"Drop command now—or be rotted, just like the flesh that roots in this soil."
The eleven elves behind Ravien took one step forward, backing him up like a wall of fury. Rage carved their faces, and the consequence of war burned in their eyes, dangerous and sure.
The air thickened with the stench of rotting flesh. Silence clung to the moment like a womb about to birth chaos. Allen's eyes were fixed on the ground, as though searching for something beneath the carpet of grass. A smile curved on his lips, reaching toward his eyes—not from mockery, but knowing. The wind had already told him the outcome, and it pleased him.
We were thirteen when we arrived... but now, I feel fourteen vibrations, he thought, eyes lifting toward the group of barbarians standing steps away from the high walls. Let's play a game of chess. Allen smirked at the thought, twisted purpose burning behind his eyes.
"I guess you choose death, then!" Ravien roared, taking a runner's stance. But he froze mid-position.
Allen blurred past him with blinding speed. The ground beneath his feet cracked under the sheer pressure of his aura—his abilities focused with one thought: I decide who rots and who doesn't.
His hands caught the heads of two elves as he passed. He dragged them along and smashed them into the wall with a thunderous impact.
BOOM!
Not just the sound of exploding heads filled the air, but the sound of blood raining like the devil's baptism. A rain of crimson.
"Too slow, Ravien," Allen smirked. His gaze didn't fall on the elves—but beyond them. Behind them. He sensed it: a vibration, a presence still lurking in the shadowed night.
And in this game of chess, the yet unknown was his queen card.
Only then did the others register what had happened. Two of their own, now lifeless, smashed beyond recognition. Their eyes widened, hearts pounding like clashing steel. Rage and dread filled them, fists tightening with weight more than muscle.
"Lucien... Lio..." Ravien gasped, turning in horror, recognizing them only by the missing comrades. How?—but the question had already burned into fury. Now, only vengeance mattered.
"TRAITOR!" Derrick screamed, his lips trembling at the loss of his comrades. Ravien lunged forward, fury igniting his aura, and the rest followed. Even Derrick.
Yet Allen didn't flinch. He stood tall, a still monument of dominance. His unwavering posture threw off the group's balance—the fear of the unknown gnawed at their bones.
Time seemed to freeze.
The temperature shifted. The air turned metallic with the scent of blooded roses and a sinister energy unmasking itself from the darkness. Their focus broke. A cold wave struck their backs. They turned slowly—too slowly as if time was now faster than them.
Another figure surged from the shadows, moving so fast the mortal eye could not catch its form. A blur of chaos.
Their dread climaxed. Spines stiffened. Muscles flinched.
Allen smiled as attention moved from him to the true threat. The barbarian elves fell silent at the mere presence of this new arrival—a titan cloaked in bloodlust.
SQUELCH.
Flesh tore. Blood painted the night. One by one, the blur slashed through them with surgical precision and no hesitation.
Ravien found his balance and leapt toward the blur, footwork shaky but still showed expertise. Derrick, meanwhile, saw an opportunity—not to fight, but to flee. He erased his aura and physical presence, stepping behind a nearby oak tree, breath locked in his throat all thanks to his ability: Counter Shading.
"Nice one, Derrick... but I can still feel the vibration of your footsteps," Allen said calmly, his eyes not even flinching.
BOOM!
Ravien landed a well-timed blow on the blur just as it finished devouring the last of his comrades. His knuckles cracked with blood and heat, as though fire lit beneath his skin.
The blur stopped.
Time paused.
The figure came into focus.
Ravien stumbled backward. His heart skipped. He tripped over a stone, falling. Crimson eyes stared back at him—bright, hungry, intelligent. A woman. No horns. No long ears. No disfigurations. Just a terrifyingly perfect beauty. Her long black hair flowed past her hips.
Her shattered arm dangled, dripping blood, but she was calm. Too calm.
Derrick's breath caught. His back pressed against the oak. His body trembled. He dared not make a sound.
"That's no monster," he muttered. His lips curled with mischief even through the terror. He looked at Allen, picking up some similarities between him and the female chaos—but yet the difference was louder. "That... that is the end."
She walked toward Ravien, hips swaying—not seductively, but like a weapon. Her broken arm left a thick trail of blood across the soil.
Ravien crawled backward, body scraping desecrated ground. His eyes darted between her and the mangled corpses of his comrades.
Her arm regenerated—fast, unnatural. In one motion, she aimed for his skull.
Ravien opened a portal to redirect the attack. But something was wrong.
The portal misfired. Instead of redirecting the strike to her, the blow redirected skyward. Disoriented, Ravien's limbs trembled. His aura sputtered. Even his tail retracted in fear. He was breaking.
I'm SSS-ranked... This can't be happening, he screamed inwardly. All his instincts now kicked at begging—even for a moment of breath.
"Pl...please... I'll serve—"
She cut him off.
"Blood Curse."
Her blood on his arm glowed. It invaded his nervous system like a parasite. His body jolted as if struck by lightning. A mark on her chest lit up, pulsing red like a living tattoo. Ravien's eyes rolled back.
"SLEEP."
He dropped. Broken. Unconscious. Silenced by a word.
Allen inhaled, heart thudding—but he calmed it with a breath. It's just me left. This game... it was a gamble. My uniqueness better pay off—or I'm fertilizer for this soil.
"Impressive," Allen declared, standing tall with a calm smile.
The woman didn't walk—she turned to mist, reforming right in front of him like walking darkness. She inspected him—not with hostility, but curiosity. Mischief danced in her gaze.
Allen kept composed.
"No horns. No long ears. No tail. No long fangs. No off-colored skin... You don't smell like anything I've thirsted for."
"I'm the first of my kind on this planet," Allen said, casually brushing back his hair. No rage in her—only curiosity. One wrong word... and I'm done, he thought, studying the vibration of her breath and the rhythm of her heartbeat.
She stared deep into him. Only inches apart. Then she raised a claw-like finger.
Allen's eyes locked on her finger—sharp as a lion's claw and pointed like the tip of a triangle—yet he did not allow fear to get the best of him. Just a silent gaze passed between them.
She pricked his forehead with her upside-down nail, and blood poured from the wound like water flowing from a tap into a bucket. She smiled at the sight of it, like it was new wine, then leaned in and sipped it with a delicate, casual motion.
"You speak the truth. A thousand years of living, and among the many species I have thirsted... this is different."
What a relief, Allen thought, his eyes studying her delicate curves and skin, which glinted with a timeless nobility—as if age held no power over her.
"What species are you?" she asked, her voice calm yet filled with purpose as she traced a gentle finger across his chest.
"I'm a human—the species at the peak of evolution."
"Hyping yourself, young man?" she teased.
"You can call me Allen."
"Who were the elves that opposed you?"
Allen hesitated for a brief moment, glancing at the torn flesh that littered the ground, then toward the tree where Derrick stood, holding his breath like a nuclear bomb was trapped inside him.
"They were all stepping stones to me," he finally declared, his eyes fixed on her perfectly shaped breasts.
"You sound like a dangerous man, Allen..." Her fingers slid from his shoulder to his cheek.
"You look terrifyingly beautiful, young woman."
"I'm Lilitu, by name. There's something I want to show you... and something I want you to give me in return," she said, turning around while keeping a firm grip on his wrist.
"STAND," she commanded.
The marking on her chest glowed again, and so did the bloodstain on Ravien's hand. His unconscious body rose to his feet like a lifeless zombie, the grass beneath him glowing with eerie light.
"Wait... what species are you?" Allen asked, gambling if this was the right time or not.
She turned to him slowly, revealing a carnivorous smile with gleaming fangs.
"We... are called VAMPIRES."
It struck Allen like a blade of realization—the speed, the eyes, the fangs... all unmistakable traits of a vampire. No more words were spoken. He simply followed behind her along a narrow path.
A silent message passed between his eyes and Derrick's, drawing the latter's gaze to the wall behind where Allen had stood.
There, etched into the stone with nothing but his fingertip, Derrick read the words:
"Remain within these walls until I return—or face Kealion's wrath."