Night fell over New Liora like a velvet curtain soaked in blood.
Above the skyline, storm clouds pulsed with faint red light, an ominous sign that something old and forgotten had stirred again. The city beneath was none the wiser. Humans went about their mundane lives, unaware that a war for the supernatural world was already unfolding in the shadows.
Within the sanctuary, Azael stood before the Heartforge again.
"I feel... different," he said, staring into the molten light.
"You are," Selene replied, leaning against the stone archway. "The Trials stripped away your limits. But they also awakened attention you don't want."
Azael turned to her. "You keep saying that. Who's watching me?"
Selene hesitated, then sighed. "The Crimson Accord."
He raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a metal band."
"They're worse. A faction of ancient-blood vampires that survived the Purge. They made a pact centuries ago with the first Virex king. Blood for power. Now that you're awakened, they'll want to bind you to the same oath. Or destroy you."
"So what, they knock on the door and ask politely?"
"No."
The entire sanctuary shook. A low, guttural hum filled the air—like the growl of a god beneath the earth. The lanterns flickered. The runes dimmed. And then the outer seal ruptured.
"They're here," Selene said, drawing her twin daggers.
Azael summoned his bloodblade for the first time. It hissed to life—dark red energy coiling around his arm, solidifying into a jagged, obsidian-hued sword with a glowing core.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Three figures emerged. Each wore ceremonial armor, etched with ancient symbols. Their leader was tall, pale, with crimson eyes and silver hair bound in a braid. His aura radiated centuries of command.
"Virex," he said with reverence and danger. "The blood does not lie."
"I assume you're the Crimson Accord?" Azael asked, stepping forward.
The man bowed slightly. "I am Lord Thandor, Warden of the Pact. We come not as enemies, but as witnesses. You have awakened. The bond must be reforged."
"I didn't agree to any pact."
Thandor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "It was sworn in blood. Your blood. Your ancestor bound you to it."
Selene stepped between them. "The oath died with the king. Azael owes you nothing."
Thandor's gaze flicked to her. "Ah. The Watcher's blood. You've been meddling again."
"I'm protecting him."
"Then you've chosen your death."
Azael stepped forward. "Try me."
Without another word, Thandor attacked. It was like lightning—fast, precise, brutal. Azael barely parried, his bloodblade singing with each clash. The other two vampires encircled Selene, steel flashing in the dim light.
Magic flared. Blood painted the walls.
And in the middle of it all, Azael's rage flared like wildfire.
He let go.
Crimson tendrils exploded from his back, wrapping around Thandor and slamming him into a pillar. The vampire coughed blood but laughed.
"Now you begin to understand. The blood isn't just power. It's prophecy."
Azael stalked forward. "I don't care about prophecy. I make my own fate."
He drove his blade into Thandor's chest.
The Accord's leader gasped. "Then remember this—others will come. You carry the throne in your veins."
He dissolved into ash.
The other vampires vanished in puffs of mist, fleeing into the night.
Silence returned to the sanctuary. The walls groaned, magic rebuilding its seals.
Azael dropped to one knee, panting. "That was... a lot."
Selene knelt beside him. "You handled yourself better than I expected."
"I don't want their throne."
"It doesn't matter. The supernatural world now knows the heir lives. Factions will rise. Some will follow. Most will hunt."
Azael looked at his blood-covered hands. "Then let them come."
Stay tuned..