Within the Grand Hall of the Western Coven, the name Lord Demidicus was spoken in hushed tones, almost reverently from the shadows. But it was the mention of the lord’s daughter that caused heads to turn and eyes to narrow.

  The Grand Hall wasn’t named lightly. Larger than most amphitheaters, it was designed to hold thousands of their kind back in the old days—before the vampiric world of Nyxoria was pulled into this twisted realm to become one of the countless moons of V?luspá. Its dank, dark, cold stones amplified whispers and concealed secrets. Even the dripping of water droplets echoed through the vast hall, making it the perfect pce for rumors about powerful figures like Lord Demidicus to flourish.

  The convergence of Nyxoria into this realm a thousand years ago heralded truly grim times. Armies and champions of the Ascendant Gods swarmed upon the freshly formed dungeons that emerged during the convergence, plundering relentlessly and stealing dungeon cores along with Nyxoria’s vital resources. Worse still, after the moon was ravaged, many of these invaders lingered, ciming territory to build their own kingdoms and forcing the vampires into hiding.

  Now, vampires were a rare sight, their numbers dwindled to a mere shadow of what they once were. For reasons none could expin, like all species within this realm, they had lost the ability to reproduce. Desperate to replenish their ranks, they resorted to turning many of the invaders into vampires. But this was a double-edged sword; most who were turned became feral, soulless abominations. Not that it bothered the vampires much—the feral ones didn’t attack their own kind and served as expendable fodder.

  However, not all hope was lost. Three hundred years ago, the first and only vampire thus far was born within this realm from the mingling of vampiric and demonic bloodlines. Only, she had been far too kind.

  The elders occasionally recounted the tale of Aurelia to the few turned ones whose souls survived the vampirism process—a cautionary story. They spoke of the ancient vampire lord’s unnaturally cruel heart and the rumors that he’d traded his daughter’s very soul for something darker, something more unforgiving. It was a warning—a reminder never to show weakness or risk becoming something far worse.

  “He’d fit right in here, wouldn’t he?” a vampire whispered, their voice dripping with both admiration and apprehension.

  “Have you heard about his daughter’s original soul?” another hissed, eyes darting around to ensure no prying ears were nearby.

  “I’ve heard things—kind, soft... weak,” a third interjected.

  “But look at her now. She’s beyond powerful. Destroyed the Kingdom of Sethia all by herself. Took them a hundred years to dig themselves out of that ruin, it did.” The vampire snickered with a wheezy chuckle. “Decred the youngest elder ever as a reward, and what did she cim for her prize? To pick up the user-summoning research where that pathetic vampire Olin had failed. Serves him right, being turned into a ghoul as punishment, it does. Still, it makes no sense, I’m telling you.”

  The first vampire gnced nervously over their shoulder. “We must be careful. The walls here have ears... and memories.”

  Everyone knew to tread lightly on such topics, for while gossip was a coveted currency, it could also be a deadly weapon in the wrong hands. Within the coven’s crypts, shadows didn’t just darken the room; they listened.

  The coven’s silence shattered with a blinding fsh, its glow illuminating even the deepest recesses. The previously still air buzzed with the energy of awakened enchantments—a stark contrast to the comfortable lethargy moments before.

  Vampires, abruptly torn from their dreams, flung open the doors of their chambers, cloaks billowing behind them. Their eyes, usually calm, now burned with arm and curiosity. The rhythmic thumping of their boots echoed as they rushed, drawn like moths to the allure of the Grand Hall.

  As they entered the cavernous chamber, an unusual spectacle met their gaze. A small breach in space, illuminated by an eerie glow, served as a portal for a myriad of creatures. Wide-eyed orcs, anxious goblins, bewildered humyns, and restless wargs, among many others, flowed through. Even beastkin were spotted, each as disoriented as the next.

  The chamber swelled as newcomers continued to pour in from the portal, their cries—a mix of relief and terror—echoing through the hall. Many gnced around, only to meet the hungry gazes of vampires, their fangs glistening in anticipation.

  One of the older vampires, his robe draped elegantly around him, whispered to his companion with a hint of mischief, “Like a feast presenting itself on our doorstep.”

  His friend, a more youthful-looking vampire with sharp features, smirked in agreement. “Let’s not be rude. We should welcome our tasty guests.”

  Yet neither made a move, merely watching with gleaming eyes as the unwitting banquet continued to pour in, one after another filling the Grand Hall. Some vampires began to feel nervous, wondering if they were being invaded as wave after wave kept streaming through the portal.

  As Lord Demidicus, accompanied by his pet demon, strolled into the chamber, a small cadre of vampires and three elders followed closely behind. The gleaming red eyes beneath his cowl hinted at recognition, suggesting to those who observed that the ancient grand elder was familiar with the unexpected guests. Many vampires concealed their irritation, wary of revealing their hands too soon, but the succubus’s self-satisfied smirk did not go unnoticed, drawing more than a few curious gnces.

  Amidst the cmor, a dark elf of notable stature shivered, clutching a young beastkin child—a hare descendant—tightly by her side. To see a child—of all things—was an exceedingly rare, almost mythical sight. However, it was the dark elf who truly warranted their attention.

  Among the newcomers were other noteworthy figures: a high elf radiating ancient wisdom, a half-orc emanating brute strength, a wolfkin whose eyes glinted with feral intelligence, and a humyn who seemed to ooze necrotic energy. Each one exuded power, though none of the vampires knew that these individuals were system users. Only the ancient vampire and the few elders he’d brought to this coven knew the truth. It was a secret he intended to keep; revealing how Aurelia had managed to summon not one, but seven souls to this realm and bestow upon them access to the strange magical system used by the Ascended could risk inciting an uprising. After all, the system possessed vast power that even Lord Demidicus didn’t fully understand. But it was power he coveted above all else—for if anyone deserved ascension in his eyes, it was him.

  Stepping out of the portal with excessive confidence, a dark fae procimed, “I. Am. Your. Champion!” He smiled, arms outstretched, revealing a mouth full of sharp, needle-like teeth. “I’ve got a bunch of refugees from Ockpool Dungeon running from the Kingdom of Sethia behind me,” he said, thrusting his arm up, thumb pointing at the steady stream of creatures emerging from the portal.

  Lord Demidicus silenced all whispers as he crept toward the supposed champion, his every move watched intently by the vampires in the room, all eager for any hint of a misstep. For them, any sign of frailty in Lord Demidicus would be a golden opportunity to seize—another card to py in their endless games of political intrigue. Though age afforded him the right to lead by their ws, he was still an outsider within the Western Coven. The vampires knew that all they needed was time, patience, and covert alliances with like-minded conspirators. Yet, in this shadowy dance, trust was the rarest currency; no vampire would ever risk revealing their true ambitions.

  “By the edicts of our coven, we grant you sanctuary upon these nds, but not within this sanctum,” Lord Demidicus decred. With those words, he turned away from the dark fae, casting a cndestine nod to his demonic pet.

  The fae stood there, blinking in confusion, apparently expecting a bit more.

  Niamh’s grin widened as she pointed a long, cwed finger at the champion. “Seize them,” she commanded as she pointed out six individuals among the growing crowd to be taken.

  “What happened to granting us sanctuary?” the fae spat out, bewildered.

  The succubus ughed. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be protected—in our cells,” she chuckled.

  Outraged shouts and cries erupted from the refugees as vampires darted from the shadows, seizing the dark elf, high elf, wolfkin, half-orc, humyn, and most notably, the dark fae. The most common word uttered during the uproar was a simple question: “Champion?” However, the supposed champion deftly vanished into the shadows, evading capture.

  The cavernous room filled with muffled cries from those who had sought soce in their unexpected sanctuary, punctuated only by the soft tread of the st few arrivals through the portal. The final stragglers stepped through, but an electric tension gripped the chamber, as if everyone anticipated a predator on the heels of prey.

  Without warning, Aurelia herself shot from the portal, as if thrust by unseen hands. She nded in a crouch and, with a battle cry echoing her fury, made a desperate dash back to the portal. But as her fingers were mere inches from its shimmering surface, it blinked out of existence, trapping her.

  Before anyone could blink, Lord Demidicus was at her side, his movements eerily swift. While his presence was commanding, all eyes were irresistibly drawn to the ruby trails marking her face—each drop a testament to her vulnerability and a promise of future power pys.

  With a slow, deliberate movement, the Grand Elder drew back his dark cowl just enough for his gleaming fangs to catch the light. “Ah, daughter,” his words oozed with satisfaction, “it is good to see you still alive.”

  “Father,” Aurelia’s voice held determination even as she struggled to push past the revulsion the title evoked, “we must reopen the portal and counterattack our enemies.” Her eyes, however, held a vulnerability—a testament to the love she harbored for her beloved—which disgusted him.

  “Ridiculous,” he snapped, his voice as cold as the chambers around them. “I raised you better than that. Sethia lies on the other side of the continent. They would have to wage wars on neighboring kingdoms before even considering an attack on us. And risking the air fleet that the empire loaned them? It would expose this moon to external threats. We won’t engage them further,” he concluded, his authoritative tone brooking no argument.

  “Bke is trapped on the other side!” Aurelia raged.

  Lord Demidicus’s voice rang out with such ferocity that the very air in the room seemed to quiver. “ENOUGH!” He took a moment to let his words sink in, his eyes fshing dangerously. “That creature is an abomination. She’s nothing more than a lost soul you found in the gutter of discarded souls. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  The weight of Aurelia’s disbelief hung in the air, every sylble dripping with disdain. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Child,” Lord Demidicus’s voice was a razor-edged whisper, “do not tempt my forbearance.” His piercing gaze locked onto hers, chilling the room. “Remember, repcing your soul once proved effortless; I can just as easily find a more obedient successor.”

  The room’s vampires held their breath, their eyes darting between the two figures, awaiting the next explosive move.

  Aurelia didn’t flinch, meeting his intensity head-on. Lord Demidicus’s features twisted with wrath, and he moved to strike her. Yet, in a blur of movement, she intercepted his wrist, halting his assault. “Don’t you ever y a hand on me,” she hissed, her eyes fshing angrily.

  The opportunistic vampires in the room shifted uneasily, reminiscent of wild dogs scenting fresh prey. Others watched in stunned silence, their eyes wide with surprise; never before had they witnessed someone defy an ancient so brazenly.

  Lord Demidicus, however, revealed an approving grin. He turned from his dauntless daughter to address a figure standing behind the gathering crowd, one who dwarfed the surrounding vampires. His grin bore a malevolent promise. “As you can see, Duke Lysander, I have kept my word.”

  Duke Lysander stepped forward, his presence commanding and chilling. The few thousand refugees—a mix of dungeon denizens and beastkin—gathered behind Aurelia trembled with fear as his eyes shimmered with sadistic delight. “It’s an honor to finally meet my future bride.”