In this modern era, people wielding bizarre supernatural powers were a di a dozen. Flying, hurling fire, bending minds—it was just the evening news.
Except for the two n at the front.
Ermond and Raekin’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.
They knew exactly what this floating man was. A Vampire. And not just so feral street-leech, but a formal ssenger of the Lord, dispatched straight from the ancient, blood-soaked lands.
As the creature finally touched the cobblestones, his heavy boots made zero sound. He took a deep, theatrical breath of the human-scented air, his cold smile widening.
"Well, well," he purred, casually brushing a speck of imaginary dust from his velvet cloak. "Is this how you mortals welco royal ssengers nowadays? No graceful bows? No pathetic kneeling?"
Raekin didn’t so much as twitch. "You received your warm welco by us choosing not to shoot you out of the sky mid-flight."
A dark chuckle rumbled in the vampire’s chest. "Bold words, Lord Blac. I suppose proper manners died out with the old age."
Ermond’s jaw ticked, but he remained a silent sentinel.
The ssenger’s glowing gaze swept over the row of silent, breathing servants, lingering hungrily on the exposed, pale necks of the maids.
"No one bows? Not even a pretty little curtsy? Hm..."
His arrogant smile dropped a fraction. "Very well."
He sniffed the air once, his nose wrinkling at the overwhelming scent of warm, circulating blood. "Far too many prying eyes out here... Let’s move this to your private office, shall we?"
Raekin gave a single, curt nod and turned his broad back on the predator.
The small group moved inside the grand mansion. The long hallways were draped in heavy, stifling curtains and lined with imposing portraits of long-dead ancestors.
Only the vampire’s deliberate footsteps echoed on the marble. He glanced around the opulent decor with utter disinterest, acting as though the human luxury bored him to tears.
They reached the patriarch’s office. It was a cavernous room anchored by a massive mahogany desk, flanked by tall, velvet-draped windows and towering bookshelves packed with thick, leather-bound volus.
The mont the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, the vampire stopped walking.
He turned slowly, clasping his pale hands behind his back. His crimson eyes narrowed into sharp, glowing slivers.
"Now, kneel," he commanded.
His voice was sharp and unnaturally loud in the enclosed space. His fragile, immortal pride was visibly wounded by the lack of groveling.
Ermond imdiately stepped forward, his weathered face stiffening with sheer insult. "That is—"
Raekin simply raised a large hand to cut him off.
"No need, Ermond."
The vampire’s smirk returned in full force.
But Raekin just stood taller, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "Relay the damn ssage."
The creature’s smug smile slowly lted away.
"Oh, I will. But shouldn’t a pathetic human like you be kneeling on the floor to receive a direct decree from the Lord himself?"
The question dripped with thick sarcasm and barely suppressed rage.
Raekin exhaled a deep, heavy sigh. It was a sound built from decades of tested patience and cold steel.
"I am not a man who blindly follows archaic formalities that go against my own morals," he stated firmly. "Whether you are a royal ssenger or a supposed god, I bow only to what I believe is right."
A blue vein twitched near the vampire’s pale temple.
"You fragile mortals," he hissed coldly. "So delightfully stubborn."
He took a dramatic step forward, the heavy cloak sweeping across the rich rug.
"Fine. Then open your ears and listen."
He drew himself up to his full, imposing height. His velvety voice rang out like a tolling bell within the quiet office.
"The Lord has given his final word. Cruxius Blac is to formally participate in the upcoming Flag Bearer Battle. His physical presence has been explicitly demanded. His entry has been approved by royal decree. You are to send him at once."
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the room.
Ermond frowned deeply, the wrinkles around his eyes tightening.
Raekin’s stony expression didn’t shift a single milliter.
"Is that all?" he asked dryly.
The vampire paused, clearly thrown off by the lack of fear. He leaned in slightly, his fangs flashing in the dim light. "It would be incredibly wise not to delay this. The Lord does not enjoy waiting on his food."
With that parting threat, he spun on his heel. His dark cloak swept the polished floorboards as he marched toward the heavy doors, leaving a toxic, heavy silence in his wake.
Ermond turned his head to look at his master. "Should we actually obey?"
Raekin just stared out the tall window, watching the last sliver of the sun bleed into the horizon.
"...No."
That single, quiet word hung in the stale air like a freshly drawn blade—cold, sharp, and unforgiving.
The vampire, who was rely three steps away from the exit, froze mid-stride. The heavy fabric of his cloak swayed around his calves before settling into dead stillness.
Slowly, with a terrifying, stiff grace, he turned back around. His glowing eyes were no longer lazy or vaguely amused.
"What did you just say?" he asked. His voice was soft. Far too soft.
Raekin didn’t even blink. "I said no. Cruxius will not be sent to your slaughterhouse."
A lethal hush fell over the expansive office. Even the rhythmic, tallic tick of the antique grandfather clock seed to hold its breath.
"I sincerely hope you are joking," the vampire hissed, exposing his elongated canines. "Do you even comprehend what you’re saying to ? This is the Lord’s absolute decree."
"I understood the threat perfectly the first ti," Raekin replied, his deep voice never wavering. "But that doesn’t an I’m going to follow it."
"You... dare to defy a Blood Decree?"
A chaotic flash of crimson aura violently danced behind the vampire’s eyes. His pale hands curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The very oxygen in the room seed to tighten, growing as heavy and oppressive as a thundercloud right before a lightning strike.
Then, right before the ancient creature could snap and paint the walls red—
A new voice cut effortlessly through the suffocating tension like a blade forged of ice.
"Alath Renol Dravik—Bloodline of Cirethein, of the Nightspire Throne. Scourge of the Fourth Eclipse. Slayer of White Suns. And your executioner."
The entire room snapped to a standstill.
The vampire’s lithe body violently flinched. His head whipped around so fast his neck cracked, staring wildly into the corridor.
asured, unhurried footsteps echoed against the marble.
From the open doorway, a tall figure lazily stepped into the light.
Cruxius Blac.
He looked young, utterly unbothered, and entirely too arrogant. His large hands were casually tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat. His raven-black hair was slightly ssy, framing skin that was pale but flushed with living warmth. His obsidian eyes were an unreadable, bottomless void.
Trailing closely behind his broad shoulders were three stunning won.
They were human, dressed in elegant, form-fitting clothes that hugged their soft curves. They looked bizarrely calm and mildly curious, their beautiful, soft presence a massive, jarring contrast to the lethal standoff happening in the room.
Cruxius sauntered forward, stopping just a few feet away from the bewildered vampire. He didn’t even bother to raise his chin to et the creature’s gaze as he spoke again.
"As the direct aide and a mber of the Blood Moon Family..."
His voice dropped to a cold, crushing whisper.
"...kneel, Alath."
The vampire’s glowing eyes burned with sudden, terrifying recognition.
"You... You dare—!"
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