House of Blood

The ancestral gates of the Prim Sanguis estate groaned as they swung open against the torrential midnight rain, their heavy iron hinges wailing under the weight of a rising gale.

Inside the grand Obsidian Hall, three hundred silver candles flickered in unison, their thin flames stretching upward toward a vaulted ceiling carved with ancient, blood-inscribed war treaties. Standing at the high altar beneath the taxidermied head of a Primordial Blood Drake was a towering figure wrapped in dark crimson robes trimmed with gold thread.

Icarus Prim Sanguis. Patriarch of the Prim Sanguis main line and sovereign master of the continent’s most dreaded bloodline.

His face was carved from stern marble, his long obsidian hair streaked with silver at the temples like frost settling over iron. His eyes were not black or brown, but a terrifying, liquid crimson that seemed to swallow the ambient candlelight, reflecting a depth of blood-aura that had brought entire empires to their knees.

In his right hand, he held the family’s ancestral relic—a heavy, dragon-headed cane forged from cold abyssal iron that rested silently against the flagstones.

”You brought news from Black-Iron Ridge,” Icarus spoke.

His voice was deep, gravelly, and vibrating with a low, tectonic resonance that vibrated through the marrow of everyone present.

He did not turn around to face the hall.

Behind him, the heavy iron double doors shattered inward with a deafening boom as three distinct figures stepped through the threshold, dripping rainwater and demon blood onto the polished marble floor.

Leading the entrance was a tall, athletic girl with dark silver hair cut into a sharp, asymmetrical bob that framed her pale, angular face.

She wore lightweight black leather armor reinforced with dragon-scale plating, twin short-swords slung horizontally across her lower back, and a crimson cloth mask covering the lower half of her face.

Morrigan Prim Sanguis.

The Third Child. The Executioner.

Flanking her left and right walked the fraternal twins—fifteen-year-old combat prodigies whose identical, pale faces were painted with matching blood-red war runes under their left eyes.

Marvos Prim Sanguis—the Fifth Child, a tall, lean youth with wild black hair, wielding a massive, jagged executioner’s scythe whose dark edge sizzled as rain dripped onto its blood-stained steel.

Beside him stood Maelis Prim Sanguis—the Sixth Child, her dark eyes sharp and calculating, her slender fingers wrapped lazily around twin rune-carved throwing daggers that hummed with pressurized, high-frequency blood-aura.

”Father,” Morrigan said, her voice cutting through the patter of rain outside.

She reached down to her hip and dropped a heavy, soaked leather bag onto the marble floor.

It burst open upon impact, spilling three severed, corrupted heads of Sec branch Elders onto the stones.

Black, abyssal blood pooled beneath them, smoking lightly against the blessed marble.

”The eastern outposts have been purged,” Morrigan continued, lowering her crimson mask to reveal sharp, cat-like eyes burning with a dark, unyielding intensity.

”Every traitor who funded the crevasse ambush three years ago has had their lineage severed. Elder Garren’s secondary network no longer exists.”

Icarus finally turned.

His cold, liquid-crimson gaze swept over the three siblings, lingering for a fraction of a second on the blood coating their armor before settling on the altar behind him.

”Did you find his remains?” Icarus asked softly.

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffused with a quiet, suppressed grief that no amount of sovereign authority could fully mask.

Silence fell over the high hall.

The three hundred candles flickered as a gust of cold wind swept through the shattered entrance.

Marvos and Maelis exchanged a quick, synchronized glance—a silent dialogue shared only between twins born into the same crucible of war.

Maelis took half a step forward, her voice surprisingly sweet, melodic, yet edged with the cold, unyielding steel of a born killer.

”No, Father,” Maelis reported, her daggers spinning once between her fingers before snapping back into her palm.

”The crevasse floor was cleared before our vanguard arrived. But Elder Garren’s elite enforcers were already dead when we reached the secondary altar.”

”They were not killed by spellcraft or standard blood-aura,” Marvos chimed in, his grin widening to reveal sharp, feral teeth as he rested his heavy scythe across his shoulders.

”Every skull was crushed from the inside out using precise, physical leverage. Their joints were snapped backward at geometric angles. No aura leakage. No residual mana.”

Morrigan stepped up beside the twins, her hand tightening around the hilt of her left short-sword until her leather gloves creaked.

”And one more thing, Father. Vespera and Alexis sent a messenger hawk from Black-Iron Ridge two hours ago. They encountered the fighter directly.”

Icarus’s hand tightened around his dragon-headed cane.

BOOM.

For a single, terrifying millisecond, the air inside the grand Obsidian Hall became so dense that oxygen failed to ignite.

The three hundred silver candle flames turned completely blood-red, their light shifting into a violent crimson hue that cast long, monstrous shadows across the walls.

The flagstones beneath Icarus’s boots spiderwebbed with thin, hairline fractures under the sudden, unconscious leakage of his High Sovereign pressure.

”Alexis claims it is Valerian,” Icarus said.

His tone was deceptively calm, stripped of all emotion, yet the marble walls groaned beneath the sheer weight of his presence.

”He claims our ’trash’ seventh child—born without a drop of manifest Death Aura, condemned by the clan as a dud—survived three years in the abyssal frozen wastes of the North.”

”He claims the boy shattered his spirit curse, unlocked a non-aura martial framework, and now hunts the Eldritch Sun Sanctum while wearing a slate mask.”

”Alexis does not make mathematical errors, Father,” Marvos stated firmly, his feral smile fading into a serious, intense expression.

”You know Fourth Brother. He doesn’t operate on hope or grief. He operates on ledgers and vector equations.”

”If Alexis says the ’Ghost’ wields the Crimson Needle and carries Valerian’s childhood toy, then my baby brother is alive.”

Marvos stepped forward, bringing the butt of his scythe down against the floor with a heavy thud.

”I say we stop playing political games with the Imperial Court. Let the Vanguard deploy in full force. We march directly into the Eastern Marches, tear down every cult hideout, and bring Valerian home where he belongs.”

”Foolish!” Icarus snapped.

The word struck the hall like a thunderclap, accompanied by a wave of pressurized kinetic force that knocked Marvos back half a step and forced Maelis to cross her daggers in a defensive guard.

”You speak like a Vanguard enforcer, Marvos, not a strategist of the main line,” Icarus growled, his crimson eyes glowing with a terrifying, sovereign intelligence.

”Think! Why would a boy who survived three years in hiding wear a faceless mask? Why would he hide his identity from his own brother and sister at Black-Iron Ridge?”

Maelis’s sharp eyes flickered as the realization dawned on her.

”Because he knows we are being watched.”

”Precisely,” Icarus said, leaning slightly on his iron cane as he turned back toward the drake altar.

”The Eldritch Sun Sanctum is not merely an underground cult operating in the dark corners of the continent. Their roots run deep into the Imperial Court.”

”They have corrupted the Medeis family’s soul-gems and infiltrated the Sec branch of our own bloodline.”

”If Valerian reveals his true identity now, he becomes an official target for the Emperor’s Sun Guards.”

Icarus took a slow, deep breath, his broad chest expanding beneath his crimson robes.

”They branded him a framed traitor three years ago,” Icarus continued softly, his voice echoing through the vaulted hall.

”They thought he was a weak link they could snap to force our family into submission.”

”If the Imperial Court learns that the ’trash’ they tried to discard has returned as a sovereign predator capable of dismantling High Demons without aura... they will launch an all-out holy war to execute him before he reaches maturity.”

Morrigan lowered her head, her silver hair falling over her eyes.

”Then we let him fight alone?”

”No,” Icarus declared, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register that vibrated with absolute, dark devotion.

”A Sanguis child never fights alone.”

”But we will play by his rules.”

Icarus turned around completely, his crimson robes fanning out around him like dragon wings.

He pointed his heavy iron cane directly at Morrigan and the twins.

”Morrigan. Take Marvos and Maelis,” Icarus commanded.

”Deploy to the Eastern Marches immediately. Do not approach Valerian directly. Do not break his cover, and do not interfere with his hunts.”

”You will become his shadow in the dark.”

Marvos grinned, his wild eyes lighting up with bloodlust as he gripped his scythe.

”And if the Imperial Sun Guards or the Medeis mages try to step between our brother and his targets?”

Icarus’s eyes flashed with an unholy, lethal light that illuminated the dark altar behind him.

”Slaughter them all,” Icarus ordered coldly.

”Leave no bodies, leave no traces, and ensure the world believes it was the work of a ghost.”