What is a

  Since the Era of the First Fire, mankind has feared the beasts in the dark. Torches were raised against claws and fangs. Fire against fur. Steel against hunger.

  But beasts were never monsters.

  They killed because they were hungry. Because winter demanded it. Because their young would starve if they didn’t. They followed the oldest law there is: survive.

  There is no malice in instinct.

  Only necessity.

  So what, then, makes a monster?

  Is it teeth?

  Is it blood?

  Is it the body that walks on four legs instead of two?

  Or is it choice?

  Philosophers have argued for centuries. They dress the answer in clever words, hide it behind theories of nature and corruption.

  But the truth is simpler.

  A monster is not something that must hurt to live.

  A monster is something that chooses to hurt for pleasure.

  And evil?

  Evil is not chaos. Not darkness. Not some ancient curse carved into bone.

  Evil is the smile that appears when suffering begins.

  Not to eat.

  Not to survive.

  Not to protect.

  But because the scream fills a hollow space inside—and for a moment, the void feels less empty, bringing joy.

  …

  …

  …

  Five men. Five roles, and before them, a monster.

  The Grand Table had gathered beneath the sinister threshold of the wide office. Anyone who entered could feel the horrendous and perverse sins of each of them emanating.

  Suits.

  Rings of gold, silver.

  White shirts without a speck of lint.

  And black ties, like their souls.

  They were, then, the true architects behind the Design. Charismatic minds who, before the public, wore the impeccable suit of visionary businessmen. Philanthropists. Cultural sponsors. Some even politicians with polished speeches and too many dirty rags hidden in drawers locked with a key. Everything carefully constructed to cover the only thing that truly moved them: an insatiable, almost childish thirst for power.

  "It's unusual to see you like this, Carmilla."

  She had her wrists, ankles, and even her neck restrained by locks of ancient elven steel, blessed under forgotten rituals. Isdran steel. Centuries-old relics, forged to withstand the most violent discharges of dark energy. Each link was engraved with miraculous runes, carved with surgical precision to counteract the cursed mana that ran beneath the skin of the woman who, even so, smiled at them with an almost offensive serenity.

  She raised her gaze.

  Happy. Calm. As if she were sitting in the shade at a spring picnic and not chained before five men planning her execution.

  "It has been a long while since we had a meeting like this!" she said with charming lightness. "When was the last time I saw all of you together?"

  Decades ago. When she, with carefully rehearsed humility, offered her services of necromancy and vampirism in exchange for a high position within the organization.

  She promised them extended youth. Unequaled power. She promised that they would never die… as long as they agreed to drink the blood of innocent children tortured beyond any limit a mortal body could endure. None hesitated. None asked too much.

  "Don't play stupid. You have caused quite a disaster out there," Vaelthir pointed out with measured calm, the elf at the table. His long fingers intertwined while his thumb caressed the sapphire of his silver ring. "A complete disgrace."

  It was her idea to seek them out. To infiltrate. To serve. To climb. To earn year after year more rank, more prestige, more influence. Each point of the inverted pentacle represented a portion of the underworld of Larion and its peripheries. And now, that corrupt and deformed nobility demanded explanations from its star employee.

  "Years of planning to hell!" roared Graskh, the orc, slamming his fist against the table with such violence that the wood cracked under the impact. "All because of your stupid obsession with that fucking girl!"

  Carmilla’s smile barely descended a millimeter. Barely. On the outside, modest and polite. On the inside, a red tide boiled with the desire to rip out their throats one by one and dismember their entire bloodlines with her own hands. She breathed deeply. She let them continue. Let them feel powerful.

  "Your only job was to keep Professor Sebastian under control for the creation of our little toys," Marcus intervened, the only human, seated at the center with an almost funerary gravity. "Not only did you fail at that. You also made a mess by sending your new slave to clean up the disaster."

  Of course. Sebastian. Poor, poor professor.

  That na?ve dreamer who wanted to share mana with the non-magical world. Give magic to the blanks. How sweet. How pathetic. Not the first one to try, nor the last. How many nights she visited him in his laboratory, how many times she slowly broke him until turning him into an obedient, useful dog. His machine served. It served to create those aberrations: demons. Biological weapons. Prototypes destined for the war market like new pistols with their own breathing.

  "We forgave you when the specimen escaped in Soleria," Marcus added, remembering the incident from seven years ago. "We forgave you when you intervened in war territory to test it."

  The first demon. Released by her in secret, hoping to track the red-eyed girl she lost. A shame that the creature disintegrated under the sun. Mixing her blood into the serums brought advantages… and inevitable weaknesses.

  "And I am grateful," Carmilla replied with a minimal inclination of her head, wrapped in false modesty. "The first prototypes were unstable to contain."

  With each passing minute in that tainted room, Carmilla dug inside her own twisted soul to find patience.

  Patience enough not to tear them apart ahead of time. If not for the buckles and blessed seals containing her, she would have already crossed the table, sunk her fangs into their throats and listened, with absolute delight, to their authoritative voices turn into supplicating gargles.

  "Seriously, you revived another freak?" Borin, the dwarf, blurted, leaning back in his chair with the insolence of someone who believes nothing can touch him. His thick beard moved slightly when he smiled, showing yellowed teeth behind the calculated shine of his rings. "You sacrificed our most promising portal creator to bring back from the grave another of your… charming kind."

  The tone feigned lightness. Feigned humor. It wasn't. The low laughs that followed were not open guffaws, but something worse. A contained vibration. A damp murmur. The kind of laughter shared when everyone at the table believes they stand above the object of ridicule.

  Phenomenon. Freak. The word floated in the air. Carmilla didn't stop smiling.

  Hypocrites.

  The first time she spoke to them of eternity, they didn't laugh. They didn't joke. They didn't call her an aberration. They listened to her with almost religious devotion when she described how she could halt the deterioration of flesh, how she could tighten the skin, how she could restore the shine to aged eyes. When she mentioned prolonged youth, there was no sarcasm.

  There was hunger.

  Each one accepted without blinking when she offered them her diluted blood. When she explained, in a soft voice, that there would be… adjustments. Small inconveniences. New needs. A change in appetite.

  None hesitated. None questioned the price.

  Ghouls. That was what they were.

  Incomplete versions. Bastardized. A vulgar caricature of what a true vampire was. Capable of walking under natural light without burning, yes. Capable of appearing mortal during the day. But lacking the true Mark of Dracovyr. Without absolute regeneration. Without the ancestral bond. Without the power that runs like dark music beneath the skin of the chosen.

  She converted them. Their wives. Their lovers. Their innermost circles of corrupt politicians.

  She lied to them.

  She told them that full conversion was impossible. That her lineage didn't allow it. That the ritual demanded purity they didn't possess. She bowed before them with false modesty, assuring them she could only offer a limited version.

  All calculated.

  All meticulously designed.

  What she truly did was introduce them, drop by drop, to the most forbidden flavor. She gave them cups overflowing with virgin blood, obtained from innocent children tortured until fear concentrated the flavor into an elixir. She let them taste. Repeat. Ask again.

  She watched them cross the point of no return: Addiction.

  That was what Carmilla needed. Not full immortality. Not absolute power.

  Dependence.

  She became indispensable to them. She became the only one capable of keeping them young, discreet, hungry. She earned their protection. Their anonymity. All of their resources. All of their trust.

  And even so…

  Even so, they dared to look down on her. As if resisting the light made them superior. As if walking beneath the sun were a crown instead of a concession.

  How small they were. How terribly small.

  Drink up, gentlemen.

  Drink up, and enjoy.

  Carmilla’s smile tightened barely a millimeter. If only they knew what the Mark she carried beneath her skin truly meant.

  If only they understood the difference between a domesticated monster… and one who chose to be one. But they didn't know. And soon, they would not have time to learn it either.

  "You know it's forbidden to use staff in sacrifices." Rathen, the beast-man with goat horns, clearly annoyed. "We had to move a lot of money to silence the press about the disappearance of Theodore Myers. They found his home destroyed, his family completely dismembered by your new pet."

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Carmilla merely tilted her head.

  "Where is Elfrana?" she asked, with boredom no longer feigned.

  They looked at each other, hesitating whether to tell her or not.

  "Contained." Marcus answered dryly. "Neither she nor you are protected by Amon."

  Though he was powerful in terms of influence, even he couldn't guarantee safety before the Five.

  Yes, I could tell. Very..."contained."

  Yoohoo~! Up here~!

  "Speaking of Amon," Vaelthir resumed, "his failure to capture the Frostweaver firstborn and your unauthorized intervention alerted the authorities. Beyond our reach. But we must ask." He cleared his throat, waited a minute, and shouted. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING ATTACKING THEM?!"

  "Do you have any idea how nervous the noble families are? They are NOT our targets, they NEVER were and they NEVER should be!" spat the dwarf. "They are hiring more private security than ever. They fear a repeat of what happened decades ago."

  Another blow shook the table, this time the fist nearly breaking it entirely.

  "The fucking Spellborne are snooping around!" the orc shouted, spitting rage. "We can no longer keep bribing the press, much less them! It's only a matter of time before Glorthamiel sticks his fucking threads in!"

  After the accusations, a heavy silence fell. They waited for Carmilla’s excuses, the reasons why she began to deviate from the plan. But they already knew.

  "It surprised us as much as it did you that Blake had a daughter, and that she survived." Marcus emphasized, sighing through his nose. "You had an… affinity, with him."

  "Fucking women with their shitty feelings!" Graskh, who stood abruptly with the intention of hammering her face in, stopped by Marcus with a hand gesture.

  Carmilla frowned. Without kindness. She was at her limit.

  "Are you finished?" she asked with an almost contained fury "Or will you continue with your spoiled children tantrums?"

  No one responded.

  "How curious." Her golden eye traveled one by one across the faces of the Grand Table, lingering barely a second longer at each exposed throat. "You call me a freak." The runes of the collar flickered. Once. "But you strengthened your little empire upon small bones."

  The air tightened.

  "I only offered you a tool: blood." she continued in a firm voice. "You chose to use it, to drink it."

  A microscopic crack ran across one of the runes. Invisible to ordinary eyes.

  "For more than a thousand years I have watched men convince themselves they can domesticate evil to use it in their favor. Raise empires, conquer treasures. Remain in their power." She closed her eye briefly, inhaling the scent of incipient fear. "But evil isn't domesticated." The elven steel emitted an almost imperceptible creak. "It feeds."

  Her lips curved now. They parted, revealing her fangs.

  "And you…" she tilted her head to one side with dangerous elegance, "gathered all my favorite dishes in a single room."

  One of the locks on her wrists behind her back gave way. No one noticed. Not yet.

  "You are all so boring!" Carmilla let out a low laugh, soft, almost musical. A laugh that didn't belong to that fear-laden room. "Kidnapping kids. Creating weapons. Selling them in distant conflicts while you drink expensive liquors in parties. And then, eating the rest."

  Her gaze moved slowly across the table, one by one.

  "And then what? Live other decades… centuries doing the same… hidden like well-dressed leeches?"

  "Shut the fuck up." Marcus spat, rising slightly from his seat, pointing at her with a finger that couldn't stop trembling. "don't you fucking dare disrespect us. You work for us, you fucking bitch."

  Carmilla inclined her head, as if that had saddened her.

  "I worked." she corrected sweetly. "Emphasis on the past tense."

  BAM!

  "Have you lost your stupid mind?!" Graskh growled, slamming the table with such force that the wood creaked. "We gave you everything!"

  "You settled for streets." she continued, ignoring them. "For districts. For trafficking networks and empty mansions. For small power." Her lips twisted slightly. "You think yourselves conquerors… and you are nothing more than well-fed parasites."

  "SECURITY!" Borin shouted, standing up. "OPEN THE CURTAINS—!"

  Clink!

  The sound was small. Metallic. The blessed buckles holding her exploded like fragile glass. Carmilla ripped off the one on her neck without any effort.

  She extended her arms, freeing herself with insulting naturalness, as if merely shrugging off an uncomfortable jacket.

  “I do not settle for less,” her firm voice filled the room, steady and cold. “I do not settle for districts or petty empires built on scraps of fear and hunger.” Her golden eye ignited. “I want the world choking on its own despair. I want cities screaming in the dark.” A faint smile curved her lips. “I want ruin.” She inhaled softly, almost pleased. “My era.”

  The guards aimed their pistols at her to fire. They didn't finish the motion. A shadow descended from the ceiling like a living blade.

  SSSSSSSHHHHNNNKKKKKK—!!!

  Torsos fell before the legs understood they were separated. Heads severed in half rolled. One body took a full second to divide before sliding into two perfect halves across the floor. The silence was brief. Then came the horror screams of the five.

  "WHAT THE FUCK—?!"

  "CLOSE THE DOORS!"

  "ACTIVATE THE SEALS!"

  There was no one to answer their emergency calls. Elfrana had silently murdered everyone in the building.

  She landed behind Carmilla, pressed back to back with her, her scythe dripping warm blood. The blade vibrated, eager. She smiled too much. Her fangs gleamed beneath the golden light of the chandelier.

  "Give the order, my mistress…" she whispered in a voice trembling with pleasure. "How painful do you want it to be?"

  Carmilla lowered her arms with absolute elegance. The five attempted to flee. The doors didn't move.

  "Y-You were sealed…!" Rathen murmured, stepping back. "That is blessed steel!— IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!"

  Marcus didn't take his eyes off her. "No… you cannot…" he stammered. "Those locks— what… what are you?"

  "Make them sing." Carmilla said, in a low, intimate tone. "Make it quick."

  "At your command~!"

  Elfrana vanished.

  "AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

  The dwarf’s scream didn't finish leaving his throat. Borin was the first. His head shot off in a red arc that splattered Marcus’s face. The body remained standing for one ridiculous second before collapsing.

  “WHAT IS HAPPENING—?!”

  “IT CAN’T—THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE—!”

  “STOP HER—STOP—!”

  “PLEASE—PLEASE—WE CAN TALK—!”

  Vaelthir tried to conjure something, anything. Too slow.

  The claws of one of Elfrana’s hands crossed his torso in a clean surgeon’s slash. In two seconds his intestines spilled over the table like wet worms. The elf stared at them, horrified, trying to hold them in with useless hands.

  "N-NO—! HELP—!"

  Rathen didn't finish his plea. Elfrana grabbed him by the neck and tore out his jugular in a single pull, chewing while blood ran down her chin. She laughed. Truly laughed.

  A high laugh. Maniacal.

  "AHAHAHAHAHA! SING! SING LOUDER! LOUDER!"

  Graskh charged at Carmilla with a roar.

  The scythe pierced his skull from above. The sound was wet. A thick crack of bone splitting. His eyes flew out like pearls torn from a necklace, barely rolling a few centimeters near her feet.

  Marcus remained in the middle. Only him.

  He breathed in short convulsions. His legs didn't respond. He looked around, seeing bodies still twitching, hearing the elf gurgling as he tried to slowly push his entrails back into himself, hearing Elfrana chew like a starving dog.

  Carmilla remained intact. Not a drop on her white shirt. Not a single stain on her shoes.

  She approached Marcus with soft steps.

  He backed into the wall. "P-Please…" he murmured. "We can… W-WE CAN NEGOTIATE—!"

  "Shhh…" Carmilla took his face between her hands, wiping with her thumb the blood staining his forehead. "When that little red-eyed girl appeared…" she whispered with sick tenderness, "I recovered my passion."

  Marcus sobbed. All his will dead.

  "With her I will bring back my Fire Titan."

  Elfrana dropped the body she had been devouring and watched, expectant. Carmilla brought her lips close to Marcus’s ear.

  "And with him…" her breath was cold, ancient, "I will burn this world until only darkness remains."

  SSHHLACK!

  …

  …

  …

  Marcus head in one clean pull. The body fell to its knees. Carmilla held the man’s head by the hair for a few seconds, observing the face frozen in absolute terror.

  She sighed, satisfied. She threw it aside, smiling at having disposed of that bag of garbage.

  Elfrana clapped childishly, covered in blood up to her elbows, still laughing.

  "Well done, my mistress, well done! Another of your plans worked!"

  With no trace of agitation, Carmilla sat in the central chair of the Grand Table, now turned into an improvised throne among opened corpses. She crossed one leg over the other with impeccable delicacy, as if she weren't surrounded by warm viscera and fresh blood still dripping over the marble.

  She raised one finger. The curtains opened abruptly.

  Elfrana let out a hiss and covered her face instinctively, expecting the brutal burn of sunlight over her skin.

  Nothing happened. Instead, a grayish, dim, wintry clarity bathed the room. The sky was covered by dense, heavy clouds.

  "They wanted to execute me with sunlight." Carmilla commented with almost theatrical boredom. "Always so dramatic." She rested her chin on her hand, elbow on the stained armrest. "They forget that the thick winter clouds are our greatest allies. Fools."

  She rotated gently in the chair, swaying slightly, like an entertained child. Her eyes were unfocused, already planning the next move.

  Footsteps approached.

  Elfrana knelt before her on both knees, back straight, raising a glass overflowing with still warm blood. She offered it like a sacred tribute.

  "My mistress."

  Carmilla took it with elegance, holding it between long, pale fingers. With her free hand she stroked the black, messy, wild hair of her slave. Elfrana let out a small, pleased giggle, closing her eyes as if that gesture were worth more than any slaughter.

  "My mistress…" she began again, lowering her gaze with barely contained enthusiasm. "Now that you have disposed of them… can we begin the mission?! Please! Please, please, pretty please! I'm dying to meet Feralynn!"

  Carmilla laughed low, a soft sound that didn't match the massacre around her.

  "Of course!"

  Elfrana gasped and lifted her head abruptly, illuminated with happiness. Without asking permission, she hugged her mistress’s leg tightly.

  "THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!"

  Carmilla continued stroking her hair indulgently, until a metallic sound interrupted the moment.

  There, there. You've earned it.

  Three knocks on the door.

  The filtered breathing of a gas mask made itself present.

  "Congratulations!" Amon said from the entrance, one hand in the pocket of his white coat. His voice resonated distorted by the filter. "How does it feel to be the new one in command?"

  Carmilla gave him a sideways smile.

  "Overwhelming." she sighed with feigned heaviness. "The rest of the criminal families who'd oppose us will have to be cleaned."

  Amon advanced a few steps, looking at the mutilated bodies without visible emotion. Elfrana, now standing beside her mistress, stuck her tongue out at him in blatant mockery.

  "They'll be weakened without their main leaders." he said with professional calm. "My men will take care of displacing them. Whoever doesn't kneel will have their brains scattered across the pavement."

  Carmilla nodded in approval and drank slowly from the goblet, without taking her eyes off him. "It must be swift." she murmured.

  Amon nodded once and continued.

  "My mercenaries found traces of Gerard and the blondie and her bear. If you don't mind, I will go personally this time."

  "So they can kick your ass again? Pfft, come on!" Elfrana mocked, crossing her arms. "Carmilla, let me go instead. I'm not a stupid weakling like him!"

  Amon looked at her with contained contempt.

  "..."

  The tension thickened for a moment. Carmilla raised her hand.

  "Enough." Her voice was soft, but definitive. "Don't be so harsh with him, Elfrana. Grace Valley is a Rank A mage. She has a direct link with Smiley. It's logical they seek refuge at the academy."

  She rotated her glass between her fingers, watching the blood draw a dark whirlpool.

  "Besides…" she added with a half smile, "Gerard’s younger sister is here, in the capital. There is no need to chase them." Her eyes gleamed. "They will come on their own. But by that time it'll be too late."

  Before Amon could respond, a fourth voice crossed the room.

  "Am I late to the party?"

  A young figure crossed the threshold.

  Blond. Impeccable. Crooked smile.

  He dragged two bodies with bullet wounds by the collar of their clothes as if they were sacks of grain. He let them fall with a heavy thud onto the bloodstained floor.

  "My father and mother. Dead." he announced with pride. "My younger brother is already caged, as agreed." He wiped his hands with indifference.

  Carmilla observed him with genuine attention this time.

  "And the rest of your family?" she asked with venomous softness. "Or the servants?"

  The young man smiled sideways.

  "Also dead." he replied without emotion, shrugging. "It was easy. Amon and I left no witnesses. My brother doesn't yet attend the Royal Academy, and I called saying he will go to another school to avoid suspicion. We have enough margin of time until the school ball."

  Carmilla held his gaze while drinking another sip. Then she smiled.

  "Excellent work, young Goldbrand."

  "Isaac." he corrected, bowing slightly. "Call me by my name. I imagine my part of the deal will be fulfilled."

  Carmilla set the glass aside. Her bright eye fixed on him.

  "A quarter of all fortunes." she said serenely. "As agreed. After you help us capture the rest of the heirs, House Goldbrand will be the only noble family in all Larion, of which you will be their leader."

  Isaac smiled. Behind him, the clouds covered the sun. And in the center of the room, surrounded by death and twisted promises, Carmilla began her reign.

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