The rain fell in relentless sheets, a cold and merciless torrent that beat against the ancient stones of Blackthorn's narrow streets. The city's labyrinth of alleys, long-forgotten by the noble bloodlines that ruled from their gilded towers, stank of decay and blood, the scent mingling with the stagnant puddles forming in the gutters.
Lucian Duskbane moved through those alleys like a wounded animal, his breathing shallow, every step a desperate effort. His soaked, ragged clothes clung to his trembling frame, and every muscle in his body screamed in protest. But he could not stop. Not tonight.
For tonight, they hunted.
The Hunters of the Crimson Order.
Silent, merciless predators whose sole purpose was to eliminate what they deemed impure. And Lucian — born an orphan, marked by a past he did not understand — was their latest quarry.
He ducked into a narrow passageway, his boots splashing through rain-filled potholes, heart pounding against his ribs in a frantic rhythm. Every flickering torch and twisting shadow seemed a threat. The city itself felt alive, its very walls conspiring against him.
Run. Keep running, a voice within urged, primal and unfamiliar. You cannot stop here.
But his body betrayed him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees in the mud and filth, gasping, his blood mingling with the rain.
Then — footsteps.
Measured. Calm. Echoing in the narrow alley.
"No…" Lucian rasped, forcing his battered body upright. His hand braced against the wet stone wall, barely keeping him on his feet.
A figure emerged from the gloom. Tall. Shrouded in black. Eyes burning with unnatural light.
"I've found you, mongrel," the man's voice was like ice, slicing through the night.
Lucian felt the air around him tighten, the world narrowing to a single terrible moment.
This was the end.
Or the beginning.
Lucian's pulse thundered, his throat constricting with terror. Every instinct cried out for him to flee, to disappear into the shadows. Yet his legs refused to obey, trembling, frozen by fear. The cloaked stranger advanced, each step deliberate, the sound of his boots unnervingly precise against the wet cobblestones.
"Did you truly believe you could escape your fate, boy?" The man's voice was low, sharp, laced with cruel amusement. Raindrops clung to his cloak, his eyes glinting like twin embers in the gloom.
"I… I haven't done anything…" Lucian's voice cracked, his words weak against the storm's roar.
"Your blood betrays you," the hunter growled, venom coating every word. "You stink of the old curse. The mark of forbidden blood runs through you, mongrel."
Before Lucian could speak again, the man lunged. Inhumanly fast. A cold, iron grip closed around Lucian's throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. His feet kicked helplessly, his fingers clawing at the hunter's arm.
"You should not exist," the man hissed, his voice like a dagger to Lucian's ears.
Pain blossomed in his chest — sharp, suffocating. His head swam, darkness closing in.
And then — something ancient awoke.
Fight.
A voice, low and thunderous, reverberated through Lucian's very bones. It wasn't his own. It was older. Deeper. And it demanded to be heard.
Lucian's heartbeat slowed, his fear shifting into something else… something primal.
A warmth, almost like fire, ignited deep within him. His vision sharpened. His limbs no longer trembled. The storm faded into silence.
His eyes — once dull grey — glowed a fierce, unnatural crimson.
Without thought, Lucian's hand shot up, gripping the hunter's wrist. The strength in his grip was monstrous.
The man's expression changed. Surprise. Then fear.
"What are you—?"
Lucian didn't hesitate. Power surged through him in a violent burst. He tore the man's hand from his throat and shoved him back with such force that the hunter stumbled, crashing against the alley wall.
For the first time in his life, Lucian didn't feel helpless.
He felt… alive.
He felt powerful.
And it terrified him.
Lucian staggered back, his chest heaving, his hands trembling in front of him. The eerie crimson glow in his eyes lingered, faintly illuminating the rain-soaked alley. He stared at his reflection in a puddle — a stranger stared back.
"What… what's happening to me?" His voice was barely a whisper, lost in the storm.
The hunter rose, a snarl etched into his face. Rage, hatred, and fear mixed in his glare. He unsheathed a dagger, its blade gleaming even in the dim light, ancient runes etched along its length — symbols of banishment, death, and purity.
Lucian felt an odd sense of recognition. Somehow, he understood the dagger's purpose.
It was made for him.
"You abomination!" the hunter spat, lunging forward, the dagger flashing like a silver fang.
Lucian didn't stop to think. Instinct — primal and relentless — drove him. His body moved before his mind could catch up.
He sidestepped, his movement unnaturally swift, the blade whistling past. His hand lashed out, catching the man's wrist mid-swing.
The hunter's eyes widened in horror.
"No… it can't be…"
Lucian's lips peeled back in a snarl, something between human and beast. Without hesitation, he wrenched the man's arm until bone cracked, the sickening sound swallowed by the storm.
A scream tore from the hunter's throat.
But Lucian wasn't finished.
An overwhelming, maddening hunger surged within him. Before he could stop himself, he lunged — his teeth sinking deep into the hunter's throat.
Warm, metallic blood filled his mouth. It was unlike anything he'd known. Sweet. Potent. Irresistible.
The hunter struggled weakly, his strength failing.
When Lucian let the body drop, it was lifeless.
He stumbled back, panting, rain mingling with blood on his lips.
"What have I… become?" Lucian's voice trembled.
Yet beneath the horror… something inside him craved more.
Much more.
The storm howled, its fury undiminished, but within Lucian's world — an eerie stillness settled.
His senses sharpened to impossible levels. He could hear everything — the rapid beating of his own heart, the rain striking the ground like a chorus of tiny war drums, the frantic scurrying of vermin, and even the delicate flapping of a moth's wings somewhere in the dark.
But none of it mattered.
Only the lingering taste of blood remained — thick, metallic, maddeningly sweet.
His body quivered, gripped by a storm of emotion he couldn't name. Fear. Hunger. A terrible kind of exhilaration.
"What… am I becoming?" he breathed, staring at his bloodied hands.
The dead hunter lay at his feet, face frozen in terror, his lifeless gaze fixed upon the stormy heavens. Lucian turned his eyes away, guilt and horror twisting in his gut.
"I… I didn't…"
But a voice, ancient and commanding, resounded through the shadows.
You were always meant to be this.
Lucian whirled, scanning the gloom.
A figure emerged from the far end of the alley — tall, impossibly tall, draped in flowing black garments that seemed to drink in the light. His face remained hidden in shadow, but his eyes — glowing crimson — cut through the night like twin coals.
"Who… who are you?" Lucian's voice cracked.
The figure stepped forward, each stride graceful and deliberate, predatory.
"I," the stranger said, his voice rich and dark, "am what you are destined to become."
Lucian's blood chilled.
"A vampire."
The word struck Lucian like a hammer.
Vampire.
"No," he managed, his voice shaking. "I… I'm not like you."
The cloaked stranger's chuckle was low, filled with dark amusement. "You already are, Lucian Duskbane."
The name sounded different, as if heavy with hidden meaning.
"The blood you spilled tonight awakened what was always within you," the figure continued. "You were not turned. You were born with it — a child of mortal blood… and something far older."
Lucian's stomach churned. "But why? Why me?"
"Because you are an anomaly," the stranger said, stepping closer. The rain did not seem to touch him. "A being neither fully man nor bound by a sire's chain. You are unclaimed… unmade… a threat to the old order."
The word hung in the air — threat.
"I don't want this," Lucian whispered.
"You have no choice," the figure replied coldly. "But you do have a path."
He extended a pale, gloved hand.
"Embrace what you are, and carve your place in the world that hunts you. Or deny it… and be hunted until your last breath."
Lucian's eyes fell to the corpse, then his hands, still stained crimson.
His fear gave way to something else — a terrible curiosity, a gnawing hunger, and the intoxicating rush of power he'd felt moments before.
"I… I choose to embrace it," Lucian said, his voice steadier than he expected.
The figure's lips curled in a faint, approving smile. "Good."
A flash of lightning lit the alley.
When Lucian looked up… the figure was gone.
Only the storm remained.
But Lucian no longer felt small.
He was a predator now.
And his story had just begun.