The werewolves' snarls turned to shrieks as crimson flames erupted from the blade, consuming them mid-lunge. Their fur blackened, their flesh melted—they disintegrated before they could even hit the ground.
The alpha barely had time to howl before the fire swallowed it whole.
Silence.
Felix swayed, the sword's power thrumming in his grip—too much, too intense. His skin cracked under the heat, blood sizzling where it met the metal.
Then—
A cold hand gripped his wrist.
The Vampire Lord stood over him, eyes wide with something like horror and awe.
"That sword," he whispered, "answers only to death itself."
Felix tried to speak—but his voice was ash.
The sword shattered in his grip.
And darkness took him.
Felix's fingers still burned where they had gripped the cursed blade—but now, something worse was happening.
His veins turned black under his skin. His pupils swallowed the color of his irises, leaving only hollow, endless darkness.
"Felix...?"Lilith's voice trembled.
The Vampire Lord took a step back, his immortal instincts screaming.
"No." His voice was sharp. "That sword was never meant to be drawn."
The air grew thick, heavy—as if the castle itself was holding its breath.
Then—
A thud.
Another.
From deep beneath the castle, something stirred.
The Vampire Lord's face drained of color.
"The Queen is awake."
Felix didn't hear him.
He didn't hear anything.
The sword's curse pulsed through him, whispering in a voice older than time—
"Kill."
And Felix obeyed.
He moved faster than should have been possible, his broken body fueled by the Queen's venomous will.
The remaining werewolves barely had time to scream before he was upon them—ripping, tearing, devouring.
Blood painted the walls.
Lilith reached for him, her voice breaking."Felix! Stop!"
He turned—
And for the first time, she saw nothing behind his eyes.
Just the Queen's hunger.
Then—
The ground split open.
And from the abyss below, a pale hand gripped the edge of the shattered floor.
"Enough."
The voice was soft.
And it froze the blood in Felix's veins.
The Queen of Vampires rose from her tomb, her gown woven from shadows, her crimson eyes locked onto Felix—the wielder of her blade.
She smiled.
"You've been holding onto something of mine, little human."
And Felix—
Felix screamed.
Felix's screams tore through the shattered hall. Agony, fear, fury all fused into a single, animal sound as the Queen of Vampires' will crushed down on him like a closing vice.
"Such a pity," she purred, voice smooth and bored, as if commenting on a cracked ornament.
The Vampire Lord stepped forward despite himself.
"My Queen—"
"Quiet."
The word struck like a slap.
She did not even look at him. "I wish to speak with the boy."
Felix did not hear her. Whatever sanity he had left had already burned away. His grip tightened around the sword, power surging through him, raw and ancient. Not borrowed. Not learned. Something older. Something only one bloodline had ever commanded.
The Vampire Lord felt it and went cold.
No. That power—
"This sword you hold," the Queen said calmly, eyes fixed on Felix, "is my father's blade."
Felix answered her words with violence.
He lunged.
The hall detonated with force as he swung, the air screaming under the weight of the strike. The magic was wrong. Too pure. Too familiar.
The Vampire Lord's heart dropped.
"Your… father's?" he whispered, horror creeping into his voice.
The Queen did not flinch. She watched Felix with something like distant recognition.
"Many centuries," she continued, stepping closer as broken marble cracked beneath her feet, "since I last felt that cursed weapon's presence." Shadows bent toward her, alive, obedient. "And never did I imagine it would resurface… in human hands."
"My Queen—"
"Shut your mouth."
Her tone hardened, sharp enough to cut. "You were not given permission to speak."
She raised a hand, and Felix froze mid-motion, his body screaming in protest as invisible chains crushed him in place.
The Queen inclined her head, studying him like a specimen.
"Yes," she said softly. "It appears my ancestor's blade has chosen a human to wield it."
A faint sneer touched her lips.
"How… unfortunate."
The Vampire Lord's jaw snapped shut.
The Queen turned back to Felix, studying him with idle fascination. "You are a curious little thing." One pale finger traced his cheek, almost tender. "So fragile. So… human."
She extended her hand toward the cursed blade.
"Let me take this sword."
The air exploded.
Primal rage erupted from Felix's body, violent and absolute. Muscles coiled, bones screaming under borrowed divinity—
—and he moved.
Faster than sound.
Faster than thought.
The Queen barely had time to register motion before Felix's hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her cold. His grip was iron, warped by power that did not belong to mortals.
Her crimson eyes widened. Just a fraction.
"Oh?"
Felix's voice scraped out, distorted, layered with something ancient and starving.
"Mine."
The Queen smiled.
Then—
Felix attacked.
The castle shuddered as power collided, stone screaming as ancient magic tore through the hall. Queen of Vampires against the Berserker of the Cursed Blade.
Her amusement sharpened.
She vanished from his grasp before the strike could land, reappearing behind him in a bloom of shadow.
"Stubborn little thing," she said mildly as Felix spun, the sword carving fissures into the floor with every wild movement. "That power will burn you alive from the inside out."
Felix didn't answer. He couldn't. The blade's will had drowned his own, leaving only a feral command to destroy.
He lunged again.
The Queen sighed and flicked her fingers.
Shadow lashed out, snapping around the blade mid-swing. It yanked, twisting Felix's arm with a sharp, ugly crack.
He didn't even flinch.
"Pathetic," she murmured. "A puppet swinging a god's weapon."
Her shadows tightened—
And the sword screamed.
Crimson light detonated outward, hurling vampires and werewolves alike across the hall. Even the Queen skidded back, heels carving lines into shattered marble.
Silence followed. One heartbeat. Two.
Then—
A laugh.
The Queen rose slowly, grin widening as she stared at the blade in Felix's grasp.
"Oh, my dear father," she crooned. "You always did love dramatic exits."
The glow faltered. Flickered. Died.
Felix collapsed.
She strode forward, plucking the sword from his limp fingers. "Much better," she murmured, inspecting it. "Now then—"
Her gaze swept the ruined court. The wounded vampires. The fallen werewolves. Finally, her bloodied, broken daughter.
"—who would like to explain why my palace is in ruins?"
Silence.
Then a weak, hoarse whisper from the floor.
"…Mom?"
Lilith's voice trembled through the hall.
The Queen blinked.
"Ah," she said flatly. "Right. I'm supposed to care about that, aren't I?"
She sighed and tossed the sword.
It skidded across the floor, stopping a few feet from Lilith. Dormant. Silent.
"A weapon like that is meant for gods, or immortals," the Queen continued, glancing pointedly at Felix's unconscious body. "Not humans."
She raised her hand, gaze sweeping her court.
"None of you are permitted to touch that blade."
A pause.
"Am I understood?"
No one breathed.
Good.
"That child," someone whispered shakily, "has the soul of an ancient being… or something older."
The Queen froze.
Her crimson eyes snapped back to Felix. Not a glance. Not a ruler's appraisal.
She looked this time.
A long, suffocating silence stretched across the hall.
Then—
"Oh."
Her lips curled, amusement bleeding into something far less comfortable.
"Oh, dear."