The clash between Xylara and Tharros Infernox raged on for another minute—sixty more seconds of elegant savagery, of reality-warping illusions and blade-fast retaliations. Yet, for Xylara, the battle was never about triumphing through brute force. Every second was a calculated measure, another thread in the grand tapestry of her design unraveling into fruition.
And her plan was blooming perfectly.
Lilith Infernox—the Vampire Lord's beautiful, blood-drenched daughter—stood on the edge of collapse, her breathing uneven, her blood magic surging wildly without discipline. Her ruby eyes, once sharpened with pride and fire, now shimmered with vulnerable confusion. Her lips trembled with hesitation, and the crimson aura that surrounded her flickered—not from fear, but from unraveling certainty. The last defenses of her will crumbled beneath Xylara's spellbinding games.
Meanwhile, Mia… dear, broken Mia.
The abyssal wolf's once-gentle crimson gaze had darkened into something monstrous. Fury danced like wildfire within her irises, and her clenched fists—now bleeding from where her nails had pierced her own flesh—shook with an agony that tasted of vengeance. The severed head of Melvin had been a cruel gift from Tharros, and now that pain had been sculpted into a blade. A blade Xylara would wield.
The illusionary duplicates of Xylara—each perfect, each terrifying—stood like specters of madness and grace, watching the two girls as they descended deeper into her dominion. Their painted smiles mirrored the real Xylara's satisfaction. This was no longer a battle. It was a symphony, and her instruments were nearly in tune.
Her plan, her masterpiece, was nearly ready for its crescendo.
But not yet.
Not until Lilith was fully hers.
Another fleeting moment passed—just long enough to let Tharros swing his blade through the illusionary Xylara's body again, slicing through mist and laughter. The real work was happening elsewhere.
And then… she felt it.
The pulse of Lilith's mind… falter. Snap. Yield.
Xylara's senses tingled with ecstasy. The bond had formed.
Lilith's crimson eyes softened, their prior resistance dissolving into something tragically poetic. Her gaze locked with Xylara's—a gaze once filled with defiance now overflowing with something hauntingly gentle. Reverence. Adoration. Yearning.
Lilith no longer saw an enemy.
She saw a sister.
A beloved.
The missing piece to her aching soul.
Two of the Xylaras—illusions that had previously been toying with Tharros's elite guards—flickered and faded like dying stars. Their mission was complete. Their presence was no longer necessary.
Yet even in their disappearance, their forms remained anchored to the battlefield like phantom sentinels. Frozen in stance, waiting—waiting for the command that would ignite the final act.
The true Xylara, locked in an elegant duel with Tharros, parried his crimson blade with her own shimmering illusion-blade, lips curving into an unsettling, honeyed smile. Her voice slithered from her throat—low, hauntingly beautiful, like the lullaby of a siren calling the doomed to the deep.
And then she said it. Just one word.
"Attack."
The single command fell into the world like a meteor from the heavens—simple in syllables, but soaked with divine pressure. Aetherius rippled across the battlefield as her word, unconsciously empowered by the sacred might her Master gifted her, became law.
Reality twisted to obey her.
Lilith was the first to move—her body responding not from compulsion, but from unspoken devotion. Her blood magic surged violently, igniting her figure in a radiant crimson glow. Runes etched in the air as blood-formed chains and lances exploded around her, seeking targets with feral grace.
And then came Mia.
No longer the woman who hesitated or feared. Now, she was the Abyssal Wolf reborn. Her form swelled in a thunderous transformation—her skin shifting to fur-black as void, her size now rivaling ancient beasts. She let out a guttural roar, a howling dirge that cracked the air and promised nothing but devastation.
Both hunters—one of blood, one of loyalty—charged forward like twin calamities.
Xylara stepped back, her violet eyes gleaming with maddened delight as she watched her twin blades carve the air beside her.
Then, before she faded into the shadows, she turned her head one final time toward the still-standing Vampire Lord. Their eyes met. Her smile deepened.
"Enjoy, Tharros."
And with that, she was gone—vanishing like a ghost into the night, leaving behind her puppets, her chaos, and her will carved into two devastatingly broken women now remade in her image.
The first hunt was about to begin.
________
Tharros Infernox's expression twisted into something primal—anger, disgust, disbelief all mingling as he stared at the space where Xylara had vanished. Her mockery echoed in his ears like a curse, the weight of her disdain heavier than any blade. He couldn't accept it—not the humiliation, not the insult, not the loss of control.
But his rage quickly found a target.
Lilith.
His gaze locked on his daughter, red eyes narrowing with fury. In that moment, she was no longer his blood, no longer his legacy. She was a blemish to be erased.
He moved.
In a flash, Tharros surged forward—his blood-red katana howling through the air, intent on severing his failure from existence. Lilith stood still, her ruby eyes calm… unafraid.
But he never reached her.
A monstrous snarl shattered the air as the Abyssal Wolf slammed into him mid-charge, claws carving across his armor with a metallic screech. Mia's colossal form had become a nightmare made flesh—she struck not like a beast, but a demon of vengeance.
Yet Tharros was no ordinary foe. His reflexes, honed by centuries of bloodshed, flared to life. His blade swung around instinctively, prepared to counter the wolf's lunging jaws—
But his body didn't move.
A cold, wet tendril crawled up his leg. Then another. And another.
The floor beneath him was no longer solid.
He looked down—his legs had sunken into the pool of blood that now flooded the shattered castle hall. The same blood that dripped from the ceilings, soaked the walls, and pulsed with unnatural life.
Lilith stood with her arms raised, her hands coated in crimson magic.
Her voice was a whisper, cold and certain:
"Sink."
The blood thickened, clinging like chains, dragging him deeper into the mire. Tharros's eyes widened. He hadn't known she could do this—this wasn't some basic blood control. This was lost sorcery, something powerful. Consuming. Alive.
His moment of shock was fatal.
Mia struck.
Her jaws snapped down—not at his limbs, but directly onto his skull.
Bone crunched. Blood erupted in a high arc. Tharros didn't even scream—his eyes simply dimmed, disbelief frozen in place as the Abyssal Wolf's fangs crushed his head like overripe fruit.
His katana slipped from his fingers. His body convulsed once. Then fell limp.
The corpse of the once-feared Vampire Lord collapsed into the blood that had betrayed him, dragging with it centuries of power, hate, and pride.
Lilith watched, silent, as her father's ruined body dissolved into the crimson lake she had summoned. The blood shimmered unnaturally, whispering as it accepted its offering.
Then… it began to glow.
Streams of red energy surged into her, latching onto her body like veins of power. Her aura flared violently, the pressure in the room spiking as she devoured the lifeblood of her father—his power, his legacy, his very essence.
And she smiled.
A soft, beautiful smile.
The kind a child wears after finally tearing free of the chains of a cold, silent parent.
She didn't even flinch when his katana sank beneath the blood, vanishing like a forgotten relic.
Only silence remained… until Mia let out a low growl that echoed like the tolling of a death bell.
Together, the two women stood over the desecrated remnants of a lord who believed himself to be untouchable.
And in the sidelines, Xylara watched with gleaming violet eyes.
The hunt had begun—and her Master's new hunters had already taken their first kill.
"Have I done well, Master?"
Xylara's thoughts trembled with anticipation, her mind echoing with the desperate, loyal yearning of a succubus starved not for touch, but for praise. Her body tingled, her soul alight with the need for affirmation. Every inch of her being craved only one thing—his approval.
A shiver danced down her spine.
She felt it.
An overwhelming pressure, dark and divine, swept through the ruined halls of the castle—so subtle that it did not disturb the blood-drenched silence, yet so powerful that Xylara instantly knelt, trembling.
Even Mia and Lilith, newly forged hunters by her hand, paused. Their breaths hitched, their instincts flaring—both beasts and vampires were sensitive to power, and this... this was something far beyond their understanding. Their gazes flicked around the chamber, eyes narrowing, bodies tense, unable to locate the source.
Because it wasn't of this plane.
They hadn't yet met their true Master.
But Xylara had.
And she could feel him watching.
Then, a voice—calm, cold, and impossibly intimate—brushed her mind like silk-draped steel.
"You've done well, Xylara. I would expect nothing less from my first servant."
Her breath caught. Her lips parted in reverence, her body heating with joy. No touch, no kiss, no spell could compare to the weight of those words. Her heart fluttered like a bird in a gilded cage, its only song his approval.
Then, just as quickly as it had arrived, his presence faded into the void.
Or so it seemed.
For those who knew Lycius, knew better—he never truly left.
A slow smile curved Xylara's lips.
The shadows parted, and she stepped into view once more—gliding out from the crumbling pillars like a wraith made flesh. Her violet gaze shimmered with triumph, and her voice dripped like honeyed poison.
"Well then… my precious huntresses. Did you enjoy your first taste of true power?"
Mia shifted back into her humanoid form, fur fading into skin, claws retracting as she exhaled—still tasting blood on her tongue. Her crimson eyes narrowed. "That power we felt... it wasn't yours, was it?"
Xylara chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill down their spines. "No, dear Mia. That was only a whisper of your true Master—Our Master. You fought well—but this was merely your first lesson."
Lilith, her eyes glowing faintly red from the absorbed power, tilted her head. Her voice was soft, confused. "Why do I feel... tethered? As if someone is pulling at something inside me…"
Xylara stepped closer, her hands trailing gently beneath Lilith's chin, lifting it.
"You've merely begun your awakening, sweet Lilith. The blood you now carry is not only your father's. It's now marked by Him. You've tasted loyalty—soon, you will crave it."
Lilith's breath hitched. She didn't pull away.
Mia folded her arms, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. Her beast instincts warned her that the power she'd just tasted was dangerous… addictive.
Xylara turned from them, her smile softening—not for them, but for the void where she knew Lycius's gaze still lingered.
In her heart, she whispered again, "Did you see, Master? Your wolves are ready…"
And behind her, the blood began to ripple once more—calling for their next prey.
"The hunt of the Redemption Demoness has finally began..."
________________
----------------
*********