The chamber hummed with tension—chains crackled under electric current, holding the vampire in the center, while the air inside was thick with the smell of burnt flesh and black blood, slowly dripping from his body, sizzling on the grated floor. Oily droplets evaporated with a hiss, leaving dark, smoking marks on the metal, resembling acid burns. Jeremy, tall and wiry, his face scarred from old battles—one particularly ugly scar ran across his right cheek from eye to mouth, giving his smile a sinister edge—stood at the console, his fingers confidently gliding over the touch panels. He didn't look at me—his gaze was fixed on the captive, whose skin still bubbled, knitting itself together with a wet, squelching sound, like steps sinking into deep mud.
"Again," I said, arms crossed over my chest. Watching all this was tedious, but I was here to try, if necessary, to disable the self-destruct mechanism. I didn't believe an Elder vampire, as they classified themselves, would allow a bomb to be planted inside them. Fledglings, maybe, but an Elder? This was the first time I'd managed to capture one alive, and I wanted to make sure he didn't die just because he opened his mouth.
I hoped I wasn't wrong.
Jeremy nodded without turning. He pressed a few keys, and thin, razor-sharp metal needles shot up from the floor beneath the captive, piercing his legs with a dull crunch, breaking through bone. Black blood sprayed upward, sizzling on the heated metal. The vampire jerked, his body tensing, but my telekinesis kept him pinned in place. His eyes flared red, like smoldering coals, pupils narrowing into vertical slits, and he hissed, baring fangs dripping with thick, viscous saliva that carried a metallic scent, like rust mixed with copper.
"Speak. Who are you?" Jeremy's voice was calm, but a hint of pleasure laced it. "Names, plans, everything."
The vampire remained silent, only widening his snarl. I stepped closer.
"Increase the voltage," I said, and Jeremy immediately turned the dial. The needles hummed, releasing bursts of energy—blue, visible arcs of lightning raced across the vampire's body, his skin cracking like parched earth, wisps of black smoke rising from the wounds. He howled, his voice echoing off the walls, grating on the ears like scraping metal. The flesh on his legs split open, exposing twitching muscles under the electric surge, but regeneration kicked in, knitting the wounds with a wet, slurping sound. Beneath the skin, muscle fibers writhed like snakes, trying to reconnect. As the skin healed, bubbles formed on the surface, bursting with a faint pop, splattering droplets of black liquid around.
"He's not talking," Jeremy glanced at me, waiting for orders. His fingers hovered over the panel, ready to continue. His eyes gleamed with excitement, pupils dilated—he was enjoying this, though he tried to hide it. Not the most surprising disorder.
"Then let's make it harder," I stepped to a secondary console and entered a code. Thin manipulators descended from the ceiling, tipped with glowing, orange-red blades. They hovered over the vampire, then, at my signal, began to cut—slowly, with surgical precision. The first blade sliced into his shoulder, cutting through flesh to the bone, black blood gushing downward, evaporating from the heat of the metal. The second slashed across his chest, cracking ribs open, revealing pulsating organs—a black, glossy heart beating faster under our gazes. It contracted unevenly, as if in panic, pumping thick, dark liquid through vessels that began regenerating instantly. The third blade slowly tore into his abdomen, slicing through muscle layer by layer, exposing dark purple loops of intestine veined with black. He screamed, his voice breaking into a shriek, but there were no words—just rage and pain.
"You're an Elder vampire, aren't you?" I leaned toward him, my voice calm. "Then tell me everything you know. Or this will go on for a long time. I know your regeneration limits. Days, weeks, months. The torture will be endless. I'll even feed you…"
He jerked, trying to break free, but I tightened my telekinesis, pressing him into the floor. The sound of his bones cracking under the invisible pressure filled the air, blood vessels bursting inside his body. Jeremy added a new element—jets of hissing, corrosive acid shot from the walls, striking his sides, dissolving skin with a sickening crackle. The flesh bubbled, melting away, exposing bones that began regenerating, but the acid ate faster than he could heal. His scream turned hoarse, his throat tearing from the strain. Where the acid hit open wounds, black blood boiled, turning into thick foam that evaporated, leaving behind the stench of decay and rusted iron.
"More," I said, and Jeremy activated ultrasonic waves. The air in the chamber trembled, invisible pulses slamming into the captive's body, rupturing his insides with dull pops, like overfilled bags bursting. Black blood gushed from his mouth, flooding his chin, as his bones cracked, breaking under the pressure. I saw his ribs cave inward, piercing his lungs, yet he clung to life, regeneration pulling him back like a stubborn parasite. A stream of black liquid mixed with chunks of flesh poured from his mouth and nostrils, dripping down his chin, leaving smoking trails on his skin, which bubbled and peeled, exposing muscles and tendons.
"More."
Jeremy nodded, his eyes glinting with cold thrill, and entered another command. Jagged hooks, coated in rust and crusted with dried black blood from past victims, rose from the floor with a hiss. They plunged into the vampire's thighs with a wet crunch, tearing muscle like rotten cloth, pulling downward, stretching his body with slow, agonizing force. The skin on his legs split like overripe fruit, exposing taut tendons that snapped with a sickening crack as the hooks caught on bone. Black blood flowed in thick streams, pooling on the grated floor, sizzling on the heated metal, filling the chamber with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and iron, clogging the lungs and coating the tongue with a metallic tang.
The vampire howled, his voice breaking into a gurgling rasp as a mixture of blood and bile poured from his mouth, dripping onto his chest, where the glowing blades continued their work. One blade, hovering over his face, lowered and sliced across his eye socket with precision. The eye burst with a dull pop, black ooze mixing with smoking blood, streaming down his cheek as regeneration began, knitting flesh with a revolting squelch—new skin bubbled, forming a new eyelid, but another strike from the blade tore the healing wound open. The wound's edges curled inward, exposing the pulsating socket where a new eye began to form—first a gelatinous clot, then a white membrane, and finally an iris, pale and blurry, gradually turning red.
"Add salt," I said, and Jeremy grinned, activating hidden nozzles in the walls. Jets of concentrated saline solution, mixed with caustic chemicals, hissed out, striking the vampire's open wounds, seeping into cracked skin, and eating away at flesh with a sickening sizzle. His body convulsed as if electrocuted, muscles spasming, and a new scream tore from his throat—low, primal, full of agony. The salt burned his nerves, sparking pain, while the acid in the mix devoured his skin, exposing pulsating veins that burst, spraying fountains of black blood. Tiny salt crystals embedded in the wounds like miniature blades, causing microscopic tears that began to heal, only for the salt to eat away at the new tissue, trapping him in a cycle of pain.
I nodded to Jeremy, and he activated the next mechanism—a grid of glowing, orange-red spikes, each finger-length and serrated, descended from the ceiling. It pressed slowly against the vampire's back, hissing and smoking as the spikes pierced his flesh, cracking his spine with the sound of breaking bones. Blood sprayed in all directions, some splattering the walls, leaving smoking stains, some pooling below, mixing with the puddle at his feet. His body arched as far as the hooks allowed, regeneration struggling—muscles twitched, knitting around the spikes, but the searing metal burned through new layers of flesh, preventing completion. Each movement scraped his insides, hitting nerve endings and sending waves of pain through his convulsing limbs and spasming muscles.
"Deeper," I said, and Jeremy increased the pressure. The spikes drove further, piercing his innards with a wet crack. One punched through, exiting his abdomen in a fountain of black blood and shredded organs. Glossy, black intestines spilled out, hanging on the spike, smoking as they touched the heated surface. The stench became unbearable—a mix of charred meat, acid, and rotting blood filled the chamber, making even Jeremy wince slightly, though his fingers kept dancing over the panel. The air grew thick with oily smoke, settling on the skin like a sticky film, leaving a taste of rust and decay on the tongue.
The vampire no longer screamed—his throat was shredded, producing only hoarse, gurgling noises accompanied by streams of blood pooling on his chest. I stepped closer, feeling my telekinesis tremble from the effort of holding him in this agony. New needles, thin and long, shot from the walls, piercing his arms and neck, slicing through tendons and nerves. They began to rotate, shredding flesh from the inside like miniature drills, black blood gushing from the wounds, coating his body in a glossy, smoking film. Each needle spun at a different speed, tearing out chunks of flesh and grinding muscle into a pulpy mass that oozed from the holes along with the blood, leaving ragged, smoking channels.
"Ready to talk?" I asked, leaning toward his mutilated face. One eye was half-regenerated, the other a mess of flesh and blood. He snarled, showing broken fangs, but instead of words, he spat a glob of black ooze at me. I dodged, and the spit hit the wall, sizzling as it burned through the metal. Interesting. The acid in his saliva was strong enough to corrode the chamber's special alloy, leaving smoking holes oozing molten residue.
"Then we continue," I said, and Jeremy activated ultraviolet lamps. Blinding light struck the vampire, his skin smoking and cracking like charred paper. Afraid of the sun, yet they call themselves Helios. Idiots. The air filled with the sweet, nauseating smell of burning flesh, mixed with the stench of singed hair and clothes. His flesh peeled away in layers, exposing bones and muscles that tried to regenerate but were burned faster by the ultraviolet light. His body writhed, hooks and spikes tearing him further, and a final, ragged rasp escaped his throat before he fell silent—but I knew it wouldn't last. Regeneration would bring him back. And we'd start again. Layers of skin turned to ash, falling to the floor like gray snow, revealing muscles, then organs, and finally his skeleton—black, with blood vessels pulsing through the bone, still pumping blood, fighting the inevitable.
An hour later, a charred lump of flesh lay where his body had been, slumped by the chains. His eyes were shriveled husks, lips burned away, exposing blackened gums and fangs that looked unnaturally white against the charred flesh. His fingers curled into claw-like stubs, limbs bent at impossible angles. Torn tendons and muscles hung in shreds, revealing blackened bones where thin strands of vessels still pulsed, trying to restore what was beyond saving.
"Let him rest," I nodded to Jeremy and left the chamber.
Time for lunch.
---
Five days later, during which the Elder had fully regenerated, the creature remained silent. So did the Ancient, though I hadn't visited him yet. I left him for last. But no matter what I or the other specialists, like Jeremy, who'd fought in Iraq, did, we couldn't make this vampire talk. If he didn't break after all those brutal tortures, it was hard to imagine how to make the Ancient, who was an order of magnitude older, speak. I could just kill him—it would cost me nothing—but I shouldn't. Keeping my emotions in check had become especially difficult lately. Too much was piling up at once. Tori's illness, the state of the planet, control, order, and vampires.
But everything has its limit.
On the sixth day, standing alone in the chamber with no one else, looking at a man who appeared ordinary—thirty years old, black hair, unremarkable eyes—I decided it was pointless to keep him here any longer.
Lazily baring my teeth, I said, "Today, I'm going to kill you."
I decided there was no point in dragging it out. I'd find another way; maybe the Ancient would be more receptive to torture. Time froze, and I approached him, gripping his neck. He tried to react but couldn't. His feeble attempts—raising his hands, striking, trying to stand—I ignored, squeezing until his neck cracked.
The muscle fibers under my fingers gave way with a revolting squelch. The skin on his neck stretched, paled, and began to split, exposing pulsating vessels and cartilage that protruded through the ragged wounds. Black blood seeped between my fingers, hot and thick, leaving a burning sensation on my skin. Decapitate, then burn the body and head separately. A vampire-killing recipe straight out of a book.
Lifting him and floating three meters into the air, I asked, "Last words? I still need to wring something out of the Ancient in the next cell. You're not very talkative. Maybe he'll say something useful."
His body hung limp in my grip, legs twitching in spasms, fingers clawing at the air. His eyes rolled back, whites filling with blood from burst vessels, and thin streams of black liquid trickled from his nostrils.
His eyes flared red for a moment after I mentioned the Ancient, glowing like hot coals, briefly illuminating his face with an infernal light before fading, leaving only a smoldering spark in his pupils.
He rasped, black ooze dripping from his mouth, but finally forced out words: "I… Telmir… Elder… of the Omra Family."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "You're talking? Surprising. Tell me, who are the Elders?" I squeezed harder, his neck crunching but not breaking. His trachea collapsed under my fingers, turning into a shapeless mass of cartilage and muscle, yet it held—regeneration worked even now, trying to repair the damage as I kept squeezing.
"Vampires who took a drop of the Progenitor's blood…"
A crunch, and his neck snapped. Oops, emotions—control your emotions, control. Oh well. The loud snap sounded like a broken branch, vertebrae parting with a wet squelch, and the vampire's head lolled at an unnatural angle. Dropping the unconscious Telmir, I descended. It doesn't kill them, just forces them into a regenerative coma. I sat, propping my head up. Black blood continued seeping from the open wound on his neck, forming a growing, smoking puddle that bubbled like acid, eating into the concrete floor. Well, let's wait.
Five minutes later, hearing the crunch of his neck snapping back into place, I grabbed Telmir's arm as he tried to cut our conversation short. Bones grated as they realigned, muscles wove together like living ropes, and skin fused with a wet slap. His body moved in jerks, like a puppet controlled by an unskilled hand, his eyes still clouded with pain and shock.
"Where are you going, darling? We still have much to discuss."
My eyes glowed, and the man, who'd reached the open exit, exhaled wearily. His shoulders slumped in defeat, legs buckling, forcing him to lean against the corridor wall. His face held a look of resignation mixed with the last flickers of fading resistance.
---
An hour later, I left the empty chamber, the ashes of the Elder vampire sifting through the grates. I'd granted him a quick death for valuable information. That was the deal. Everyone understood that keeping this creature alive wasn't in my interest. He broke, a three-hundred-year-old vampire. In my hands remained only a pendant—a small metal disc engraved with a symbol resembling an inverted sun with thirteen rays. I clenched it in my palm, feeling the metal heat under my touch.
Glancing one last time at the Ancient vampire sitting in the next cell, staring into the void, I rode the elevator up. His eyes, empty and lifeless, seemed to look through the walls. He sat motionless, like a stone statue, only the faint rise and fall of his chest betraying life. Ancient scars, carved or burned, formed intricate patterns on his pale skin, disappearing under tattered clothing. He could wait; I needed to think this through. What I'd heard wasn't shocking, but it was surprising.
At the elevator's exit, Ellis was waiting, leaning against the wall, chewing gum. Her white lab coat was unbuttoned, revealing a tight dark blouse, her blonde hair tied in a messy bun with stray strands framing her sharp-cheeked face and bright eyes.
"Hey, I heard the vampire talked?"
"Yeah, yeah." I waved off the news and pulled her into a hug. Who spilled the beans? Fourth? That sly girl, watching through the cameras. Her sharp gaze missed nothing—not the vampire's lip movements, nor my expression when he finally spoke.
My height had changed a lot lately, and I was slowly getting taller, though I still seemed small compared to others in this building. Still, I bumped into her chest again. I wished I could grow up already, but at least I'd stopped feeling embarrassed. It was nice, actually. Her body was warm and soft, the scent of light perfume mingling with antiseptic and some chemical reagent, creating an odd but not unpleasant mix.
"Tell me the details." She squeezed my cheeks with her palms, her eyes sparkling with a grin. A curious woman whose personality seemed to be changing. Was she less lively before? Another side effect of rejuvenation?
"Let's go to my place. I'm tired." Slipping carefully from Ellis's grip, I headed toward the living quarters. I ignored her chuckle. I just wanted to lie down and close my eyes. To shut off all senses.
From the sense of hearing that picked up the entire planet, from the sense of touch that felt pressure changes, the rise and fall of planes, the air and breath of everyone nearby, their smells, from the sense of telekinesis that constantly shielded the planet. If only I could use my tactile telekinesis to find all of Helios's bases, it'd be easier.
Alas…
These months hadn't been as easy as they seemed at first glance. The faces of people and vampires who died by my hands still haunted me. I'd never forget them, even if I wanted to. And it would continue.
I was still haunted by thoughts of the pointlessness of my actions.
An eternal war, a life full of blood. An endless search for threats, an endless battle.
Maybe I should give it all up? What if…
Lost in these thoughts, I nearly punched a hole through my room's door. Ellis's hand, grabbing my waist, stopped me. I looked at her questioningly, then noticed my surroundings.
We'd reached my small room in a dead-end corridor, where no one usually came. I'd specifically ordered my room to be in such a place—it felt more familiar. Something seemed off.
"Sweetie, I think you need rest. If it weren't for me, you'd have scared everyone…"
"It's fine, I'm not tired."
"Let's talk tomorrow. Rest today, sleep, eat, take a walk in the sun—without using your powers. You need a reset."
Hugging my head one last time, she darted off toward the labs at high speed. Not her full strength, but even at her maximum, she'd die quickly against an Ancient. Fast, but not fast enough.
Yeah, maybe she's right…
---
When preparing to swing, the first thing is to get in the right mindset and focus. I approach the ball, take a deep breath, and try to relax. Then, following Kate's instructions, I position myself—feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, back straight, arms hanging naturally. I check that the ball is in the right spot and maybe adjust my stance to feel confident in the moment.
Before swinging the club, I focus on the target, where I want the ball to go. I don't obsess over the outcome but rather the process: being in the moment. I inhale, exhale lightly, and begin smoothly raising the club.
When the club reaches the right position behind my back, I feel my muscles preparing for the motion. No need to rush. I try not to swing with full force—last time, the dust was a pain. Gradually, I start the forward motion. Controlling the force is key. I have a clear sense of how hard to hit to send the ball in the right direction, and I try not to grip the club too tightly. Break it, and Kate will definitely hit me.
At the moment of impact, I exhale slightly and focus solely on precision and smoothness. My eyes are locked on the ball, my energy channeled into a fluid yet powerful swing. When I feel the club connect with the ball, I follow through, letting my body carry the motion forward, as if continuing the swing's inertia.
I finish the swing, maintaining balance and ensuring I don't lose form. It's not just about a strong hit but keeping proper technique throughout. Swing.
The white ball flew uncontrollably toward a crater hundreds of meters away. Shading my eyes with my hand like a visor, I watched the ball, which nearly reached the target.
It fell just ten or fifteen steps short.
Hearing the loud claps and footsteps, I couldn't help but smile. Turning, I handed the club to Kate.
"You lost, Brand, again…"
Scratching my head awkwardly, I apologized.
"You know this is only my third game." Kate swung the club, checking if I'd broken it like the first one. I'd had to fly back to Earth for a new one last time.
"Yeah, yeah, tell me about it. Superman, Conqueror of Planets, who can't play golf. If people on Earth found out, the whole world would laugh at you."
"Oh, they definitely won't find out. We're on the Moon. No phones here."
Raising my hands, I pointed to the Sun shining brightly on our satellite. It was just us, some recreational gear, a table with drinks and food, and my protective bubble. My telekinesis kept surprising me, and Ellis's recent suggestion to use my powers for games was quite convenient. Creating a fixed space with air for regular people to go into space was an unconventional use of my abilities. After all, I'd only ever thought of my powers in terms of combat.
"There's one." She showed me the phone in her pocket. So they were taking pictures without a flash.
"Hey!" I tried to grab the phone at human speed, but Kate, at supernatural speed, ran off, sticking out her tongue.
"Catch me if you can, slow Superman! Haha!"
Well, let's run then.
The games, which had gone on for hours, were a relief for me. This was the second day of my unplanned break. The first day, I slept through, watched a series, and went home. Today, I spent the morning with Tori, then with Kate. We skied first, then the Moon became our playground. It was pretty fun, especially with company.
---
Sitting in space, I meditated and analyzed everything the vampire had said. The void around me was deceptively calm—no sound, no wind, just endless cold and the light of distant stars. My telekinesis gently held me in weightlessness, creating an invisible sphere of air around my body. Here, far from the planet's noise, I could focus. Thoughts of Telmir, the Elder vampire from the Omra Family, still swirled in my head. His words about Cain, the True Ones, and the Ancients were like puzzle pieces I couldn't yet fully assemble. But one thing was clear: vampires weren't just parasites. They were a system built on blood and power. Disgusting, but effective.
Telmir's face, even in his final moments, remained the same—a mix of arrogance and fear, clinging to life until the last breath. But the Ancient, sitting in the cell below, was different. He didn't resist, didn't scream—he was like an abyss, calm and infinite. I could see him even here, in space, hundreds of kilometers away. He didn't try to escape, didn't speak, didn't threaten—he just breathed, as if waiting for something. That unnerved me more than all the Elder's screams under torture. Who was he? Why was he silent? And what did he know about the last True One?
Vampires, Children of the Night, weren't perfect descendants of the first vampire. It all began with Cain, and the creature hadn't lied about that. There was some mystical Cain from biblical stories, who angered God by killing his brother. God, in turn, cursed Adam's son with an immortal, bloodsucking life. Thus, the first vampire was born. Later, this First decided he shouldn't live alone—after all, he was the son of the first man. Too many "firsts" in Telmir's story. According to the tales they were told, Cain created children—the True Vampires. How? Unclear—through natural means or some magical ritual. But the fact remained: the True Ones wielded power beyond reason. Blood Lords, as Telmir called them, were kings of their race. Their aura could subdue anyone, their will could command entire armies of vampires.
After the True Ones came the Ancients. The one in my cell was one of them—turned in ancient times, enhanced by a True One's blood. Not pureblood, but still a cut above the Elders. Ancients were generals, keepers of tradition, and judges. Their strength depended on how much of a True One's blood they received—the more, the closer they came to their creators, though they could never surpass them. Their power was immense, enough to resist me, and could inspire fear even in those immune to the supernatural. We'd certainly made some noise. Telmir said only thirteen Ancients remained—two per continent, plus one outcast, Karvelius.
He was my prisoner.
Elders, like Telmir, were the next tier. Turned by Ancients, they managed territories, collected blood tributes, and kept the Young Ones in check. Their power was lesser but still formidable—a mix of charisma and strength that could break the weak. The Young Ones were cannon fodder—newly turned, weak, dependent on their creators. They were soldiers, meat thrown into conflicts between Ancients. As it turned out, this kingdom of blood wasn't as orderly as it seemed.
Intrigue, assassinations from the shadows, poisons, and honey traps. Just like humans. No different from worms.
But all this was just history. I was interested in plans. How to wipe this plague from the planet? Telmir gave me a lead: the Omra Family controlled the eastern continent, their bases scattered across old cities. But they were only one of seven Families. The Ancients were the key. Find them. Kill the thirteen Ancients, and the chain of control would collapse. Elders and Young Ones, without their masters, would become a chaotic mob I could finish off. Slowly but surely. But what about the last True One? Telmir hinted one still lived, hiding in the shadows. If true, he could rebuild it all. One True One, and all my work would be for nothing.
The one False Jane had mentioned. The historian who recorded centuries of stories. True or not, I didn't know. Telmir couldn't say more, though I tried hard to make him talk.
I opened my eyes, gazing at Earth in the distance. Its blue light seemed so peaceful, but I knew a war was raging below. My telekinesis still held the planet under a shield—an invisible web protecting it from external threats. But the vampires were inside, a cancer eating the body from within. What to do? Go down to the Ancient and force answers out of him? Torture didn't work on Telmir until I broke his will. It'd be harder with the Ancient. His face spoke of patience, of centuries-old calm. He wouldn't break from pain. Maybe a threat to his Family? Or… blood?
Telmir mentioned that a True One's blood was the Ancients' strength. What if I could strip him of that blood? Burn it out of him? Or use it against him? My thoughts raced. If an Ancient depends on their creator's blood, maybe I could weaken him by breaking that bond. But how? Lasers? Telekinesis?
I needed more information. Karvelius, the thirteenth Ancient, was my next lead. Telmir said he'd come to him with some order, but Telmir remembered nothing, as if his memory had been erased. Such powers were in the Ancients' arsenal. More mentalists.
If Karvelius cracks, I might learn what he's planning. And why he sits so calmly in his cell.
I slowly descended to the Moon, where Kate and Tori had been recently. Oh, how my mother freaked out the first time she was in space. Funny and scary. The telekinetic bubble still held air around the small camp—the table with drinks, golf equipment. Should I take it back? Or leave it? It'd be funny.
But I couldn't relax. The Ancient waited below, his silence louder than any screams. My plan was taking shape: squeeze something out of Karvelius, track down Helios's bases, destroy the Ancients one by one. But first—a conversation with the prisoner. No torture. No Jeremy. Just me and him.
---
I returned to the base a few hours later. Space gave me clarity, but not answers. The Ancient's cell was as quiet as ever when I descended. He sat in the center, chains hanging from his body but not restraining him—my telekinesis did that better. His dark, empty eyes met mine. His face twitched, the first movement in all this time, like a ripple on water.
My eyes glowed, and I peered into his body. The analysis didn't take long; there were many anomalies, but I saw the main one. His blood was like a chaotic stew, full of incomprehensible, absurd particles.
Experiments were needed. But for now, a conversation.
"You know who I am," I said, sitting on the floor across from him. "And I know who you are. An Ancient. One of the thirteen. Tell me your name."
He was silent, but his lips twitched slightly—not a smile, but something like a shadow of interest. His eyes grew more alive, as if the statue had decided to stir. An ancient creature.
"Telmir told me about your hierarchy," I continued. "True Ones, Ancients, Elders, Young Ones. About Cain. About blood. I killed him quickly, as promised. But you… you're different. An outcast and exile. What are you waiting for, Karvelius?"
His eyes narrowed, and power flared—not brightly, but palpably. A small earthquake, red lights dancing around, but he couldn't do anything. My telekinesis smothered it, and everything calmed in seconds.
I'd hit a nerve. He finally spoke, his voice low, like a whisper of wind in a cave: "You know nothing, boy. Karvelius is not a name you should speak. Especially you."
"And why's that?" I leaned closer.
"Because it's the name of my Progenitor."
With that, he closed his eyes, leaving me to guess. How could he and his Progenitor share the same name? More mysteries.
For another minute, I tried to make him talk, even threatened him, but these old ones had infinite patience. He didn't even blink. Like a statue. Fine.
Closing the cell door behind me, I returned to my room. The base buzzed, analyzing everything Telmir had said. Countless analysts, people from various fields, tried to make sense of his words. Scientists searched for new leads, while combat units trained. A new war was coming, and everyone knew it.
But for now, I grabbed the phone I kept only here and dialed Ellis.
"Hey, hi, listen, do you know how to extract or remove foreign elements from blood by force? Why? Oh, just need to figure something out…"