One Widow cautiously raised her hand. "We… we were raised here since we were small, Director. No stories, no fairy tales. We were trained only for missions. Most of us never even went outside these walls until assigned a kill. So we're… ignorant of most normal things."
Melina nodded thoughtfully, her lips twitching in faint amusement.
"well, I guess you guys are raised as killer puppets, well its also good for me, I don't have to teach you all how to kill" She said and then began to explain them what is Vampire and what are the cons and pros of being an Vampire.
***
Meanwhile, after traveling a safe distance from the compound, Ryder finally let out a long breath and removed the Sukuna face he'd been wearing. In its place reappeared his true visage—kind, strikingly handsome, a sharp contrast to the monstrous mask of the King of Curses.
He ran a hand through his hair, flexing his jaw as his features settled back into their natural lines.
"Damn… maintaining Sukuna's face for so long is more taxing than I thought," he muttered under his breath.
No wonder he felt strangely tense. He'd spent nearly an entire month moving and operating with that terrifying visage—its wild, chaotic aura constantly brushing against his mind. Now, finally free of it, he could almost breathe easier.
Ryder sighed, running a hand through his hair as he muttered to himself,"Well, at least if someone ever captures one of the Widows on a mission, no one will link Sukuna back to me. This way, my family stays safe."
It was a small but important reassurance. With that thought easing his mind, he booked a return ticket—and by the next day, he was already on a flight heading home.
Meanwhile, back at the compound, Melina stood at the center of a grand hall filled with disciplined Widows. Her crimson eyes swept over them, fangs peeking as she spoke with cold amusement.
"Well, ladies… I suppose while our master is gone, I'll have to test exactly what talents a vampire queen like me can draw out of you all—and what… special effects… my bite might bring."
She laughed lowly, delighting in the ripple of wary yet intrigued looks that spread across their
"Don't worry. I'll make sure each of you becomes something far more dangerous than anything the old Red Room ever imagined."
She had given the Widows a day to think it over—and now, standing before her in rigid lines, were nineteen who had stepped forward willingly, ready to be turned into vampires. It wasn't as large a number as she might have hoped, but still a good start. With her bite, they wouldn't just become vampires tied to her will—they'd also inherit her unique strain: immune to sunlight and blessed with Psychic powers.
A dark smile curved her lips as she surveyed the nineteen kneeling Widows. Soon, they would be reborn—and the world would learn to tremble at her coven's shadow.
One by one, Melina sank her fangs into each Widow's neck, her movements almost ritualistic, precise and graceful despite the savage act. She watched with dark satisfaction as their bodies shuddered, skin paling, eyes beginning to glow faintly with crimson hunger—each of them crossing that thin, irreversible line into undeath.
Newborn vampires needed blood immediately or risked frenzy and death. Anticipating this, Melina had already prepared. Nearby stood barrels filled with rich, warm blood—taken from the other widows who have contribute one cup each, plus the blood bags from the supplies.
She merely raised a single hand, psionic energy flaring, and cups dipped into the barrels, filling before floating to each trembling new vampire.
"Drink," she commanded softly, her voice layered with power that none could refuse.
They obeyed at once. Under her control, there was no reckless lunging, no tearing at the barrels like beasts. Each Widow drank from her offered cup, crimson trailing down their chins, until the transformation completed—eyes darkening, breaths slowing, new life stabilizing within undead veins.
Melina's smile widened. The vampire rite was fully over. Under her rule, these nineteen were reborn—not just as predators, but as her loyal children, bound by blood and power forever.
Now, each Black Widow who had once borne the brand of the Red Room's beast bore something far darker—and far more loyal. They no longer carried the mark of Dreykov or any old master. Now, they were tied to Melina by blood and by the power that thrummed through their veins.
Melina stood before them, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a midnight curtain, crimson eyes gleaming with cruel delight.
"From this moment on, you are no longer mere Widows," she declared, her voice echoing in the silent hall. "You are the Blood Widow Legion—my personal legion, bound by my power and by your choice."
The transformed vampires dropped to one knee before her, eyes glowing faintly, their lips still stained with the blood that had sealed their new fate.
"As for the position of vice-master… that will come later," Melina continued, her fangs flashing as her smile widened. "Among you, the strongest and most cunning will rise. Until then, serve me well, and prove who deserves to lead at my side."
"Yes, mistress!" came the unified cry, voices layered with unnatural resonance.
Melina watched them with deep satisfaction.
While Ryder remained blissfully unaware, Melina had already begun weaving the foundation of a powerful new organization. Her Blood Widow Legion had orders to quietly seek out and recruit others willing to walk Ryder's path—whether mercenaries, gifted humans, or lurking supernaturals. All of it was for the empire of the man who had saved her life. She had sworn to serve him with everything she was.
***
Meanwhile, Ryder was finally back home.
As he stepped through the door, his mother was already there, eyes narrowing slightly as she gave him a thorough once-over. Then, almost comically, she stepped closer and sniffed him, her nose wrinkling.
"Hmm… did you get yourself a girlfriend while you were off who knows where?" she teased, poking his chest lightly.
Ryder gave an awkward chuckle. Women really do have sharp instincts, he thought wryly. But thankfully, she seemed satisfied with sniffing out nothing incriminating—certainly not the scent of blood or vampires. With a small sigh, she smiled and gave him a gentle smack on the arm.
"Go on, get your things in order. Dinner's almost ready," she said, ushering him down the hall.