"The Dark Codex is a legendary artifact, an ancient tome written by the strongest vampire in history—the Ancient Vampire King, a figure shrouded in myth and reverence. This book is said to contain the secrets of unparalleled power, including spells, rituals, and knowledge that could elevate a vampire to the highest realm of their kind. Its pages hold the culmination of millennia of wisdom, power, and mastery over the vampiric arts.
The Codex is more than just a book; it is a symbol of ultimate authority among vampires. It is believed that whoever wields the knowledge within can command the forces of darkness, bend the very essence of blood magic to their will, and become a being unrivaled in strength and influence."
500 years later ..
500 years had passed. The air was thick with smoke and the sharp smell of blood. Screams filled the night, mixed with the sound of breaking wood and clashing weapons.
Lucard's mind stirred, pulling him from a long, dark emptiness.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a cold, dirty floor. The room around him was small, with cracked and stained walls. It was nothing like the grand halls he once called home.
His body felt strange—weak and unfamiliar. Slowly, he pushed himself up. His hand brushed against a broken piece of mirror lying on the floor.
The reflection staring back at him wasn't his own. The face was unfamiliar—gaunt, pale, and marked with exhaustion. Yet the eyes, those burning crimson eyes, still brimmed with the fire of the Crimson King.
"What... is this?" he muttered, his voice rasping.
Fragments of memories surged forward—this body belonged to Draven Veyron, a servant of the Blackthorn Clan, one of the smallest and weakest vampire clans. Lucard's jaw clenched. To think he, the once-mighty Crimson King, had been reborn into this frail form.
A deafening crash interrupted his thoughts. The door burst open, and a vampire with a frantic expression stumbled inside.
"Draven! Stop hiding! The Silverfangs are here—they're going to kill us all!"
Before Lucard could respond, the vampire fled, his panicked footsteps fading into the chaos outside. Lucard took a deep breath, his mind sharpening. The Silverfang Clan—they were a ruthless, territorial clan known for preying on weaker factions. And now, they are here.
The weakness of this body gnawed at him, but deep within, he felt a flicker of his former strength. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
Lucard stepped out into the night, and the scene before him was pure carnage. Blackthorn warriors were being slaughtered, their futile resistance no match for the Silverfang raiders. The clan's meager stronghold was in flames, its defenders scattered and broken.
"Pathetic," Lucard muttered under his breath.
A Silverfang warrior lunged toward him, a wicked grin on his face. "Draven, the cowardly servant, out in the open? I'll enjoy this!"
Lucard's eyes narrowed. The warrior's blade came down fast, but Lucard moved faster. His hand shot up, catching the blade mid-swing. For a moment, the Silverfang's grin faltered, replaced by confusion.
With a burst of strength, Lucard snapped the blade in half and drove the jagged edge into the warrior's chest. The vampire crumpled to the ground, his expression frozen in shock.
The surge of power coursing through Lucard's veins was intoxicating. It wasn't the full extent of his former might, but it was enough to remind him of who he truly was.
More Silverfang warriors turned their attention to him, sensing the shift in the battlefield. They charged, but Lucard met them head-on. His movements were swift and precise, each strike lethal. The ground was soon littered with their bodies.
From the shadows, the Blackthorn Clan's leader, Elder Varis, watched the scene unfold. His eyes widened as he saw Draven—weak, timid Draven—unleashing a terrifying display of power.
"What... what is this?" Varis whispered, his voice trembling.
The remaining Silverfangs hesitated, their confidence shaken. Lucard seized the moment, his voice ringing out with authority.
"Leave now," he commanded, his crimson eyes glowing in the darkness. "Or I will ensure none of you walk away alive."
The Silverfangs exchanged nervous glances before retreating into the night, dragging their wounded with them.
As the flames died down and the chaos subsided, the surviving members of the Blackthorn Clan gathered, their expressions a mix of awe and fear.
Elder Varis stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Lucard. "Draven… how… How did you do this? What are you?"
Lucard straightened, wiping the blood from his hands.He said nothing, his calm gaze sweeping over the stunned faces of the clan members. The weak servant they had once known as Draven Veyron was no more.
The silence was heavy as the clan members whispered among themselves, unable to comprehend the power he had displayed. Yet, none dared to question him.
To be continued....