Chapter 15 – When the Blood Stirs
Min jolted awake, sweat mixing with the dried blood on his skin. His breathing was ragged. Around him, shadows twisted unnaturally, and the cold air reeked of something old — ancient even to a vampire like him.
He had just fought in a nightmare, but it felt all too real.
He remembered it clearly: a battlefield soaked in blood, filled with monsters not from any gate or world he recognized. They had surrounded him in the dream, snarling beasts with bones exposed, faces contorted with hatred. Yet he had fought them — viciously — using blood tendrils, crimson fire, and blades shaped from his own essence.
But the monsters weren't the terrifying part.
It was the voice.
It echoed as everything burned.
> "When the blood stirs… I shall awaken."
Min stared down at his palm. A sigil had formed — glowing faintly red. Not a wound, not an illusion. A real mark.
One that hadn't been seen since the fall of the true Blood Moon Clan.
"This can't be," he whispered.
He moved immediately, ignoring the pain in his limbs. He needed answers. If this mark was what he thought it was, then everything — the Blood Rituals, the Blood Gate, the return of the old blood — wasn't coincidence.
He ventured deep into the abandoned lands once ruled by the Blood Moon. His feet carried him to an ancient temple, hidden and forgotten, buried under roots and stone. Inside was a single altar, sealed by blood.
He slashed his palm and pressed it to the seal. The air rippled. Blood swirled. Whispers erupted like chants:
> "Child of the pure blood… You carry the mark."
"The Undying stirs. His wrath shall cleanse."
"He was never gone…"
The voices faded.
Min clenched his fists.
> "Alan…"
The vision ended abruptly as a deep tremor rippled through the air — not from the temple.
From the Blood Gate.
He could feel it — like a scream through the blood.
Alan had awakened.
---
Inside the gate, chaos reigned.
Blood splattered the obsidian floors. The monstrous defenders of the gate — beings of fused bone, flesh, and hatred — lay in pieces. A storm of crimson had torn through them like a vengeful god.
And at the center stood Alan.
No longer dormant. No longer hiding in Aero's shadow.
His coat fluttered in the energy swirling around him. Blood seeped from the air itself, responding to his will. His eyes were no longer the calm red of the Blood Moon—they were glowing, ancient, divine.
The warriors who had mocked Aero now crawled in terror, broken, humiliated. They had separated from Aero when the gate first closed, thinking him useless. Only Rei had stayed. And now Rei lay unconscious, barely breathing, his body broken after protecting Aero from a monstrous onslaught.
Alan walked past Aero, who was still conscious but barely holding on.
> "Rest now," Alan said softly.
Then he looked up.
A beast — no, a warden of the gate — emerged from the throne room. Ten feet tall, arms like stone pillars, a face like a butchered skull wrapped in chain.
It roared. The walls trembled.
Alan's blood weapon shimmered — shifting from a sword to a scythe. Energy built in the air like a storm.
> "You kept my clan here. You made us into legends… then into ghosts."
The beast charged. Alan moved.
A single slash — too fast for the eye — split the air.
The creature stopped mid-run, its body sliding apart in clean halves before exploding in a geyser of blood.
Alan stood still, his blade dripping.
He turned, lifting his gaze to the walls of the gate.
> "You've stirred me. Now awaken… all of you."
The blood pulsed across the entire gate — like a heart.
From within the seal, something deeper rumbled.
Alan whispered to himself:
> "The world thought we were extinct. Let's show them what happens when blood remembers."