The doors swung open, and a man strode in. He was clad in a simple white knight's uniform, his build larger than average but still dwarfed by my father's imposing frame. His armor was incomplete, missing the right arm, as his limb was still in the process of regenerating. Two guards followed closely behind him, dragging a man bound in heavy chains.
The captive hung limply between them, his bound legs trailing lifelessly across the floor. His black and gold garments, now shredded and filthy, clung to him like rags. The guards hauled him into the center of the room, depositing him before the gathered assembly in the hall.
"Greetings, your majesties," the one-armed knight said, addressing my father and mother with a respectful nod before turning to my sister and me. He offered us a brief greeting as well, then acknowledged the elder council with a low bow.
"My name is Viser. I serve as the knight captain of the Fourth Battalion, stationed at the northern outer border. Last night, a squad under my command was on watch when we were attacked by a group of the Damned," he began, his voice calm but firm. He gestured toward the prisoner. "This is one of them. Typically, they commit suicide to avoid capture, but we restrained him using Alter chains and ensured he survived."
He paused as murmurs rippled through the hall. "Alter chains," he explained, "are a specialized type of enchanted binding. They suppress the abilities of normal vampires and even weaken Nocturnals. However, they are both difficult and expensive to produce, so their use is highly restricted."
"Let us see those bullets," my father commanded. At this, Viser reached into his armor and produced a firearm—a sleek, advanced pistol. Its black surface gleamed with golden stripes that ran along its length. The sight of it sent a jolt of familiarity through me, a sharp reminder of my previous life.
"This is the weapon we confiscated from him," Viser said, holding it aloft. "They had only a limited supply of these bullets, and we managed to recover just three." He handed the gun to Eldon, who stepped forward to present it to the elders.
Eldon took the gun from his hands and presented it before the elders. They had seen one before. I had encountered many in my previous life as well. However, guns were not commonly used by vampires, and even less so by Nocturnals. Being immortal beings, the damage a bullet could inflict upon them was essentially negligible. As a result, using powers in conjunction with swords and other traditional weapons remained the most effective method of combat against a Nocturnal. Only through the use of powers and the depletion of their essence could one hope to kill them.
Those who committed suicide were likely normal vampires. Their regenerative abilities were weaker than those of Nocturnals, and repeated attacks to the heart or head could end them. This theory was further supported by the fact that an injury capable of killing six trained and armed vampires only managed to sever the arm of a low-level Nocturnal.
"We must study this ammunition and develop a countermeasure," Elder Victor said, his gaze fixed on the weapon as if it held a secret he was determined to uncover.
"First, let's hear from our guest," I interjected, my eyes shifting to the bound man.
At my words, the guards jerked the chains binding the prisoner, forcing his head to rise. The chains themselves were dark and engraved with intricate silver runes that pulsed faintly with suppressed power. He lifted his gaze to meet mine. One eye glimmered black, the other golden. His face was marred with deep scars and gashes that oozed thick blood. His broken teeth peeked through cracked lips. Deep wounds covered his body, unhealed due to the chains and his depleted energy. He looked hollow and frail, his power clearly no match for the knight who had subdued him.
"What is your name?" Viser demanded.
The prisoner's gaze lingered on me before scanning the room. Finally, in a raspy, exhausted voice, he replied, "I am Nyx."
"Why did you attack last night?" Viser pressed.
"Because we received a revelation," Nyx said, his voice tinged with fervor. "Today is the beginning of everything." A bloody smile crept across his battered face.
"Where did you obtain these bullets?" Victor asked, his voice sharp.
Nyx's head turned slowly toward him. "From him," he replied, his tone reverent. "This is all his grace. Compared to his might, you are nothing but ants."
"Oh, how he has brainwashed you. Poor child," one of the elders murmured, shaking her head in pity. Nyx's dark and golden eyes snapped toward her, his smile twisting into a deranged grin.
Suddenly, he laughed. The sound was hoarse, blood bubbling from his cracked lips as it filled the room. "You are the ignorant ones. You know nothing," he spat between fits of laughter that grew more unhinged with every second. "I have seen it. HE has shown me the truth. You will never understand."
His voice cracked as blood began pouring from his wounds in greater torrents. The scars that had tried to close burst open anew, golden ichor mingling with black. His words devolved into frenzied ravings, blood dripping from his black and golden eyes as he cried, "He will lead us to enlightenment. Only he can save you from your ignorance. Submit to him, and you will thrive!"
The elders exchanged grim looks as Nyx's body convulsed violently. No one here was young—most were centuries, if not millennia old—and they had seen far worse than this. Yet the sight was no less disturbing.
"This is always their fate," my father said, his voice cold as he observed the spectacle. "They believe he grants them power, but all he gives is madness and ruin."
Chunks of flesh began to slough off Nyx's body, splattering onto the floor with wet, sickening sounds. His black hair turned white and fell in clumps, some strands still clinging to strips of decaying skin. Soon, his form was reduced to a grotesque heap of flesh and blood, a grotesque amalgamation of black and gold. What little remained of his face was unrecognizable, his golden eye staring blankly at me through the mess.
"This is their damnation. Take him away," my father commanded. The guards obeyed, dragging what was left of Nyx's body out of the hall. Before the doors closed, I caught one last glimpse of the golden pupil embedded in the mound of flesh, fixed on me.
A group of maids entered, swiftly cleaning the blood and viscera from the floor. My father turned back to us, his expression impassive. "This is why we can never reason with them. They either kill themselves or lose all sanity under interrogation."
"It's almost as though they're cursed," Victor added thoughtfully. "The moment they're captured, they are doomed."
"His grace uses technology to maintain control," Victor continued. "It's clear he has engineered this ammunition to tear through our flesh and drain our essence. We must develop a countermeasure before this threat escalates."
The room fell silent as each of us sank into our own grim thoughts.