Cameraman Never Dies-Chapter 173: The REAL dark dome

Solis was not having a good time, no sir. His day, which was supposed to be uneventful, had spiraled into chaos faster than he could blink. He was too busy mentally screaming while keeping a worried eye on Flora, his youngest daughter. She was out there, sword in hand, trying to fight like a hero but also, you know, not die. It was a tough balancing act, to say the least, and Solis could feel his nerves fraying with each passing moment.

And let’s be real, an all-out brawl wasn’t exactly on his "Welcoming the Pilgrims" agenda. Nope, not helpful at all. Who could’ve guessed that the day would devolve into flying debris, glowing scythes, and bloodlust-driven chaos? Now, instead of quietly wrapping up the event, he was stuck dealing with a super-strong enemy who had decided that Solis was his personal sparring partner. Lucky him. Truly, the gods must be laughing.

Like any honorable warriors—or just people who couldn’t skip formalities—they kicked things off with introductions. Because, of course, it’s polite to exchange names before trying to beat each other senseless. Manners, even in battle, mattered.

The vampire went first, practically oozing smugness. "Lester," he said, his tone dripping with superiority. "Captain of the Third Hunting Team."

Finally, thought Solis, a name that doesn’t sound like it came from a haunted poetry book. Not that it made a difference. Names weren’t going to stop anyone from swinging weapons. Still, it was nice not to have to stumble over something ridiculous.

Solis gave the vampire a flat look, crossed his arms, and muttered, "Solis." No excitement, no drama. Just his name. End of story. The vampire blinked, likely wondering if he’d just been disrespected or if Solis was saving all his energy for the actual fight.

Spoiler: it was definitely the first one.

The evening sun was just about to dip below the horizon, casting a soft orange glow over the battlefield. It was the kind of lighting artists would immortalize in paintings, but there was no time to appreciate it. For the Avians, the setting sun was an ominous reminder of their dwindling advantage. Darkness was coming, and with it, a night tilted in favor of the vampires. They thrived in it, their strength amplified under the veil of shadow.

Solis could see other skirmishes erupting nearby. Vampires swarmed with calculated chaos, their movements precise and coordinated, while the strongest ones were being handled by the Luminarii. The air was filled with the clash of steel, shouts, and the occasional explosion of ethercraft. But Solis’s focus remained locked on Lester, who just stood there, scythe in hand, as if daring Solis to make the first move. The confidence radiating from the vampire was infuriating.

The standoff ended with Lester rushing forward, his scythe’s purple blade gleaming menacingly. Etched into its center was a dark blue catalyst that pulsed faintly, adding an eerie glow to the black handle. Solis spun his spear effortlessly, deflecting the attack and ducking just in time as the misty blade of a spectral grim reaper slashed past his head. He had seen enough battles to know that catalyst-enhanced weapons were not to be taken lightly.

"Not something I want to block," Solis muttered, recalculating his distance with each of Lester’s fluid strikes. His opponent was skilled, no doubt about that. Every swing of the scythe was precise, lethal, and delivered with unnerving speed. But there was something… underwhelming about him. This wasn’t the challenge Solis had expected. It felt like Lester was testing him, gauging his strength rather than truly trying to kill him. That realization didn’t sit well.

Still, his gaze flickered toward the skirmish where Flora fought. Her blade barely scratched her opponent, her movements desperate but determined. Though she dodged the vampire’s lunge, Solis felt a pang of worry. She was fighting with heart, but heart alone wouldn’t keep her alive. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus. Celeste, his firstborn, was nearby too, and while he had faith in her abilities, Flora’s inexperience made her a liability in this chaos.

’Stay focused,’ he reminded himself, deflecting another strike. His instincts told him something was off. Why attack in the evening? Why not wait for full darkness? The most probable answer was that this assault was just one part of a larger plan.

Lester stepped back, his scythe glowing brighter as the catalyst pulsed again. A jagged arc of blue lightning coursed through the blade. Solis didn’t wait to find out what would happen next. He spread his wings and launched into the air as Lester brought his weapon down with a deafening roar. The blade’s energy exploded outward, sending a shockwave that cracked the cobblestones and tore through a nearby building. Debris flew in every direction, a wooden cart bursting apart and scattering fruit and trinkets across the street. A large chunk of rubble crashed where Solis had stood moments ago.

He barely had time to dodge a flying wooden beam before stabilizing himself mid-air. Lester was already preparing for another strike when a new presence emerged behind Solis. He spun just in time to block a slash from another vampire.

"Now who might you be?" Solis asked, his tone calm but laced with annoyance. "Let me guess, captain of the Second Hunting Team?"

"Close," the vampire replied, stepping back with a smirk. "Edgar, captain of the Fourth."

Solis’s eyes darted around as more figures materialized from black mist. One by one, six vampires appeared, each radiating an aura of authority. They formed a loose circle around him, their confidence palpable. It wasn’t just confidence—it was the assurance of hunters who had cornered their prey.

"A pleasure to finally cross blades with you, Avian Solis. Regent of the Avians. Warrior of Light," Edgar said, his voice dripping with mock respect.

"Seems like you’ve done your homework," Solis replied dryly. He raised his spear, light gathering at its tip. "Let’s get this over with, shall we?"

Edgar grinned, but before he could respond, Solis cut him off. "No need for introductions. Captains One through Six, I presume? Let’s skip the pleasantries."

"What a shame," Edgar said. "It’s our first and last conversation, after all. Have a pleasant sleep, Regent of Light."

Solis frowned. "What nonsense are you—"

He stopped mid-sentence as another vampire stepped forward, his deep voice commanding attention. This one carried an air of leadership, his presence more menacing than the rest.

"We’re talking about this," the vampire said, raising his arms in a T-pose. Behind him, the sky split open like a curtain, revealing a void of pure darkness. The horizon darkened unnaturally fast, the edges of a dome swallowing the evening sky like ink spreading across parchment.

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Solis’s grip on his spear tightened as realization struck. Every second wasted brought his people closer to being trapped. ’Enough games,’ he growled, light blazing around his spear’s tip.

He subconsciously looked at the fighting Avians and pilgrims, everyone tried to escape the dome, except for him and three luminarii present— one of them being Celeste, his daughter.

The vampires all seems to have vanished leaving only the captains.

Solis cursed, he had to make the dome disappear before it was fully formed— it felt dangerous.

But he refrained, that might also be what the enemies want. He did not know anything about the attack and if he were to attack it blindly— it might backfire on him instead.

———

Satan and Gabriel were recording two parts of the fight, though neither seemed particularly thrilled about their assignments. Satan opted for the fight involving Solis, muttering something about needing "proper lighting and theatrics" for the footage to really shine.

Gabriel, on the other hand, drew the short straw— or so he claimed— and ended up tailing a Luminarii who was busy slicing through vampires like they owed him money. "Could we at least get a bloodless option?" Gabriel sighed, dodging a severed vampire limb with a well-practiced, but unnecessary, fineness— since they are intangible and all.

The group hadn’t originally planned to visit this particular battleground. In fact, Satan had spent most of the morning lobbying for a coffee break, while Gabriel was sketching rough storyboards for an entirely different conflict.

But somehow, they all felt an inexplicable pull toward this place. It was the kind of pull that suggested either destiny or a really good buffet, though it was unclear which.

Lucifer, Asmodeus, and the newly appointed Barachiel also found themselves arriving as if drawn by an unseen force. Lucifer, with his usual flair for delegation, immediately suggested that only two of them stay to record. "There are other stories that need capturing," he said, adjusting his immaculate collar as if he were auditioning for Recorder of the Year.

The others agreed, mostly because disagreeing with Lucifer often led to long-winded monologues about pride and a recorder’s responsibility. Gabriel quietly stifled a yawn while Satan gave an exaggerated bow.

The recorders then split up. Asmodeus, like the lone wolf she was (or so she insisted, despite her tendency to monologue loudly to herself), wandered off solo. Meanwhile, Barachiel found herself paired with Lucifer, who took it upon himself to teach her the ropes of being a recorder. Continue your journey on novelbuddy