The Silverfang Clan vampires hurried through the dense forest, their breaths ragged and their wounds fresh. Moonlight pierced through the canopy above, casting long shadows as they moved. The group had barely escaped with their lives, their mission a complete failure.
"Faster," growled Kael, their leader for the mission. His voice was sharp with anger. "We need to report this to the clan head immediately."
The small group burst into the Silverfang Clan's hidden base, a cavern carved into the mountainside. The air inside was cold and oppressive, the walls lined with faintly glowing crystals. At the center of the chamber sat Ulrich, the Silverfang Clan leader, his tall frame cloaked in dark robes.
Ulrich's piercing gaze landed on the returning group, his expression unreadable. "You've returned," he said, his deep voice echoing. "Report."
Kael stepped forward, bowing his head. "We attacked the Blackthorn Clan as you commanded, my lord. They were as weak as expected... at first."
Ulrich's brow furrowed. "At first?"
Kael hesitated, his fists clenching. "They had a servant, my lord. Draven. He displayed power that shouldn't have been possible. He... he stopped us."
Ulrich's eyes narrowed. "A servant defeated you? Are you saying you were bested by a mere weakling?"
Kael flinched under the weight of Ulrich's tone. "I don't understand it either, my lord. Draven was supposed to be nothing. But the power he showed... It was terrifying."
A murmur swept through the chamber as other Silverfang vampires exchanged uneasy glances. Ulrich's face darkened, his hand gripping the armrest of his stone chair.
"Terrifying, you say?" Ulrich said slowly. "And yet you ran, leaving the mission incomplete. Pathetic."
Kael lowered his head further. "Forgive us, my lord. We didn't stand a chance. It was either flee or die."
Ulrich stood, his tall figure casting a shadow over the room. "This Draven... he is no ordinary servant," he said, more to himself than to the others. "There is something else at play here."
He turned to Kael and his group. "Rest for now. But know this, failure is not tolerated twice. If this Draven truly wields such power, we will find out why—and we will eliminate him."
As the vampires dispersed, whispers of uncertainty filled the cavern. Meanwhile, Ulrich stared at the far wall, his mind churning.
"Draven," he muttered. "Just who are you?"
Meanwhile, back at the Blackthorn Clan's crumbling estate, the aftermath of the attack lingered in the air. Broken walls and scattered debris told the story of the night's chaos, but amidst the destruction, the survivors gathered to make sense of what had happened.
Draven stood near the center of the clan's hall, his once meek demeanor replaced by a quiet, commanding presence. The other clan members watched him cautiously, their gazes flickering with a mix of awe and confusion. No one could forget how he had single-handedly turned the tide of the battle.
Elder Varis, the Blackthorn Clan's leader, limped toward Draven, leaning heavily on a makeshift cane. His gray hair was matted with blood, but his eyes burned with determination. "Draven," he began, his voice hoarse but steady, "we owe you our lives. Without you, the Blackthorn Clan would have been wiped out."
Draven, still adjusting to the unfamiliar body he now inhabited, nodded stiffly. "I only did what was necessary. The clan's survival is what matters."
Elder Varis tilted his head, studying him. "You've always been loyal, but the strength you showed today... it was unlike anything I've ever seen. What happened to you?"
Draven avoided the question, his gaze fixed on the ground. "I don't know," he lied smoothly. "Perhaps desperation brought out something hidden within me."
Elder Varis seemed unconvinced but chose not to press further. "Regardless, you've proven yourself. The Blackthorn Clan may be small, but tonight we survived because of you." He gestured to the remaining members, who were busy tending to wounds and cleaning up the ruins. "But this isn't the end. The Silverfangs won't stop until we're destroyed. We'll need to be ready."
Draven nodded again, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He wasn't worried about the Silverfangs. His mind lingered on the memories of his past life as Lucard, the Crimson King. Though his power was but a fraction of what it once was, it was returning slowly. He could feel it in his veins, a faint echo of the immense strength he once wielded.
"I will do what I can to protect this clan," Draven said, his voice firm. "But we need to rebuild—and prepare for what's to come."
Elder Varis gave him a small, grateful nod. "Then we'll rely on you once more. For now, let's survive the night."
As the clan worked through the long hours, repairing what little they could, Draven stood in the shadows, his eyes distant. He had made a vow centuries ago, one that still burned within him, to reclaim his power and take revenge on those who had betrayed him.
The Blackthorn Clan had become his refuge, but they were only a stepping stone in his journey. He would use this moment of calm to gather his strength, knowing full well that the storm of his vengeance was drawing near.
To be continued...