The grand meeting room within the castle was an impressive blend of medieval grandeur and timeless elegance. High, arched windows allowed beams of sunlight to filter through, casting intricate patterns on the polished stone floor. Rich tapestries depicting historical events adorned the walls, their vibrant colors softened by age. A massive wooden table, intricately carved with designs, dominated the center of the room.
Seated at the head of the table was a man in a cowboy outfit, an unusual presence amidst the regal surroundings. His wide-brimmed hat was tilted forward, casting a shadow over his face. He wore a weathered leather jacket, its seams showing the marks of countless travels, and a pair of well-worn boots rested firmly on the ground. A lasso hung loosely from his belt, and his eyes were shut, giving him an air of calm detachment as if he were in his own world.
Beside him stood a butler, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, a stark contrast to the cowboy's rugged appearance. The butler's posture was straight and attentive, ready to assist at a moment's notice.
The attendees of the meeting, seated around the table, murmured quietly to one another, their voices creating a low hum that filled the room. They occasionally glanced at the cowboy, curious about the unexpected figure at the head of the table.
The butler, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, stepped forward and straightened his hand to his right side. "We shall begin," he announced, his voice resonant and authoritative.
The first to stand was Ronald of the First. Despite appearing to be in his seventies, his presence exuded strength and vitality that seemed to surpass even the younger members in the room. His eyes were sharp and discerning as he took in the others.
Next to rise was Milky of the Third, a man who appeared to be in his thirties. His demeanor was tense, a mix of anger and determination clear on his face. Following him was Dan of the Fourth, whose stoic expression couldn't mask the underlying tension in his stance.
Bill of the Sixth rose next, his eyes flickering with barely contained fury. Finally, Aria of the Eighth stood, her posture rigid and her eyes cold with anger. These were the remaining Vampire leaders, survivors of a brutal assault on their home.
The air in the room was thick with their collective ire, much of it directed toward the man in the cowboy outfit, who sat with his eyes shut, seemingly indifferent to the tension and murmurings of anger around him.
Opposite the vampire leaders sat King Derick of the Imperial Kingdom, his regal presence dominating the grand room. He was seated on an ornate throne, carved from dark, sturdy wood and inlaid with gold filigree. His attire was the epitome of royal elegance: a deep crimson robe lined with gold that draped over his broad shoulders, and an intricate crown, encrusted with precious gems, rested atop his head. His expression was stern, his piercing eyes reflecting a mix of authority and anger as they surveyed the five vampire leaders.
Flanking him were two imposing knights, their armor a striking red, polished to a mirror-like shine. They stood tall and vigilant, their right palms resting on the hilts of their long swords, the Imperial crest emblazoned on their chests. Their armor was meticulously crafted, every piece fitting together seamlessly, projecting an aura of both strength and discipline. The knights were Sir Cedric and Sir Roland, each exuding an unwavering readiness to defend their king at a moment's notice.
King Derick's voice cut through the murmurs of the room with a strong, authoritative tone. "I am King Derick of the Imperial Kingdom," he declared, his voice resonating with the weight of his authority. "And these are my loyal knights, Sir Cedric and Sir Roland."
His gaze, sharp and unforgiving, bore into the vampire leaders, their anger reflected in his own eyes. The atmosphere was thick with tension, every movement and glance charged with unspoken challenges.
Few months ago humans went to war with beasts they were bound to loose to but, their resilience kept them pushing, their sheer population started to decrease but their enemies had one down side the sun, it weakened them and were fewer in number.
Drinking of much blood the vampires started to become crazed, the addiction got the better of them. But the humans did not know the vampires had a greater enemy to fear he was responsible for all that was happening, due to thirst for vengeance they faced a wrath of one of the demon lords, they had no choice but to abandon their home if they wanted to live.
After the devastating attack on their home, the vampires moved to a human settlement, seeking safety and a fresh start. However, the transition was far from smooth. Some vampires couldn't control their bloodlust and became addicted to human blood, breaking the fragile peace. Others discovered that drinking blood made them stronger, an irresistible temptation that led them to ignore the rules.
In response, the four powerful kings initially joined hands to protect their people. However, witnessing the formidable strength the vampires possessed, they ultimately abandoned King Derick, leaving him to fend for the humans alone. Derick, undeterred, continued to fight valiantly.
One day, a mysterious figure appeared, offering to help the humans. This person somehow managed to persuade the remaining vampire leaders to attend a meeting. Yet, the three other kings, paralyzed by fear of being attacked, refused to join, leaving Derick and the mysterious figure to handle the situation.
King Derick sat on his throne, lost in deep contemplation, the weight of his kingdom's troubles etched into his stern features. Suddenly, two figures materialized out of thin air before him, shattering the silence of the grand hall.
Reacting instantly, the knights on either side of the king drew their swords, their protective instincts kicking in. The man in the butler suit stepped forward, his demeanor calm and composed. "We come to offer our assistance in this war," he stated, his voice steady and persuasive.
However, Sir Cedric, unwilling to take any chances, drew his long sword and charged at the butler. In a display of extraordinary skill, the butler raised his hand and caught the blade with just two fingers. The room fell silent, eyes widening in shock.
With a twist of his wrist, the butler shattered Cedric's sword into countless pieces. The shards fell to the ground with a metallic clatter. Before anyone could react, the butler placed his palm against Cedric's chest and sent him flying across the room. Cedric hit the wall with a thud and slumped to the ground, unconscious.
The display of power left everyone stunned, the air thick with tension as the king and his remaining knight processed what had just occurred.
In the blink of an eye, the butler vanished from his previous position and reappeared directly in front of King Derick's face. He bent forward, his eyes twinkling with mock amusement. "Well, Your Majesty," he drawled sarcastically, "it seems you find yourself in quite the predicament. Lucky for you, I've decided to offer my assistance."
Before King Derick could react, Sir Roland, the knight to his left, swung his sword in a desperate attempt to protect his king. However, an unseen force intercepted the strike, sending Roland flying across the room. He crashed into the wall with a heavy thud, leaving a dent in the stone. The butler remained unfazed, his demeanor calm and collected, as if the entire situation was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
King Derick, visibly shaken, began to pace around the grand room, his regal demeanor cracking under the weight of his fear. His eyes flickered with frustration as he glanced at Sir Cedric and Sir Roland, who were both down, overwhelmed by the butler's sheer power.
"Have the other kings replied yet?" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His pacing quickened, a mix of anger and anxiety evident in his steps.
A messenger, standing nervously by the door, hesitated before delivering the dreaded news. "No, Your Majesty," he stammered. "There has been no response from the other kings."
King Derick stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing in a mix of exasperation and dark humor. "Typical," he muttered, a sarcastic edge to his voice. "Those cowards wouldn't dare show their faces. They're probably hiding under their beds, clutching their crowns and shaking in their royal slippers."