A soft pulse echoed behind Lucifer’s eye again.
But this one wasn’t Damaris. It wasn’t a voice or a whisper.
It was the system.
Without blinking, without shifting even a fraction of muscle, Lucifer saw it burn across the inside of his mind in scarlet text.
[Quest Update – Legacy of the First Fang]
Artifacts Remaining: 6
✔️ Crimson Grimoire
❗ Throne of Thorns
◻️ Progenitor’s Blade
◻️ Veil of the Eternal Night
◻️ Blood Chalice of Yurek
◻️ Heart of the Old Moon
◻️ The Naless Crown
And then a ripple.
A faint tremor at the edge of his awareness.
The mont his gaze locked on the ancient stone seat behind Valecar, the system reacted.
[Artifact Detected – Throne of Thorns]
Classification: Relic Artifact
Description: Forged from the marrow of the First Progenitor and rooted in the black veins of the vampire realm, the Throne of Thorns is not a seat—but a binding. Whoever sits upon it is fused to the will of the blood realm itself. It grants command over bloodlines, control over territory, and communion with ancestral magic. But it does not serve. It consus. If the bearer is unworthy, the throne devours their soul piece by piece, until nothing remains but a husk.
Lucifer exhaled.
Just once. Barely.
That was why he ca.
Not just for power. Not for pride. The throne was one of the seven. A key. A shard of his father’s legacy.
Valecar had no idea.
He thought it was his. Thought it was just a throne.
Lucifer kept that thought hidden—deep.
Valecar was still watching him, jaw tight, hands resting loosely by his sides. He hadn’t noticed the flicker in Lucifer’s eyes, or the slight shift in pressure around the chamber.
Lucifer didn’t move toward the throne. Not yet.
He took one more step forward, eyes never leaving Valecar’s.
"I’m not here to take what’s yours," he said calmly. "I’m here to claim what’s mine."
Valecar narrowed his eyes. "Everything in this realm is mine. I bled for it. I killed for it. And I made sure no one could challenge that."
Lucifer tilted his head.
"No one ever challenged you," he said. "Because no one ever cared enough to."
That struck deep. Deeper than the last hit.
Valecar’s lips twitched, but he forced them flat.
"I was chosen," he said.
"You were left behind," Lucifer corrected.
Valecar stepped forward now, one pace—slow, precise.
"And who the hell do you think you are? The bastard son who didn’t grow up here? The outsider who waltzes in like so prophecy?" His voice was steady, but heat laced under the surface. "You think power makes you king?"
Lucifer’s tone never rose.
"No."
His eyes dropped, for just a second, to the base of the throne.
Where the black roots twisted out like veins across the floor. Almost alive.
He looked back at Valecar.
"I think the one who sits on it without dying is the king."
Valecar froze.
Just a heartbeat. But it was enough.
Lucifer smiled faintly. "You’ve never sat in it, have you?"
Valecar didn’t answer.
Because he couldn’t.
Lucifer stepped past him.
Just one slow walk—asured, careful. His boots echoed with each step.
Valecar didn’t move. His body was tense now. His hands slightly curled. But he didn’t reach for a weapon.
Lucifer stood in front of the throne now.
The closer he got, the more he felt it.
The air was heavy. Not from age, not from magic. From mory.
The throne pulsed like a heart.
Black veins curled along its stone base, crawling upward like frozen fire. Thorns lined the outer arms, sharp and glistening faintly with a wet sheen. The back was shaped like a crescent fang, spiked at the top, with a hollow in the center—almost like sothing had once been embedded there.
Lucifer reached his hand out.
Behind him, Valecar’s voice was low.
"Don’t."
Lucifer paused. "Why?"
"It’s not ant to be touched."
Lucifer glanced back.
"Not ant to be touched," he echoed. "Or not ant to be touched by you?"
Valecar took one step forward.
Lucifer turned fully, still standing before the throne.
"I’ve read enough," he said. "I’ve seen the runes. I know what it does. And I know why you’ve never sat on it."
"You don’t understand it," Valecar snapped. "You think you do, but you don’t."
Lucifer leaned slightly, as if bored.
"You’re scared of it."
Valecar bared his fangs. "No."
Lucifer smiled. "Yes. You ruled all this ti... from beside the throne."
A silence stretched between them.
Then, Valecar’s voice lowered into a growl.
"You sit on that throne, and it’ll tear you apart."
Lucifer raised a hand and placed it against the cold surface.
"I doubt it."
A pulse rushed through him.
The system flared behind his eyes again.
[Throne of Thorns Recognizes Progenitor Bloodline]
Synchronization: 3%... 12%... 34%...
Warning: Full integration will initiate Domain Claim. Nearby vampires may experience loyalty flux or rejection symptoms. Proceed?
[Yes] / [No]
Lucifer’s lips barely moved.
Yes.
Valecar felt it imdiately.
The air turned electric.
The veins across the floor lit up, one by one, in slow crimson pulses that climbed toward the seat. The black stone darkened further—thirsting.
Lucifer sat down.
The thorns twisted around his arms, gently at first, then harder, coiling into his skin, embedding themselves like vines through flesh. But he didn’t flinch.
Valecar took a step back.
"No," he muttered. "No—that’s not possible."
Lucifer exhaled, slow and deep.
The throne didn’t reject him.
It welcod him.
The chamber trembled.
And then—outside the throne room—a howl erupted. A vampire noble, sowhere on the upper floor, collapsed to the ground, clutching his head. Another, farther away, dropped to his knees in shock. The bloodlines were reacting.
Lucifer opened his eyes again.
Scarlet.
No longer just power—command.
Valecar stumbled back a step, like sothing had punched his soul.
"What did you do?" he whispered.
Lucifer didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
His presence said everything.
This was his now.
The throne. The realm.
The legacy of the First Fang... was waking up.
And Lucifer?
He was just getting started.
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