The enormous circular room remained shrouded in an elegant twilight, illuminated only by the long, bluish flas of the chandeliers suspended above the central table. The entire atmosphere conveyed an oppressive sense of ancestral authority, heavy enough to make even experienced vampires instinctively reduce their presence. The walls were too high for ordinary human eyes to easily adjust to, decorated with ancient symbols of the Valentine bloodline engraved directly into the black stone like scars etched into the architecture.
There were no windows. No openings to the outside. Only silence, luxury, and a constant supernatural pressure hanging in the air like an invisible entity observing every movent within that hall.
In the center of the room rested the gigantic round table made of dark wood mixed with crimson veins that seed to pulse slowly beneath the polished surface. Nine chairs were distributed around it.
Nine thrones.
Nine Blood Kings.
Each occupied their space in a different way. So maintained an impeccably aristocratic posture, seated in an almost theatrical manner, while others seed completely relaxed, reclining without any concern for protocol. But there was one thing they all had in common:
Power.
An absurd power.
Ancient.
Dense enough to distort the very environnt around them.
Behind each chair stood a subordinate in absolute silence, like personal shadows of their respective Kings. None dared even breathe too loudly. Their gazes remained lowered, attentive only to the silent orders of their masters.
The entire atmosphere carried a constant tension even without direct hostility.
Because in that room, one wrong word was enough to start a war.
One of the seated figures slowly swirled a crystal goblet filled with dark blood while observing the others around the table with apparent disinterest.
"This generation’s Ritual will be interesting."
The voice echoed softly through the room.
Across the table, a woman with extrely long hair let out a small, amused nasal sound before resting her face on her hand.
"Interesting is a kind word," she comnted with a lazy smile. "Chaotic might be more fitting."
Small smiles spread across the table.
The conversation had been going on for so ti, but inevitably the subject always returned to the sa point.
The Five Great Prodigies.
The current generation that would undergo the Bloodline Ascension Ritual.
A generation considered strange even by the standards of the Valentine bloodline.
"Jake Valentine continues to be a problem," one of the Kings comnted calmly, resting his fingers on the table. "The boy possesses absurd talent, but his mind is clearly deteriorating."
"Clearly?" another replied ironically. "He mutilated three subordinates simply because one of them ntioned interrupting training."
Edgar Valentine remained silent as he listened to the comnts about his nephew.
"Five," corrected a female voice devoid of any emotion. "There were five."
"My point still stands."
A small wave of amusent swept through so of those present. Not because they approved of that behavior, but because it was already expected. Jake Valentine was known precisely for that. Extre violence. Instability. A creature constantly on the verge of exploding.
"Even so," murmured an older man sitting near the back of the table, "no one can deny his potential."
Another King nodded slowly.
"His sword control already surpasses much older vampires."
"Control?" soone replied imdiately. "That’s not control. It’s obsession."
"Obsession also produces monsters," Edgar finally comnted, smiling slightly while concealing from the others exactly what Jake had recently done.
The comnt caused a brief silence to fall over the table.
Because it was true.
In the Valentine family, talent rarely went hand in hand with ntal stability.
In reality...
The greater the talent, the greater the distortion usually was.
One of the won present slowly crossed her legs before speaking again.
"Leon, on the other hand, worries less."
"Because he’s too stable," another replied imdiately.
She smiled discreetly.
"Exactly."
So silently agreed.
Leon Valentine was a peculiar case among the prodigies of that generation. While the others seed to carry dangerous eccentricities, emotional instabilities, or absurd obsessions, Leon possessed an almost uncomfortable calm.
Rumors about hidden laboratories, forbidden research, and biologically questionable experints constantly circulated throughout the Valentine domain.
And the worst part—
Many of those rumors were probably true.
"She’s too brilliant," one of the Kings comnted thoughtfully. "That always has consequences."
"Especially when combined with boundless curiosity."
"Or a complete lack of morals."
"Details."
The long-haired woman smiled discreetly again.
"But Emma interests more."
So glances subtly shifted.
Emma Valentine was rarely the imdiate center of conversation because, unlike the other prodigies, she seed less explosive. More silent. More restrained.
But that didn’t make her any less frightening.
"An extrely refined mind," soone comnted.
"She analyzes everything."
"And almost never shows real emotions."
One of the Kings slowly rested his chin on his clasped hands.
"Emma possesses the most dangerous trait among all current prodigies."
"Which one?"
"Patience."
The silence that followed carried more weight than any previous discussion.
Because everyone in that room perfectly understood the aning of that.
Impulsiveness created predictable monsters.
Patience created calamities.
"She also reads too much," soone murmured with a certain distaste.
"That’s literally the least of her problems."
"I disagree. People who read too much start to overthink."
"And that bothers you?"
"It bothers any intelligent ruler."
A small laugh spread across part of the table.
Then—
The last na ca naturally.
Grace Valentine.
Curiously, it was the only mont when the atmosphere seed to truly change. Less fun. More serious.
Even so subordinates behind the chairs discreetly beca more attentive.
"Grace..." soone murmured slowly. "A troubled girl."
"Too disciplined."
"Overtrained."
"And too efficient."
There was no mockery when they spoke of her.
Nor irony.
Just analysis.
Grace Valentine was different from other prodigies because she didn’t carry visible instability. She wasn’t driven by apparent obsessions. She didn’t demonstrate emotional impulsiveness.
She simply trained.
Non-stop.
Without complaining.
Without deviating.
"Chrysis molded that girl into a weapon," one of the Kings comnted neutrally.
"And succeeded."
Another nodded slowly.
"Her mastery over ice has already surpassed expected limits for her current age. Even more so for a half-breed. Her talent with blood energy in this state, without going through the Ritual, is truly surprising."
"Among the five, she’s the first for a reason," another comnted calmly.
"Extrely unpleasant to face."
One of the won present took a small sip of blood before smiling discreetly.
"But admit it... it’s been a long ti since we’ve had such an interesting generation."
"Interesting usually ans disastrous."
"Even better."
Small, low laughs arose again.
Then one of the Kings slowly rested his arms on the table.
"The real question isn’t which one possesses more talent."
The comnt drew several glances.
"The Ascension Ritual has never favored only raw talent."
"Then what does it favor?"
The man smiled slightly.
"Adaptation."
Silence.
Heavy.
"So break during the Ritual."
"So go mad."
"So beco sothing greater."
"And so simply disappear."
The bluish flas in the room flickered slowly at that mont, as if reacting to the weight of the words.
Because everyone at that table had seen it happen before.
Generations arose.
Prodigies were born.
Monsters were created.
And the Ritual decided which ones would survive their own evolution.
A woman slowly ran her fingers along the rim of the goblet before asking,
"Which one do you think will go the furthest?"
"Victor Valentine." The voice ca softly.
Harmonious... Beautiful... And utterly impossible... The instant those words echoed through the room, the entire atmosphere exploded.
The nine presences released auras simultaneously, making the air in the hall literally tremble. The supernatural pressure crushed the environnt in a fraction of a second, cracks discreetly appearing on parts of the black floor as the subordinates behind the chairs imdiately recoiled in shock.
Because none of them—
None of the nine Kings—
Had felt that presence enter.
Everyone’s eyes imdiately turned to the source of the voice; it was standing against the wall, smiling, as it mocked:
"You are so carefree, you can’t even sense the presence of a weak vampire like ?" She smiled.
"Rakshasa." murmured Edgar.
"You... since when~"
"Since it began." Rakshasa said, smiling.
The tension in the room shifted instantly after those words.
It wasn’t just the implied threat.
It was the casual way Rakshasa spoke before the Nine Blood Kings, as if she were conversing with inconvenient acquaintances at a tedious eting. The woman remained leaning against the black wall of the hall, her arms crossed over her chest while the lazy smile remained plastered on her face. Her long dark hair flowed down her back like living ink, and her red eyes observed everyone present with an almost childlike amusent.
Even surrounded by the monstrous pressure released simultaneously by the nine rulers of the Valentine lineage... she showed absolutely no discomfort.
In fact—
She seed to find it amusing.
"Relax," she comnted softly, tilting her head slightly while completely ignoring the overwhelming aura that distorted the air around the table. "I didn’t co here to disrupt your little political eting."
The subordinates behind the chairs remained completely still now, tense to the point of looking like statues. So of them couldn’t even look directly at Rakshasa without feeling their own instincts screaming danger. The problem wasn’t just her unexpected presence.
It was the fact that she had managed to enter unnoticed.
That simply shouldn’t be possible.
Edgar kept his gaze fixed on her while his fingers slowly pressed against the arm of the chair. Unlike so of the other Kings, he didn’t seem particularly surprised by the woman’s audacity. Just irritated.
Very irritated.
"Then just tell us what you ca here to do," he said coldly. "Before soone interprets your presence as provocation."
Rakshasa smiled wider.
"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, amused. "And do you intend to do anything?"
The following silence was heavy.
Because no one answered.
Not out of explicit fear... but because everyone in that room perfectly understood the problem with the situation. Rakshasa was an absurdly ancient creature. Unstable. Violent. And worse still—
Unpredictable.
Attacking soone like that in a political eting was exactly the kind of decision that would start unnecessary wars.
She realized this imdiately.
Her smile widened slightly.
"Good," she comnted with satisfaction. "Then let’s save ti."
She slowly uncrossed her arms and began to walk around the circular wall of the room like soone casually strolling through a garden. The light sound of her footsteps echoed through the silent environnt as the Kings’ eyes carefully followed her.
"I just ca to comnt on one small thing," she said softly. "Mainly regarding Edgar... and his dear nephew."
The emotional temperature of the room dropped several degrees at that instant.
Edgar narrowed his eyes slightly.
So of the Kings exchanged discreet glances.
And Rakshasa continued to smile.
"I’ll make one thing very clear to avoid future misunderstandings." Her voice remained sweet. Almost gentle. "Anyone who helps Jake Valentine... or anyone directly related to what he did... will be exterminated by personally."
The impact of those words rippled through the entire room.
So subordinates behind the chairs instantly turned pale.
One of the Kings let out a small, humorless laugh before resting his elbow on the table.
"That almost sounds like a declaration of war."
Rakshasa looked at him.
"Almost?" she asked softly.
The man remained silent.
She then resud walking slowly while observing the bluish flas of the chandeliers dancing above the table.
"Honestly, I didn’t even want to be here," she comnted nonchalantly. "I hate political etings. They’re long, boring, and full of old n feigning civility while thinking up creative ways to kill each other."
One of the Kings smiled discreetly.
"Technically incorrect?" soone asked.
"Technically depressing," Rakshasa corrected imdiately.
Small, amused expressions appeared around the table despite the absurd tension hanging in the air. The way she alternated between extre threat and absurdly casual comnts was disconcerting.
Then soone finally asked the inevitable question.
"What exactly happened?"
Rakshasa stopped pacing.
Her smile faded slightly.
"Even after I politely asked them not to bother ..." she said slowly, "...Edgar’s darling nephew decided to personally co to my domain and be a nuisance."
Absolute silence fell.
Edgar didn’t react outwardly, but the supernatural pressure around his chair increased slightly.
"Jake ca to you?" asked one of the won present, genuinely surprised.
Rakshasa nodded.
"He did." She seed almost impressed as she rembered. "Alone, even. The boy is brave... or absurdly stupid. I haven’t decided yet."
"And you didn’t kill him?" soone asked imdiately.
Rakshasa smiled lazily.
"I wanted to."
The answer ca too quickly.
Too naturally.
Almost too sincerely.
So Kings let out small, low laughs.
"But unfortunately," she continued with an exaggeratedly dramatic sigh, "there are certain annoying little things called political agreents. So I couldn’t just rip his head off and throw it to the bats."
She tilted her head slightly.
"So we made a bet."
Now the attention of the entire room was completely on her.
Even the subordinates behind the chairs seed to montarily forget that they were supposed to remain invisible.
Rakshasa observed them all in silence for a few seconds before smiling again.
"And I intend to honor that bet to the end."
Edgar finally spoke again.
"What do you an by that?"
She looked directly at him.
The woman’s red eyes completely lost their playful tone in that instant.
"I an," she said softly, "you’d better help your nephew very well."
The supernatural pressure in the room increased violently.
Not just from the Kings’ aura—
But from hers as well.
The black floor beneath Rakshasa’s feet cracked discreetly as dozens of tiny shadow bats began to slowly erge around her body like living smoke.
"Because when the Ritual is over..." she continued calmly, "...and he loses the bet, because he will... I will exterminate you all." Absolute silence. "And your entire family too."
One of the Kings imdiately narrowed his eyes.
"You intend to exterminate an entire branch of the Valentine family because of a bet?"
Rakshasa slowly turned her face toward him.
"No," she replied softly.
Her smile returned.
"Because of his rudeness."
So expressions subtly shifted around the table.
Because the problem wasn’t just the threat itself.
It was the fact that Rakshasa seed completely serious.
Edgar slowly rested his arms on the table while staring at the woman without looking away.
"You’re exaggerating."
Rakshasa smiled even wider.
"And your nephew is breathing."
The entire room froze for a mont.
Even the bluish flas of the chandeliers seed to diminish.
Then she let out a small, amused laugh, as if she had just rembered sothing genuinely funny.
"Ah, but don’t get wrong," she comnted casually, twirling a strand of her own hair between her fingers. "I really liked the boy."
The Kings frowned slightly.
Rakshasa continued smiling.
"It’s been ages since soone appeared in my domains with such absurd confidence." She let out a small, nostalgic sigh. "It was almost cute."
"Cute?" soone repeated incredulously.
"Yes." She nodded calmly. "Psychotic. Violent. Completely unbalanced. But cute."
Edgar slowly closed his eyes for a second.
This was a political nightmare.
Because Rakshasa wasn’t soone you could simply ignore. If she actually decided to act after the Ritual... it would turn into an absurd massacre.
And worse still—
She was clearly enjoying the whole situation.
"Anyway," she comnted again, returning to her nonchalant tone, "I only ca to warn you about this. It would be impolite to exterminate people without prior notice."
"What generous consideration," one of the Kings murmured dryly.
Rakshasa smiled.
"I am extrely polite."
No one answered.
Because no one believed her for a second.
The small bats around her slowly increased in number, spreading vivid shadows across the floor of the room as her presence began to disappear along with them.
"Ah," she comnted before vanishing completely. "And Edgar..."
He slowly raised his gaze.
Rakshasa smiled one last ti.
"Pray that your nephew survives the Ritual."
The bats exploded across the room in a black storm.
And then—
She disappeared.
The silence that followed was absurdly heavy.
Even the Blood Kings remained motionless for a few seconds.
Because everyone in that room had understood exactly the sa thing.
Regardless of the outco of the Ascension Ritual—
A disaster was already coming.
User Comments
0 comments from readers