It was a vast, dimly lit hall lined with strange apparatuses and broken instruments—tables cluttered with rusting clamps, flickering monitors displaying unreadable data, and cracked jars holding unrecognizable, preserved remains. The air reeked of iron, antiseptic, and something sour—like rotting meat left in sterile confinement. A thin mist hung low near the floor, swirling like ghostly breath with every step Dan took.
Against the far wall stood nine prison cells, their metal bars warped and stained. Inside one of them, he spotted a human girl—pale, unmoving, her hair tangled like dry vines clinging to a forgotten relic.
As his vision adjusted and the haze of shock lifted from his mind, the full weight of the scene settled on him like a boulder to the chest. This wasn't just a lab—it was a place of torment, a vault of grotesque secrets. Questions erupted in his mind like gunfire—Who did this? Why? And how long had they been here?
He stepped closer. His footsteps echoed with a hollow ring across the concrete floor, each one peeling back another layer of stillness.
Then—movement.
The prisoners stirred. Faces pressed against the bars, eyes wide with something between madness and hope. Several of the men began shouting, their voices jagged and wild, clawing at the silence like desperate animals. A wave of guttural howling followed—each sound discordant, frenzied, as if each prisoner were a different species of broken spirit.
Suddenly, a voice rang out from the right.
"Someone came! Someone came!"
It was a stalking ostrich-eagle—its voice oddly beast, laced with eerie excitement, echoing with an unnatural clarity. The creature's talons clicked sharply against the floor as it shifted, watching Dan with eyes like molten brass, intelligent and unblinking.
Dan's heart dropped. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
As he gazed into the eyes of the prisoners—hollow, haunted—an icy realization settled over him.
He shouldn't be here.
An electric pulse of instinct fired through his spine. His whole body screamed to run, to get out before something irreversible happened. His lungs tightened, his pulse thundered in his ears. It wasn't just fear—it was primal, a sixth sense roaring awake, louder than thought.
He turned to run—
But froze.
A cold touch brushed the side of his neck. Not like a hand. Not like skin.
It was thin, metallic… sharp.
Like the edge of a blade whispering against his flesh.
He didn't turn around. Couldn't. The air behind him felt heavy, distorted—like something vast and unknowable was pressing against reality itself.
He had no idea what was standing there. But he knew, with bone-deep certainty—
It wasn't something he could afford to face.
A few minutes earlier, Zara and Nia—who were scouting the hunting area and hoping to train further in this region—heard a strange clatter echoing from the direction of the ruined manor. It wasn't the sound of wind or wild beasts—it was sharp, jarring, and entirely out of place. Their curiosity was immediately piqued. Something was clearly going wrong over there.
As far as they knew, the manor was protected by an ancient fence—one that repelled beasts with some unknown force. There should have been no way for anything to get inside. The very impossibility of it made their intrigue burn brighter. Without hesitation, they began making their way through the dense, root-choked path leading to the manor, boots crunching over dried twigs and damp moss.
Zara was a blonde elf with glassy, porcelain-like skin that seemed to glow faintly under the filtered light. Her golden hair flowed like a soft waterfall down her back, and her gown—made of light, flowing fabric—fluttered with each step, designed to enhance her magical attunement. She walked with a natural grace, her every movement fluid, as though the wind itself bent around her in reverence. Her white dress shimmered like moonlight on still water, lending her an otherworldly beauty.
Nia, by contrast, was a human with sleek black hair tied back and fair skin kissed with a touch more sun. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, missed nothing. She wore fitted tactical gear that hugged her lean frame—clothes chosen for speed and survival. A gleaming knife was strapped to her belt, the hilt worn from use but polished with care. It wasn't just a weapon; it was part of her. Nia moved like a coiled spring, always prepared to leap into action. She was battle-forged and storm-minded—fire beside Zara's calm breeze.
As they reached the manor, its haunted silhouette rose before them—walls darkened by rot, ivy twisting through broken windows like veins across a corpse. The wind moaned low through the cracks, carrying the scent of decay and damp stone. Inside, the shadows pressed close, thick with silence. But something else stood out—a hole in the center of the main hall's floor, wide and unnatural, like the mouth of the earth yawning open.
It hadn't been there before. They had visited this manor many times. This… this was new. Disturbingly new.
Without thinking, Nia reached out and grabbed Zara's hand. "Don't go near that," she hissed, eyes fixed on the abyss. Her instincts screamed danger. But Zara, ever drawn to the strange and magical, gently pried herself free.
"We need to see," she said softly, almost like a whisper carried by the wind.
Despite Nia's resistance, Zara moved forward, and Nia—reluctantly—followed. They stood together at the edge, gazing down into the darkness that spiraled beneath them. The air pouring out was cool and stale, laced with the scent of something ancient, buried and forgotten.
Then they began to descend.
Step after step, the staircase coiled downward like a serpent carved into the belly of the world. The walls pressed in with oppressive silence, lit only by the faint glow of magical runes pulsing along the inner stone like a dying heartbeat.
It felt endless—an eternal descent through shadow. With each turn, the air grew colder, thicker, as if time itself had slowed. They weren't just walking into the depths of the manor. It felt like they were falling into the very bones of the world.
Meanwhile, inside the hall, Dan—who was standing quietly—heard the sharp, whip-like snap of fingers, followed instantly by the deep, echoing thud of a heavy door slamming shut. Though he couldn't see it—his back was to the door, facing the prison cells—the sound alone was enough. The metallic clang reverberated through the vast chamber like the toll of a warning bell. The entrance had closed.
A second later, another sound emerged—the soft, measured thump of footsteps, each step crisp and heavy, like drums beating in slow motion. The figure walked in a deliberate circular path, heels tapping rhythmically on the stone floor, the sound ricocheting through the cold, cavernous air. A presence was stalking around him—methodical, patient—then finally stepped into view.
It was a vampire.
A being of the night, cloaked in darkness and death. He wore a long, black coat that flowed around him like liquid shadow. Beneath it, a pristine white shirt peeked out, tucked into fitted black pants. His shoes were so polished they gleamed even in the dim, flickering light, catching brief glints like obsidian mirrors. His jet-black hair fell to his shoulders, framing a face so pale it looked carved from marble—skin devoid of warmth or blood, as if centuries had drained every drop of life from him. His eyes were pits of darkness, irises glowing red like embers buried in ash.
Dan was standing face-to-face with something ancient… and predatory.
He didn't wait. He instantly activated his God's Sight—or rather, the God's Sight activated of its own volition, triggered by the sheer magnitude of the presence before him. Reality itself seemed to shimmer for a moment, his vision overlaid with glowing script:
Primordial Being
Vampire King
Dan tried to remain calm, summoning every ounce of composure he had. But deep down, his mind was spiraling. He couldn't help but curse his luck—this encounter was a death sentence wrapped in elegance.
Behind him, the prisoners—who had continued to growl, mutter, and shout since his arrival—suddenly fell silent. The vampire had simply lifted his left hand, a casual, almost indifferent gesture. But the effect was instant. Not one dared disobey. The silence that followed was thick and absolute, hanging in the air like fog after a storm.
This man—this vampire king—was the unchallenged sovereign of this place.
Dan realized with a hollow drop in his gut: he could not afford to make a single mistake.
The vampire king began to study him. He circled slowly, predatorily, like a panther sizing up its prey. His boots made no sound now—as if the air itself parted for him. He completed a full revolution, gaze never leaving Dan for long. Every motion was precise, elegant, and disturbingly calm, like a dancer in a ballroom of death.
Then he stepped back, standing directly in front of Dan. The vampire's expression remained unreadable—carved from ice, untouched by emotion. And then he spoke, voice smooth and low, carrying the weight of centuries:
"Who are you?
You are not from the Academy.
A secret-level human… roaming the Academy?"
He smiled faintly, revealing the bare suggestion of fangs.
"Impressive.
"You're not even a student," the vampire said, his voice low and curling with intrigue, like smoke trailing through a crypt. His interest in Dan had visibly sharpened, eyes glinting like blood-lit rubies in the dim hall.
Then, with eerie calm, he took a step closer and placed a hand on Dan's shoulder.
Instantly, something snapped.
Dan felt a violent surge—a burst of raw energy, like a lightning strike trapped in his veins. A current erupted from within him, flaring out in a silent scream of power. The vampire was hurled backward with explosive force, his black coat billowing like wings as he crashed to the ground. The thud echoed through the stone chamber, a harsh punctuation to the unnatural silence that followed.
Dan hadn't moved a muscle. The reaction had come from deep inside him, a primal defense beyond his control. It was as if his body had rejected the vampire's touch on a cellular level—a sacred fire lashing out at desecration.
The vampire sat up, slowly, the corners of his pale lips twitching into a bemused grin. He looked almost delighted.
"Humans are a real mystery," he mused, brushing off his coat with slow, precise movements. "I can kill you… but I can't look inside you."
He rose to his feet with fluid grace and stepped forward again, boots tapping rhythmically on the stone like a predator circling wounded prey.
"We have a lot of time together," he said, voice like velvet laced with razors. "It'll be fun—tearing you apart bit by bit and studying you."
His crimson eyes locked onto Dan's with a chilling intensity—as if he were staring into a specimen jar and planning what to carve next.
Dan was screaming inside.
He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want to be near this monster. Every fiber in him screamed for escape. He willed his body to move, to run, to twitch, even slightly.
But nothing happened.
His body was a statue of flesh, trapped in invisible ice. He couldn't move, couldn't flinch, couldn't even tremble. Whatever the vampire king had done, it had frozen him in place with terrifying precision. The only thing that still obeyed him were his eyes—darting, frantic, the last fragments of freedom in a prison of flesh.
Then he saw it.
The vampire walked toward him once more, his shadow stretching across the cold stone like a creeping stain. A scalpel materialized in his right hand, appearing from thin air with an audible shimmer, as if reality itself had been sliced.
The metal caught the low, flickering light—a cruel silver gleam, like moonlight on a blade meant for gods. He spun it between his fingers with casual menace, the motion hypnotic, theatrical, terrifying.
The vampire smiled again, this time with a glint of genuine pleasure.
"It's just a little tease," he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Let's start with your head."
And at that exact moment, from somewhere deep inside Dan's being, the soul of the library screamed.
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