The Covenant fortress whispered as always, its halls alive with measured steps and muted voices. Blue crystal fire burned steady in sconces, casting cold light across stone carved with centuries of history. To the vampires who moved here, nothing had changed. Their fortress was secure. Their Covenant unbroken.
But Elder Rhaziel was gone.
Noctis moved silently through the corridors, his aura masked, his presence no more than a shadow passing between pools of azure glow. Behind his eyes, the Blood Memory still pulsed, fragments of Rhaziel's cowardice unfolding. He had seen the elder's council betrayals, his silences, his vaults. But one image lingered sharper than the rest:
A hidden compartment in a hall of carved obsidian, marked only by a faint groove beneath a crest. Within it lay a sealed vial, dark glass etched with runes. Inside the vial was blood — old, thicker than ichor, rich with a power deeper than lineage. Progenitor blood.
Noctis's claws flexed at the memory. His smile sharpened.
He turned down a new hall, his steps carrying him toward the hidden vault.
The chamber was quiet, its walls etched with the Covenant's crests. He traced the grooves with his claw, feeling for the crack shown in Rhaziel's memory. Sparks hissed under his touch. He pressed inward, and stone ground open with a faint hiss.
The compartment revealed itself.
A vial rested within, black glass glowing faint red from within. The runes etched across its surface trembled faintly, old wards long weakened but still pressing against the blood's hunger.
Noctis reached for it. His claws closed around the glass.
The Grid pulsed.
Even sealed, the blood called to him, its aura pressing out, heavy and old. It smelled of lineage older than memory, marrow deeper than clans. A fragment of the Progenitor's essence itself, stolen and hidden, hoarded by cowards.
Noctis uncorked it.
The blood inside glowed darker, thicker than oil, richer than any mortal or elder essence. He raised it without pause and drank.
The vial emptied.
It burned through his throat like fire, seared his marrow like molten steel. His Grid exploded outward, crimson lattice blazing. Vampiric veins surged brighter than ever, crimson arcs branching wider, deeper. Black cracks of abyss pressed inward, green veins of demonic marrow hissed, white-blue veins of sanctity flared. But the crimson roared louder, brighter, heavier.
System Pulse — Progenitor Blood Consumed.Bloodline Strengthened.+1,500,000 Blood Essence.+50,000 Soul Essence.
The lattice reformed.
Major Doctrine Reinforced: Crimson Dominion. Vampiric aura sharpened to sovereign command. Elders would falter before him.
New Bloodline Skill Unlocked: Sanguine Throne. He could manifest an aura throne, a seat of dominion made from his blood itself. Within its radius, all vampires of lesser lineage bent.
Bloodline Surge: Vampiric Core Ascended. The vampire veins of his Grid glowed brighter than dragon, divine, or demonic.
The whispers quieted further. The abyss pressed weaker, muffled beneath vampiric dominance.
Noctis exhaled once, smoke rising from his lips. His claws flexed, sparks dripping. His crimson eyes glowed brighter.
"Balance," he murmured. "The base strengthened."
He turned from the hidden chamber, his aura masked again, though his veins still pulsed with new strength. The vial dissolved into dust in his hand.
But his hunt was not finished.
Another elder waited — Elder Veythar, who had once laughed when the Covenant sealed his fate. Noctis followed the scent of his bloodline through the halls, each step silent, his shadow merging with the blue fire.
Veythar's chambers loomed ahead, guarded like Rhaziel's had been. Noctis's eyes burned once, and the thralls stiffened, then stepped aside, their wills shattered.
He entered.
The elder sat in a high-backed chair, chalice of blood in hand. His eyes narrowed as he saw the intruder. He rose, aura flaring, fangs bared. "Who dares—"
Noctis moved.
Dominion Step tore him through shadow and void. He appeared at Veythar's throat, claws closing tight. The elder gasped, his chalice falling, red spilling across obsidian floor.
Noctis leaned close, his halo ghosting into existence behind his head, his horns flickering faint.
"You laughed." His voice was low, sharp. "Laugh now."
He bit.
The blood surged, rich, centuries old. His Grid pulsed again, memories rushing forward. Veythar's voice echoing in council halls, his hand lifting in mockery, his smirk as betrayal was sealed.
Blood Grid Updated.+400,000 Blood Essence.+20,000 Soul Essence.Blood Memory Unlocked: Council Mockery.
Veythar's body twitched, soul-echo lingering.
Noctis whispered. "Not even ash."
The Crucible opened.
Devour.
The elder's body dissolved into crimson mist, marrow shattered, soul-echo torn into silence. The chamber emptied, nothing left but the smell of smoke.
Noctis stood in silence, his Grid pulsing brighter. His crimson veins glowed hot, halo ghosting faint even in his masked state. He smiled.
Two elders gone.
The Covenant's walls still whispered politics. They had no idea the predator was among them.
The hunt continued.
The Floating Temples loomed above the sea, marble platforms rising from the waves like sanctified islands. Bridges of light arched between them, towers of crystal crowned their heights. Once, hymns had rung here, bells had tolled, priests had walked their halls. Now war filled the air.
The army of the Floating Temples stood at the bridges, their banners of white and gold snapping in the wind. Priests chanted in ranks, their voices weaving hymns that burned the air with sanctity. Paladins in silver armor clashed with demons on the marble stairs, shields braced, swords gleaming in holy fire. Arrows of light streaked down from the terraces, piercing wings of fiends in the sky.
But the demons pressed harder.
Abyss zealots spread glyphs across the bridges, their chants tearing at sanctity. Amphibious beasts climbed from the sea, ichor dripping as they dragged soldiers into the depths. Winged swarms circled above, diving in endless waves. The marble cracked beneath their claws, ichor pools spreading like black roots across the holy ground.
The army held — but barely. Their lines bent, their chants faltered.
Then the sky darkened.
Six wings cut the clouds. Crimson feathers burned like inverted light, scaled wings beat sparks of molten fire, black flame wings roared jagged and serrated. Behind nine horns burned a golden halo, radiant arcs turning slow.
The Sovereign descended.
Noctis landed on the central bridge with a sound like thunder. The marble cracked beneath his boots. The soldiers faltered — for a heartbeat in awe, for another in fear. Then they felt his aura press outward, crushing the demons before them, and their voices rose again, steadier, stronger.
The swarm shrieked, diving for him.
The Twilight Reaver blazed in his hand, arcs of crimson fire trailing. The Bloodfang Reapers spun into orbit, scythes humming, carving through air in circles of death.
Sovereign Crimson Arsenal.
The arsenal unfolded. Reaver slashes cut in wide arcs, severing dozens in each sweep. Reapers whirled outward, their afterimages crisscrossing the sky, shredding flyers before they reached him. His claws burned with black and white-blue fire, sweeping aside zealots, tearing their glyphs into ash.
Demons surged across the bridge.
Noctis stepped forward. Dominion Step IX tore him through shadow and marrow, reappearing among them. His phantom double slashed once before fading, splitting three beasts open as they fell screaming. He swept his hand. Oblivion Flame surged in a wave, devouring not just flesh but essence. The ichor pools boiled to dust.
The soldiers rallied. Their chants rose higher, hymns burning in unison with his aura. Paladins pressed forward, shields locking, swords gleaming brighter. The demons faltered, caught between sanctity and dominion.
Noctis spread his wings wide.
His halo flared. Halo Severance. Radiant arcs streaked from the golden ring, slicing through zealots at the bridge's edge. Their staves shattered, their bodies dissolved into light. Flyers fell from the air, wings severed mid-screech.
The swarm broke.
He raised his hand once more. Crimson light erupted from his chest. Exsanguinate Nova. The battlefield froze as marrow ripped from demon bodies in streams of blood. Thousands collapsed into husks, their essence streaming into him. His Grid blazed, veins glowing brighter with every pulse.
The soldiers watched as the swarm fell silent. Only the sound of hymns and the hiss of fading ichor filled the air.
Noctis stood alone at the center of the bridge, his wings folded, his claws dripping. His aura pressed across the field, and none dared move but him.
He opened the Crucible.
Devour.
The battlefield screamed. Demon corpses convulsed, dissolving into crimson mist. Marrow shattered, blood ripped free, soul-echoes shrieked as they were consumed. The ichor pools boiled dry, the glyphs shattered into nothing.
The soldiers shielded their eyes as light poured into him, crimson arcs blazing across the battlefield. When it ended, the bridge was bare. The demons were gone. Only the Sovereign remained.
Noctis lowered his hand. His Grid pulsed heavy, veins burning bright crimson threaded with white-blue light. The whispers were silent in his marrow. For now.
The Floating Temples' army dropped to one knee, their voices low but steady, echoing across the bridges. Not from command, but from awe.
Noctis looked across them, his halo still burning faint behind his horns. He smiled, sharp and cold.
"The demons will not take your ground," he said. His voice carried without effort, cutting the air clean. "Not while I am here."
The soldiers struck spear to shield. The sound rang like thunder.
Noctis spread his wings again, rising into the sky. He had no need to stay. The battle was already his.
The Floating Temples hung in silence above the sea, their marble terraces gleaming faint under the dusk. Gold light from the west caught their towers, casting long shadows across the bridges of sanctity that bound island to island. Soldiers patrolled the walkways, priests walked in small circles chanting, paladins raised banners above the terraces. To all outward eyes, the kingdom was secure.
But deep in the sanctum, the truth bent under dominion.
The leaders of the Floating Temples knelt in silence. Cloaked priests, armored paladins, generals and bishops—all lowered their heads as Noctis entered. The blue crystal fires flickered against black stone, their glow cold against his silhouette. Six wings folded against his back, his halo burning faint, his crimson eyes cutting through the chamber.
They rose only when he allowed them.
"My lord," the high bishop murmured, voice steady, eyes blank.
Noctis's voice cut through the air, calm and sharp. "You will give me all that your forefathers hid."
There was no hesitation. They had been his for some time. His hypnosis threaded into their marrow, binding wills as surely as chains. They turned together, lifting hands toward a sealed alcove. The stone split with a hiss of light. From within, four treasures glowed.
A shard of crystallized hymn-fire, burning with a light that had endured centuries without fuel.A chalice brimming with faith-flame, steady and bright.A crown woven from radiant thorns, its edges humming with hymns.And a bell of silence, small enough to rest in one hand, yet pressing heavier than thunder.
The leaders bowed, voices in unison. "They are yours, Sovereign."
Noctis stepped forward. The shard floated in his palm first, its light pressing against his claws. He opened the Crucible. The shard dissolved, threads of sanctity unraveling into his veins. Fire licked through his marrow, burning alongside crimson.
System Pulse: Holy Treasure Consumed.+300,000 Faith Essence.Radiant Vein Awakened.
The chalice came next. He lifted it, tilted it, and drank. The flame poured down his throat, searing his insides, bending into his blood.
System Pulse: Holy Treasure Consumed.+300,000 Faith Essence.Dawnfire Doctrine Reinforced.
The crown dissolved as he set it on his horns. The thorns embedded into halo and marrow both, weaving with crimson veins.
System Pulse: Holy Treasure Consumed.+300,000 Faith Essence.Solar Halo Vein Awakened.
The bell melted into silence in his hand, its weight sinking into his bones. His aura pressed outward, muffled, steadied.
System Pulse: Holy Treasure Consumed.+300,000 Faith Essence.Soulwell Vein Awakened.
The lattice blazed. Crimson veins of vampiric dominion flared bright, white-blue threads weaving alongside. His halo sharpened, arcs spinning brighter, each slice humming with sanctity. His claws glowed with faint light, streaks of pale blue burning along the edges of black and green.
Holy Resistance (Sanctis Bastion) advanced to Tier IX.Halo Severance II unlocked.Marrow Purge II unlocked.Dawnfire Wreath II unlocked.
The whispers in his marrow shrieked once, then fell to murmurs. Their claws dulled, their weight lessened.
Noctis smiled, low and sharp. "Better."
He turned to the leaders. "Now open the catacombs."
They obeyed without hesitation.
The descent wound deep beneath the marble platforms, stairs spiraling into sanctified dark. Walls of carved stone glowed faint with runes, each etched by hands long dead. The air thickened as he walked, sanctity pressing heavy, faith lingering in silence.
The stairs opened into a hall vast and endless. Sarcophagi lined the walls, marble coffins stacked in tiers, each etched with names and hymns. Crystal fires burned in alcoves, their blue light steady. Thousands of clergy rested here—priests, bishops, cardinals, inquisitors.
Noctis stepped inside.
The silence broke.
Bones stirred. Skulls lifted. Sockets glowed faint gold. Hands rose, skeletal fingers gripping staves, swords, tomes. Cloaks of dust shifted against stone. Voices whispered in forgotten hymns. Sanctity rose in the air like smoke.
They had awoken.
The dead clergy turned their sockets toward him, their voices rising in chant. Words older than kingdoms, hymns heavier than armies. Their power pressed outward, their bones moving as one.
Noctis's halo blazed behind his horns, arcs spinning bright. His wings spread, six wide, filling the hall. Their light pressed against him, but his veins glowed brighter. His resistance burned.
The first wave moved.
Priests raised their staves, beams of white lanced toward him. Noctis lifted his hand, claws flexing. The beams shattered against his aura, bursting into smoke. He stepped forward. The Twilight Reaver cleaved in a single arc, cutting through a dozen skeletal forms. They fell in ash, their voices cut short.
Bishops raised their tomes, words of judgment spilling. Circles of sanctity flared beneath him. Noctis spread his wings. Marrow Purge II erupted outward, a shockwave of white-blue flame that consumed their wards and shattered their bones. Their screams echoed before they fell silent.
Cardinals raised their hands, spears of light forming in air. Noctis stepped. Dominion Step IX tore him through shadow, marrow, and void. He reappeared among them, his phantom double slashing once before fading. Dozens shattered to dust.
The inquisitors moved last, their armor clanking, their blades burning. They charged as one. Noctis laughed, sharp and cold, then swept his hand. Halo Severance II. Radiant arcs streaked from his halo, slicing their bodies apart mid-charge. Their armor fell empty.
The hall shook with silence again. Dust scattered across stone. Ash drifted to the floor.
But deeper, at the far end of the catacombs, ten sarcophagi stirred.
Marble cracked. Runes split. Golden light seeped through the seams.
The coffins shattered, and the popes rose.
Ten figures cloaked in sanctity, their skulls burning brighter than all the rest. Their hands lifted in unison, their voices merging into one chant.
The hall trembled. Light filled the chamber.
Noctis narrowed his eyes, halo blazing, wings spreading wider.
"So this is what you saved for me."
The popes raised their hands higher. Their voices grew louder. Their light pressed heavier. Tier VII holy arts burned into the air, radiant enough to split armies.
Noctis laughed, sharp, sovereign. He walked forward through their radiance, claws flexing, his veins glowing bright with crimson and white-blue fire.
The spells shattered against him.
None touched his marrow. None pierced his skin. His resistances burned hotter, his aura pressed harder.
The popes faltered. Their voices cracked.
And then they changed.
Their skulls tilted upward. Their voices merged into a single wordless hymn. Their light grew brighter. Their bodies shook, splintered, and burned away into dust.
The hymn did not stop.
The air split.
A rift tore open above the sarcophagi, light pouring through. Wings beat within. Shadows of blades, shields, and armor filled the sky beyond.
Noctis spread his wings wide, halo blazing, eyes burning crimson.
The popes were gone. But their last hymn had called something greater.
He smiled, low and sharp.
"Finally."
The heavens tore open. And the angels began to descend.
The hymn rose until the walls shook.
The ten popes stood in fractured sarcophagi, their skulls burning gold, their voices merging into one. Words older than the Temples themselves spilled from their jaws, hymns meant not for mortals but for the heavens. Their bodies shook, sanctity pouring out in torrents, searing cracks across the stone.
Noctis advanced, his wings wide, his halo blazing arcs of pale fire. Their spells lashed across him in floods of light.
Tier VII sanctity. Prayers that had once split armies. Wards that had driven back demon hordes. Miracles that had crowned kings.
None of it mattered.
The blasts struck his skin, his wings, his chest. The lattice of his veins flared in answer. Sanctis Bastion IX burned bright, smothering each torrent, unraveling hymns as if they were whispers. His steps did not slow. His claws flexed once. His laughter rang low.
"This is what you saved?"
He swung the Twilight Reaver in a single arc. The light shattered. The popes staggered, their hymns faltering. Their sockets burned brighter, desperation flooding their remnants.
They raised their hands higher. Their light grew heavier.
Then it broke.
Their bones split, their cloaks dissolved. Their golden fire did not extinguish—it surged. Their voices did not stop—they merged. Their marrow crumbled, their essence burning upward into a single rising flame.
The hymn became one.
The air cracked open.
Above the catacombs, the ceiling split. Stone fractured, marble shattered, light poured through as if the sky itself had been torn down. Feathers drifted before the first wings appeared.
Noctis's eyes burned crimson. His halo flared wider.
The angels descended.
First ten. Then twenty. Then fifty.
Armor gleamed, shields locked, blades of light leveled. Their faces bore no fear, no rage. Only discipline. White wings filled the rift until the catacombs glowed brighter than day.
One hundred. One hundred fifty.
The host had arrived.
They spread into ranks as they landed. Shields locked, spears braced, swords raised. Healers and chanters moved behind, their hands already glowing with hymns. Their voices merged into harmony, weaving strength into the front lines.
The catacombs trembled.
Noctis's halo spun faster, arcs brighter, his wings unfolding in full. "Finally," he whispered.
The angels advanced.
The first wave surged. Shields slammed forward. Spears lunged as one. Blades of light descended in a wall of steel.
Noctis met them head-on.
The Twilight Reaver screamed, cleaving through shields in a spray of feathers and light. The Bloodfang Reapers whirled outward, carving arcs that sliced into formation, afterimages severing wings. He stepped once, Dominion Step IX tearing him through marrow and shadow, reappearing behind the front line. His phantom double slashed once, severing a dozen throats before fading.
The angels did not break.
Formations shifted. Lines closed. Healers sang, their hymns binding wounds, their glow lifting the fallen back to their feet. Blades turned as one, pressing him.
He spread his wings, claws flexing. Oblivion Flame roared outward. Black fire consumed the front ranks, devouring essence and marrow. Feathers burned, bodies screamed. But hymns rose again, shielding the lines, cutting his flame short.
Then their counterstrike came.
Tier IX sanctity.
Blades ignited brighter. Spears gleamed hotter. Wings spread as light poured into their marrow.
The strike fell as one.
Noctis lifted his claw. The light struck. His veins hissed. His body burned. Sanctis Bastion IX flared, but not enough. The Tier IX hymns pierced through.
Pain flared across his chest, searing white. One wing staggered as feathers burned. His arm hissed as sanctity carved across bone. For the first time in the Floating Temples, his body bled not from demons, not from titans, but from sanctity itself.
The angels pressed harder.
Formations shifted around him. Shields braced, spears thrust, blades hacked. The healers behind chanted louder, their hymns weaving into every strike, every block.
Noctis roared. His halo flared in arcs of white-blue and crimson. Halo Severance II cut outward, radiant blades slicing through ten at once. They fell in ash, their wings dissolving. He surged forward, claws tearing through shields, his Reaver splitting skulls.
Still they pressed.
The battle raged, catacombs collapsing around them. Marble fell from ceilings, runes shattered on walls. Every blow shook the ground, every hymn echoed through bone.
Hours passed.
Noctis fought like storm made flesh. Hack and slash. Step and phase. AoE storms of blood and fire. He tore lines apart, he slaughtered wings by the dozen, but still the angels reformed. Healers sang, formations shifted, their discipline unbroken.
His veins glowed crimson and white-blue, his aura blazed, his halo burned brighter, but the sanctity pressed harder. Tier IX hymns seared across his flesh, carving wounds deeper. His wings hissed, his claws scorched, his aura strained.
One against one hundred fifty.
The war of attrition had begun.
