Blood Awakening: The Strongest Hybrid and His Vampire Bride

Chapter 353: Darkness seeps into the castle

Lunariaʼs breathing began to slow.

Her hands fell from his waist as she stepped back. Quiet, steady, but still watching him like she needed to see him standing. Needed to see him still here.

Nikolai didnʼt look at her.

He turned to Leona and tossed the ruined corpse to the ground. The body hit the floor with a wet thud — limbs splayed at unnatural angles, blackened veins still twitching.

What was left of the boy barely resembled a person. The illusion had peeled back just enough to show the truth: seams. Stitching. A spine not entirely human. Nosferatuʼs work.

Precise. Controlled. Designed to pass.

To speak like a man. To smile. To lie.

”It almost passed,” Nikolai said flatly. ”Too clean. Too well made.”

He glanced down at the heart in his hand, the last bit of it still pulsing faintly before it crumbled into ash.

A puppet with a soul borrowed for one purpose: manipulation.

”Leona,” he said. ”Are the girls still asleep?”

Leona checked the enchanted pin fastened to her collar, a quiet shimmer of magic pulsing in its centre. ”Yes, Master. All of them are accounted for. They havenʼt stirred.”

”Good,” Nikolai muttered. ”They donʼt need to see this.”

He let out a breath — not relief, not regret. Just the motion.

It had been a long time since he felt that edge again. The one that lived just behind his calm facade.

A reminder.

He remembered the first weeks after the change. Waking up hungry, half-mad. Blood was soaking into his skin. The urge to rip open anything that looked at him wrong.

Back then, there were no talks. No negotiations.

Just kill.

No hesitation. No mercy. No second warnings.

His claws twitched once, then retracted.

He looked to the side — at the steel-reinforced door, still faintly echoing the heat of what had just happened.

”The Nosferatu forgot what I am,” he said, voice low. ”Letʼs remind them.”

Leona gave a slow, precise nod.

Nikolai turned back to Lunaria. Her expression hadnʼt changed. But something in her posture had. She stood taller. Still shaken... but steadier.

He opened the door with one hand and waited.

”Come,” he said simply.

Lunaria followed.

She didnʼt need reassurance.

She just needed to walk beside the monster that killed for her without asking why.

—

The door clicked softly behind them.

Lunaria stepped past first, silent as always — but her shoulders were no longer so tight. The scent of blood clung to them both. Cold. Metallic. Real.

Nikolai stopped at the top of the stairs.

She was waiting for him.

A young woman stood just off to the side, dressed in a perfectly pressed black maid outfit. Her silver-rimmed glasses shone faintly under the low corridor lights. She held a notepad in one hand, a quill in the other, and looked up with a perfect, practised bow.

”Good evening, Master Nikolai,” the Kumiko-clone said softly.

Nikolai stared at her.

”...Youʼre joking.”

The clone pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. ”Absolutely not, my lord. The primary consciousness is currently asleep. Sheʼs... dreaming about serving tea. Wearing this exact uniform, in fact.”

A pause.

”She worries about you quite a bit,” the clone added.

Lunaria gave a soft, breathy laugh behind him.

Nikolai exhaled once. ”How long have you been standing here?”

”Since the moment you entered the chamber,” the clone replied. ”I felt... an unpleasant shift. So I formed. She doesnʼt know yet, but sheʼll remember later.”

”And the outfit?”

The clone tilted her head. ”Technically not my choice. Iʼm just living the dream.”

Right now, in the dream of Kumiko, she was currently serving him as a maid, and thus, the clone was helpless to take any form other than the one there.

She only thanked the main body because she could ignore the current actions and state of her clothes in the dream, or the clone might suffer a great embarrassment...

He rubbed a hand over his face. ”Of course you are.”

The clone stepped closer. ”Report?”

Nikolaiʼs eyes darkened. ”Nosferatu puppet. Artificial body. Mimicked a human perfectly until it lost control. Too close. Too well-made.”

The cloneʼs calm smile faded just a bit. ”Then we need to reinforce the warding grid — now. Iʼll deploy five shadows to monitor all perimeters. But... this wasnʼt about entry.”

”I know.”

The clone met his eyes fully. ”They were testing you. Your instinct. Your loyalty. Your control.”

”They failed.”

”I know.”

Another quiet pause.

”Should I wake the main?” the clone asked softly. ”Sheʼll be angry if she finds out she missed something this important.”

”No,” Nikolai said. ”Let her dream.”

The clone nodded once. ”Then Iʼll serve in her place.”

Lunaria blinked. ”Is that a metaphor or...?”

The clone turned, lifting her notepad. ”Both.”

—

The west wing of the manor was silent at this hour — not empty, just quiet.

Seraphina preferred it that way whenever she visited.

Nikolai walked through the curved archway without knocking. The door to her chambers was open, as it always was for him.

She sat in the centre of the polished floor, a single pale blue orb floating above her open palm. The scent of crushed mint and dried lotus lingered in the air.

”You are covered in blood,” she mumbled, not turning. ”But itʼs not your blood.”

”No,” Nikolai said.

She let the orb dissolve.

”Sit.”

He did.

No words for a while. Just the low sound of water bubbling from a stone basin in the corner and the soft creak of his chair.

Then Seraphina looked up at him, her pale blue eyes sharp despite the softness of her face.

”What did they send this time?”

”Something shaped like a boy,” Nikolai said. ”Human at first glance. Stitched together. Blood magic. Passed every sensory check until it got emotional.”

She nodded slowly.

”Did it say anything?”

”They tried to turn me against Lunaria. Said she still belongs to the Nosferatu.”

Seraphinaʼs lips pressed together. ”Theyʼre running out of ideas, then.”

”Thatʼs what I thought.”

She leaned back, the silk of her robe barely rustling. ”Youʼre not here just to tell me.”

”I want you and your clan to reinforce all the inner and outer barriers. I want your aura on every door, every hallway, every chamber.”

”You expect another attempt?”

”I expect desperation, or improvement in their technique.”

Seraphina studied him carefully, then gave a slow nod.

”Iʼll anchor it by moonrise. It will take energy.”

”Iʼll owe you.”

”You already do.”

He didnʼt argue.

She stood, walking toward a shelf lined with small crystal vials.

”Nikolai,” she said quietly, without looking back. ”Theyʼre not just testing you. Theyʼre watching how you change. What you protect. Who you love.”

”Donʼt forget that and... even if it hurts you. Maybe you should make it less obvious, reduce the targets on everyoneʼs backs.”

Nikolai became quiet, looking back at her, focused on the elderʼs words and although he understood them and wanted to accept. He couldnʼt. It was impossible. At least for him to do that right now...

”I canʼt...”

”Then become stronger, strong enough it doesnʼt matter...”

”I know.”

She turned and met his gaze.

”Then remember this: The more human you become… the more valuable your heart becomes to people who donʼt care if you keep it.”

He didnʼt respond.

She handed him a silver vial wrapped in a blue ribbon.

”For the one who sleeps with guilt behind her eyes.”

He took it silently.

Then left.

The hallway glowed dimly under soft lantern light, long shadows spilling across the stone as they walked.

Nikolai didnʼt speak at first. Neither did Lunaria.

She walked beside him, quiet as always, her hands folded in front of her. Her steps were silent, her eyes still fixed slightly downward — but he could feel it. The calm had returned to her. No peace. Just steadiness.

Behind them, the maidʼs footsteps were soft, precise.

”I wasnʼt made to speak without purpose,” the Kumiko-clone said suddenly, her voice smooth and even.

Nikolai didnʼt look back. ”But?”

”But you intrigue me.”

Lunaria glanced back over her shoulder, smiling slightly.

The clone tilted her head. ”You confuse the primary body. Frustrate her. And she enjoys it.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow. ”She doesnʼt say that.”

”She wouldnʼt,” the clone said. ”But she forms me when she wants to understand you.”

”Is that why youʼre dressed like that?”

The clone smoothed her skirt. ”Her mind wandered. It seemed... efficient.”

Lunaria gave a quiet giggle, one hand covering her mouth.

Nikolai exhaled slowly. ”Youʼre more talkative than I expected.”

”She wants to know what youʼre thinking,” the clone said plainly. ”But more than that... she wants to see what youʼll do next.”

He paused in front of one of the moonlit arches, reaching into his coat. He held out the silver vial — the one Seraphina gave him — and passed it to the clone.

”This is for her,” he said. ”A sleep tonic... for her nightmares.”

”Eh!?”

The clone looked shocked, her cheeks turning red as she held the vial like a priceless treasure, before looking up at Nikolai with an awestruck face.

Her fingers wrapped around it with gentle care.

”Sheʼll be happy,” she said. Then softer, ”…thank you.”

”I cannot believe you remembered...”

”Kumiko... she told me once, that her clones would only appear on the outside during sleep, when she had the worst nightmares. You are not the clone that seeks me curiosity but her desire for me to comfort you right?”

The clone hesitated, her hands tightening slightly around the vial.

”I... donʼt know,” she said honestly, voice softer than before. ”I came from her dream. But... maybe thatʼs what she really wants and doesnʼt say.”

Nikolai didnʼt move, didnʼt blink — but he was listening.

The cloneʼs expression shifted, her smile small but genuine now. She looked down at the vial, then back up again.

”Iʼll keep this close,” she said. ”Even after I fade.”

Then, as if realising she had said too much, she stepped back and bowed neatly, lowering her head like a proper maid.

Lunaria stood nearby, watching without interrupting. A slight, knowing smile touched her lips, but she said nothing.

Nikolai turned without a word and resumed walking, his coat brushing the stone behind him.

The clone followed.

She didnʼt need permission.

She was already part of the dream.