Elsewhere
The air split with a sound like iron screaming.
The space was not a world, not even a realm—it was a wound. A scar where existence itself had been ripped open.
Here, the First Vampire Progenitor had fallen. Here, Damaris' blood had burned the stars, staining the void with power too deep to fade. Centuries had passed, but the wound had never healed. Chaotic energies still clashed endlessly, colliding like storms made of shadow and flame. Every breath was thick with it, crushing, suffocating, like the marrow of the universe trying to grind intruders to dust.
Five figures stepped into it.
Adversaries.
Their forms twisted the air just by being there, each aura pushing back the storm with its own will. Shadows bled across the pale ground, the clash of energies licking at their edges like wild fire.
