[Main POV]
Now we stand before the tomb — the one meant to contain the First Hunger. It had been a journey riddled with trials, but we had finally arrived.
At the tomb's entrance, a few guards remained on watch. They were swiftly dispatched by our troops. We were accompanied by hundreds of human soldiers, along with several thousand units spread across the capital. Not to mention the twenty vampires loyal to Zuberi, Wen Hao, and Eirikr — and, of course, my own vampire guard.
Altogether, we had nearly a battalion of vampires. To put that into perspective: even after millennia, the Volturi coven had rarely mobilized more than twenty vampires for battle. And now, to face a single enemy, we had assembled over thirty elite warriors.
Suddenly, a sound — deep, ancient — pulled me from my thoughts. It was the groaning of the tomb gates as they creaked open. What was once a sacred temple, now forgotten, was being forced to yield to the presence of our soldiers.
The air changed the moment we crossed the threshold. It grew heavy, laden with memories and forgotten magic. Each footstep echoed as if across worlds beyond ours, as though the dead themselves were listening. Symbols carved into the walls, etched with ritualistic precision, shimmered faintly with a bluish light. They were sealing runes, weathered by time, yet still pulsing with the intent to imprison... something.
"He is here," Eirikr murmured, his voice low but steady.
Zuberi remained silent, his gaze fixed on the back of the chamber, where a spiral staircase descended into the depths of the earth. Wen Hao signaled to his vampires, and all fell into combat formation, despite the thick, consuming silence.
We began our descent in formation, and with every step down the stone spiral, the air grew colder, denser… older. It was like plunging into another era — a time before memory, before civilization itself.
I looked toward the corridor at the bottom of the stairs — and there he was: Muwatalli, flanked by his troops.
He noticed our arrival, but showed no fear. In front of him, I could see runes glowing with fierce light and a massive sarcophagus.
He was chanting verses in a language I couldn't understand — but I knew, instinctively, that it belonged to a time long lost to humankind.
With each word from his mouth, a dark premonition tightened its grip on me.
Seeing this, I ordered the vampires to stop him.
But deep down, I already knew: we were too late.
Even with our supernatural speed, when we were just meters from Muwatalli, the coffin emitted a sharp, piercing sound — and then, an explosion.
By some cruel twist of fate — or perhaps divine irony — Muwatalli and all his troops were caught in the blast.
They died in a fashion I can only describe as anticlimactic.
And yet… they had achieved their goal.
I thought of this as I stood in silence, staring at the being that now stood before us.
Even with dozens of us gathered — warriors tempered by time, vampires hardened by countless wars — the weight of the creature before us was something no training could have prepared us for.
I stepped forward, my gaze fixed on the abomination.
The First Hunger.
At first, it was only a stain in the darkness — a warped silhouette, wrong and out of place.
But as it approached, its features began to emerge under the pale light cast by two wings — one of ember, the other of ice — unfurling slowly from my back.
It was a form I'd been experimenting with, a manifestation of my power, reaching for greater speed… or perhaps something closer to flight.
Its body... humanoid, in a way.
Or at least what was left of something that might once have been human.
Its skin — if one could call it that — was thin, nearly translucent, stretched tight over grotesquely exposed muscles. Beneath the surface, black veins like crude oil pulsed with a sick rhythm, as if the blood itself rejected the being it flowed through.
It was tall.
Far taller than any man or vampire I'd ever seen — even taller than Abnadiel.
Its limbs were long, unnaturally so — arms that dragged across the floor, hands tipped with claws as sharp as obsidian daggers.
But the head... the head was the most disturbing part.
Its skull was elongated, as though stretched back by invisible hands, deformed over countless ages.
Its eyes — or what should have been eyes — were deep, hollow voids where light went to die.
And from its mouth — far too wide to be natural — protruded jagged, irregular teeth, like stalactites in some cursed cave.
The creature breathed… or perhaps only trembled, each movement releasing a wet, sickening sound, like flesh being torn and sewn together all at once.
From its chest — rising and falling like a faulty lung — emerged grotesque appendages: tentacles of black flesh sprouting from its abdomen, back, and shoulders, slithering with a will of their own, writhing in the air like starving whips.
As it walked, the ground trembled.
Each step left cracks in the stone floor, as if its feet exuded a power so unnatural it could corrupt even the inanimate.
And then there was the stench.
Even for us — vampires with refined senses and stomachs made of marble — the smell it exuded was nearly unbearable: a nauseating blend of damp earth, rotting corpses, and rusted iron.
The First Hunger was the antithesis of life.
The inversion of creation.
If God made man in His image, then the Devil made hunger in his.
It was a hunger that devoured not the stomach, but the soul.
I took another step forward, my wings spreading slowly, the crystals of ice upon them chiming like mournful bells.
My eyes locked onto the voids where hers should have been.
And for a moment — a heartbeat, perhaps — I felt… something.
Not pain. Not fear.
But a sensation ancient and primal, as though I were staring into the very source of horror, something that had existed long before the idea of death itself.
Beside me, Abnadiel cracked his knuckles.
His muscles quivered, bracing for battle.
"Now, sir?" — his voice was steady, though his eyes betrayed the fear surging through him as he faced the creature.
I took a slow, deep breath.
The air here felt heavier.
"Yes." I answered simply, firmly. He understood instantly.
My voice sounded like steel scraping against stone.
I crystallized a sword of ice and aimed it at the creature.
At the same time, crimson flames — like living embers, radiant as the sun — began to dance along the blade.
There would be no turning back.
Either the First Hunger would fall here...
Or the world, as we knew it, would be devoured, shattered, and forgotten.
I raised my voice to my warriors — brave souls I had trained with relentless purpose — and gave an order they understood immediately:
"Broken formation! Attack in waves! No space! NO MERCY!"
My words echoed off the cavern walls.
And then... the First Hunger moved.
And all hell broke loose.
The air vibrated.
Beneath the cavern's oppressive heat, our unmoving bodies looked like statues carved from marble by ancient gods.
Skin smooth, cold as ice. Muscles tense, ready to erupt in violence.
Before us, the First Hunger advanced.
There was something grotesquely primal about it — a being forged from pure hunger and darkness, whose very presence made space seem to warp, as though reality itself struggled to contain its existence.
It took the first step.
The ground cracked beneath it like glass under pressure.
Abenadiel, at my side, extended his arms, his entire body trembling.
His gift — unique among us — granted him absolute control over every muscle in his form, amplifying strength in his limbs, his strikes, his speed.
He looked at me, eyes glowing with the vibrant red of the newly born, and nodded.
"For Morpheus!" he shouted.
We attacked.
My wings of ice unfolded behind me — translucent and deadly.
I lunged toward the creature, flanked by the ten warriors of my personal guard — vampires shaped by the cruelty of the world, orphans of war, of misery, of pain.
This was not their first battle with the Hunger.
They had faced it in many forms, long before I found them... and gave them a new life.
Now, they were immortals moving like lightning — swift, precise, relentless.
Close behind came twenty ancient vampires, their bodies bearing the memory of millennia.
The first impact was devastating.
I formed ice claws in my free hand — and cloaked them in flames.
My claw and sword struck the Hunger's flesh — but it was like living obsidian.
Abenadiel burst through in a golden blur, slipping between tentacles and striking with superhuman speed.
His kicks and punches shattered the creature's smaller joints with the tactical precision of a born warrior — a giant of a man with surgical control.
Our soldiers descended like wolves — targeting joints, eyes, throats.
But the First Hunger was no mere beast to be slain so easily.
With a single spin, it unleashed a wave of shadowy energy.
Three of my soldiers were hurled against the cavern walls, their marble bodies cracking with sickening snaps.
I clenched my teeth.
With no blood, no human flesh to cushion the blows — the damage to our bodies was like watching living statues fracture.
Every misstep came at a cost.
Wen Hao, with his ethereal blade, cut through the air around the creature, seeking openings.
Zuberi summoned coils of vines that wrapped like serpents around the Hunger's tentacles.
Eirikr — brutal and devastating, much like Abenadiel — roared and slammed his colossal hammer, aiming to stagger the beast through sheer force.
The chaos was absolute.
The First Hunger retaliated with blind fury.
Its arms multiplied and stretched outward — striking, seizing, shattering.
One of the ancient vampires' subordinates was seized by the head — a dreadful crack echoed as his marble skull crumbled.
Another had his arm torn clean off in a burst of silver dust.
Even surrounded, Abenadiel moved like a golden bolt of lightning.
His devastating kicks struck joints — knees, ankles, hips — where the creature seemed most vulnerable.
With each hit, it faltered, stumbled — giving us room for coordinated attacks.
I began to condense my flames, invoking what I called Primordial Fire.
With each moment, the red deepened into orange, then shifted toward yellow.
I remembered from my physics lessons that yellow fire burns at no less than 3400 degrees — a frequency of about 5.09 × 10¹⁴ Hz.
Once fully ignited, I unleashed it — like living whips — upon the open wounds carved by Abenadiel and the three Ancients.
Screams tore through the darkness.
The creature howled, its tentacles convulsing violently, hurling bodies like rag dolls.
Six of the twenty Ancients already lay still — their immortal forms shattered, some missing half their torsos.
We had to end it.
"Chest! Focus on the chest!" I shouted, voice brimming with command.
We converged.
Abenadiel, with a master's precision, drove a punch into the creature's exposed ribs, shattering them like glass under pressure.
I conjured ice stakes and drove them into the cracks.
Wen Hao, seizing the moment, spun his blade, channeling his lifeforce into the burning edge.
Zuberi hurled spears of living stone.
And Eirikr — bloodied, despite lacking blood — charged forward, runed hammer glowing with blue lightning.
The First Hunger dropped to its knees.
But it still lived.
With a sudden roar, it unleashed a sonic scream — splitting stone, cracking pillars, flinging vampires through the air.
Abenadiel crashed against a wall — fractures spread across his skin, but he stood, staggering, a manic grin on his face.
"Not that easy, bitch!" he spat, before charging again.
I saw the creature turn toward him.
Instinctively, I raised my hands and conjured a wall of pure ice.
The creature slammed into it — stunned, just for a moment.
This was it.
"Everyone, now!" I roared.
The ground trembled beneath us.
All of us — the remaining soldiers, the Ancients, myself, Abenadiel, the three Elders — struck in unison.
Blades pierced muscle.
Hammers crushed joints.
Claws of ice and flame tore through immortal tendons.
I flew forward, cloaked in yellow fire, and drove my frozen claws into the creature's chest.
Zuberi scaled its back like a living shadow, stabbing grotesque neck flesh with blades of earth.
Wen Hao, swift as wind, plunged his sword into the creature's thighs.
And Eirikr...
With a primal roar, brought his hammer down upon its jaw — unleashing a storm of lightning.
A final roar echoed.
A blinding flash.
And then — collapse.
The First Hunger fell like a defeated mountain — a grotesque mass of shadow and flesh, finally silenced.
Silence.
The air reeked of scorched stone, blood, and melting ice.
We had won... for now.
Well, folks... the Ramesses arc is finally over!
I spent nearly ten chapters writing nothing but that storyline—and it probably added up to over 15,000 words.
As a beginner author, I'm not entirely sure I developed it as well as I could have. Honestly, I feel like I rushed the ending a bit. But the truth is... I was just exhausted from writing about that arc.
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Well, folks... the Ramesses arc is finally over!I spent nearly ten chapters writing nothing but that storyline—and it probably added up to over 15,000 words.As a beginner author, I'm not entirely sure I developed it as well as I could have. Honestly, I feel like I rushed the ending a bit. But the truth is... I was just exhausted from writing about that arc.
Still, I'd love to hear what you all think.
And here's a small spoiler:We'll be jumping ahead a few hundred years in the next chapters.But don't worry—we're still a long way off from reaching the timeline of Twilight.
To be continued…
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[N/A] If you've read this far, thank you! And since I'm terrible at handling compliments, please, insult me instead!