I'm really sorry for the delay in releasing the next chapter, but this past week we had a long holiday in my country, and I took the opportunity to travel with my girlfriend. I was pretty focused on her during the trip, but now that I'm back, I'll return to posting daily chapters. Once again, I'm sorry—but hey, I'm just a young guy in love, what can I say?
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[General POV]
The field was silent — a kind of silence Morpheus had grown used to over time. It was the silence of war, of death and destruction, the quiet that settles in after the clash. And once again, he found himself standing in the middle of it — and by the looks of things, it wouldn't be the last time.
But this time, it wasn't quite the same silence as before. There was something hanging in the air now, as if the earth itself were holding its breath. And in just a few moments, that would become all too real. The final seconds of the battle had slipped by in a blink, and all that remained were motionless bodies and the cold still lingering over the hardened sand.
Abnadiel drew closer, eyes fixed on the horizon, though his body remained tense. His movements were measured, deliberate — like someone who knew it wasn't truly over yet.
[Main POV]
"Ten less," I murmured, my voice deep but calm. "After he and I finished off the stragglers."
I nodded, walking slowly among the fallen. There was something odd about the bodies — not a trace of blood. Their shattered forms looked more like broken statues. And even in ruin, they remained — beautiful, unmoving, frozen in time, like porcelain figures. Even in death, there was still something otherworldly about them.
It wasn't the kind of threat that made noise or left a trail. It was something else entirely… something quieter. Like an intrusive thought. Like a gaze you feel on your skin before you ever see it. A harbinger of something dark.
After a few seconds, Abnadiel shifted uneasily, then spoke—his voice low, almost a whisper.
"We're being watched."
I'd already sensed it, but I nodded in agreement all the same.
He turned to face the same direction I'd been looking, and together we sharpened our senses. We stood in silence, trying to pick up anything more.
Then it came—a subtle vibration in the ground. Faint, almost unreal. Too distant for any human to detect, but clear as day to us. It was fast, too precise to be random.
It was intention.
Amenadiel, a few paces away, stepped toward me and his brother. He turned slightly, eyes locked onto the earth like he could read messages in the tremors beneath his feet.
At first, Amenadiel hadn't seemed to possess any supernatural gift. But watching him now, I'd changed my mind. Apparently, he had some kind of sensory reading ability—maybe he could pick up sensations, vibrations... I wasn't sure yet. I'd need to study him more closely. And from what Abnadiel had told me, Amenadiel was always the first to notice things. Not just the environment, but people too—their intentions, their hesitations, the lies and truths buried in silence.
After a brief moment staring at the ground—as if he were gazing into the soul of the world—and after a silence that felt like the calm before a storm, he finally spoke:
"They're coming," he said in that steady, measured tone—the one that convinced me to appoint him as my personal guard. It was the voice he used when everything had already been assessed. It wasn't fear. It was calculation.
"And they're not like the others."
I knew. He always knew.
Where others saw only danger, Amenadiel saw patterns. Strategies. Will.
And so, just minutes after one battle had ended, there we were—frozen in place, on the verge of another. But something felt different.
This time, if Amenadiel's theory was right...
This time, it wasn't just about strength.
It was something deeper.
It was purpose.
Amenadiel turned to me and said:
"Lord Morpheus, I can feel it—even before we see them. These next vampires… they're not coming to fight. They're coming to talk. Or to negotiate."
I nodded slightly. I could feel it too, in some strange way. I couldn't explain it. But something—or someone—was approaching. Not with the blind rage of the ones who had fallen.
This was something restrained. Watchful.
Curious.
And so we stood there, caught in that brief tension that always precedes a possible clash. No sound of footsteps. Only a shift in the air—subtle, like fate itself offering a quiet greeting, at the exact moment the wind changes direction.
Silent, but inevitable.
Then they appeared.
Three figures emerged along the trail winding through the hills, cloaked in dark garments that seemed to drink in the last rays of the setting sun. Though their robes were identical, they told their own stories—woven from coarse linen, hand-stitched with threads dulled by time, each one carried the weight of a forgotten era. These weren't just clothes; they were relics. Symbols of who they were… and what they still represented.
Their eyes glowed with a reddish hue—soft, but unmistakable. The kind of glow only the oldest vampires possessed—those who had walked through centuries without ever bowing to time. One bore thin cracks across his body, like fractured porcelain, winding over pale skin. A common side effect of sleeping too long. Yet even in their imperfections… they looked unbreakable.
The first was tall, with obsidian-black skin, chiseled features, and the posture of a king. Every step he took radiated quiet authority, like even the desert itself acknowledged his presence. Faint ritual scars marked his face—emblems of ancient clans from the heart of Africa. His cloak did little to hide the powerful build beneath, carved by centuries of war and rule.
The second was smaller, with refined features and sharp, calculating eyes. Chinese, with long black hair tied in a traditional topknot. His skin was pale as wax, and his movements carried the grace and precision of a monk. There was wisdom in his expression—something in his gaze that spoke of having watched the world end… and begin again. Every gesture was deliberate, like he was walking a tightrope strung across fate itself.
The third was the most Nordic of the three—skin pale as snow, with washed-out blond hair falling over broad shoulders. He had the build of a warrior from ancient frozen halls, but his eyes held the kind of cold calm that only comes from watching friends and foes alike turn to dust. Cracks lined parts of his neck and arms like broken ice veins—but rather than diminishing him, they made him all the more unsettling.
And despite their differences—in origin, body, and gaze—one thing was clear:
They were here by choice.
Not hostile.
But dangerous.
Amenadiel stepped forward instinctively, his stance alert but measured. Like someone who had already read the whole board before the first piece moved. Abdiel didn't lag behind, matching his brother's pace with an equally imposing advance.
I raised a hand to stop them both.
"Not yet," I murmured.
The trio halted just a few feet away. The one in the middle stepped forward—not because he was the tallest, but because of the weight of his presence. His movements were so fluid, it was as if the air itself shifted to accommodate him, as though the world subtly bent to his will.
And then I heard something that genuinely caught me off guard.
"Morpheus," he said in ancient Greek, offering a slight nod. His voice was crisp, unaccented—belonging everywhere and nowhere at once.
"You know who I am?" I asked, studying him. I've always liked knowing my enemy, understanding their details—I see myself as a hunter. But now, I knew nothing about him, while he clearly knew everything about me. He even spoke in my native tongue—ancient Greek—just to make that clear.
Before I could think further, he answered, drawing my full attention back to him.
"We know enough. Enough not to underestimate you… or them," he said, glancing at my guards.
I narrowed my eyes. There was no arrogance in his tone—just analysis.
It felt like we were playing a game. And both sides knew the rules.
Then he continued. "We didn't come to fight. We came to observe. And negotiate."
"Negotiate?" I crossed my arms. "After sending twenty of yours to test us?"
He smiled—a knowing, ancient smile. The kind that doesn't need to prove anything—just remind you it's been here before.
"Those weren't ours. They were… hired. Mercenaries from minor Eastern clans. We merely allowed the rumors to guide them to you."
"And now you show up in person," I added.
He nodded. "Because now we know it's worth having this conversation."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was the silence of decisions.
Diplomatic. Tense.
The kind where every word that followed might start a new war—or stop one.
Abdiel remained silent, but his focus was razor sharp. He wasn't just muscle—he was a tactician. He knew—as well as I did—that this was no ordinary meeting. And because of that, he was ready to fight, if necessary.
"Then say what you came to say," I said firmly. "But know this: if this is another manipulation, it'll end just like the last one."
The vampire smiled again—with the kind of calm that comes from centuries… maybe even millennia.
Then he said:
"We didn't come to manipulate. We came because something greater is coming. And when it does… neither you nor us will be ready—unless we're on the same side."
My eyes narrowed.
There, in the middle of the desert, the cold still lingering in the sand, I realized:
The battle we just won...
...was only the prelude.
To be continued…
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[N/A] If you've read this far, thank you! And since I'm terrible at handling compliments, please, insult me instead!