Chapter 28: I’m Not Giving Up! Until I Rout All of You!
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Her hand rose to her throat, fingers tracing the place where her pulse had once beat steadily, now forever changed. "I believe my sister is more fit for this situation," Lyra said, as she looked at her little sister, Elara, who now… felt a bit different—with bitterness.
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"I... I must rest," Lyra continued, her voice barely above a whisper. Mental exhaustion draped over her like a physical weight, causing her shoulders to slump beneath the tattered remains of her once-elegant gown.
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She pressed her fingertips to her temple, where a headache might have formed were she still human.
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She then walked toward one of the rooms off the main foyer, leaving behind faint impressions in the dust.
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On the other hand—
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"Leave?" Elara spoke and then sighed.
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Her gaze swept the clustered servants.
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"You wish to run from this gilded cage, only to find a far crueler one awaits?"
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Then Elara's gaze drifted toward the butler, Bastian.
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"What do you think, Sir Bastian?" she asked.
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To her, he was the most trustworthy person—the one who had accompanied her family since her father's era, remaining loyal even after the D'armande family lost their noble status.
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"Thank you for the opportunity, my Lady," Bastian replied. His formal posture remained unchanged—spine straight, hands clasped behind his back.
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Now also freshly revived as a vampire, Bastian felt the immense power coursing through his once-aging limbs, the strength that had begun to fade now returned tenfold.
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Yet he also recognized that he was now a monster, something other than human. The realization showed only in the careful way he held himself, slightly distant from the others, as if wary of his own newfound strength.
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Unlike his master Lyra, who was lost in despair, or the other maids, who were conflicted, he remained as he always had: calm, composed, and polite toward Lyra and Elara.
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"In my opinion, leaving is not the best option," he stated, his voice carrying to the far corners of the damaged room.
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Then he looked toward the rest of the maids, whose glinting, crimson eyes were fixed on them, reflecting the colored light like dozens of strange jewels.
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"It is the worst," he continued, the finality in his tone causing several of the maids to exchange nervous glances.
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He took two measured steps forward. "Previously, as humans, we were targeted. We were accused of betraying humanity, and shadowy forces drove us from our home. Our only choice was to hide in this remote mansion, far from the Imperial City."
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At this point, as if trying to jolt dormant memories back to life, Bastian carefully explained to the vampire maids.
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"Now, the accusation has become truth. We are the monsters they claimed us to be.
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"If we leave, where could we possibly go?" His monocle caught a shard of crimson light as he turned slightly, casting a brief, blood-colored glow across his silver mustache. "To the villages, where they would greet us with silver forks, garlic, and righteous fire? To the demon lands, offering ourselves as novelties to powers far more ancient and capricious than our creator?"
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He paused, his newly crimson eyes scanning the assembled servants.
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"No," he concluded, the word falling like a stone into still water. "To leave this place now is to die a second, more permanent death."
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Bastian's words hung in the air, perfectly pitched to the maids who were still confused, their crimson eyes wide with fear and uncertainty.
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It was true. Most beings fear death—even the maids, who at first had cursed and despaired after becoming vampires, still clung to this strange new existence.
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Yet they felt chained—to the master who had revived them. And that was why they longed to flee: to finally regain their freedom.
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On the other hand, Bastian turned and slightly lowered his head toward Elara.
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"Excellent," Elara, of course, smiled; Bastian always thought as she expected.
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She clapped her hands once, the sharp sound echoing off the high ceiling and causing several of the maids to flinch, their heightened senses making the noise seem like a thunderclap.
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"Do not be discouraged!" she declared. "He is right—the world of mortals is closed to us. But another has opened!"
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Her hands swept outward in a grand gesture that sent a nearby candelabra wobbling on its base. "Feel the strength in your limbs, the speed in your thoughts, the power that now sings in your very blood! Our enemies thought to ruin us, but they have only made us stronger!"
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This was Elara—all the maids, even Bastian, were familiar with their lady's ambition.
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Agnes watched with her unnaturally perfect posture, her crimson eyes betraying nothing, while several other maids exchanged knowing glances.
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But how could they not feel pity, or even guilt, for what Elara had become?
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Compared to before their old master died, the difference was a stark contrast.
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Where once she had been driven but measured, now her passion bordered on obsession; where once her eyes had sparkled with determination, now they burned with an almost manic intensity.
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Now, as Elara spoke, her eyes narrowed to glowing slits and her fist clenched rested her gaze on the two maids who had fled earlier, now turned thralls—Selena and Evelyn.
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"Our Master has granted us this… perfect life," Elara continued.
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"A chance to hunt down the treacherous bastards who destroyed our family and our name." Elara's voice dropped to a sibilant whisper, each word laced with venom that seemed to crystallize in the chill air of the manor. Her vertical pupils dilated with barely contained rage, the crimson of her irises brightening like hot coals stirred to life.
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Looking at the two maids—these two thralls, the only ones immune to silver—an idea flashed in Elara's mind, causing a slight, predatory tilt of her head.
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"You two," Elara said, causing Selena and Evelyn to flinch simultaneously, their shoulders hunching in a mirrored gesture of submission.
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"Try to step out," she continued, narrowing her eyes to glowing slits as she pointed toward the massive front door. "Into the sun."
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…
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Meanwhile, beyond the manor's protective walls, the sun glared from above with merciless intensity, transforming the forest floor into a dappled mosaic of harsh light and deep shadow.
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It shone over a shadow that blinked in and out of existence within the forest's shade, leaving behind only momentary disturbances in the undergrowth—a stirred fern here, a displaced pebble there—as it moved with impossible speed.
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CHIRP!
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The sound of birds flapping their wings echoed through the canopy as the shadow landed on a thick branch, causing a disturbance among the trees.
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RUSTLE!
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Leaves shook loose, spiraling downward through bars of sunlight before settling on the forest floor.
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Small creatures scurried away through the underbrush, their tiny hearts racing with instinctual fear.
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The shadow slowly manifested into Lucien, who wore a top hat that cast a protective shadow across his marble-pale features and a frock coat of dark, rich material that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the fractured light. Dark brown gloves covered his hands, the leather creaking softly as he flexed his fingers with childlike wonder.
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"Ahh... how exciting..." he breathed, the words forming small clouds of condensation in the unexpectedly cool forest air.
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A smile curled up into a grin, transforming his face with almost boyish delight.
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His red eyes glinted like strange gems beneath the brim of his hat, the vertical pupils dilating as he observed the surroundings with heightened senses.
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The sound of grasshoppers rang out in complex, overlapping rhythms he could now distinguish individually.
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Leaves rustled with a symphony of textures—crisp, soft, leathery, brittle—each telling a different story to his sensitive ears.
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Distant birds slowly distanced themselves after he landed in the shade of a nearby ancient oak, their wing-beats forming patterns in the air he could almost visualize.
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"This is life!" Lucien shouted, his voice causing a momentary hush in the forest's ambient sounds before they resumed, more cautiously now.
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He spread his arms wide, the leather of his coat creaking as he embraced the sensory feast around him.
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Under his gaze, he saw—about sixteen feet away—a patch of shade formed by a massive fern, within which a lone jagged rock pierced through the darkness.
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GRRH!
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Like a low groan from a tiger, the sound came from deep within him as Lucien's whole body transformed into darkness.
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It wasn't simply becoming invisible or transparent—his physical form dissolved into a writhing mass of shadow that seemed deeper than mere absence of light, hungry and alive with purpose.
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The next moment, he found himself in the very spot he'd been eyeing, leaning against the rock with exhilaration etched across his features.
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But then—
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"Ach... That's hot..."
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He immediately withdrew his hand instinctively, feeling the heat from the jagged stone that had been baking under the sun for hours. The leather of his glove steamed slightly where it had made contact with the rock's surface, releasing the scent of hot animal hide into the air.
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But still, his twitching smile turned into happiness, full fangs momentarily visible beneath his upper lip before he consciously retracted them.
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"This freedom! Freedom that I should have..." The words tumbled out of him, carried away by the gentle forest breeze that stirred his long, dark hair beneath his hat.
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At these words, his voice grew low, reminiscent and somber, remembering... when was the last time he'd felt like this?
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Felt the joy of walking again, using his own feet? Of not feeling... 'weak'?
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But those gloomy memories only lingered for a moment, like morning mist burned away by the rising sun, before Lucien looked around, his red eyes narrowing with determination.
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His body tensed, coiling with supernatural power, before he became darkness once more.
