a vampire. I've seen a few stories with this subject here and there, but none like I've just done... hopefully. I actually wanted to write and post this fic around Halloween, but moving and work took up pretty much all of my free time. Eh, better late than never.

I hope I wasn't too vague when giving backstory to this world I've crafted. I also hope I've left enough clues to leave you all pondering some of the bigger mysteries; how did Lucy become a vampire in the first place? Why did only her parents know while the rest of her family thought she was dead? How did Lincoln find out the truth? Why is he with Haiku, and why does she also know? And what's the deal with that strange government agent?

I can answer at least one question right now: yes, Agent Flagg is named after Flagg1991. Since this is my first dark Loud House fic, I thought it'd be fitting to pay tribute to the most (in)famous author of dark fics in the fandom. If you happen to read this Flagg: you rock, dude!

Feel free to leave a review! And remember that constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged.

Until the next chapter, this is Professor Pasta, signing off.

The Loud House is owned by Nickelodeon and Viacom. And while I thank Chris Savino for creating this show, I think he's a jackass that deserved to get canned. Please support the official release.