The fog thickened, swirling ominously around Cedar as if alive, absorbing the faint light and cloaking the surroundings in a damp, chilling haze.
The streets, once familiar, now twisted unnaturally, their contours warping as though the city itself had become a labyrinth designed to ensnare him.
With each step, unease deepened in his chest. A cold dread coiled around him, the unsettling realization dawning—this might no longer be the capital at all.
Stories of sixth-circle mages and beyond flitted through his mind, tales of those capable of bending reality itself. These mages wove dimensions and created temporary domains to trap their prey.
These weren't illusions; they were prisons, alternate realities molded by the caster's will.
Domain magic!
The term surfaced in his mind like a whisper, and his breath hitched. Had he unwittingly stepped into one of these traps? And if so, why?
A crushing silence enveloped the streets, broken only by the faint, rhythmic clanging of footsteps echoing through the fog. The sound sent a chill down Cedar's spine. Instinctively, his hand moved toward his mana core, the energy within thrumming in response to his unease. Whoever—or whatever—approached was anything but ordinary.
The footsteps grew louder, deliberate and menacing, until a figure emerged from the mist.
The man's appearance was a clash of eras, his attire evocative of an old Western folklore. A long, dark coat flared around his legs, and beneath it, a fitted vest hugged his frame. Sturdy boots struck the cobblestones with a metallic clang, each step commanding attention. At his side hung a glowing whip, coiled and faintly pulsing with magic.
Most striking of all was the broad-brimmed silver hat perched at an angle on his head, polished to a mirror-like shine. The hat cast a shadow over his face, lending him an air of enigmatic menace.
His pale skin was unnaturally devoid of color, as if untouched by sunlight. Crimson eyes gleamed from beneath the shadow of his hat, piercing and unrelenting, sharp with a predatory awareness. His crimson-red hair, tied back in a ponytail, glowed faintly, like embers in the dark. His sharp, refined features held a handsomeness that bordered on unnerving, his lips curling into a faint smirk that exuded dangerous confidence.
Cedar's instincts screamed one word: vampire. The man's aura was as intense as Len's, yet different—wilder, more unpredictable.
"Well, well," the stranger drawled, his voice smooth and low, carrying an accent both exotic and oddly familiar. "A bloody vessel, wandering alone without a master." He tilted his head, the smirk widening as he closed the distance between them, his crimson gaze alight with amusement and intrigue.
"I was curious to see who'd take our bait at the pawn shop," he continued, his tone languid yet cutting. "A scholar of Old Magic, perhaps, or a mage carrying some inherited legacy. But instead, I find a bloody vessel, wandering without direction."
He stepped closer, his aura pressing down on Cedar in oppressive waves, eerily reminiscent of the suffocating intensity Len had once used to test his strength.
"Tell me," the stranger whispered, his voice dropping to a cold, venomous note, "what are you trying to do, little lance?"
The phrase struck Cedar as odd, his mind racing to decipher its meaning. As the stranger approached, realization dawned. The silver cross earring had been bait. This encounter was no coincidence.
But why had Len instructed him to retrieve it? Had Len anticipated this, or were there motives he had yet to reveal?
The stranger's aura was undeniably vampiric, but Cedar sensed he might be weaker than Len—or perhaps holding back, concealing his full strength. The words "little lance" echoed in Cedar's mind. Was there a hidden aspect to being a bloody vessel that Len had yet to disclose? Could it mean his weapon form?
Before Cedar could react, a familiar voice cut through the oppressive fog—calm, resonant, and laced with biting mockery.
It was Len. But this time, his presence was unmistakably real. There was no illusion, no projection—this was Len in the flesh, exuding an aura of deadly calm.
He wore a faint, cold smile, the kind that carried both mockery and menace, as if he relished the scene unfolding before him.
"Asher," Len's voice called out, rich with derision. "You surprised me. I never thought a weakling like you could survive this long, let alone ascend to the rank of an Earl vampire."
Asher spun around, his smirk vanishing as terror flickered across his face. "Len!" he screeched, his bravado dissolving. "I didn't… I mean, I didn't know—"
He faltered, visibly trembling, as if scrambling for words that wouldn't seal his doom.
"It's Emperor Len," Len corrected, his tone calm but razor-sharp.
He raised his hand with a casual flick, and Asher collapsed to his knees, pinned by an invisible force. The ground beneath him cracked under the pressure, his body trembling as his face twisted in agony.
Asher's cries echoed through the deserted streets, the sound of his bones cracking mingling with the wet splatter of blood that he coughed onto the broken pavement. His aura wavered, utterly crushed beneath the overwhelming weight of Len's presence.
Cedar, watching from the side, felt his own breath hitch. The sheer intensity of Len's power was suffocating, even from a distance.
If he were in Asher's place, Cedar thought grimly, he wouldn't just be on his knees—he'd be flattened into a lifeless pulp.
After several agonizing moments, Len lowered his hand, the invisible force dissipating.
Asher collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, his once-proud demeanor reduced to a pathetic shadow. Slowly, shakily, he managed to rise, his body battered and disheveled, though he forced his expression into a mask of grudging composure.
The sight was almost pitiful. Where once Asher had strutted with arrogance, now he looked no better than a cowering animal.
"E-Emperor Len," Asher stammered, the words laced with trembling humility. "Why are you here? I… I thought you wouldn't awaken for another century. And to enter our territory without warning—"
Len's eyes narrowed, the barest flicker of amusement glinting within his cold gaze. "Whether I wake or not is none of your concern, vermin," he said icily. "As for your territory? I'll deal with Orcus in due time."
The name Orcus drained the last remnants of color from Asher's face. His terror deepened, and his earlier bravado evaporated entirely. "M-Master Orcus," he stammered. "He… he remains in slumber. He hasn't fully awakened yet."
"Good," Len said, his lips curving into a faint, mocking smile. "That means I have some time to myself."
His gaze flickered briefly to Cedar before returning to Asher. "And I'll use that time to train my vessel, without interference." Len's voice dropped to a taunting lilt as his eyes bored into Asher's. "Unless, of course, you'd like to challenge me on that?"
Asher visibly recoiled, his hands shooting up in frantic surrender. "No, Emperor Len. I wouldn't dare."
Len's expression shifted, softening slightly—but his tone remained frostbitten. "Good. Let this be a warning to you and anyone foolish enough to think otherwise: Cedar is under my protection."
Asher clenched his jaw, his crimson eyes flickering with suppressed anger, though fear clearly held him in check. "Understood, Emperor," he said through gritted teeth.
Len's gaze darkened as he regarded the battered vampire with barely concealed disgust.
"Run back to your master, pathetic dog," Len spat. "And wipe that insolence from your face. Give me that look again, and I'll sever your head from your shoulders myself. Not even The Council will be able to save you. Don't make me dirty my hands with your filthy blood."
The air grew heavy as Len's killing intent surged, suffocating and absolute. Asher didn't wait for a second longer. He disappeared in a blur of desperate speed, vanishing as though his very life depended on it.
When Len turned to Cedar, his expression remained unreadable, his piercing eyes betraying nothing. "Come," he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding. "It's time you learned the true hierarchy of our kind."
With a flick of his wrist, the dense fog that had blanketed the streets began to unravel, curling away like smoke caught in a breeze. The eerie, lifeless expanse dissolved, giving way to the familiar, bustling avenues of the capital.
Yet, even as normalcy returned, an invisible pressure lingered in the air—the residual weight of Len's power.
It was suffocating, though to the surrounding passersby, Len was nothing more than a ghost, invisible and nonexistent in their world.
Cedar walked beside him, feeling like he was straddling two realities: one ordinary, the other steeped in the terrifying presence of the vampire emperor.
As they walked, Len's voice broke the silence, cold and deliberate.
"The Union, as you know it, is nothing more than a facade—a collection of pawns dancing to the tune of the Crimson Dominion, all under the thumb of The Council." His words carried an edge of disdain. "Even the so-called demigods, those who seem invincible, are nothing but stronger pawns in the eyes of the ancients."
Cedar's brow furrowed as he absorbed the revelation, but Len's next words hit harder.
"The Hundred War? A grand illusion orchestrated by ancient creatures. A game of mortals slaughtering one another, fueling a purpose far beyond their comprehension."
Cedar's steps faltered, the enormity of what Len was saying settling heavily in his chest. He wanted to ask more, to pry open the secrets Len seemed to hold so effortlessly, but the vampire continued before he could speak.
"We'll speak of this later," Len said, his tone carrying a finality that left no room for argument. "For now, understand this: the world is far more complex than you've been led to believe. Forces are at play that stretch beyond your comprehension. Vampires like me, like Orcus, and others older than your imagination can grasp—we are but fragments of a far larger, darker truth."
Cedar nodded slowly, his mind swirling with questions and unease. Len's words were a puzzle—pieces that hinted at a much larger picture.
Far from them, halfway across the capital, Asher came to a sudden stop. He leaned against a crumbling wall, gasping for air, his crimson eyes burning with a mix of fear and anger.
His trembling fingers clenched into fists as he glared in the direction where Len and Cedar still stood. Even at this distance, he could feel the lingering weight of Len's power, a chilling reminder of his utter defeat.