Before Daemon left the old abandoned mill, far away on the outskirts of Elysian Reach, stood a cathedral steeped in ancient legends... This cathedral, known as the Sanctum of Blood, was a relic from a time when Elysian Reach was ruled by the vampire lords. Its imposing structure, covered in creeping ivy and worn stone, concealed secrets of blood rites and dark pacts.
Inside, the air was thick with the weight of centuries, extremely dark, quiet, and cold. Deeper within, in the heart of the cathedral where only the boldest dared tread, lay the throne room. Here, in the oppressive darkness, two deep, dark crimson eyes suddenly emerged.
"Hmm... Blood Lord Velthaneus... is he dead?" A regal but cold voice echoed in the darkness.
'Malachi, come,' the person on the throne commanded in thought.
After a few moments, a pair of lighter crimson eyes appeared in front of the throne, and the figure seemed to kneel down.
"Lord Kaelith, what are your orders?" the voice asked the man on the throne.
Lord Kaelith, the vampire lord of the Blood Banker Clan, leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne. "I have lost connection with Velthaneus," he said, his voice a smooth like an icy current. "Do you know what is wrong?"
Malachi sensing the gravity of the situation, hesitated before speaking. "Lost connection? That's nearly impossible... you sired him, my lord." His voice sound of disbelief.
"That's why I'm asking if you know anything about this. His city was supposed to start bringing in more blood bags. We need a lot right now," Lord Kaelith said.
Every drop of blood is a measure of my influence. Every lost connection, a threat to my authority.
"I understand, my lord. I recently heard that Velthaneus was going to take out some younglings on the hunt. The only way for such a loss of connection is if someone took control of his body or... he's dead," Malachi speculated.
"Dead...I just recently announced his position as Blood Lord. If this is true, others will think I'm making the wrong choices, and they will slowly lose respect." Lord Kaelith ordered before continuing. "Malachi I trust you to do this because the first of my blood lord and my most trusted advisor...I want you to find out what happened as soon as possible," Lord Kaelith ordered.
Malachi is part of the blood bankers high ranks called he is called the The Shadewalker In charge of espionage, covert missions, intelligence gathering and more because of his advisership.
"As you command, my lord I will surely complete your order," Malachi said before his eyes vanished. At the same time, Lord Kaelith closed his own eyes.
Malachi had served Kaelith for centuries, bound by blood and duty. Their telepathic communication was a testament to the deep connection forged through countless battles and shared conquests. Lord Kaelith because of it ruled over his dominion with an iron grip, his authority unquestioned among his kin.
...
After the death of Blood Lord Velthaneus, Daemon had searched around for Jason but found no trace of him or the vehicles. While it seemed like a betrayal, Daemon didn't believe it was. However, he didn't have time to dwell on it. Knowing the gunshots and roars would have surely attracted the ER -Police, he decided to lay low.
When Jason was driving around Ding Ding Town, Daemon recalled a spot that Jason had mentioned they still owned despite what the blood lord ruling it. He decided to head there and found the Silver Inn. Inside, despite the curfew and chaos in the city, people were still present mainly because the Silver Inn was a popular tavern and inn known for its warm hospitality and excellent food. It was also a place where travelers and locals shared stories and rumors.
Daemon walked to the bartender a burly man with a grizzled beard and a weathered face that spoke of countless nights tending to the inn's patrons. 'What can I get you?' he asked, his eyes flicking with a hint of recognition. The patrons, a mix of locals and travelers, glanced at Daemon with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. In a world where alliances could shift with the tide and danger lurked in every shadow.
"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, wiping the counter with a cloth.
Looking at the menu above the man's head, Daemon saw a list of ten items, each sounding very appetizing. After a moment of deliberation, he said, "Give me one each of the Dragon's Burger and the Forest Salad."
The bartender nodded. "Okay...that'll be fifty zen."
'Luckily, I started to take money from some of the dead men's bodies. They won't be needing it anymore,' Daemon thought as he handed over the fifty zen.
"It'll be ready in 15 minutes," the bartender said before walking off.
While waiting for his food, Daemon glanced around the tavern. A few people were looking at him, which made him wonder if they recognized him as the new enforcer for the cartel then he mind was still racing with possibilities, each more troubling than the last.
'With the death of blood lord Velthaneus it will surely send shockwaves through the underworld, creating a power vacuum that every faction in Elyria Reach would be eager to exploit.' He thought, noticing patrons casting cautious glances in his direction, their body language tense and guarded.
Who will be the first to move? Who will be the first to die?
In less than fifteen minutes, the bartender brought out two plates. One held a hearty beef patty topped with spicy pepper jack cheese, jalapenos, and a drizzle of fiery sriracha sauce, served with seasoned potato wedges. The other contained fresh mixed greens tossed with crisp apples, candied walnuts, crumbled feta cheese, and a tangy raspberry vinaigrette.
Daemon's mouth watered at the sight of the food. 'I haven't had a good meal in days. This looks very good... let's try these candied walnuts; sweets are my favorite,' he thought his eyes widening with anticipation as he picked up his fork and knife.
How many more of these moments will I have?
After enjoying his meal, he bought a beer he felt a cool liquid a rare comfort in his tumultuous life. Although he had never really liked alcohol, preferring to keep his body and mind sharp, artist he need focus also he was of age at twenty-five, he found himself contemplating the changes within him. as after a few drinks, he realized he never felt drunk.
'Did the changes in my body start building up immunity? What other immunities do I have? I will have to ask the system later,' Daemon thought.
He noticed one of the men, who had been constantly eyeing him like the others in the tavern, walked over to him. Daemon remained silent until the man spoke.
"Hello, Enforcer. Did you enjoy your food?" the man asked probing for Daemon's reaction.
"..." Daemon didn't answer immediately. He just kept drinking his beer, staring at the man with an unblinking gaze, which made the man scratch his head nervously, uncertain how to interpret Daemon's demeanor.
"Did you come here to check out the business?" the man asked.
Daemon finally decided to answer, sensing that the man truly knew who he was. "What do you mean?" he asked.
"You don't know? Well, it would be my honor to show you the shop," the man said with a smile and a slight bow.
"Lead on, and skip the royal treatment," Daemon replied crossing his arms defensively.
"Okay, Enforcer," the man replied in the same tone of respect.
As they walked, Daemon saw the man make a twisting motion with his finger in the air. The workers in the tavern started informing the patrons that the tavern was closing. Although some complained, they knew better than to resist, understanding that something significant was happening.
The man led Daemon to a picture of a beautiful woman, her serene expression a stark contrast to the grim reality behind it. The secret door swung open, revealing a hidden staircase that descended into the bowels of the building. As they walked down, Daemon could smell the metallic tang of blood, mingled with the sickly sweet scent of flowers and sweets. The air grew colder, and the sound of machinery hummed in the background. When they reached the bottom, Daemon was confronted with a sprawling underground sweatshop, where over a hundred people toiled under harsh lights and oppressive conditions.
'So the cartel is not only about selling slaves but also runs illegal sweatshops,' Daemon thought.
"So, this is the only organ shop we have in this town. It's an honor having you here," the man said. The temperature dropped noticeably, causing his breath to mist before him.
Daemon then realized the source of the smell, half of the operation was organ trafficking.
'There are so many hearts, kidneys... How are they acquiring these without being discovered by the authorities? Is it because of the tavern's reputation?' Daemon thought.
Half of the workers moved tiredly, while the other half worked with energy, their attitudes seemingly dependent on their feelings toward the cartel. The cartel broke victims' spirits through violence and psychological manipulation. Victims were often isolated, starved, and subjected to constant threats to instill fear and compliance. The cartel also used propaganda and false promises to manipulate and control their victims.
Daemon tried not to let the sights and smells overwhelm him as he observed the operation. Rows of workers, mostly downtrodden and gaunt, labored under the watchful eyes of armed guards. The occasional whimper or suppressed sob escaped the workers.
After being introduced and shown around the sweatshop, Daemon decided to sleep in one of the inn rooms for free since it was already late at night.