Eduardo
Radiated lands
City of ruins
Kingdom of Ashtarium
September 30th 6414
We were running out of synth blood, and no trace of life could be found in the desolate expanse of the salted lands. This place—this husk of a once-thriving civilization—was known as the City of Ruins. After the ordeal with the demonic beasts on the outskirts of Zellux, we had pressed onward, relying on our vampire speed to dart between shelters, resting only as needed. Most of those stops were for Carmen. A newborn, she struggled to keep up, and although we don't tire in the human sense, we still expend energy—energy that must be replenished or else leads to gnawing hunger and mental strain. The more we burn, the heavier the toll on our minds. I could go two months without feeding, but Carmen had no such endurance. If she lost control and entered a blood frenzy, it would spell our doom, alerting the beasts to our position.
We had taken refuge in the remnants of a house perched on a hill overlooking a faded road, one that had once been a main thoroughfare into the old city. Now, that road lay half-buried beneath dunes of golden sand, a lingering scar from the energy strikes that had nearly obliterated the world six millennia ago. I had heard the tales—how Ashtarium had flourished before the war spilled over from the Old Continent to the New. That conflict had reduced a mighty empire to ruins, vast swathes of its territory rendered uninhabitable by poisonous radiation. Yet despite the devastation, the Ashtarmel House had never relinquished its power. The King, unyielding in his ambitions, leaned heavily on a formidable war hero, a figure who inspired fear and respect across the globe. Against all odds, they had endured. When the radiation finally dissipated, the Ashtarmel began rebuilding, their eyes set on expansion. But their efforts to reclaim the wastelands were thwarted, not by lingering poison, but by the ever-present threat of demonic beasts.
The building we had chosen as our temporary sanctuary was a weathered bungalow that might once have been yellow. The roof had long since caved in, allowing the pale moonlight to stream through jagged holes and spill across the floor. The eternal night stretched above us, devoid of stars. Yet there was power in that darkness; it seeped into my bones, sharpening my senses.
Just one more rest, I thought. Then we'd cover the remaining distance to Nexia's borders under cover of darkness. From there, we'd attempt to cross into the next region. But that plan carried its own complications. The passage from Zellux to any other region in the Ashtarium Kingdom was sealed tight. The hypertrain line, which once connected the regions, had been destroyed, and airships risked annihilation if they dared approach the Dome that encased the area. Tensions between the regions were that dire.
I clenched my jaw, frustration bubbling up. This was not how it was supposed to go. I turned my gaze to Carmen, who sat slumped against the wall on the far side of the room. She glared up at the moon, her features shadowed but calm. She seemed stable enough. Rising, I picked up our last bottle of synth blood and tossed it her way. She caught it easily, raising a questioning eyebrow in my direction. I gave a faint nod, then settled back into the gloom, waiting for our chance to move again.
"My lord, this should be yours. I cannot take the last of the blood," she said, bowing low before me. Her tone was hesitant, but her resolve was clear.
"Take it," I replied coolly, gesturing toward the bottle. "I can't have you feeling hungry while we travel."
"But what about you?"
"I've gone a month without feeding before, and I've managed just fine," I said, my voice firm. "Right now, be concerned about yourself."
I turned away from her, my gaze fixed on what had once been a road leading into the ancient city. Now it was barely more than a faint path amid the salted wasteland, its former significance buried beneath the sands of time. On the edge of the hill, Jose stood watch, his silver-bladed polearm ready to strike. He hadn't lowered his guard once, not even in these desolate stretches. We hadn't encountered any beasts yet, but it was only a matter of time. I could feel it. The old city was a haven for them, and these salted lands—leveled by centuries of devastation—had become a perfect stalking ground for abominations.
I thought of the demonic beasts born from the Crimson Plague, and a cold shiver of revulsion ran through me. Pity for what they had once been mixed uneasily with the repulsion. Before the war, such creatures were rare, the sort of thing you only heard about in whispered stories of hidden magic towers or secretive sorcerers summoning horrors from other dimensions. My mother's tales, told in the quiet of my childhood, had always felt more like dark fairy tales than history.
But the creatures we faced now weren't the spawn of some forbidden ritual. They were something else entirely—twisted products of magic and evolution mingling in unnatural ways. The Crimson Plague had overturned everything, a blight that most would rather forget. It ignited the War of Race and brought the old world to its knees. The Energy Strikes that followed wiped out most infected humans, but some survivors underwent hideous mutations, their bodies ravaged by radiation and magic. The result was a new breed of abomination—beasts driven by an insatiable hunger, attacking everything in sight. Even the Manaborns weren't safe. These monsters weren't just mindless predators; they were disasters made flesh, embodiments of chaos and destruction.
Many vampires viewed them as the Divine Mother's abandoned children, stripped of any claim to salvation. To them, the mutated beasts were no longer beings worth saving but vermin that needed to be eradicated. In truth, the plague itself was an aberration that never should have existed. The creatures it spawned should have remained impossibilities.
And neither should you, whispered a voice in my mind.
I clenched my jaw. My father, Juarez Gomez, the so-called Great King of a newly united Xibalba, had been among those infected by the plague. It had turned him into a vampire, a mutation that inexplicably led to the rise of the Manaborn race. For a new-blood vampire, he had been unnaturally gifted, his abilities setting him apart. I, however, had not inherited his strengths. And though I worked hard to keep my thoughts composed, anger surged each time I thought of him.
But I didn't let it show. Calmly, I shoved the resentment into a mental box, sealed it tightly, and forced my emotions back under control. They would not dictate my actions. Not now. Not ever.
"Time to move," I said, my tone firm. Carmen dropped the now-empty bottle, her fingers already curling around her weapon, and moved to my side. Her skin had regained some color since our last stop—an encouraging sign. I could only hope it would be enough to keep her hunger at bay until we reached Nexia.
We leapt from the hilltop, the wind rushing past as gravity pulled us toward the earth. My feet hit the ground, and then my muscles coiled and launched me upward again. With each bound, we drew closer to the road, until we finally landed on its crumbled surface. From there, we vamped through the borderlands, our inhuman speed blurring the desolate landscape around us.
The ruins of the old city soon came into view. We didn't pause to marvel at the toppled skyscrapers or the crumbling, once-proud architecture of a long-lost civilization. The handiwork of ancient humans, eroded by time and catastrophe, no longer inspired awe—just a quiet, lingering sadness. Among the fallen structures rose other, stranger shapes: monoliths built long after the initial destruction. These were the Dungeon Towers, mysterious constructions that had appeared years after the worldwide Energy strikes. When the Long War finally subsided, a race to conquer these towers swept across the newly-formed nations. Those battles—known now as the Relic Wars—claimed more lives and destroyed more kingdoms than anyone cared to remember. The treasures and relics hidden within the Towers drove nations into frenzied competition.
That chaotic period wasn't without its silver lining. The Dungeon's prizes ultimately helped Ashtarium forge the Domes, protective barriers that shielded their regions from further destruction. Still, the Towers themselves had since fallen into decay, breeding grounds now for Demonic Beasts rather than the riches that once drew armies to their gates.
Carmen and Jose flanked me as we navigated the ruins, their senses sharp, their weapons ready. I led us through what remained of the city, moving with purpose. By the time we reached the outskirts of a demolished town near Nexia's border, I felt an uneasiness settle over me. We were standing on the remnants of an old interstate—a highway that once linked this ruined city to Nexia. Ahead, I could see the towering structures that supported the Dome, their bases firmly rooted in the shattered ground. Those towers, crafted with ingenuity born of desperation, projected the invisible shield that had kept Nexia safe for centuries. Moonlight reflected off the Dome's curvature, bending and refracting in strange patterns that bathed the area in an eerie, silvery glow. The night's darkness clung stubbornly to certain corners, but much of the shadows were pushed back by the Dome's refracted light.
"Stop," I said, my voice a sharp whisper. Jose and Carmen froze in place, though Jose's expression was anything but pleased.
"Why are we stopping? Nexia's right there," Jose muttered under his breath.
"The Prince has spoken. It is not your place to question him," Carmen hissed, her tone cold as ice. The two of them exchanged heated glances, but I ignored their bickering, scanning the terrain. The emptiness stretched out before me like an open invitation. That's what made me wary. No lurking shapes, no distant growls—just silence.
"Enough," I said sharply. They fell quiet, though Jose's glare lingered. "We've encountered no Beasts thus far. That's what concerns me."
"So," Jose began, his voice low but edged with curiosity.
"The Beasts are known to stalk salted grounds," I said, scanning the crumbling ruins around us. "Especially when there are ruins nearby. But we haven't seen a single one since entering this stretch."
"That's true," Carmen agreed. She closed her eyes, her body still, and I knew she was extending her senses outward, searching the shadows beyond the broken walls. "I don't sense anything. Not even a trace."
"Maybe they're gone," Jose offered. "What's left to hunt here, anyway? It's not like back home, where humans still scrape by in the salted lands. Besides themselves, there's nothing left to prey on."
Jose wasn't wrong—humans no longer clung to life in this wasteland as they once had. Still, I remembered whispers from my cousins about the mutated animals that roamed these lands. The Beasts fed on them, their survival dependent on the hunt. It was one of the reasons they had lasted for more than a millennium.
"Move out and investigate," I ordered. "I don't like it. If something killed the Beasts, I want to know what it is."
"You don't need to," a gravelly voice interjected.
I spun toward the sound. An old man stepped out from behind a structure draped in brownish vegetation. The deeper we ventured into the city, the less sand we'd encountered. Now most of the buildings were blanketed in strange greenery that clung to walls and rooftops like an alien infestation. The man was clad in a black cloak, his gray hair spilling over his wrinkled face. A sniper rifle hung across his back. Jose and Carmen froze, their bodies stiff with tension, while I scanned the area behind him. How had he approached without us noticing?
"What makes you so sure?" I asked, my voice measured but firm.
"Because we killed them," the old man said. He turned on his heel and began walking away, only to pause a few steps later. "Aren't you coming?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued forward. I glanced at Jose and Carmen. Jose shrugged, Carmen scowled, and together we followed the old man into the building.
Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of human blood. My hunger sharpened instantly, gnawing at my control. Synth blood wasn't enough to quell the cravings, especially not after the disorientation I'd suffered earlier from the truck's verbena fumes. The room was dimly lit by a small fire. Two young men sat huddled close to it, their hands outstretched toward the warmth. The night must have been colder than I realized for them to bother kindling a fire in the salted lands.
Like the old man, they wore black cloaks and carried rifles slung across their backs. They couldn't have been older than twenty. The one closer to the fire watched us cautiously, his wide eyes betraying his inexperience. Perhaps this was the first time he'd seen a living Vampire.
Jose broke the silence. "I don't get it. What happened to the Beasts? And what are humans doing out here?"
The old man settled onto a slab of debris that had fallen from the ceiling. He gestured for us to take seats around the fire, his hand steady and sure. His voice snapped out a command in a language I didn't recognize, and one of the young men brought him a tin can. The old man opened it and began eating without ceremony.
"They're gone because we killed them," he said simply.
Jose's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. The old man scooped another mouthful from the can before looking at us with a faint smirk. "So what brings a group of Alukah out here to the salted lands? It's not often we see your kind wandering around."
That word—Alukah—pricked at something deep in my mind, though I couldn't place it. The old man's casual tone unsettled me. For all his apparent age and the boyish inexperience of his companions, he didn't seem intimidated by us. My kind weren't strangers to the salted lands. Humans often formed settlements in places like Xibalba, scraping by in the harsh environment. But for three humans—just three—to have eradicated the wild Demonic Beasts here? That was no ordinary feat. These weren't ordinary humans.
Humans had always been the weakest of the ten Manaborn races. Their ability to convert Spirit energy into Mana was abysmally low. Without Mana, their bodies were frail, their lifespans short. But the Crimson Plague, the radiation, and the ambient Spirit essence saturation that followed had changed things. Some humans had been altered in ways that defied logic, emerging with abilities that placed them far beyond what their ancestors could have imagined.
I studied the old man closely, the two younger men casting nervous glances between us. Yes, there was more to this trio than met the eye. Perhaps too much.
"We're traveling," I said, keeping my voice measured. "I have to admit, I'm surprised you managed to kill all the Demonic Beasts. There must be more of you than just the three here."
"Maybe," the old man said, his gaze steady on me. I could tell, though, that his sharp eyes were subtly darting between me and my companions, sizing us up.
"Does your group travel often?" Carmen asked. Her tone was casual, but there was an edge of curiosity there.
The old man paused, then barked something to one of the boys. He didn't answer her question. Instead, he turned to us, his expression softening slightly. "Forgive my manners. You three must be hungry after all that traveling."
"No, we're fine," I said quickly, noticing how easily he sidestepped Carmen's query. "We don't need to eat." My throat, dry and tight with hunger, begged otherwise, but I pushed that thought aside.
"I know that," the old man replied. "But we do have some synth blood. Alukah like you seem to appreciate it. We used to use it as bait for some of the Demonic Beasts—especially the ones that have been creeping in from the south."
At his gesture, one of the boys approached and placed a bottle of synth blood beside me. The other two followed suit, giving bottles to Carmen and Jose. I observed them carefully. Though this was likely their first time encountering vampires, neither showed the slightest sign of fear. The boy closest to me avoided direct eye contact, but there was no trembling, no scent of fear in the air. In fact, his companion across the room appeared more curious than anything else, his eyes flicking over us like we were specimens on display.
I opened the bottle. The stale scent of the blood hit me immediately, making my hunger claw at the edges of my mind. I forced myself to take a slow sip, noting a faint, unfamiliar tang beneath the usual iron flavor. How old was this batch?
"So, who are you people?" Carmen asked as she sipped from her own bottle, her tone nonchalant.
The old man's face split into a weathered grin. "Ah, forgive me again. Name's Anton Yvich, and these are my boys, Jeremiah and Saul."
Strange names, I thought, taking another cautious sip of the synth blood.
"We're part of a nomadic group that roams the Salted Lands," Anton continued. "It's been our way for generations."
"Is that so?" Jose said, setting his empty bottle aside. His expression betrayed his distaste for the blood, though he was polite enough to finish it without complaint.
"Yes. My people have been traveling the world for a long time now—through every Salted Land on both the Old Continent and the New." Anton spoke with a hint of pride. He gestured vaguely toward the horizon as if he could see beyond it. "We've been to places most wouldn't dare step foot in."
The Old Continent, I thought. That far-off land on the other side of the Salt Mountains and the Salt Ocean. It was said the Energy Strikes had reached the ocean itself, mutating the aquatic life there. Even now, crossing the Salt Ocean was considered unwise. The waters were treacherous, and the creatures within were even worse.
"We only settled here recently," Anton said. He glanced at Jose. "Would you like more blood?"
Jose shook his head. "No, thank you."
"And you were able to kill all the Demonic Beasts," I said, leaning forward slightly. "That's… impressive."
Anton nodded, his expression darkening. "Most of the Beasts in this land are wild and rabid," he said. "Not as intelligent as the ones you'd find on the Old Continent. But they're still dangerous. We know how to handle them."
I watched him closely, turning his words over in my mind. There was something about this old man and his companions that didn't quite add up.
"That's because of the radiation in this part," I said. "The Spirit Essence concentration here is dangerous, volatile. I don't understand why you and your people would choose to settle in a place like this."
Carmen was already reaching for another bottle of blood, having emptied the first. I still hadn't finished mine. Something about it felt…off. The taste was stale and the texture was thick, but it was still enough to recharge me. I didn't want to seem ungrateful, so I forced down another sip. Just enough to keep me going. The power of the night should be enough to replenish my strength soon.
Anton leaned back, his weathered face betraying no emotion. "My people have a special connection to this land," he said. "Much like the F…eys…o…f the Ele…noir Forest…" His voice faltered, slurring as if he'd bitten down on his own tongue.
I blinked. Was it my imagination, or did the edges of my vision blur for a moment? A fuzziness crept into my mind, and a disorienting fog began to settle in. No, that couldn't be right. Something was—
A thud sounded behind me. I turned sharply to find Carmen and Jose collapsed on the floor. My instincts kicked in, scanning for stakes or signs of an attack, but there were none. Still, my reaction was sluggish—too slow for what I should have been capable of. It didn't make sense. I tried to steady myself, but the room felt like it was tilting on its axis. My thoughts, once razor-sharp, slipped through my grasp like sand.
Anton's face swam in and out of focus. "What…did you…do?" I forced the words out, my voice a mere whisper.
"Giving you a chance at salvation," he said calmly.
His words were the last coherent thing I heard before a sudden, heavy blow landed against my face—perhaps the hilt of his rifle. My head reeled from the impact. I was on the brink of collapse, my body sinking into a drugged haze. But I wasn't just any vampire—I was Old Blood. My will was stronger than this.
A surge of defiance rose within me, and I roared as the world spun around me. My senses sharpened momentarily, though they weren't as precise as I needed them to be. The humans were ready. Blasters were leveled at me, firing sharp beams of energy. I stumbled back, barely able to move out of their path. My reflexes felt sluggish, my body heavy, but I still managed to evade the shots. I snarled, my claws lengthening as I fought against the drug's pull.
Jeremiah and Saul closed in. They moved with calculated precision, flanking me like predators. One darted forward to distract me while the other maneuvered behind, cutting off my retreat. I growled low in my throat. I knew this tactic. They were trying to corner me. But they underestimated the power of an Old Blood vampire.
I lashed out, my foot connecting with the face of the boy behind me, sending him sprawling. A sharp, searing pain lanced through my shoulder as the one in front fired a shot, grazing me. He reloaded quickly, leveling his blaster at me again. I dodged, feeling the burn of the lasers in the air around me. With a burst of speed, I closed the distance, grabbing him by the throat and plunging my fangs into his neck.
The blood flooded my senses, hot and immediate, but before I could fully draw it in, a sudden flash of white light erupted. The next thing I knew, I was sailing backward, crashing through the wall. My body hit the ground hard, fifteen feet away from the building. Pain erupted in my head and spine as I stared up at the night sky, stars spinning above me. What the hell just happened?
I forced myself to my feet, my muscles screaming in protest. As my vision cleared, I saw the old man, Anton, standing at the edge of the wreckage. His face was as calm as ever, his hands resting on the rifle slung across his back. He regarded me with the same indifference as before, then casually took the rifle from his back and tossed it to one of his sons.
I stared at him, disbelief washing over me. The thought that this old man could land a blow powerful enough to launch me through a wall seemed impossible. Yet here I was, battered and unsteady, my body struggling to rise. I tried to focus, to assess whether he was manipulating Mana—and there it was, faint but undeniable. His cultivation was clear. He was a Master Realm cultivator, one rank higher than me. My stomach turned at the realization. Humans—true humans, non-Manaborns—weren't supposed to manipulate Mana. It was beyond their reach. But this old man had just proven that he was no ordinary human.
He stepped forward, his movements calm and measured, as if the violence had been nothing more than a formality. He reached the hole I'd been thrown through, leaping down with a grace that belied his years. He landed easily and began to walk toward me, his face utterly composed, while I struggled just to keep my head up.
"Forgive me, Alukah," he said smoothly. "I never thought to ask your name."
I spat out a mouthful of blood, the metallic taste thick in my mouth. "Eduardo. Eduardo Gomez."
Even as I spoke, a sliver of fear worked its way down my spine. There was something around him—an aura I couldn't see, couldn't smell, couldn't taste or hear. It was invisible to the five senses, yet I felt it as surely as I felt my own heartbeat. A faint, oppressive force cloaked his figure, unmistakable now.
"Battle aura," Anton said, as if reading my thoughts. "That's what's letting you resist the drug."
He was right. The drug hadn't completely subdued me because of my own battle aura, a power I'd honed over centuries. Despite being born without a shred of magical talent and lacking my family's bloodline abilities, I had poured myself into cultivating my battle power. For five centuries, I had clawed my way up the ranks, finally reaching the Master realm. But this man had surpassed even that.
The difference between us now was undeniable. While humans and Witches could cultivate their souls with relative ease, natural-born immortals—Vampires and Lycans—faced a much harder path. Our cultivation was painfully slow, requiring centuries of effort just to reach parity with humans in rank. Yet when it came to raw physical strength, even humans of the same rank typically couldn't match us. And still, this man had thrown me through a wall. It didn't make sense. I should have the advantage, even against a Master realm cultivator. But this drug—whatever it was—was sapping me of my strength, dragging me down like an anchor in deep water.
"I could say the same for you, old man," I said through clenched teeth. "It seems you're capable of manifesting Battle Aura."
It was the only explanation. Even while I'd been drugged and slowed, his two sons had been able to match my movements, and Anton's earlier kick had been far too powerful for an ordinary human. The bastard was using Battle Aura, augmenting his physical strength and speed. Battle Aura—an advanced form of Mana manipulation—was both physical and spiritual enhancement. It had many layers, each one requiring intense training to master. From the way he carried himself, it was clear Anton had achieved a level I hadn't expected. He wasn't just a Master; he had reached the Grandmaster realm, the second stage of Ascension.
"The fact that you underestimated us shows how blind you are to the larger world," Anton said, his voice even, almost condescending. "I told you, my people have traveled far. We've seen things, learned things you can't imagine. We know what real power looks like."
He drew a wooden blade from the pouch at his waist. Its polished surface was etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Rowan wood. Enchanted. Rare-grade. As an Old Blood Vampire, my current rank made me immune to the blade's lethal properties, but I could guess Anton's intent. He wasn't planning to kill me. He intended to put me down—perhaps permanently—since the drug wasn't doing its job.
I shifted my footing slightly, preparing myself. I had one option left, though I hated to even consider it.
"I won't let you retreat," Anton said.
With a speed that betrayed his age, he closed the gap between us in a blur, his blade driving for my chest. I twisted out of the way, barely avoiding the strike, and rolled backward to create distance. Yet, the bastard was relentless. He was already there, pressing the attack. His wooden blade slashed toward me, each strike faster and sharper than the last.
"Leaving your comrades behind?" Anton asked, his voice cold and clipped.
"They understand that the mission is more important than their lives," I snapped back, dodging another slice. My body felt heavier with each movement. The drug was taking its toll, slowing my reflexes and clouding my vision. My pride burned at the thought of it. How dare this mortal, this inferior being, reduce me—a vampire of Old Blood—to this state. If my father were to learn of this shame, his punishment would be brutal and absolute.
Anger flared inside me, a molten fury that pushed me forward. My emotions, my will, became the fuel I needed. I parried each of his strikes with my claws, focusing my aura, hardening it as best I could. My claws sparked against his blade, the two auras colliding. Yet, Anton was no fool. He matched my strength with calm precision. As he drew on his power, the runes on his blade glowed brighter, the sharpness of his attacks cutting deeper.
Blood welled up from my fingers, dripping onto the ground. I gritted my teeth. Damn it, I was too weak to maintain my defense. The thought itself was a distraction, disrupting the circulation of my Mana. That was all Anton needed. He darted forward in a burst of speed, and before I could react, he raised his free hand. A blaster.
The shot struck my foot, sending pain coursing through my body. I stumbled, a guttural snarl ripping from my throat. Blinded by pain and rage, I swung wildly at his face, claws bared. I felt my strike connect, but then another blast caught me square in the palm. The impact blew through my hand, leaving a gaping hole. I howled, a raw, animal sound.
Through the haze of agony, I saw his wooden blade poised and ready. I tried to step back, to retreat, but it was too late. The weapon drove forward, straight into my chest.
"You bastard…" I snarled through clenched teeth. My fingers clawed at his arm, weakly attempting to tear it away from my chest, but my strength was draining fast. I could feel it slipping—my body shutting down, no longer responding. Even my battle aura was failing me, crumbling under the weight of my injuries and the drug coursing through my veins. I could barely keep my eyes open.
"When I wake up," I wheezed, my voice a rasp, "the first thing I'll do is…"
But I never finished. In one fluid motion, he reached out, gripping my neck with an iron grip. Before I could react, before I could even try to resist, he twisted sharply. A sickening crack filled the air. My vision went black, and consciousness slipped away into the void.