A month since Covenus and Callus hunters returned broken, trembling, speaking of beings beyond reason, power that defied hunters’ logic, three Vampire Lords descending like gods.
And in this month—
Rumors spread.
Fear grew.
The Vatican began weaving its web.
Sanctum Prime’s bells rang across the holy city as dawn light bled through stained glass. Priests hurried. Inquisitors whispered. And deep in the Grand Cathedral, the Vatican Council assembled in the concealed chamber beneath the altar.
Today was different.
Every cardinal looked tense.
Because the Shadow Realm had pulsed again—
but stronger than any recorded pulse in 800 years.
A cardinal clasped a trembling parchment.
“My Lords… another surge. More potent than the previous one.”
Another added:
“It aligns with the timeline of the Callus boy’s disappearance.”
“Impossible—no human could cause such tremor.”
“What if it’s a Shadowborn—?”
“Silence!”
Then—
A cold breeze swept through the chamber.
Saint Fariel entered.
His holy aura illuminated the room like dawn breaking through night.
Everyone bowed instantly.
“Rise,” he said softly, and they obeyed.
Fariel’s expression remained unreadable, but his voice carried a sharper edge than before:
“Begin the report.”
The cardinal swallowed.
“Saint Fariel… the Shadow Realm pulse last night was unlike anything we have detected. The magnitude suggests a high-tier entity… possibly pushing past awakening.”
Fariel closed his eyes briefly.
Kevlar.
Yes—he felt it too.
The world itself had shuddered.
Then he opened his eyes. A cold gleam.
“It is time.”
The council quieted.
Fariel continued:
“We have already used the Callus family for the first phase. They entered the Shadow Realm once, survived, and returned shaken. Their usefulness for psychological pressure is spent.”
Cardinals exchanged glances.
“So what now, my Lord?”
Fariel lifted a scroll imprinted with ancient sigils.
“The second decree.”
The chamber stiffened.
He unfurled it with deliberate slowness.
“Spread this message to all four hunter families,” Fariel commanded.
“North. East. West. South.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The cardinals leaned closer, breath held.
“The decree will state this:”
His voice deepened, resonant and absolute—
‘An impending Shadow Realm invasion has been foreseen.
The omens surpass any recorded in our holy chronicle.
All hunter families are to marshal their elite forces and prepare for joint mobilization.’
The room fell dead silent.
A few cardinals broke into anxious whispers:
“But… my Lord… the Shadow Realm has shown no signs of preparing an invasion.”
“This will spark panic among all territories!”
“This could escalate into a continental war—”
Fariel lifted a hand—
the chamber froze.
“It is not panic. It is preparation.”
“Preparation for what?”
“For the convergence,” Fariel whispered.
Cardinals exchanged confused gazes.
Fariel clarified:
“We must gather the hunters. Not to repel an invasion… but to create an arena.”
“An arena…?”
“For what purpose?”
“Are we provoking the Shadow Realm—?”
“No,” Fariel said calmly.
“We are provoking the Shadowborn.”
Shock rippled across the room.
Fariel continued:
“And additionally… we will lure out what lies within the Shadowborn—the primordial Darkness the prophecy speaks of.”
The council was horrified, but Fariel spoke with divine serenity:
“This lie is necessary.”
The doors opened suddenly.
Footsteps echoed.
Inquisitor Varrin stepped into the chamber.
He still carried faint scars across his jaw and collarbone, but he stood tall, armor polished, expression firm.
“Saint Fariel,” he saluted, kneeling on one knee.
Fariel studied him.
“How is your recovery, Varrin?”
“Complete, my Lord. The healers say my body adapted to the shadow poison that once nearly killed me.”
“Good. Then you will be instrumental in the next phase.”
Varrin lowered his head in reverence.
He remembered the Shadowborn’s overwhelming aura.
He remembered Kevlar’s monstrous presence—even though he only glimpsed him as a silhouette.
But he did not speak.
Fear was a sin here.
Fariel motioned toward him with a serene hand.
“Rise, Varrin. Today, you will accompany the awakening.”
Varrin stared blankly.
“…Awakening, my Lord?”
Fariel’s lips curved into a faint, mysterious smile.
“It is time for our holy one to stretch her wings.”
The council collectively shivered.
Fariel descended again into the abyssal facility—the Vatican’s forbidden sanctuary, built by stolen ancient knowledge and sealed by divine rites.
Torches flickered unnatural blue.
Ritual circles pulsed faintly.
Priests whispered unheard prayers beside containment sigils.
Then they reached the central sanctum.
The capsule.
Serena floated inside, surrounded by bright liquid, her four angelic wings dormant and weightless.
Her features still carried that surreal beauty—ethereal, fragile, inhuman.
But now that Fariel approached—
Her eyes were half-open.
Observing.
Listening.
Awake.
Varrin stiffened in awe.
Fariel placed his hand on the capsule.
“Serena… it is time.”
Her eyelids lifted fully—
revealing glowing crimson eyes.
Her voice was faint, ethereal, a whisper carried across water:
“Fariel… you call upon me… after so long…”
Varrin bowed instantly, overwhelmed by her presence.
Fariel nodded.
“You have slumbered for eons, child. Too long. Your body needs movement. Combat. Freedom.”
Her fingers twitched.
Her wings unfurled slightly.
“And the world…” Fariel continued softly,
“…needs you.”
Serena blinked slowly.
“Why…?”
Fariel spoke gently:
“There is a threat rising. A Shadowborn. One tied to the ancient prophecy.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“The name… I heard it many times… whispered from your men…”
Fariel hesitated.
Then answered:
“Yes.
The name is Kevlar.”
Serena’s body tensed.
She whispered it again under her breath.
“…Kevlar…”
And a soft, nearly inaudible:
“…who are you…?”
Fariel smiled.
“You will learn his purpose soon.”
He tapped the capsule sigil.
The entire structure began to glow.
Serena gasped softly as the fluid drained and the chamber opened—
for the first time since the ancient cycle.
She stepped out, almost floating, wings spreading in a slow, graceful motion.
When her bare feet touched the ritual floor, the sigils across the entire sanctum flickered.
Varrin trembled at the sheer force of her aura.
Fariel whispered:
“Come. Your wings must stretch.
The world must witness the holy one chosen by God.”
Her crimson gaze pierced the dim torchlight.
“…Very well.”
Inside the Eternal Atrium, Kevlar paused mid-training.
The violet flame flickered strangely—
as if reaching toward something.
Lilith noticed first.
“Kevlar? What is it?”
Kevlar’s expression darkened.
“…Something woke up.”
Draculius narrowed his eyes.
“You feel her?”
Kevlar looked up sharply.
“Her…? Who is—”
But the answer came not from Draculius—
—but from inside Kevlar’s own mind.
A whisper.
Feather-light.
Cold.
“…Kevlar…”
He froze.
Lilith stepped closer, gripping his arm.
Draculius sighed quietly, gaze heavy.
“It has begun sooner than expected.”
Fate is now in motion.
The balance between realms began cracking.
Fariel looked up toward the heavens as the sanctum doors shut behind them.
“Let the world tremble,” he murmured.
“The cycle had begun.
And we… will shape its outcome.”