Night had completely fallen over Salt Blake.
The castle proclaimed its shadow as a reminder stretching across the horizon —
a black digit drawn between the city and the starlit sky.
At the top of the tower, Nyra stood motionless, her figure carved against the half-moon.
Her silver hair caught what little light there was, shining like strands of mercury.
The sheath of her katana rested beneath one hand, as though it were part of her own balance.
Cletus stood beside her, posture composed, like a spectator awaiting a play's next act.
He leafed through an ancient tome, its worn pages seeming to absorb the surrounding glow.
When Nyra felt something — an indistinct presence — she spoke without turning her gaze.
"Looks like we've got an uninvited guest."
Cletus closed the book with calm deliberation, a gesture that seemed to give the night more weight.
"Are you certain?"
"The human… it's a woman."
He rested the book against his palm and smiled faintly.
"I suppose I'll have to invite our little intruder to leave," he said in a theatrical tone,
"For that's what you want, isn't it?"
Nyra kept her eyes fixed on the city, neither confirming nor denying.
Cletus leaned forward slightly, as though sharing a secret.
"As it happens, I'm familiar with that woman."
Nyra turned to face him, curious.
Cletus began pacing around the edge of the tower, his steps measured and deliberate.
> "A storm is approaching," he murmured, as if the weather itself were his accomplice.
"Let the winds carve the path."
Inside the castle, Lucy reached a new door of bronze. It was massive — its surface carved with warriors, monsters, and symbols that pulsed faintly with ancient memory.
She tried pushing, kicking, even slamming into it, but nothing moved.
The door was sealed by something that defied brute force.
Lucy drew her pistols, ready to blast her way through.
The chill of the metal against her palms reminded her that not everything could be solved by steel.
Then — A laugh cut through the air. Light, theatrical, deliberately mocking.
A figure emerged with a fluid step, his skin painted in the contradiction between mirth and menace: a macabre clown in a colorful yet uncanny costume, a smile that never reached his eyes.
"No need for violence, vampire girl," he said, tone laced with performance.
Lucy kept her aim on the door, ignoring him.
The clown circled her, each step a dance of provocation.
"Wait, wait, wait. You'd better listen, sweetheart," he drawled.
"This door's sturdy, as you can see. Your little tricks won't help."
Lucy pointed her gun straight at his nose.
"Shut up, or I'll blow that stupid grin off your face."
The clown raised his hands in exaggerated surrender.
"Easy there, easy… no need to make a mess."
He slid closer, almost gliding behind her, his voice turning sly and rhythmic.
"Just hear me out, darling. You've got nothing to lose, right?"
Then, with a flamboyant bow, he introduced himself like an actor entering a stage.
"My name is Ponyus. And I know a thing or two about this place."
His tone shifted, the playfulness giving way to information.
"This sector doesn't have a power source. The door won't open without one to feed it."
He posed the line like a riddle:
"So… what's missing from your understanding? Or is that too much for your brain? Hahaha!"
Lucy crossed her arms, pistols still in hand. Her patience began to fade.
She started firing at his feet.
Ponyus dodged, hopping in grotesque little steps, laughing louder each time,
his performance more exhausting than threatening.
He spun, twirled, skipped — until even his mockery began to sound hollow.
Lucy's magazines neared empty. She ejected them and glared.
"Get to the point. Or do you want to keep dancing?"
Ponyus halted, panting slightly, then spoke with sharp-edged irony.
"These days, I prefer a sword for a partner."
"May I have the honor, milady?"
Lucy holstered her pistols. Her sword was already in hand.
She spun Dracallion with the ease of one who breathes steel and struck.
Ponyus dodged, graceful in his absurdity.
But her blade grazed the stone monument beside the door — a sentinel statue long forgotten.
The spark that followed crawled like lightning through its carved veins.
The door trembled.
Cracks ran through its bronze surface.
Lucy struck again — harder, sharper — until at last the lock shattered and light burst from within.
Ponyus clapped, overacting his applause.
"BINGO! That's what I was talking about!"
His cheer carried both mockery and warning.
"Remember that, girl. Write it on your hand if you can't trust your head!"
He laughed, a long, echoing laugh that filled the chamber. Before Lucy could retort, Ponyus leapt to the ceiling, walking across beams like a circus tightrope artist, humming a discordant melody as he vanished into the shadows above.
Lucy reloaded her pistols with mechanical calm.
The light spilling from the broken door traced lines in the floating dust.
She sighed, amused despite herself.
"I can take care of myself, but thanks. You're still a pain in the ass."
She crossed the threshold.
The metallic echo of her boots followed as she entered the next hall.
On the other side stretched a vast chamber —
walls of dark, worn steel like the inside of a forgotten infernal machine.
Greenish lines pulsed faintly through them, glowing like veins of a sleeping titan.
At the center stood a pedestal carved with skulls and writhing demons,
and upon it rested a grotesque chalice, etched with runes that seemed to breathe.
A distorted laugh echoed from every wall, multiplied a thousandfold:
"Thanks for unlocking the door for me, little vampire girl! Ahahahaha!"
"And welcome… to hell!"
"Please, accept my gift! Don't be shy! After all— we're friends, aren't we? Hahahaha!"
"Ponyus…" she growled.
The air around the chalice burst into ghostly green flame. Thick, dark blood poured from the very air, filling the cup until it overflowed,
dripping down like a living offering.
The walls split open with a shriek of tearing metal.
From within, crimson gargoyles — born of solid blood — took shape.
Their green eyes burned with hunger and madness.
Lucy spun her sword through the air, the steel catching the spectral light.
"Honestly… I was expecting something better."
"But whatever — let's stop wasting time."
The creatures attacked.
The first dove down — Lucy arched backward and cleaved its head clean off.
Its blood vaporized into toxic smoke.
Another lunged from behind; Lucy twisted her wrist,
firing from beneath her sword's hilt — the shot exploded the creature into a crimson mist.
Three more circled above, wings thrumming.
Lucy drove her sword into the ground,
used it as a pivot, and spun — launching herself upward like a blade dancer,
slicing two in half midair.
The third grabbed at her — a fatal mistake.
She caught it by the horns and smashed its head against the pedestal.
The green lights pulsed once more, then silence fell.
Only her calm breathing remained.
She wiped the blade clean in a single motion and rested it on her shoulder.
"Thanks for the workout, clown. I'll add this to my repair bill."
The bloody fragments dissolved into vapor.
With no more distractions, Lucy advanced.
At the far end, a passage opened — an ancient stone corridor lit by spectral blue torches.
At its end, two towering statues of warriors held torches aloft,
guarding the next threshold.
Their hollow eyes seemed to judge her, waiting for her next move.
Lucy exhaled slowly, adrenaline peaking,
a razor-edged smile curving her lips.
Then — the statues' shadows trembled.
To be continued ...