CHAPTER NINE — MONSTERS OF BLOOD AND DARKNESS
Six months reshaped the world.
But they reshaped Arcturus even more.
While his clones carved influence into kingdoms, guilds, seas, and mountains…
Arcturus himself had been building something far more terrifying.
Not armies.
Not networks.
Not spies.
Monsters.
Real ones.
Because a Primordial Vampire didn't only rule shadows and blood.
He created.
And Arcturus had finally returned to that ancient craft.
THE BLOOD FORGE — WHERE CREATION BEGINSBeneath the palace, deep below the stone catacombs, Arcturus had carved a chamber out of earth and void. No guard knew it existed. No servant. Not even Alistair.
Only the clones.
Inside that chamber, crimson glyphs crawled across the floor like living veins, pulsing with liquid mana. Torches burned blue-black, fed not by firewood but by condensed shadow.
And at the center…
A pool.
A pool of blood thicker than wine, hotter than steel, glowing faintly like molten garnet.
Each drop of that blood came from monsters, titans, rare beasts, and enemies. The pool was fed constantly by shadow-clones transporting kills from across the kingdom.
Arcturus stood before it with one hand raised.
His blood pulsed.
The pool hissed.
The chamber trembled.
"Rise," he whispered.
And something did.
THE LYCANS — PRIMORDIAL WEREWOLVESThe first creature erupted from the blood pool with a ripping snarl.
Massive.
Muscular.
Pure black fur streaked with shadow.
Eyes like crimson moons.
Claws like obsidian daggers.
Fangs dripping molten blood-mana that burned stone.
Not the misshapen, cursed werewolves of mortal folklore.
These were Lycans — a primordial breed only Arcturus could create.
Built not to suffer, but to kill.
They stood upright, 8–10 feet tall, but moved on all fours with explosive speed when hunting. Their musculature was dense, reinforced by blood magic, allowing them to tear plate armor like parchment.
Their senses were:
200× sharper than wolves
Able to smell blood from miles away
Able to hear a heartbeat through stone
Able to see heat, mana, and fear
But their greatest horror?
Their bite.
A Lycan's bite injected blood-venom that overrode the victim's consciousness, reducing them to a rage-fueled beast that obeyed only one thing:
Arcturus.
Mindless.
Loyal.
Eternal.
And yet —
The true Lycans, the pureborn ones created directly from Arcturus's magic?
They were not mindless.
They were intelligent.
Predatory.
Strategic.
Hunters born to wage war in packs.
Arcturus created thirty-two pureborn Lycans over six months.
They wore no armor — they didn't need it. Their hide was naturally as durable as enchanted plate.
Each one held strength surpassing advanced knights. Each one could outrun a horse. Each one could rip through fortress gates. Each one could infect an army if unleashed.
Arcturus stood before his creation as the newest Lycan knelt, head bowed.
"Master," it rasped in a voice like cracking stone, "your will?"
Arcturus lifted a hand.
"Watch. Wait. Learn."
He paused.
"Your time will come."
The Lycan bowed.
"By blood," it said.
"By shadow," Arcturus finished.
THE VAMPIRE LORDS — CHILDREN OF THE PRIMORDIALBeyond the blood pool, another hall stretched into darkness — a place lit only by faint glowing symbols along the walls.
There, six figures knelt before a stone altar.
They all shared:
Pale skin like moonlit snow.
Black clothing woven from shadow-thread.
Eyes glowing red or silver.
Aura cold enough to freeze torchlight.
They were Vampire Lords — made not from mortals bitten, but from Arcturus's own blood.
Six months.
One per month.
He could not create more without risking dilution or instability.
Each Lord possessed:
Superhuman Speed — able to cross hundreds of meters in a blink.
Superhuman Strength — able to lift boulders, tear iron bars, and break ribs through armor.
Regeneration — limbs regrown, wounds sealed, organs replaced.
Shadow Teleportation — short-range flickers through darkness.
Blood Scent — able to track individuals by their heartbeat signature.
Sunlight Immunity — a blessing from Arcturus, unique and unheard of.
Their weaknesses were few but real:
Holy magic burned them.
Pure fire slowed regeneration.
Silver weapons weakened their abilities.
Berserk hunger could overwhelm them if starved.
But compared to ordinary vampires?
They were gods.
Arcturus approached the six, each kneeling deeply:
Lucien — calm, analytical, deadly with shadow-step.
Selene — beautiful, cold, unmatched in stealth and precision.
Varian — brutal strength incarnate, towering and intimidating.
Ravynn — former assassin, now fused with vampiric reflex.
Kael — the strategist, brilliant in combat logistics.
Mirielle — the youngest, but most gifted with blood manipulation.
Arcturus placed a hand on Lucien's shoulder.
"Stand," he commanded.
Lucien rose gracefully.
"We are ready," Lucien said softly. "Our powers are stabilizing. Our hunger is controlled. Our loyalty absolute."
Arcturus nodded.
"You are my blades," he said. "My shadows. My fangs in the throat of the world."
They knelt again, voices unified, almost reverent:
"We exist only for you."
Arcturus turned his back.
And they meant every word.
THE STUDY OF DUNGEONS — GODS' GIFTSIn the royal archives, Arcturus spent hours each night studying ancient tomes.
Never seen by scholars.
Never touched by mages.
Forbidden knowledge collected by kings of old.
And deep beneath that pile of dust and parchment, he discovered the truth:
Dungeons were not natural.
They were designed.
Created.
Placed deliberately across the world by the gods.
For what purpose?
Testing.
Harvesting.
Breeding monsters.
Creating challenges that forged heroes or killed the unworthy.
Inside each dungeon was a Dungeon Core — a crystalline heart of condensed mana and divine architecture.
He learned their laws:
The Core is the dungeon.
Destroying the Core destroys the dungeon.
Cores absorb mana and create monsters automatically.
Cores generate loot—materials, ores, enchanted gear.
Rarely, they generate skill books.
He learned dungeon tiers:
F-Rank — beginner trials
E-Rank — goblins, wolves
D-Rank — ogres, trolls
C-Rank — demons, constructs
B-Rank — magical beasts, labyrinths
A-Rank — large-scale mythic monster zones
S-Rank — divine ruins
SS-Rank — Primordial dungeons, almost mythical
He explored dozens.
He found twenty-four dungeons hidden in the wilderness:
Four A-rank.
One S-rank.
Two ancient crypt-style dungeons from before man existed.
One sealed by divine flame.
Three crawling with Church knights too scared to enter.
He marked them on maps no one else saw.
Why?
Because he planned to take them all.
Not alone.
But with:
His Lycans
His Vampire Lords
His Nightborn
His Black Pine Legion
His Forge-dwarves
His merchant-funded adventurer teams
And his own clones
Dungeons were profit.
Loot.
Materials.
Rare beast cores.
Ancient relics.
Weapons beyond mortal smithing.
And the rarest of all:
Skill Books — techniques and powers encoded directly into soul and mana.
Arcturus wanted all of it.
And he planned something even more dangerous.
He wanted to create his own dungeons.
THE SECRET PROJECT — DUNGEON CORES OF BLOODHe had nearly all the ingredients:
A divine fragment from a sacred vault.
A Titan's heart from the Blood Moon battle.
A dwarf-forged mana conductor.
A shadow crystal unearthed by the Bandit Legion.
A Sun Dynasty relic stolen from the Church.
Essence captured from three monsters in his blood pool.
He studied ancient texts, combined runes, etched circles, tested magic flows.
He discovered something no mortal mage ever should:
He could create a dungeon core using blood, shadow, and divine essence.
A core that would:
Produce monsters loyal only to him
Expand underground labyrinths
Act as secret training grounds
Manufacture beast stones
Spawn shadow-beasts without limit
Potentially evolve into an artificial S-rank dungeon
He needed one more ingredient.
The Heart of a Fallen Lightborn.
A divine creature loyal to the Radiant Church.
He smiled coldly.
His clones were already hunting one.
THE DEMON PRINCE'S REFLECTIONArcturus stood in the Forbidden Chamber, between the Lycans and the Vampire Lords, with dungeon schematics floating above his hand in arcane blue.
He whispered to himself:
"Six months…"
His eyes glowed.
"In six months, I have built monsters, armies, and a continent-wide shadow empire."
He closed his fist.
The dungeon core schematic collapsed into motes of red light.
"And soon… I will build worlds within worlds."
He stepped forward.
His shadow stretched behind him like a crawling beast.
"And when the gods come looking for their dungeons…"
A faint smirk crossed his lips.
"They will find mine."