Chapter 118 - No Gods or Miracles, Only Us

  Guided by Lucardis, the group soon arrived at the entrance of what, at first glance, appeared to be a massive gothic cathedral. However, upon closer inspection, it was unmistakably a grand castle—an imposing fortress of dark stone and towering spires that loomed against the night sky like the crown of a fallen empire. It stood as the absolute antithesis of the sanctified cathedral of the paladins in Celestia Sanctum. Where that sacred place had radiated divine energy with every pristine stone, every towering arch, every golden-lit window, this place bled something else entirely.

  The oppressive weight of cursed energy did not simply linger in the air—it permeated every inch of the structure, clinging to the stone like a living entity. It rolled through the vast corridors and settled in the depths of every carved pillar and gargoyle-adorned buttress, an unseen mist of malice and power that whispered of forgotten eras. The sheer scale of the palace was meant to humble, to remind all who entered that this was not merely a place of governance—it was a monument to a civilization that had once thrived in shadow, a remnant of a kingdom that refused to die.

  Adam felt it immediately. Unlike the others, who instinctively tensed at the suffocating sensation of the cursed energy pressing against their skin, to him, it was different. Where the air had felt heavy with rejection back in Celestia Sanctum, this place welcomed him. The energy wrapped around him like a cool breeze on a sweltering day, familiar, inviting. It was unsettling, not because it was uncomfortable, but because of how much it wasn’t. There was no resistance, no force pushing him away—on the contrary, it was as though the very essence of this place was whispering to him, acknowledging him as one of its own. It was a realization that left him momentarily conflicted.

  The grand archways bore a sense of timeless power, adorned with intricate carvings of ancient vampire lords and scenes of forgotten conquests. They depicted regal figures with elongated fangs and piercing gazes, standing triumphant over kneeling foes. Some murals seemed to illustrate past wars, clashes between vampires and giants, and battles waged under moons that have long since faded from history. Their presence was not merely decorative—they were reminders, echoes of an age when this city had not been a crumbling remnant of its former glory, but a stronghold of an empire that once rivaled the human kingdoms.

  Despite the state of disrepair in some areas—the cracks creeping along once-pristine walls, the faded banners hanging solemnly from the ramparts—the palace still held its grandeur. It was a relic of a time when vampires had not been prey. And even now, in its diminished state, it did not inspire pity. It inspired caution.

  Lucardis gestured towards the broad stairway leading to the castle’s entrance.

  "This way, Lord Adam. The ceremony awaits."

  Adam nodded, leading his group as they ascended the enormous steps, their weight pressing against intricately laid stones that had endured centuries of wear. Each step seemed to carry an unspoken expectation, the quiet whispers of the past echoing through the dimly lit pathway. The further they climbed, the clearer the distant murmurs of conversation became, the low hum of voices mingling in anticipation. It wasn’t until they reached the top that they truly saw them—dozens upon dozens of vampires gathered before the grand entrance, standing in clusters as they murmured amongst themselves.

  At the sight of their arrival, the murmurs did not stop, but instead shifted in tone. Many turned their heads in Adam’s direction, eyes narrowing as they assessed the newcomers. Some tilted their heads in curiosity, others in scrutiny. However, the majority had their attention focused entirely on Adam. His presence alone commanded attention, his aura standing out like a bonfire in the dead of night. There was no hostility in their gazes, but there was a tension—one borne of uncertainty, of unspoken hierarchy.

  The vampires present varied in stature and demeanor, but they all carried themselves with an air of aristocracy. Their clothing was an unmistakable sign of status—long coats, adorned corsets, and elaborate cravats, all in dark hues accented with deep reds and golds, reminiscent of a time long past. Men and women alike bore intricate jewelry, their accessories designed with symbols of vampiric heritage—wrought silver bat sigils, blood-red gemstones, and rings inscribed with runes of old. The scene was a stark contrast to Adam’s own group, who, despite their disguises, still seemed entirely out of place amidst the regal gathering.

  It was clear from the outset that these were not ordinary citizens. These were nobles, individuals of status, their ranks made evident by their extravagant attire and the sheer weight of their presence. And among them were their retainers—vassals standing close to their respective lords, dressed more modestly but still exuding an air of refinement that set them apart from commoners. Unlike the lesser vampires outside, these individuals did not appear weak or desperate. They stood tall, poised, exuding confidence. Yet despite their outward composure, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of nervous energy rippling through the crowd.

  Lucardis came to a halt and turned slightly to address Adam, though his voice carried enough weight that all around them could hear.

  "Your entourage must remain here, my Lord. Even if some are consorts, they are not of noble standing. The affairs beyond this threshold are for the Lords alone."

  Adam took a moment to glance at his companions, finding no objections in their expressions. They understood. If they wanted to keep up this facade, they had no choice but to comply. With a simple nod, he then turned to Abbess, who had stood silently at his side, unwavering in her stance.

  "Stay with them. If anything happens, intervene."

  Abbess acknowledged the command with a slight bow, her expression neutral, yet her eyes sharp with understanding. As the only true vampire in his group, she would act as their intermediary if needed.

  With that, Adam stepped forward, crossing the final distance between himself and the sea of noble vampires who now regarded him with scrutinizing gazes. The moment he moved, so did they. The path ahead of him parted effortlessly as those gathered instinctively shifted aside, their bodies bowing ever so slightly in reverence, their heads dipping just enough to acknowledge his presence without lowering their dignity.

  It was an unspoken rule, one that Adam understood the moment he saw it—respect among predators. The lower one was in the hierarchy, the deeper the bow. And as he moved, he noticed that the deeper inclinations came from those of lesser standing, while those at the peak of nobility only offered slight nods of acknowledgment.

  It was eerily similar to ancient human aristocracy, yet Adam knew there was something more primal at play here. This was not just a custom, not just learned behavior—it was instinctual. It was woven into the very fabric of their being, an innate understanding that hierarchy was absolute. Here, power was not just respected; it was law.

  The weight of expectation pressed upon him as he advanced further, each step echoing in the vastness of the castle’s entrance. Whatever awaited beyond these doors was bound to unravel even more secrets, and Adam knew he would have to navigate this new stage carefully. The aristocracy of vampires was no different from humans in its complexities, but the stakes were undoubtedly higher.

  And so, with unwavering composure, he walked forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

  Lucardis eventually came to a graceful halt, his every movement precise and measured, exuding the effortless confidence of someone who had walked these halls for centuries. He turned slightly, his piercing crimson eyes locking onto Adam with an unreadable expression, and then, with the practiced elegance of nobility, he gestured toward the elevated section of the hall before them. The subtle motion of his hand was both an invitation and an expectation, a silent command that held the weight of tradition and hierarchy behind it.

  "This way, my Lord."

  Lucardis said smoothly, his voice unwavering and refined.

  "The gathering awaits. You shall take your place among the Lords where you rightfully belong."

  His tone was perfectly controlled—neither overly deferential nor too familiar. It was the voice of a Duke who understood his station beneath a Vampire Lord, but who still carried his own weight of authority, maintaining the dignity of his own position. There was an unshakable arrogance in his posture, one that spoke of centuries of power and privilege, yet it was carefully tempered by the knowledge that Adam was above him in the hierarchy. He neither bowed nor fawned, yet his words carried the polished obedience of one who served under a greater ruler.

  Adam studied him for a brief moment, his expression neutral. There was no reason to hesitate. With a slight nod, he acknowledged Lucardis’ guidance.

  "You have my thanks for leading the way, Duke Noctrelle."

  He said, his voice even yet carrying the quiet authority expected of someone in his position. Lucardis inclined his head slightly in response, a smooth, fluid motion of acknowledgment, neither overly humble nor dismissive. Without another word, he stepped aside, his role as an escort complete.

  Adam turned his gaze forward and ascended the final steps… The platform was vast, towering high above the nobility gathered below. From this vantage point, he could see the entirety of the grand hall, its gothic splendor stretching endlessly into the distance. The arched ceilings, veiled in shadow, were bathed in the dim glow of crimson braziers that flickered like dying embers, casting long, wavering silhouettes across the chamber. The sheer scale of it all was overwhelming, its architecture seemingly designed to make any who entered feel the weight of history pressing down upon them.

  But more than the grandeur of the hall, it was the sea of faces below that drew his attention. The gathered aristocrats, their pale countenances lifted toward him, were silent in their observation, their expressions ranging from curiosity to veiled suspicion. Even those who had been engaged in quiet murmurs before had now fallen still, their conversations cut short as Adam reached the center of the platform.

  This was a place where only the highest among their kind stood. A place where power alone dictated one's worth. And as the boy took his place, he could already feel the weight of expectation settle upon him.

  As he did, his gaze immediately fell upon the figures who shared the platform with him… There were ten of them.

  Ten imposing figures, each exuding the same overwhelming presence as Adam himself, their cursed energy rolling off them in thick, suffocating waves. They stood in separate spaces, equidistant from one another, neither speaking nor even acknowledging each other’s presence. And yet, despite their silence, there was an undeniable aura of tension among them, like predators sizing each other up even in stillness.

  Each of these Vampire Lords was utterly distinct. Their clothing, their posture, their very essence—each one reflected a different era, a different culture, a different approach to nobility.

  One stood clad in heavy ceremonial robes of obsidian silk, embroidered with ancient sigils, his face partially obscured by a half-mask of silver adorned with thin, tapering spikes. Another was a towering figure clad in jagged, dark-plated armor, a massive cloak of raven feathers cascading from his shoulders, his gauntleted hands clasped before him in silent reverence. Beside him, a pale, skeletal Lord in regal, tattered finery held an ornate cane, his sunken crimson eyes fixed forward with the lifeless patience of a corpse that had long abandoned mortal concerns.

  One of them, a woman, wore a flowing dress woven from what looked like threads of living shadow, her long silver hair floating as if caught in an invisible current, her gaze distant yet sharp. Another, who seemed more warrior than noble, had long, unkempt hair and battle-scarred arms, dressed in layered cloth and leather armor that bore the marks of countless battles, his expression one of eternal readiness.

  Adam studied them, his mind working quickly. These were the ten remaining Vampire Lords of Velmoria—the highest of their kind, the last true sovereigns of their people. One of them, he was certain, had to be Lucian. The very existence of his subplot confirmed it. But which one? His ‘Cursed Eyes’, usually able to unearth hidden information, failed him now. They provided him no insight into the Lords before him, as it was unable to reveal information from scenario characters.

  But even as he studied them, he became aware of something else. At the very center of the platform, positioned between the gathered Lords, stood four additional figures.

  Unlike the Lords, who each displayed their individual sense of identity and power, these four were draped in identical ceremonial mantles, black as the void, with hoods that concealed their faces in absolute darkness. They did not move, yet their presence was impossible to ignore. The cursed energy emanating from them was staggering—far greater than that of any individual Vampire Lord, including Adam himself. It pressed down on him like an invisible weight, a silent warning of their unfathomable power.

  Even so, Adam found himself comparing them to the paladins of Celestia Sanctum. Despite their overwhelming aura, despite the crushing sense of authority they projected, they paled in comparison to the divine warriors he had encountered in the holy city. It was an unsettling realization. Were vampires truly that outmatched? Was the gap between their strengths so vast? The thought lingered in his mind, but he had no time to dwell on it.

  As he took his final step forward, he saw it… The circle.

  At their feet, an enormous ritual sigil had been inscribed onto the stone—a massive array of crimson markings and intricate symbols stretching across the entire platform. But it was not static. Even as Adam stood there, the markings continued to form, as if written by an unseen hand, the lines of blood-red energy weaving themselves into completion.

  And he had arrived just in time. Within seconds, the final strokes connected, the entire formation sealing itself with a pulse of power.

  Adam barely had time to fully process what was happening before the ritual reached its final stage. The blood-drawn circle on the platform, intricate and pulsing with an eerie crimson light, at last, completed its formation, and the moment it did, the air in the chamber changed immediately. The oppressive atmosphere deepened, the sheer weight of energy pressing down upon everyone present. Even Adam, who had grown accustomed to dark and cursed energies, could feel it—a raw, suffocating force emanating from the very ground beneath his feet. It wasn’t just the accumulation of cursed energy. This was something deeper. Something far worse.

  Before he could dwell on it further, movement stirred from the center of the platform. One of the four hooded figures, shrouded in ceremonial robes as black as the abyss itself, separated from the others and took deliberate steps forward. His movements were slow but purposeful, and as he reached the center of the circle, he lifted a withered hand and pulled back his hood.

  The face beneath it was ancient, far older than any of the Vampire Lords standing in attendance. His features bore the unmistakable signs of extreme age, his skin stretched tightly over sharp, prominent bones, sunken cheeks giving him the ghastly appearance of something long dead yet unwilling to rot. His eyes, clouded but still gleaming with sharp intelligence, carried a deep, consuming hunger—one that was not physical, but something else entirely. His presence alone exuded an immense power, a reminder that Elder Vampires were not just old—they were the pinnacle of their race, creatures that had withstood the test of time and accumulated power beyond reckoning.

  When he finally spoke, his voice did not crack or falter despite his appearance. It rang out through the chamber, loud and commanding, carrying the weight of centuries of sorrow and fury.

  "Once, long ago, we were conquerors."

  He began, his words dripping with an undeniable bitterness.

  "Once, our kind did not cower behind crumbling walls, did not live as wretches in the ruins of our former glory. We were the shadow that stretched over empires, the fear that sent kings into sleepless nights. Our dominion was vast, our power unquestioned, our nobility undisputed. The very world trembled beneath the march of our armies, and no mortal dared to challenge the rule of the Vampire Lords."

  A murmur rippled through the gathered vampires, a hushed echo of agreement, of remembrance.

  "But that world was lost. Stolen from us by the treachery of the light."

  The Elder continued, his voice darkened, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobility.

  "You all know the tale. The day that wretched goddess of humanity, Arianka, set foot upon our world was the day our kind was condemned to ruin. She came not as a mere deity, but as a calamity, as an executioner disguised in divine radiance. She did not come alone. No, she poured her blessings upon the humans, the weakest of the three great races, elevating them beyond what they were ever meant to be. Where once they were nothing but cattle—short-lived, frail, insignificant—they became something else. Something that could stand against us. And they did."

  His words grew harsher, seething with centuries of contained rage.

  "We were slaughtered. Our cities burned. Our people hunted like beasts. And when our final hope, the Crimson Monarch Lilith, our great Empress, vanished into the void without a trace, we lost everything. With her disappearance, the Blood Oath that bound our race together was broken, and we became what we are now—fractured, desperate, a shadow of what we were meant to be. No longer predators. No longer rulers. Merely survivors."

  The chamber remained silent, but Adam could feel it—the growing unease among the nobles, the pain buried beneath their expressions.

  "For dozens of years, we believed that this was our fate. That there was no path forward. That we were doomed to be little more than prey for the so-called chosen race of the light. That the only thing left to us was survival, an existence of hiding, of running, of waiting for the inevitable extinction."

  The Elder’s voice shifted then, taking on something new. Not just rage. Not just bitterness… just… hope.

  "But we were wrong."

  The murmurs returned, this time sharper, more restless.

  "Not long ago, a revelation came to us. A whisper in the dark, a voice that called to us through the abyss of our despair. An entity unlike any we had known, an ancient force that has watched the rise and fall of civilizations since time itself began. This being offered us something we had thought impossible—a path forward. A way to reclaim what was stolen from us. A way to rise once more. A way to become what we were always meant to be."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Adam’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like where this was going.

  "At first, we doubted. How could we not? But as the days turned to months, and as the whispers in our dreams became clearer, we knew. We knew that we had been chosen. Not by a false god of light, but by something greater. And so, for the past year, we have worked in secret, we have prepared, we have followed the guidance that was given to us. And now, the time has come."

  The Elder extended his arms outward as if beckoning the very power he spoke of.

  "Tonight, we will cast aside the chains that have bound us. Tonight, we will reclaim our destiny. Tonight marks the true ‘Great Awakening’—not for the humans, not for the light, but for us! Tonight, we will summon our own divinity! We will bring forth the entity that has heard our suffering, that has promised us salvation!"

  Adam’s blood ran cold. A god? No… No, that wasn’t right. The way the Elder spoke, the way the energy was building—this wasn’t just another divine being. This was something else entirely. Something dark, something wrong.

  And yet, as he looked down, he saw the truth of it. The circle beneath them was no longer just a construct of painted blood—it was alive, its symbols burning a furious crimson as the ritual activated fully. The cursed energy that had been gathering exploded outward, coiling through the air in thick, writhing tendrils of abyssal power.

  Adam could only watch as the swirling vortex of darkness deepened, growing larger, pulsing as it devoured the space before them. And then— A shape began to form. It rose from the depths of the ritual circle, a mass of shifting, living shadow, its sheer size expanding until it stretched to the very ceiling of the grand hall.

  As the oppressive wave of cursed energy expanded outward, an overwhelming weight descended upon the chamber. It was suffocating, an abyssal pressure that pressed down on every being present with a force so absolute that even the nobles and lesser vampires below the platform were struggling to remain standing. The once-whispered conversations had turned into gasps, strained breaths, and stifled cries as the sheer magnitude of the presence that had just entered their world made itself known.

  Among those caught in the suffocating aura, Adam’s team and WNATN were no exception. The sudden surge of corrupt energy struck them with the force of a tidal wave, forcing many of them to brace against the ground or shield themselves instinctively. Drake, despite his resilience, had stepped forward protectively, positioning himself in front of Kazue, Chloe, and the others to absorb the brunt of the energy for them. Even his Imperial Ki, the divine energy that had previously made him seem untouchable against dark forces, struggled against the sheer magnitude of what was now coursing through the chamber.

  But then—something unexpected happened. Two figures remained completely unaffected.

  Gregor and Emir stood amidst the chaos, entirely unshaken. While everyone else was reeling from the intensity of the oppressive aura, the two of them remained still, untouched, as if they were standing in a void separate from the rest of reality. No flinching, no signs of strain, not even a hint of discomfort. It was as if the overwhelming pressure did not exist for them.

  Adam barely had time to notice before Gregor suddenly stiffened. A voice—one that only he could hear—spoke directly into his mind, cutting through the cacophony of his thoughts like a blade.

  "What in the abyss are you fools doing?"

  Gregor’s eyes widened. He recognized that voice immediately, it was Ashmedra, the demon with whom he had forged a pact, the one who had granted him power in exchange for a promise. It had been silent for a long time, only speaking to him when it deemed it necessary. And now, for the first time in what felt like ages, it was speaking with urgency.

  Gregor’s jaw clenched as he responded internally, his thoughts sharp and controlled.

  "What are you talking about?"

  Ashmedra’s voice, deep and laced with an almost amused disdain, rumbled through his mind.

  "You really have no idea what you’re witnessing, do you? That portal they’ve opened… It’s not what they think it is. These idiotic vampires believe they are summoning some kind of savior—an entity that will lift them from their wretched state and restore their lost power. But what they have actually done is open a direct gate to Luminferna, more specifically, to the domain of the Great Demon Lords. A one-way passage for something that should have never been allowed to step outside my realm."

  Gregor’s fingers curled into a fist as a cold realization settled over him. He had no reason to doubt Ashmedra’s words. If there was one thing demons understood, it was other demons. And if what Ashmedra was saying was true… then this was far, far worse than anything they had anticipated.

  Gregor forced himself to remain composed, his gaze flickering toward the swirling mass of darkness in the center of the ritual circle. It was still growing, still taking form, its colossal figure stretching impossibly high as the ceiling itself cracked and groaned under the strain of its presence.

  "You recognize it, don’t you?"

  Ashmedra’s voice continued, almost mocking.

  "That energy. I would know it anywhere. It’s not just some minor entity these wretches have invited in. They have opened the gates for a true Great Demon Lord, a being whose very existence is anathema to all other planes. It does not seek power. It does not seek dominion. It seeks only one thing—obliteration. It exists to consume and destroy, to turn entire realms into nothingness."

  Gregor’s teeth ground together.

  "Then we have a problem."

  "Oh, you think!?"

  Ashmedra chuckled darkly.

  "You mortals. Always meddling with forces you do not understand, good luck surviving that."

  Gregor exhaled sharply. He had suspected that whatever the vampires were doing was dangerous, but this? This was beyond reckless. It was catastrophic. They had summoned something that did not belong in this world, something that would not stop until everything was reduced to ruin.

  And the worst part? There was nothing he could do to stop it…

  As the swirling darkness solidified, the formless void twisted and contorted into something far beyond human comprehension. What emerged was not merely a creature but an entity whose very existence seemed to distort reality itself. From the waist up, it bore the shape of something vaguely humanoid, yet every detail was wrong—wrong in the way nightmares were wrong, in the way something that should not exist forced itself into a world where it did not belong.

  Its torso was grotesquely muscular, its flesh the color of midnight, rippling with sinew that seemed to move unnaturally beneath its hide. Its skin was not flesh, not quite, but something darker, something abyssal, as if it had been shaped from the very essence of the void.

  Two enormous wings stretched outward, leathery like those of a bat, but far too large, far too ancient, their edges lined with jagged, bone-like protrusions that scraped against the very air as they unfurled. The vast wingspan cast an unnatural shadow over the chamber, darker than any absence of light, swallowing the dim glow of the torches and leaving behind something suffocating and absolute.

  But its head—its head was what made the mind recoil. A monstrous goat’s skull, elongated, nightmarishly twisted, crowned with six spiraling horns that extended in impossible directions. Its maw was lined with jagged fangs, far too many to fit within its mouth, dripping with black ichor that sizzled as it touched the ground. Hollow voids where eyes should have been glowed with a sickly, pulsating crimson light, not illuminating, but devouring. Every time its gaze swept over the chamber, an unbearable weight crashed down upon those caught in its sight, like an entire world pressing into their skulls.

  Adam barely had time to process it before the system reacted. Multiple screens burst into view before his eyes, their cold, sterile text the only thing anchoring him to rationality.

  An immediate, crushing force consumed Adam. It was as though something had reached inside him, gripped his very existence, and commanded his body to submit. His muscles locked, his breath caught in his throat, and without warning, his legs buckled beneath him.

  He collapsed, not by choice, not by will. His body simply obeyed.

  The overwhelming presence of Noctharis forced him to kneel, just as it had done to every other Vampire Lord, just as it had done to the Elder Vampires. Even those ancient beings, the ones who had orchestrated this very ritual, had been reduced to nothing more than servants before the entity they had summoned. The realization burned through Adam’s mind like wildfire—this was not a god they had bargained with. This was a master they had just willingly, or inadvertently, enslaved themselves to.

  A deep, reverberating voice filled the chamber. It did not merely speak—it carved through the air, the stone, and the very fabric of existence.

  The sheer sound of it sent waves of agony through the ears of those below the platform. Team No Name and WNATN—all except for Emir and Gregor—instinctively clutched at their heads, gritting their teeth as the sheer power behind the voice threatened to rupture their eardrums. It was not speech in the conventional sense. It was a force, a law, something that demanded obedience through its very utterance.

  "I HAVE DESCENDED."

  The sound was not merely heard—it was felt. It rang through the very structure of the chamber, deep fractures webbing outward from the platform as an unnatural vibration coursed through the stone beneath them. The very walls of the ancient fortress groaned, as if the presence of such an entity had unsettled the foundations of reality itself. A pulse of darkness, heavier than any divine smite, radiated outward from the towering abomination, slamming into every living thing like a suffocating tidal wave. It was not magic. It was not mere energy. It was authority, something ancient and absolute, woven into the essence of Noctharis.

  "AT LAST, AS IS MY RIGHT, I CLAIM MY DOMAIN."

  The voice was thunder and mockery, neither rage nor triumph, but something more horrifying—certainty. It spoke not in declarations, not in boasts, but in truths that it believed were inevitable. The walls cracked under its words, tiny fissures splintering along the massive stone pillars that lined the chamber.

  "YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU ALWAYS HAVE. YOU ALWAYS WILL."

  Adam felt his body failing him. He fought, even as his limbs betrayed him, even as his very blood burned with an unfamiliar sensation, something that screamed at him to obey, to kneel as all others had before him. His ‘Cursed Vision’ flickered wildly, overwhelmed by the presence before him, unable to process what it was truly seeing. His mind raced, pushing against the weight bearing down on him, but it did not matter. His resistance meant nothing to a being such as this. It was not asking for loyalty. It was taking it. And he was not alone.

  Around him, the Vampire Lords had already collapsed, their pride, their status, their self-proclaimed power crushed beneath an unseen force that did not care for what they had once been… And Noctharis smiled.

  Its monstrous, jagged maw curled in something that mimicked amusement, though it was devoid of any true mirth. The vast, abyssal glow of its hollow sockets narrowed, its gaze sweeping across the chamber with a cruel fascination, like a predator inspecting its flock.

  "BUT I AM NOT WITHOUT MERCY."

  The lie was blatant. The words slithered from its mouth like a mockery of kindness, an imitation of benevolence so thinly veiled that even the most desperate soul should have recognized it for what it was. But the Elders—the ones who had orchestrated this, who had sacrificed their will to summon this thing—shook in what could only be described as horrified awe, as if clinging onto the delusion that they were in control.

  "I WILL GRANT YOU WHAT YOU DESIRE."

  The darkness surrounding Noctharis churned, swirling faster, the sheer weight of its presence distorting the space around it. The energy, thick and suffocating, pulsed in a rhythm that was not natural, something that felt too alive, too aware.

  "I AM A GOD OF MY WORD. I SHALL DELIVER WHAT I HAVE PROMISED. ALL WILL FALL."

  And then—it laughed.

  It was not the laugh of a conqueror celebrating victory, nor the triumphant laughter of a warlord standing over the ruins of his enemies. It was something else entirely. It was a sound devoid of humanity, devoid of any sense of emotion that a mortal mind could comprehend. It was not joy. It was not malice. It was not rage.

  It was a promise of annihilation, a sound that carried the weight of unbreakable fate, a force that had long since decided that all things were merely waiting to be devoured. It was laughter so vast in its meaning, so final, that the very chamber splintered under its echo, the fortress struggling to contain the presence that had been welcomed into it. The walls fractured, thin cracks racing along the massive gothic arches, the ceiling above them trembling under a force that was not simply powerful—it was wrong.

  Noctharis continued, its abyssal form pulsing with malevolence, its jagged maw stretching wide as the grin of a godless being settled upon them.

  "I WILL CONSUME THIS WORLD, EVERY LIFE, EVERY SOUL, UNTIL NOTHING REMAINS BUT WHAT BELONGS TO ME."

  The ancient symbols flared again, brighter than ever.

  "AND AFTER THAT, LUMINFERNA AWAITS YOU, MY CHILDREN. YOUR SOULS WILL RETURN HOME… TO ETERNAL DAMNATION"

  And then—the fortress broke. The weight of defeat settled over Adam like an inescapable truth… Checkmate. The very advantage he had believed he held, the control he thought he could maintain in this world, had turned against him in the worst possible way. Now, under the crushing presence of a demon god, he could only curse himself for not having foreseen this outcome, for not having taken precautions when it still mattered. There was no escape.

  And Noctharis knew it. The Great Demon Lord let out a low, resonating growl, the sound vibrating through the very bones of all who stood before him. Then, with an air of absolute authority, it spoke once more, its words final, its will absolute.

  "BEFORE I BEGIN MY WORK, BEFORE I RAZE THIS WORLD TO ASH, I REQUIRE ONE LAST THING."

  The sheer command in those words forced every vampire present to tense, to await orders, their souls already bound in servitude even before the ritual had been sealed. Noctharis raised one clawed hand, its massive fingers flexing as though already grasping the fates of all in the chamber.

  "A PHYSICAL BODY."

  Adam gritted his teeth, his entire body locked in place against his will. The demon god had only been partially manifested, a massive ethereal force, incomplete yet already catastrophically powerful. But it needed something more—a physical anchor, a vessel through which it could unleash its wrath upon the mortal plane.

  "MY CHILDREN."

  It continued, its mocking voice dripping with amusement.

  "OFFER ME YOUR BLOOD. FORM A NEW BLOOD OATH. ONE GREATER THAN THE PATHETIC BOND YOU LOST. ONE THAT WILL TIE YOUR SOULS TO ME FOR ETERNITY."

  A deep and unnatural compulsion gripped the entire room, seizing the bodies of every vampire present, and forcing them into perfect, obedient synchronization. There was no struggle, no hesitation—because the choice had been stripped away from them entirely. Their will no longer mattered. Whether they had wished to kneel or resist, it was irrelevant now, for the very essence of their being had been subsumed under the dominion of Noctharis, their bodies reduced to mere extensions of his will.

  Adam felt it too, the invasive force twisting through his veins, a foreign command sinking deep into his flesh, overriding everything, reducing his body to a puppet on strings. He fought, forcing his muscles to lock, trying to resist the command that demanded his compliance, but it was futile, his own body betraying him as his fingers curled inward, his sharp nails pressing into the skin of his palm, carving a thin, shallow wound despite the sheer force of his defiance.

  His breath shuddered as the warmth of his own blood trickled along his skin, pooling at the base of his fingers, and at that moment, despite every effort, every ounce of resistance, the first droplet fell.

  Yet, far below, amidst the gathered nobility, amidst the sea of figures crushed beneath the oppressive force of a god’s will, something else was happening. A flicker of something foreign, something removed from this cursed ritual, something entirely unnatural to this world. Drake’s fan chat was losing its mind, notifications surging in rapid succession, his interface flashing with relentless urgency.

  He could see them, the messages flashing in his periphery, but even though his mind wanted to react, his body refused to obey, locked under the suffocating grip of Noctharis' presence. He could barely even breathe, let alone move, his very existence pinned beneath an unseen force so immense that the mere act of resisting felt like attempting to push back the weight of an entire world. His fists trembled at his sides, his muscles burning from the sheer strain of trying to fight against the pressure crushing his entire body into stillness.

  His entire body was frozen, his vision flickering, the weight of everything pressing down on him like an immovable mountain. He clenched his teeth, forcing every ounce of his willpower into a single effort, trying to force even a single step, but it was useless—he could do nothing.

  And then— It was too late… Adam’s blood had fallen.

  Only seconds after Adam's blood fell onto the glowing crimson sigils, the very ground beneath them rebelled. A tremor surged through the ancient stone, a deep, resonating quake that sent violent shudders through the entire fortress. Dust and debris trembled loose from the towering gothic spires above, and for the first time since its arrival, Noctharis faltered.

  The Great Demon Lord, the god of vampirekind, the being that had exuded only absolute confidence and unchallenged dominion, froze. Its abyssal form, still only partially manifested in the material plane, flickered with sudden instability. It did not understand.

  And then—the world cracked open. A sound unlike anything mortal ears had ever heard tore through reality—a sound not of this world.

  Before Noctharis could even react, the air behind it ruptured like shattered glass, splitting open with a shriek that reverberated through existence itself. The space it occupied became distorted, as if something far beyond its comprehension had turned its attention to the scene.

  And then, something emerged.

  A hand—no, a claw—vast beyond reason, tore its way through the breach in reality, its mere presence warping the space around it. The claw was sleek, black as the void, and lined with streaks of shimmering gold, its razor-sharp talons gleaming as if forged from pure celestial fire. It did not belong here. It did not belong anywhere in this world.

  With inhuman swiftness, the monstrous claw seized Noctharis by the head. The Great Demon Lord screamed.

  The entire fortress trembled beneath the unholy wail that erupted from Noctharis' abyssal maw, a sound that carried neither rage nor defiance—but pure, undiluted agony. The monstrous limbs of the Demon Lord flailed, its gargantuan bat-like wings spasming, its abyssal body convulsing as it clawed desperately at the unseen force now crushing its very essence.

  But it was futile, a sickening crack rang through the chamber, then another, and another… Adam's breath hitched as he watched the impossible unfold. The once-indomitable Noctharis, the being that had demanded eternal servitude, the god that had promised absolute destruction, was crumbling.

  Piece by piece, its body unraveled, blackened flesh peeling away, its form melting into a cascade of cursed embers. The sigils beneath it, once radiating unholy power, now flickered chaotically, their stability failing, their purpose being overridden by something far beyond their design.

  And then—a new system notification appeared before Adam’s eyes.

  Adam’s blood ran cold.

  Far from the chaos unfolding before them, Gregor’s breath hitched as his mind was invaded—but this time, it was different. The presence inside him was not speaking with its usual mocking arrogance. There was no laughter, no manipulative purr.

  There was fear. A level of terror so raw, so palpable, that it bled into Gregor’s very soul. And for the first time since their contract, the demon Ashmedra sounded afraid.

  "What have you done?!"

  The voice screeched inside his mind, frantic, shaken, utterly panicked. Gregor tried to respond, but before he could, Ashmedra spoke again, its words tumbling out in a near-hysterical rush.

  "You fools! Do you even realize what you’ve summoned?! This isn’t even from Luminferna! This is much much worse!"

  The panic swelled, rising like a tide of suffocating dread, a kind of fear that no mere demon should have been capable of feeling.

  "That thing—That’s not a Demon, it’s a Devil! A Devil from Pantheon Eternal! All of us are doomed!"