Vampire Progenitor System

Elsewhere

The air split with a sound like iron screaming.

The space was not a world, not even a realm—it was a wound. A scar where existence itself had been ripped open.

Here, the First Vampire Progenitor had fallen. Here, Damaris’ blood had burned the stars, staining the void with power too deep to fade. Centuries had passed, but the wound had never healed. Chaotic energies still clashed endlessly, colliding like storms made of shadow and flame. Every breath was thick with it, crushing, suffocating, like the marrow of the universe trying to grind intruders to dust.

Five figures stepped into it.

Adversaries.

Their forms twisted the air just by being there, each aura pushing back the storm with its own will. Shadows bled across the pale ground, the clash of energies licking at their edges like wild fire.

The first one to step forward was tall, his grin sharp, black eyes reflecting the chaos. He lifted his hand, the storm curling around his fingers like it was drawn to him. ”So this is where he fell.”

The woman beside him, her body cracked with obsidian lines that pulsed red, narrowed her eyes. ”I can feel it. The remnants of him. It stinks of blood.”

The third—white-haired, boyish, a crooked smile forever tugging at his lips—tilted his head. ”Feels more like rot to me. Whatever it is, it’s old. Old enough to bite back.”

The fourth, the hulking beast with horns and black veins crawling across his skin, let out a low growl. His fists clenched, the storm battering against him like it feared his anger. ”Power still lingers. If it can be taken, it should be mine.”

The last one—the man in the black coat with violet lenses—stepped calmly into the heart of the wound. He adjusted his glasses, eyes hidden but sharp beneath. ”Careful. This is no ordinary remnant. This is a death. And death resists thieves.”

Still, none of them turned away.

The tall one with the grin stretched out his arm fully, and the chaos bent toward him, twisting into streams of black fire. It coiled around his fingers, screaming like voices trapped in steel. He laughed. ”Yes… yes, I can feel it—”

The laugh choked. His hand snapped back, tendrils of energy biting into his arm like fangs. He tore free with a snarl, his skin blistered black where it had touched him.

The others watched, silent.

The obsidian woman stepped forward next. ”Weak hands.” She lifted her palm, and her body glowed red from the cracks in her skin. The storm bent, shards of raw existence slamming against her arm. She pulled, dragging the chaos closer, trying to shape it into a core.

For a moment, it worked. The energy flickered, gathering like a heart.

Then it exploded.

The force hurled her back, crashing her into the stone ground. She rose slowly, shards falling from her cracked skin, her voice tight with fury. ”It rejects me.”

The boyish one laughed. ”I told you it bites.”

He spread his arms wide, stepping into the storm as though it were a stage meant for him. Energy lashed, twisting around him, sparks of fire and shadow colliding. He moved with it, dancing almost, his grin never fading. ”Oh, this is lovely. I like the taste of it—”

His voice broke with a scream. The energy struck him, not gently, not slowly, but like a spear. It pierced his chest, flaring bright before shattering. He collapsed to one knee, coughing blood that hissed when it touched the ground.

The beast stepped forward, unfazed. He planted both feet, roared, and thrust his fists into the storm. The chaos wrapped him, clawed at him, but he didn’t stop. His muscles bulged, black veins pulsing hotter, brighter. He dragged the power toward himself with brute force.

For a moment, he seemed to hold it. The storm bent around his chest, the air splitting. His roar shook the ground.

Then the backlash came.

The energy slammed into him, ripping across his body, burning through the black veins. His roar turned into a howl of rage as he staggered back, smoke pouring from his skin. He slammed a fist into the ground, cracking it deep.

The storm raged harder, as if mocking them.

Only the one in the coat remained unmoved.

He stood still, his hands folded behind his back, violet light flashing across his lenses. He did not reach for it. He did not fight it. He only watched.

When the others finally steadied themselves, when the air burned with the stench of their blood and the storm still howled untamed, he spoke.

”It cannot be taken. Not by us.”

The tall one bared his teeth, still clutching his blistered hand. ”So we leave it? Waste this?”

The man in the coat shook his head. His voice stayed calm, precise. ”No. If we cannot harness it, then we destroy it. Or deny it. Because if it remains, it will not be ours—but his.”

The obsidian woman’s eyes burned. ”The new one. The son.”

The crooked-smiled one laughed weakly, wiping blood from his lips. ”The Progenitor’s brat. The heir.”

The beast’s growl rumbled deep. ”If he takes this power, if he claims the remnants of Damaris, then he will stand higher than us.”

The man in the coat nodded once. ”Then he cannot. We prevent him. We break this place, seal it, bury it. Whatever must be done. He must never have it.”

The tall one’s grin returned, twisted now. ”Then that will be our advantage. He will rise, but not with this at his back. We will cut him down before he ever reaches it.”

The storm screamed louder, the chaos swirling as if it knew their intent.

The obsidian woman stepped closer to the edge, her voice sharp. ”Then we end it here. No remnants. No inheritance. Let his father’s death mean nothing.”

The beast cracked his fists, smoke still rising from his veins. ”I will crush this place with my hands.”

The boyish one chuckled faintly, shaking his head. ”Try not to die doing it. I’d rather have you alive to throw at him later.”

The man in the coat adjusted his glasses again, violet light glinting. His voice was final. ”It is decided. If we cannot wield Damaris’ shadow, then no one will. Especially not his son.”

The five of them stood at the heart of the wound, the storm battering at their bodies, their words heavier than the chaos around them.

Far above, unseen, the silver veins of the void pulsed once—like memory itself reacting.

The remnants of Damaris would not be claimed today.

But neither would they be forgotten.

And as the adversaries turned their eyes toward each other, their decision hung sharp in the void:

If they could not use the Progenitor’s power—

They would burn it to ash before letting the heir touch it.