The deeper Lucien, Sarville, Eslene, and their combined squad moved into the Shadow Realm,

  the more reality began to distort.

  The ground pulsed faintly beneath their feet,

  like a slumbering titan’s heartbeat.

  The sky—if it could be called a sky—shifted between shades of obsidian and muted violet,

  as though the firmament itself disapproved of their presence.

  The group trudged forward in tense silence.

  Sarville’s wound continued to leak crimson through hastily wrapped bandages,

  each drop hissing when it hit the ground

  —consumed by the strange soil of this world.

  Lucien followed closely behind Sarville, trying to remain strong.

  But even he felt the oppressive weight of the realm crushing down.

  The hunters were exhausted.

  Drained.

  Barely keeping their morale intact.

  The silence broke when Sarville suddenly collapsed to one knee.

  “Sir!” Lucien rushed to his side.

  Sarville clenched his teeth—

  a rare display of pain from the veteran hunter.

  Eslene knelt beside him, her gaze sharp.

  “This place is worsening your injury,” she muttered.

  “The Shadow Realm devours the weak.”

  Sarville smirked despite the pain.

  “Calling me weak, Lady Eslene?”

  “I’m stating facts.”

  Her tone was neither cruel nor comforting—just honest.

  “Your body is fighting the atmosphere. The realm is rejecting you.”

  Lucien looked around uneasily.

  “What do you mean rejecting?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Because the air suddenly grew colder.

  Heavier.

  Thicker.

  The entire squad froze.

  Sarville’s eyes widened.

  Not in fear—

  but in recognition.

  Eslene stood slowly, her posture sharpening like a drawn blade.

  “…Do you feel that?” she whispered.

  Lucien felt his heartbeat stop.

  Something ancient…

  something wrong…

  was descending.

  The Covenus scouts exchanged panicked whispers, gripping their weapons.

  Then—

  A shadow swept across the ruins.

  Another.

  Another.

  Three silhouettes.

  Floating.

  Descending silently from above like celestial judges.

  They landed without sound.

  No gust of wind.

  No tremor.

  Just… presence.

  Three humanoid figures draped in black and silver robes,

  shoulder armor adorned with sigils older than nations.

  Their faces were pale as moonlight.

  Their eyes glowed faintly—one golden, one crimson, one frost-blue.

  All three looked down at the hunters

  as if beholding vermin.

  A Covenus scout recognized the sigils on their armor.

  His voice trembled.

  “Th-Those markings…

  They’re… they’re the…

  Vampire Lords…”

  The words fell like stones into silence.

  Panic erupted through the squad—

  but their bodies refused to move, frozen under the crushing aura.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Lucien felt his lungs constrict.

  His mind trembled.

  Vampire Lords.

  Royal lineage.

  Beings that stood one step below the Ancient Ones.

  Monsters who had razed cities in ancient wars.

  Eslene whispered sharply:

  “…This isn’t good.

  Why are they here?

  Their territory is northwest—why come to the southern edge of the Shadow Realm?”

  The first Lord—golden-eyed—clicked his tongue with disgust.

  “Humans,” he spat.

  “Tch. Filthy insects crawling where they don’t belong.”

  The second Lord—crimson-eyed—smirked.

  “Well, well…

  It has been ages since we’ve seen mortals wander this deep.”

  The third Lord—blue-eyed—leaned forward slightly.

  “Oh?

  One of them bleeds profusely.”

  His gaze landed on Sarville like a predator scenting prey.

  “Mmm…

  His blood is thick.

  Old.

  Refined.

  A veteran hunter, yes?”

  Sarville gritted his teeth, but remained upright.

  The golden-eyed Lord spoke again, voice laced with annoyance.

  “We are not here to feed.

  We have orders—irritating as they are.”

  His lip curled in disdain.

  “This is as far as you go, humans. Return to your realm before we slaughter you.”

  Sarville coughed a dry laugh.

  “Ha…

  A Vampire Lord showing mercy?

  That’s a first in history.”

  The crimson-eyed Lord chuckled.

  “Don’t misunderstand.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “If not for our orders, your guts would already decorate these ruins.”

  Lucien’s hands trembled—

  yet he remained conscious, unlike several faint-hearted hunters behind him.

  Eslene took one deliberate step forward.

  Then another.

  And bowed slightly.

  “We humbly accept your mercy,” she said with perfect control.

  “We will withdraw immediately.”

  Sarville almost snapped at her—

  but stopped.

  He looked at his wounded men, the fear in their eyes,

  and knew she was right.

  Lucien followed suit.

  Slowly, carefully,

  the squad began retreating.

  But Eslene—

  Eslene dared to look back.

  Her eyes met the cold blue ones of the third Vampire Lord.

  He smirked.

  “Heh.

  A spirited one.”

  He folded his arms.

  “She’s fortunate our orders are to drive them away…

  not annihilate them.”

  They laughed—harsh and cruel—before ascending into the air and vanishing toward the deeper west.

  Eslene watched them disappear.

  Are they also tracking that energy pulse?

  Are they searching for the Shadowborn?

  For… him?

  “This is getting complicated,” she whispered to herself.

  Hours passed as the hunters retreated, staying just inside the boundary between the First Ruins and the stable rift zone.

  The squad finally camped under a broken stone arch, exhaustion overwhelming them.

  Eslene sat sharpening her glaive in silence.

  Lucien stood beside Sarville, helping him rewrap his bandages.

  After a long pause—

  Lucien spoke.

  “…Sarville.”

  The older hunter glanced at him.

  “You’ve seen Vampire Lords before… haven’t you?”

  Sarville’s eyes darkened.

  “Yes.

  One killed three of my closest comrades.

  I slayed the beast,

  but it took everything I had.”

  Lucien lowered his head.

  “…That’s why the Vatican chose me.”

  Sarville paused mid-bandage.

  “What?”

  Lucien’s voice grew hollow.

  “They think Kevlar is part of the vampire lineage now.

  That he’s dangerous.

  That… that I’m the only one who could face him, because of the Callus bloodline.”

  He clenched his fists.

  “But when that guardian bowed…

  when those Lords appeared…

  I realized…”

  His voice cracked.

  “I’m terrified of him, Sarville.”

  Eslene looked up from her weapon, subtly listening.

  Lucien continued, voice trembling.

  “I used to be jealous.

  Angry.

  Ashamed.

  Because Kevlar took the attention I wanted.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “But now…

  He isn’t just my brother.”

  Lucien finally admitted:

  “He’s something this world doesn’t even have a name for.”

  Sarville placed a worn hand on Lucien’s shoulder.

  “You fear him because you still see him as your brother,” he said gently.

  “But the world…

  will fear him for what he is becoming.”

  Eslene closed her eyes, muttering:

  “Shadowborn…”

  Far to the south—

  The Holy Vatican gathered its elite in preparation.

  Saint Fariel stood in radiant robes at the head of an illuminated chamber,

  his expression serene but eyes cold.

  Behind him, Inquisitor Varrin—bandaged, silent—knelt respectfully.

  Another squad of holy warriors prepared to march.

  Fariel raised a hand.

  “The Shadowborn must be found,” he declared.

  “For justice.

  For humanity.

  For divine order.”

  But his smile was too sharp.

  Too practiced.

  Somewhere deep below the Vatican,

  Serena Corven’s chamber hummed with power.

  Her eyes were closed…

  but her crimson irises flickered beneath her lids.

  As if awakening.

  Meanwhile in the west—

  Covenus scouts prepared armor and shadow-wards.

  The Covenus Matriarch slammed her fist into the table.

  “A Vampire Lord moving near the boundary AND a Shadowborn awakening?

  We cannot sit idle.”

  His daughter, Eslene’s younger brother, bowed.

  “We will prepare an elite team to follow the Callus.

  Under guise of cooperation.”

  “Good,” the Matriarch muttered.

  “Whatever this Shadowborn is…

  it may change the balance of power.”

  Within the Citadel—

  Kevlar stood with Lilith and Draculius at the entrance of a colossal gateway sealed with runes that glowed like dying stars.

  Lilith squeezed Kevlar’s hand gently.

  “Are you ready?” she whispered.

  Kevlar’s breath steadied.

  “Yes.”

  Draculius spoke, voice echoing with ancient weight.

  “Beyond this gate lies the Inner Court.

  The ancestral seat of the Shadowborn lineage.

  The place where the ancient rulers slumber.”

  Kevlar blinked.

  “There are more… like you?”

  Lilith smiled softly.

  “Not quite.

  More like… beings who existed before titles like Ancient One meant anything.”

  Draculius placed a hand against the gate.

  The runes responded instantly, spiraling outward.

  A deep rumble shook the chambers.

  Lilith stepped closer to Kevlar and whispered:

  “Follow my father.

  And beyond him…

  truths you must face.”

  Kevlar swallowed nervously.

  “What kind of truths?”

  Draculius smirked.

  “The kind that reshape destinies.”

  The gate unsealed with a thunderous roar.

  A gust of icy night wind burst forth, carrying whispers of forgotten ages.

  Lilith pulled her hood over her head.

  Kevlar stepped forward.

  And from the abyss beyond the gate,

  a voice older than mountains

  echoed through the darkness—

  ancient, curious, and terrifying:

  “Shadowborn…

  You have finally returned.”

  Kevlar froze.

  Lilith smiled.

  Draculius bowed his head slightly.

  And the Inner Court awakened.