The manor gates burst wide, and the night erupted.
Millions of vampire clones—identical, armored, each bearing the crimson eyes of their creator—stormed into the city like a tidal wave. Their boots pounded in perfect unison, shaking the broken streets. Opposite them, Claire's shadows surged, twisting into beasts, serpents, and grotesque mockeries of human forms. Each shrieked in a dozen voices, a symphony of madness. When they clashed, the sound was cataclysmic—steel piercing smoke, shrieks ripping through battle cries, the streets drenched not just in blood-rain but in ichor and fire.
And at the very center of the maelstrom: Alex, Liam, Harper, Leo, and Damon.
Claire did not waste time. She cut through the battlefield like a blade through silk, her shadows parting to reveal her pale form. Her hair whipped in the cursed wind, her gown clinging like ash. She wasn't aiming for Harper, nor Leo, nor even Damon. Her eyes, her malice, her hunger—all of it—was locked on Alex.
