The Red Gallery had grown quieter after the War Council. The banners swayed against no wind, their sigils shifting like a slow pulse. Beneath them, the long stone table was vacant, save for one chair occupied by Selena Draculea.
She lounged like a queen, though the throne at the altar waited below. Her gown of shadows trailed across the floor, pooling like spilled night. Her crimson eyes gleamed with hunger that was no longer coy.
Chains rattled.
A prisoner was dragged into the gallery—one of Ramius's Iron Fang Elites. The man had been captured during the raid on the north ridge, his armor bent where a Sentinel had caught him, his throat still raw from screaming at dogs. His eyes, though, held stubborn fire. He spat blood when the ghouls threw him to the floor.
Selena tilted her head, her pale fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Strong veins," she murmured. "I can smell iron in him. He will do nicely."
Lucas stepped in from the shadow of the banners. His boots echoed once on the stone, then stilled. His gaze skimmed the captive, noting the clenched fists, the set jaw, the defiance that pretended not to be fear.
"He is elite," Lucas said simply. "Let's see what that word is worth."
The ghouls forced the prisoner to his knees. Selena rose. She didn't walk. She glided—her body language perfect theatre. She crouched before the man and lifted his chin with a single nail.
"You still believe in your Lord," she whispered. "That faith has flavor. I want to taste it."
He snarled, "I'd rather die."
Her smile widened. "You will. But not before you serve."
She leaned close, her lips brushing his ear. "This isn't theft. It's consecration."
Then she bit.
Her fangs slid into his neck with a neat precision, no wasted motion. The man convulsed, his body fighting instinctively. His scream muffled into her shoulder. Blood surged, hot and frantic, into her mouth.
Selena drank.
Her crimson eyes burned brighter, threads of light fanning outward through her veins. The air chilled, the banners above trembling as if they recognized a new sovereign. She drew deeply, each swallow a command, each beat of his heart a drum for her ascension.
The prisoner sagged, strength bleeding out. Still, his will clung. His eyes rolled toward Lucas, glassy but defiant, as if begging the enemy lord to see his loyalty.
Lucas did not flinch. He only measured.
[Ding!]
[Feeding Ritual initiated.]
[Source: Iron Fang Elite (Tier E).]
[Output: Sovereign Level progression +12%.]
[Side effect: Vile Spark harvested ×20.]
Selena released him at last, letting his body slump to the stone. Her lips were redder, her tongue tracing the last of his life as if savoring a rare spice. She rose slowly, the elegance of her movements only sharpened by the predation she had displayed.
The ghouls dragged the husk away. It was not corpse, not quite yet. Enough for the Slave Grave to recycle.
Selena exhaled, her shoulders rising and falling with languid satisfaction. She looked toward Lucas, eyes burning, cheeks tinted faintly by the rush of stolen vitality.
"Stronger," she whispered. "I can feel it. The blood sings louder. My body remembers a sharper shape."
Lucas watched her carefully. Her presence filled more of the gallery now, her aura pushing outward like mist creeping through cracks. The Sentinels at the edge shifted uneasily, responding instinctively to a new center of gravity.
"How much?" Lucas asked.
She closed her eyes, considering. "One was a sip. Ten would be a cup. Fifty…" Her laugh rolled low, dark, almost intimate. "Fifty would be a banquet. And I am still starving."
Lucas turned his head toward Mirk and Var, who lingered at the door. His voice was quiet, final. "Bring more."
The ghouls hissed in approval, the sound echoing like nails dragged over wet stone.
The next prisoner was dragged in—this one armored heavier, his insignia bearing a fang painted black. He struggled harder than the first, spitting curses in Ramius's name. Selena drank him too, slower this time, exploring the taste of his rage. Her laughter shook the gallery's walls as his strength withered in her hands.
[Ding!]
[Source: Iron Fang Elite (Tier E).]
[Sovereign Level progression +13%. Total: 25%.]
[Vile Spark +22.]
The third screamed until his voice broke. The fourth begged in half-words, cursing Ramius and then praying to him. Selena devoured both with equal elegance, her eyes glowing so brightly now they painted the chamber in red arcs.
By the fifth, her body changed.
Her nails lengthened, curved like talons. Her hair deepened to a darker shade of black that shimmered like oil under blood-moon light. A faint halo of scarlet mist clung to her skin. Her presence pressed heavier, intoxicating, like gravity bending.
She smiled at Lucas, lips painted in life. "See? This is what I am meant for. Let me drink the world."
Lucas studied her, expression still as stone. He did not hide his satisfaction. "Then we'll give you the world. One body at a time."
The ghouls brought the sixth.
Selena seized him before they could force him down. She pinned him against the table, her hand on his chest, her lips at his throat. She drank viciously, not elegant now but urgent. Blood spilled over her chin, staining her gown, dripping to the floor. Her laughter rang louder, higher, spilling into hysteria before dropping into a guttural purr.
[Ding!]
[Source: Iron Fang Elite (Tier E).]
[Sovereign Level progression +14%. Total: 39%.]
[Vile Spark +25.]
The prisoner's corpse crumpled. Selena licked her fingers, eyes blazing, and turned back toward Lucas. She leaned against the table, breathing faster, blood gleaming on her lips.
"More," she hissed. "Bring more."
Lucas's reply was calm, commanding. "You'll have them. All of them."
He turned, his cloak sweeping as he ascended the stairs toward the altar chamber. His voice echoed back, cold as steel.
"Bring more. I want her stronger."