The peaceful stillness of Dragon Mountain shattered in an instant.
From the skies, dark clouds surged—clouds not of rain, but wings and blood. Vampires. Dozens. Hundreds. Their eyes glowed red with madness, and their bodies—once lifeless—now thrummed with infernal power. The Noctis Vitae, that cursed relic of undeath, pulsed in the far distance like a second heart to the world, resurrecting every fallen vampire across the land.
Now, they descended upon Dragon Mountain.
"Get behind me!" Ryle shouted, already cloaked in his battle form, wings stretched, claws brimming with purple flame.
But Thea didn't hesitate. She darted into the fray, Twinlight Swords slicing through the undead swarm with deadly precision. Each motion was honed—clean, furious, beautiful. Blood rained down, and ashes followed. But the vampires didn't stop.
No matter how many she cut down, they rose again.
"They're not staying dead!" Thea snarled, ducking under a swipe and driving her blade into a vampire's heart—only for its body to knit itself back together.
Ryle blasted three with a breath of dragonfire, watching them burn—only for the ashes to swirl and reform.
"The Noctis Vitae is reviving them... again and again," he said, panting. "Unlimited mana… endless corpses... this isn't war. This is damnation."
The vampires began focusing on Thea.
They didn't speak, but their intent was clear. Their eyes never left her.
They wanted her.
Ryle noticed it instantly.
"Why are they all hunting you?" he barked, blasting away a group trying to circle her. "What did they sense?!"
"I don't know," Thea growled. "But I'm about to make them regret it."
Her aura pulsed—blades glowing a fierce gold—but even as she carved a dozen to pieces, more kept coming.
"We have to move—now!" Ryle grabbed her hand, wings bursting wide. With a surge of power, he soared into the sky, cutting through the clouds of vampires, racing toward Valemourn. Thea clung to him, blades still humming in her grasp.
But as they neared the halfway point—
CRACK.
A crimson lance of blood pierced the air like a sniper's bullet, crashing into them mid-flight. The force knocked them from the sky, blood magic wrapping around their legs, their chests, their wings.
They crashed hard in the barren ruins of a shattered estate.
Ryle groaned, shielding Thea as they hit the ground. Dust and blood fogged the air.
"This place…" Thea murmured, her voice trembling.
They had landed in the ruins of the Astoria Mansion—the once-proud estate of the vampire house that fell during the Great War. Now, its broken columns and empty halls pulsed with fresh, foul life.
Undead swarmed from the shadows—more vampires, all wearing ancient noble attire, all freshly resurrected.
Ryle rose to his feet. "Of course. The Noctis Vitae brought back everything... even Astoria."
The vampires lunged.
Thea snapped.
She became a blur of death. Her swords glowed with ferocity, and she butchered through the undead, limbs and heads flying in every direction. Ryle didn't stop her—until one voice rose from the edge of the ruin.
"I'm sorry... Prince Ryle. But what's happening here?"
Thea froze mid-strike, her blades inches from a vampire's neck.
Ryle turned.
A figure stood beneath the broken gate—a tall man with regal poise, snow-white hair, and blood-red eyes that held not malice, but... sadness.
He wore the old crest of Astoria.
"The original... Astoria Lord," Ryle whispered. "From Ignilth's time."
Ryle approached him, step by step, and explained everything—what the world had become,the rise of Varaziel, the rebirth of undead... the true threat that loomed over them all.
The Astoria Lord listened in silence.
Then, with a soft smile, he raised his hands and summoned a massive creature made of blood—a dragon, towering and gleaming crimson, wings wide, teeth glinting with raw power.
"I want to die," he said, voice gentle. "And I want to die… by a dragon."
Ryle glanced at Thea.
She nodded.
Together, they launched into battle.
The blood dragon roared, casting spells of bloodfire and illusion, tearing the ground asunder, sending rivers of boiling blood rushing through the ruins. Ryle countered with his dragonfire, tearing through its wings. Thea leapt from debris to debris, carving its limbs apart, Twinlight flashing like comets.
With a final strike—Ryle's fire breath and Thea's blades crossed in perfect harmony—they obliterated the beast.
The Astoria Lord fell to his knees, smiling. "Thank you…"
His body turned to ash, the curse finally lifted.
They reached the outskirts of Valemourn—only for the ground to tremble.
A figure blocked their path.
Clad in elegant red and black, his presence vile yet noble.
Nelson Noctivar. Returned from the grave.
"Well, well…" he said, licking his lips. "Astoria. It's been so long. And me? I can't die anymore."
Ryle gritted his teeth. "Then we'll kill you again."
Nelson unleashed hell.
His ancient vampire arts were like nothing seen before—blood cyclones, shadow fangs, telekinetic bone blades. He danced between light and dark, laughing all the while. Thea fought with relentless fury, her blades a blur, sparks and blood filling the air.
Ryle tried to land a blow, but Nelson was fast—inhumanly so.
Until Thea found the opening.
She vanished mid-dash—reappearing behind him in a golden flash.
SHRAK.
Twinlight cleaved through his neck—clean, final.
Nelson's body collapsed, the smirk on his lips frozen in death.
They caught their breath, backs pressed together.
Then—
"Damn, you guys are too fast."
They turned.
Charlotte stood on a hill behind them, cloak fluttering, lips curled into a smirk.