The fires still smoldered.
Greywick's streets, once a maze of filth and shadow, had been reshaped into a graveyard of armor and ash. Where torches once flickered in gutters, holy light had scoured whole alleys bare—burning shadow and vampire alike into nothing. The cobblestones were slick with blood, running in thin, metallic-smelling rivers toward the drains.
Blaze walked those streets in silence, his boots cutting through the mixture of blood and soot. Around him, the remnants of his court staggered into view. Kael limped from the ruins of a tavern wall, his chest scorched black where consecrated fire had seared fur and flesh. Garrick dragged the haft of his ruined axe behind him, his grin faint but still stubbornly plastered across his face despite the burns that had eaten through his armor. Asha emerged from the smoke with her wolves at her side—only three where once there had been five. They whined low, muzzles bloody, their fur charred where light had burned them.
Seren alone stepped from a rooftop without a scratch, though her eyes betrayed the strain she worked so hard to conceal.
Blaze's gaze swept over them all, his crimson eyes cold and appraising. He counted not the living, but the missing. Six lesser spawn—gone. Not wounded. Not scattered. Gone. Nothing left but patches of dust smeared across the stone where holy fire had claimed them utterly.
The cursed ring on his finger throbbed faintly, as though savoring the silence of their absence.
Kael knelt beside one of those blackened smears, his claws digging into the stone. His lips curled into a silent snarl, his shoulders heaving as if he could drag his fallen pack back by sheer will. He finally let out a guttural sound, something between a growl and a cry, and smashed his fist into the cobblestone, shattering it. "They were mine," he said hoarsely. "Mine to protect."
Blaze let the words hang in the air.
Asha laid a hand on Kael's shoulder, but her eyes were not gentle. They were sharp, brimming with cold anger. "They knew what they were when you turned them. Wolves die in the hunt. That is the way."
"And yet it burns all the same," Kael snapped back, rising with a snarl, his blood-streaked fangs flashing. His gaze flicked to Asha's wolves, limping and whimpering. "Tell me you don't feel it. Tell me it doesn't gut you to see your pack broken."
Asha bared her teeth but did not reply. The silence was enough.
Garrick's laughter broke through, though it was thin and ragged. He limped forward, dropping the useless stump of his axe. "What are you all whining for? We won, didn't we? Hah!" He spread his burned arms wide, blood still dripping down them. "The Dawnbreaker's head is dust. His holy dogs are corpses in the gutter. Greywick stands. And we stand with it."
"Barely," Seren said flatly, descending from her perch. She walked among the corpses, her dagger idly turning one knight's head to face her. His eyes were wide, glassy, his lips frozen mid-prayer. Seren looked up at Blaze. "Six are ash. That's a third of the lesser brood you raised. And you know the Church won't stop here. This was not victory. It was warning."
The words stirred mutters from the gangs gathered at the edges of the square—Ledo's men, bloodied and soot-covered, clutching stolen weapons like they were toys. They had fought, but poorly. Many had hidden when the light grew too bright. Blaze could see it in their faces: fear. The kind that makes men whisper of abandoning their master, if only they had the courage to do it.
Blaze turned his eyes on them, and the whispers died instantly. One glance was enough. The air around him weighed heavier than steel.
He stepped past the corpses and the ashes, raising his voice just enough to carry. "Six gone. Their blood is not wasted." He gestured to the smoking remains of the Dawnbreaker, his armor dulled, his body broken where Blaze had drained him. "They burned, but their ashes paved the way to this moment. We stand, and they do not. Greywick stands, and the Light flees."
The citizens peering from shuttered windows swallowed the words in silence. Fearful eyes met one another. Some bowed their heads. Others whispered prayers. A few, the boldest or the most broken, whispered his new names: Vampire Lord… Crimson Shadow…
Blaze did not smile. He did not mourn, either. He only looked down at his ring.
It pulsed against his finger, faint as a heartbeat.
A whisper slithered into his mind, soft and beckoning.
Drink. Drink deeper. Blood is power. Their death is not loss—it is offering. Feed, and you will never lose another again.
Blaze's jaw tightened. The cursed hunger gnawed at him, stronger tonight than ever before. He looked at the broken paladin captain, his blood still warm in the gutters. His court bled and limped before him, waiting for his word. The city held its breath.
His word came, low and cold.
"Gather the corpses. Strip them of their weapons, their armor, their holy trinkets. Take what feeds us, burn what defiles us." He turned to his lieutenants, his crimson eyes flashing. "Tonight, we drink not in mourning. We drink in conquest."
Kael bowed his head. Garrick grinned. Seren's lips quirked faintly, like the ghost of an approval. Even Asha's wolves, whimpering, raised their heads at the sound of his voice.
The Dawnbreaker's body was hauled toward the throne spire.
And as the ring pulsed again, Blaze felt something deeper stir in his veins. Something waiting to be claimed.
The Consecrated Offering
The corpses were dragged into the throne spire like offerings to some ancient altar. Paladins in gleaming armor, priests clutching scorched holy books, mercenaries who had sworn to the Dawnbreaker's cause—all piled in heaps at the foot of the dark throne. The stench of charred flesh mingled with the copper tang of fresh blood. Torches burned low in the chamber, casting shadows that seemed to twitch as though eager for the feast.
Blaze stood before it all, his lieutenants gathered behind him in a half-circle.
Kael, his fur blackened and half his face seared, bared his fangs as his yellow eyes locked onto the corpses. His claws twitched like a starving wolf forced to sit before a slaughtered herd. Asha's wolves paced in agitation, their ears flat, their growls low and hungry. Garrick leaned heavily on a replacement axe—newly claimed from the dead—with his grin stretched wide, though even he licked his lips unconsciously at the sight of spilled blood. Seren said nothing, but the faint tremor in her hands as she cleaned her blade betrayed her desire as much as any word.
Even Ledo, skulking at the back with his gang, looked unsettled. He wasn't one of them. Not vampire, not beastfolk, not spawn. Just a man bound by fear and ambition. But tonight, his wide eyes followed the hunger in the room, and he looked smaller than ever.
Blaze let them all feel it for a heartbeat longer before speaking.
"This is the price the Light paid for daring to invade our nest," he said. His voice echoed, slow and cold, filling the chamber like a tide of shadow. "And this… is our reward."
He gestured toward the corpses. Shadows stretched and coiled, parting them like curtains, revealing pulsing veins and still-warm flesh beneath armor. Blood dripped steadily into bowls carved of black stone, each one filling until the air itself reeked of iron.
Kael inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing. Garrick's grin grew animalistic. Asha's wolves whined, hackles raised. Seren's pupils dilated, her composure breaking for just a flicker.
Blaze raised a hand, silencing them. "Not yet."
He stepped forward, his own hunger gnawing like fire in his veins. The cursed ring throbbed, urging him—Drink first. Take all. Leave them scraps. You are Lord. Their hunger is yours to break.
But Blaze ignored it.
He cut his palm with a claw and let his black blood drip into the first bowl. The moment it touched the crimson liquid within, the mixture churned and darkened, thickening into something deeper—blood tinged with power. Blood that bound.
He lifted the bowl and offered it to Kael first.
"Drink," Blaze commanded.
Kael hesitated only for a breath, then fell to his knees. His fangs sank into the edge of the bowl, and he drank like a beast denied water for days. When he rose again, his burned flesh had already begun to knit, the black scars paling to red as his body repaired itself. His golden eyes gleamed brighter, almost fevered, and he pressed his forehead to the ground. "My lord," he rasped, "their lives are yours."
Blaze handed the second bowl to Asha. Her wolves padded closer, snarling and snapping, but she silenced them with a growl of her own before raising the bowl to her lips. She drank deeply, her throat moving in steady pulls. Blood dripped from her chin as her wounds sealed and her aura sharpened. When she lowered the bowl, her wolves licked the blood from her fingers like pups. "For the pack," she said simply, her voice steady but her eyes wild.
Garrick seized the third bowl eagerly, drinking with both hands. He tipped it back so hard the blood spilled down his beard, staining it dark. He let out a roar, pounding his chest with his good hand as strength returned to him. "A toast!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone. "To death, to blood, to our Lord who stands when the Light flees!"
The chamber answered with howls and growls, even murmurs from Ledo's gang.
Seren, when her turn came, drank more slowly. Her lips touched the bowl, but her eyes never left Blaze's. She drank in measured sips, as though studying him, testing him, seeking the edges of his will. When she set the bowl down, her expression had softened by a hair's breadth. "You feed us like a king feeds knights," she said quietly. "Not like a master feeding hounds."
Blaze said nothing, but her words hung heavy in the air.
The ritual ended with Blaze himself. He raised the last bowl, filled not with his blood but pure—the Dawnbreaker's own veins poured into it. The scent was overwhelming, holy and foul all at once, like sunlight trapped in liquid form. It burned his nose, made his fangs ache, made the cursed ring thrum wildly.
Drink, the ring whispered. Drink, and you rise above them all. Their blood will never bind you again. You will be more.
Blaze drank.
The taste was fire and ice. It burned his throat, seared his veins, made his vision flare white. The Dawnbreaker's holy essence fought him, tried to choke him from within, but Blaze's shadow surged up and devoured it. Power lanced through him, sharp and violent, filling his limbs with an unnatural strength. He staggered, gripping the throne to steady himself, as whispers filled his head louder than ever.
More. Drink more. Kill them. Rule alone.
But Blaze forced the whispers back. He clenched his jaw until his teeth cracked, and when he lifted his head again, his eyes glowed brighter crimson than before, twin embers in the dark.
The chamber had fallen silent, every gaze locked on him.
Blaze's voice rang out, low and resonant: "Tonight, Greywick is written in blood. The Light thought to burn us. Instead, they have fed us. Their strength is ours. Their dead are ours. Their holy fire is ashes at our feet."
He raised the bowl, blood dripping down his hand.
"Let this night be remembered as the first of many. The first victory of the Crimson Court."
The chamber erupted. Howls, roars, cheers, the sound of blades pounding against shields. Even Ledo and his men shouted, caught in the swell of fear and fervor.
But none louder than the cursed ring, whispering promises only Blaze could hear.
More will come. More will fall. And when all the Light lies broken, you will drink the blood of gods.
The chamber still vibrated with the howls of the Court, but Blaze felt apart from it, as though he stood at the edge of a storm.
The blood burned inside him. Not the warmth of a simple feeding, not the addictive rush of stolen vitality. This was different—deeper. His veins throbbed as though molten iron flowed through them, his skin crawling with shifting shadow.
He staggered back, gripping the armrest of the black stone throne. The world tilted.
The Dawnbreaker's blood fought him still, a clash of radiant light against the abyss that was his very soul. His vision flickered—bright golden fire one moment, consuming shadow the next.
And then the whispers began.
You are not meant to walk in halves. You are shadow and hunger. You are throne and fang. Drink deeper. Bleed deeper. Become what I was.
The cursed ring pulsed against his finger, veins of crimson light spreading up his hand, searing into his arm like molten chains.
Blaze grit his teeth. He would not kneel. Not to gods, not to fate, not even to the memory of the Vampire King whose curse he now wore.
His breath came in ragged bursts, and shadows began to peel from his body, drifting like smoke into the air. They slithered across the walls and floor, reaching like claws for every corner of the chamber. Torches guttered, their light strangled until only the glow of his crimson eyes remained.
Asha was the first to sense it. She dropped to one knee, her wolves whimpering, tails tucked. "My lord… your blood is changing."
Kael fell to his haunches, his claws digging into the stone. "It's like standing before a storm that wants to devour me."
Garrick tried to laugh, but the sound cracked, more nervous than defiant. "Hells… I thought he was frightening before."
Even Seren—stoic, sharp-eyed Seren—lowered her gaze, her composure slipping for the first time since she'd joined him. Her lips parted, whispering something too soft to catch. A prayer? Or fear?
Blaze felt their eyes on him, but their fear no longer mattered. His senses were sharpened to the point of pain. He could hear every heartbeat, every droplet of blood coursing through their veins. He could taste it without biting, smell the subtle differences between beastfolk and human, between spawn and mortal.
The hunger roared.
He could end them all here. Drink them dry. Rise alone, unchained by loyalty, by weakness. The ring urged it, screamed it.
Crimson King. Take the crown. Let them die.
"No."
The word tore from his throat like a growl, shaking the chamber. His hand clenched into a fist, shadows exploding outward before sucking back into his body with a hiss. He forced the hunger down, forced the ring into silence, though his vision still swam with darkness edged in red.
Slowly, Blaze lowered himself into the throne. He exhaled once, a plume of shadow mist escaping his lips, coiling like a living serpent before dispersing. His gaze swept across his lieutenants—Kael trembling, Asha crouched low, Garrick silent for once, Seren unreadable, Ledo pale and sweating at the edges of the hall.
Good. They should see. They should understand.
When he spoke, his voice was no longer just sound. It was a pressure, a weight that pressed against their chests, as though the stone walls themselves echoed his words.
"Tonight, the Court was baptized in blood. You drank of our enemies. You stood when holy fire sought to burn you. And now, you kneel not to me, but to what we are becoming."
He spread his arms, shadows curling like wings behind him.
"The Light fears us. The Church trembles. They send their pawns, their soldiers, their assassins—and they die. Tonight was not an ending. It was the beginning."
Kael slammed a clawed hand to his chest. "My lord!"
Asha howled, her wolves answering in chorus.
Garrick grinned again, wide and blood-stained. "Hells, aye. Let the bastards come again—I'll drink 'em like ale."
Seren gave the barest nod, but her eyes lingered on Blaze's new aura with something between fear and devotion. Only Ledo hesitated, but even he forced himself into a bow, his gang following his lead. The fear rolling off him was sharp, bitter. Blaze could taste it.
The shadows tightened around Blaze's throne, coalescing into the faint shape of a crown above his head before dissolving. He did not miss the way his court saw it—did not miss the awe in their faces.
The cursed ring whispered again, softer now.
Yes. This is power. Soon, you will pass the veil. Soon, you will be more than lord. You will be heir.
Blaze ignored it, but deep inside, he knew the truth. He was no longer the boy cast aside in a throne room. No longer just a shadow clinging to survival.
He was standing at the threshold of something greater. And when he stepped through, the world would remember.
He leaned forward, his crimson eyes burning.
"Greywick is ours. The shadows are ours. And soon… so will be the world."
The chamber erupted again, a frenzy of howls, roars, and vows.
But Blaze only sat back, silent, letting the shadows coil tighter around him. The hunger was not gone. It never would be. But for now, it was leashed. And as long as he held the leash, the world itself was prey.