Eyes of Vengeance
At the Vampire KingdomLazarus
A chill pricked at him. He froze mid-stroke, his crimson gaze lifting toward the window. The silk curtains stirred, a soft wave as if caressed by invisible fingers. Nothing. Only the faint whisper of wind and the dying sun glowing orange at the horizon.
He rose, pen still in hand, and stepped toward the view outside. The sky burned with the last of daylight, the world below drenched in fading fire. He looked at the fountain pen clenched between his fingers, exhaled, and whispered to himself,
The presence struck again—sharp this time, undeniable.
The pen whistled across the chamber, embedding itself in the far wall with a sharp crack
Azryel. The Demon General.
Lazarus’s fury surged instantly, his aura flooding the room with crushing weight. His eyes burned crimson, fangs sharpening, claws lengthening to lethal points.
Azryel stood unmoving, calm in the storm of Lazarus’s rage.
The words only twisted the fury tighter. Lazarus advanced, pressure rolling off him in waves.
Azryel said evenly, though his voice carried urgency. His gaze locked with Lazarus’s crimson fury.
Lazarus’s grip tightened, his crimson glare piercing.
Azryel’s tone sharpened, cutting through the suffocating weight.
The words stalled Lazarus, if only for a heartbeat. His claw wavered.
he asked at last.
Azryel’s eyes darkened.
The storm outside clawed at the fortress, wind howling, rain slashing against stone like whips. Lightning split the sky in white furysilence pressed heavier than steel.
Each word Azryel had spoken lingered, poisonous and impossible to ignore.
Joseph sat propped on the bed, his breath heavy, eyes shadowed with thought. At last, he spoke, his voice raw.
Azryel’s reply came like a verdict.
He stepped closer, his tone grave.
Joseph’s expression hardened, his eyes dulling like glass.
Thomas leaned forward suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.
The word struck the room like a spark.
Azryel’s gaze snapped toward him, narrowing.
Thomas hesitated, the burden of forbidden knowledge crushing his chest. At last, the words slipped from his lips like a confession.
The chamber froze.
Lazarus’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable flashing within.
Thomas steadied himself, his voice firmer.
Joseph’s pulse hammered, breath catching in his throat.
Lazarus lowered his gaze, every word weighted with shadow.
For a heartbeat, hope sparked in the room.
David pressed, seizing the thought like a lifeline. His voice was too quick, too desperate.
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But Lazarus did not answer. Not immediately. His face darkened, as though swallowed by storm clouds. When he finally spoke, the sound was raw, unsteady, broken.
A pause. The rain outside hammered harder, as though trying to drown the truth.
Lazarus’s next words cracked with anguish, each syllable tasting of guilt.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the thunder outside seemed to bow in respect to the weight of the revelation.
Joseph’s hands clenched against the sheets, his voice rising, strained.
Lazarus lowered his gaze, jaw tight, teeth grinding.
The storm thundered outside
After a long silence, Lazarus spoke again, his tone heavy.
David’s eyes hardened, shifting toward Thomas.
Thomas shook his head, unease written all over his face.
His glance slid to Joseph.
Lazarus’s voice cut across them, sharp with conviction.
The words struck Joseph like a stone to the chest.
For a moment he said nothing, but his grip on the sheets tightened until his knuckles turned white.
His voice came low, trembling with something raw.
His eyes fixed on Lazarus, burning with restrained fury.
Lazarus flinched at the weight in his tone, then forced the words out.
Joseph’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding as his chest rose and fell.
Lazarus added, quieter,
That was the breaking point.
Joseph’s voice cracked like thunder, rattling through the chamber and drowning even the storm outside.
The very air quivered, as though recoiling from the force of his fury.
His eyes burned, flashing like crimson lightning, rage spilling past the walls he had fought so hard to keep.
he snarled, his chest heaving.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Not even the rain dared intrude.
At last, Lazarus bowed his head, his voice subdued, carrying a weight that pressed against the heart.
his throat tightened, words cracking like old glass,
This time Joseph’s voice did not thunder. It frayed. Stripped bare. Not rage—exhaustion.
A hollow fatigue that seeped from bone to soul.
He leaned back, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose, crimson gaze lowering so he would not meet their eyes.
The storm outside raged on through the night, battering the mansion walls with endless fists of rain and wind.
Yet within Joseph’s chamber, silence held its dominion.
His fury burned out into embers, collapsing into a hollow ache.
And when at last his eyes closed, darkness claimed him.
The dream struck again, without mercy.
FWOOOSH!
The forest. Again.
The metallic tang of blood choked the air. Rain hammered the earth like spears of steel.
His wings blazed crimson as he carried the writhing succubus higher and higher into the storm. His breath came ragged, his heart a drum of fury.
But—
Something shifted.
Through the chaos, through the blur of battle and storm, his gaze was dragged elsewhere. Beyond the clearing. Beyond the writhing horde of demons.
There.
A figure.
Still. Watching.
Joseph’s pulse faltered,
his dream yanking him closer, dragging his focus like iron to a magnet. The blur sharpened. The curtain of rain parted just enough.
And then—
The face came into focus.
ADAM.
No mistake. No illusion. Adam—standing there, watching everything unfold, eyes cold, expression unflinching.
Joseph’s chest seized,
The name was a growl, torn from a throat thick with betrayal.
He woke with a violent gasp.
HUFF!
Sweat clung to his skin.
His fists twisted the bedsheets until threads threatened to snap. His pulse thundered in his ears, the silence afterward deafening.
He swung his legs off the bed, breath shallow, then stood. His body trembled—not from weakness, but from the storm raging inside.
He dressed quickly, tearing away the damp shirt clinging to his skin and replacing it with a fresh one. Dark trousers, jacket—shadows for armor.
He wasn’t leaving as a victim anymore; he was leaving as a predator.
He stepped out into the dim corridors of the mansion.
The halls were deserted, shadows stretched long, the silence too absolute. No one seemed to be in the house.
As he walked the corridor, only silence answered his steps, the emptiness pressing in as though the place itself recoiled from him.
The marble floor chilled his bare feet until his boots silenced it, each step echoing louder than the last.
Only one thought burned through his mind: Adam’s face.
Outside, the storm had broken.
Dawn bled across the horizon; the garden washed in pale gold.
Joseph stepped into the lawn, his figure stark against the fragile light.
A voice cut through the stillness.
Joseph froze.
David stood a few paces away, arms folded, his expression wary. His tone was sharp, but beneath it lingered a thread of caution—almost fear.
Joseph turned his head. His eyes were shadowed, lips pressed thin.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched. Then his voice came—low, raw, edged with iron.
David’s brows furrowed.
Joseph’s fists clenched at his sides, veins taut, fury trembling beneath his skin.
His voice cracked with restrained venom.
A crow cawed in the distance, harsh and jarring against the fragile dawn.
Joseph continued, voice trembling with a betrayal too deep to mask.
David stepped closer, eyes narrowing, urgency hardening his voice.
Joseph cut him off, his tone like steel shattering.burning like coals in the soft morning light.
THUMP.
His boot struck the wet ground, carrying him forward. His stride was no longer aimless.
This time, Joseph was ready. He would no longer sit and watch his peers and loved ones be snatched away from him.
David’s jaw clenched, unease flickering in his gaze. He could feel it—the fury boiling beneath Joseph’s skin, threatening to erupt.
Leaving him alone now would be dangerous.
For Adam. For Joseph. For everyone.
David said at last, his voice quieter but firmer, weighted with unspoken loyalty.
Joseph didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.
The garden fell silent again, broken only by the steady rhythm of two sets of footsteps.
Moments later, the low growl of an engine stirred the dawnthe Enigma Tower.
The Hunt Is On…
Joseph has chosen his path. The game is over, and the prey is marked. Every secret, every betrayal, every ounce of his fury will drive him forward. Who will survive the storm? How far will Joseph go to uncover the truth?
Next chapter drops Next Sunday—same time! Be ready~