Dark clouds swallowed the moonlight, plunging the already stormy night into an abyss of blackness. THUNDER RUMBLED across the sky, shaking the heavens as rain poured relentlessly onto the dense forest below. The General's crimson eyes burned in the darkness, scanning the land with fierce determination. He and his knights had been hunting relentlessly, tracking Lady Aria's whereabouts through the treacherous landscape. Every passing second felt like a cruel mockery of time, stretching his patience thin.
Then—a break in the silence.
A gust of wind carried with it the faint scent of something familiar. The sharp iron-like tinge of blood, mingled with the delicate fragrance of lavender. Aria. His gaze snapped toward the nearby brambles, and there, tangled in the thorns, fluttered a torn piece of fabric.
His heart pounded. It was her gown.
The General tore the cloth free, his sharp eyes following the direction of the wind. His gaze locked onto the cliff's edge, where the land suddenly dropped into nothingness. Below, a raging river roared, its waters surging violently against jagged rocks. The storm had turned it into a beast, devouring anything that dared to fall into its embrace.
His chest tightened. Was she forced off the edge? Was she still alive?
Before he could act, his instincts screamed at him—danger.
The rain-soaked air carried a putrid stench, something far more sinister than wet earth or decayed leaves. It was a scent he knew all too well. His pupils narrowed to slits as he straightened, his muscles coiling with tension.
Then they emerged. From the shadows. From the mist. From all around.
The first pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared between the trees. Then another. And another. Until the forest itself seemed to breathe with unnatural life. Dozens. No… more than fifty.
They crawled from the undergrowth, massive wolf-like beasts with fur so coarse and matted it looked more like armor. Their gaping maws dripped with thick saliva, fangs gleaming even in the storm's darkness. Some had jagged bones protruding from their backs like grotesque spikes, while others had claws long enough to carve through stone.
Demon Wolves.
The General's expression darkened, lips curling into a snarl.
"What are these disgusting creatures doing in vampire territory…? And in such numbers?"
His knights shifted, their hands tightening around their weapons, waiting for the order. The General took a step forward, eyes gleaming with predatory rage. Then—he roared, his voice slicing through the thunder like a war cry of the damned.
"Slaughter them. Cut a path to the cliff's edge. NOW!"
The battlefield erupted.
The first demon lunged, its claws swiping like a blur. But before it could strike, the General was already gone. He had vanished into the ground—no, into the very shadows beneath him.
In an instant, he reappeared, emerging from the darkness at an impossible speed, right behind his enemy.
SHHIIING!
With a single swipe of his clawed hand, four demon wolves fell headless in an instant, their bodies slumping into the mud before they even realized they were dead. Blood splattered onto his uniform, staining the regal black fabric. He didn't care. His glowing eyes flickered with pure, unrelenting fury.
[Shadow Movement]
A skill allowing vampires to dissolve into the shadows beneath them, moving unseen and reappearing in an instant. However, excessive use drains their stamina, leading to exhaustion or even unconsciousness.
More wolves lunged, their movements frenzied, but the General was faster. His body blurred as he weaved between them, his claws slicing through flesh like butter. The storm's wind carried the scent of blood, mixing with the earth's wet aroma.
But they kept coming.
A low growl rumbled in his chest. Fine. Let's try something else.
Without hesitation, the General bit down on his index finger, his razor-sharp fangs piercing skin. A single drop of blood formed at the tip—but it did not fall.
Instead, it twisted.
It morphed—shaping itself into a thin, sharp needle between his fingers.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent three needles flying. They cut through the air like crimson streaks, embedding themselves directly into the throats of three incoming wolves.
The demons snarled in confusion, their thick skin proving useless against the enchanted blood.
And then—
SNAP.
The General raised his right arm and snapped his fingers.
A deafening EXPLOSION burst through the battlefield.
BOOM!
The needles detonated, each wolf's head bursting apart in a mist of red smoke. The eerie sound of sizzling flesh and bone echoed through the air as their now-headless bodies collapsed into the mud. The remaining wolves hesitated for the first time.
The General stood tall amidst the carnage, his expression unreadable, deadly. His crimson eyes glowed against the darkness, and his rain-drenched hair clung to his sharp, angular face.
His knights, inspired by their leader's merciless efficiency, fought harder—their blades slicing through the horde with newfound vigor.
[Blood Manipulation]
A forbidden technique mastered by only a few elite vampires. With it, one can shape their own blood into weapons, explosives, or even create a smokescreen to confuse their enemies. But excessive use weakens the user, draining their vitality.
Dark clouds devoured the moonlight, leaving only the flickering flashes of lightning to illuminate the storm-ridden night. The rain fell in relentless sheets, soaking the ground until the earth itself became a shifting, treacherous battlefield of mud and blood. The once-peaceful forest now echoed with the snarls of beasts and the screams of the dying.
The General stood amidst the corpses of the demon wolves, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. The crimson glow in his eyes had not dimmed, his hands still stained with fresh blood. But even as the battlefield quieted, his instincts screamed at him—something else was here.
He turned his head sharply, narrowing his gaze toward the dense treeline. There was a presence. Something far heavier than the lesser demon wolves he had just slain. It was close—too close. The air itself seemed to vibrate under the weight of its existence, pressing against his skin like an unspoken warning.
Then—
"Sir, all demons are down. We can move forward."
One of his men interrupted his thoughts, standing at attention beside him.
The General lingered for a moment longer, staring into the darkness beyond the trees. Was it his imagination? No... It felt too real.
He exhaled sharply, shaking off the unease.
"If something is watching us, it will show itself soon enough."
"Fifteen men with me," he ordered. "The rest, guard the perimeter."
Without another word, they moved.
As they pushed deeper into the storm-wracked forest, the path became more treacherous. Rain dripped from the thick canopy above, the sound blending seamlessly with the distant roar of the river below. The ground was slick, every step feeling uncertain as roots and jagged rocks threatened to trip them at every turn.
Then—through the curtain of rain—they saw it.
A gathering of figures stood at the cliff's edge, half-obscured by the thick underbrush. Humans.
One of the soldiers pointed toward the barely visible shapes.
"Sir, there are many people... Maybe they're the ones—"
The General raised a hand to silence him. His piercing gaze locked onto the group ahead.
"No. We can't charge in blindly," he said, his voice firm. "We are bound by the pact—we do not harm humans without just cause. We'll approach and question them."
But the moment they moved forward, his breath caught in his throat—his blood boiled.
Because now, through the clearing mist and swaying trees, he could see.
Lady Aria—on her knees.
Four men gripped her arms, restraining her, their cruel hands forcing her forward. The dirt beneath her was already stained with blood, her once-pristine gown torn and drenched in mud and rain.
And then—they moved to slam her face into the ground.
"BASTARDS!"
The General's fury erupted like a storm of its own.
With a single swipe of his clawed hand, a razor-sharp gust of blood-infused wind tore through the air. WHOOOSH! The trees groaned under the sheer force of it, leaves and branches snapping in its wake. In the blink of an eye, the four men restraining Aria were cut in half, their torsos splitting apart before they even realized what had happened.
A deathly silence followed.
The vampires behind him were seething, their eyes burning with pure rage. Each soldier's gaze glowed red in the stormy night, like a pack of predators ready to tear apart the ones who had dared harm one of their own.
The General flexed his fingers, his claws dripping with fresh blood. He took a slow step forward, the mud beneath him hissing as if it, too, feared his wrath. His voice came low, guttural, venom laced in every syllable.
LIGHTNING SPLIT THE SKY.
"FINALLY FOUND YOU MOTHERFCKERS."
The humans in the mob froze.
Fear rippled through them, their faces pale, their bodies trembling under the weight of his bloodlust. The storm itself seemed to quiet for a fleeting moment, as if nature, too, feared his fury.
But then—chaos.
As if some unseen force had snapped their fragile control, the mob screamed in rage and charged. All of them.
The vampires stiffened in surprise. Even the General's expression flickered with momentary disbelief. Are they insane? They were outmatched, outnumbered, outclassed, and yet—they fought as if possessed.
But suddenly, everything else—the storm, the charging mob, the bodies littering the ground—became insignificant.
Because he felt it again.
That same suffocating presence. That same stench of something far worse than these mindless humans.
The General's eyes widened. His breath hitched.
The demon was here.
But before he could even turn, before his instincts could scream a warning—
A shadow broke away from the mob.
One man.
His ragged form blurred through the chaos, his grip tightening around the handle of a knife. His eyes, wild and feverish, burned with something unnatural.
He wasn't hesitating.
He was going straight for Lady Aria.
"LADY ARIA—!" The General shouted.
His body dissolved into the shadows, slipping through the darkness at an impossible speed. Faster. Faster!
He had to stop him—he had to reach her!
But— He wasn't fast enough.
He only managed halfway.
His chest clenched as he saw it—the flash of silver, the plunge of the blade, the way it pierced through her heart.
Her body jerked. For a fleeting second, her eyes met General's eyes. Wide. Shocked. A single, silent plea in their depths.
Then—the man pushed her down the cliff with himself.
No hesitation. No fear. He threw himself off the cliff with her. Straight into the roaring abyss below.
The General lunged, his arm outstretched, fingers desperate to grasp something—anything. But he caught nothing but empty air.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
The raw agony in his voice drowned out the storm.
His knees crashed onto the mud-soaked ground near the cliff's edge. His claws dug into the dirt, his entire body trembling—not from weakness, but from the unbearable rage.
His mind refused to process it. "No. No, this can't be happening."
He had failed to protect Lady Aria.
A sickening wave of guilt crushed him, twisting like a dagger in his gut. His breath came out in ragged gasps. His heart pounded like war drums, but it was useless. Useless because—
She was gone. Swallowed by the river.
But he didn't care. A second. A single second. If there was even the slimmest chance—if she was even still breathing— and had a chance to be saved. He would find her.
Without a moment's hesitation—
He JUMPED.
Down into the raging depths below. Into the abyss where Lady Aria had vanished.
To be Continued…