Before the night Lazarus was rushed to save Joseph…
At the Vampire Kingdom, Lazarus sat at his work table, drowning in the endless tide of documents and royal decrees. The chamber was steeped in old-world grandeur—polished mahogany, velvet drapes, and the warm glow of afternoon sunlight bleeding through the tall windows. The golden light caught on the edges of the carved furniture, soft yet heavy with the burden of duty.
"Don't even know when these will be over," Lazarus muttered, scrawling his signature with an old fountain pen, his clawed hand tense over parchment after parchment.
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, "If only things could return to how they once were."
The presence struck again—sharp this time, undeniable. In a fluid motion, Lazarus spun and hurled the pen.
The pen whistled across the chamber, embedding itself in the far wall with a sharp crack—mere inches from a shadow that had materialized.
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.
"How dare a demon defile this sacred place of Vampires!" His voice cracked the silence like thunder.
Azryel stood unmoving, calm in the storm of Lazarus's rage. "Joseph is in danger."
The words only twisted the fury tighter. Lazarus advanced, pressure rolling off him in waves. "What have you done to the Young Master?" His claws shot forward, nails digging against Azryel's neck.
"He is alive," Azryel said evenly, though his voice carried urgency. His gaze locked with Lazarus's crimson fury.
"I am not the one who aims for him. But if nothing is done, Joseph will not be the only one who falls… the whole world will burn."
Lazarus's grip tightened, his crimson glare piercing. "And why should I trust the stench of a demon?"
Azryel's tone sharpened, cutting through the suffocating weight. "Because you swore to protect him. And I swore to stop the war that will consume us all."
The words stalled Lazarus, if only for a heartbeat. His claw wavered.
"What do you know?" he asked at last.
Azryel's eyes darkened. "Joseph's memories… they are not whole. It seems to me that some of them has been sealed. I will not speak of what is yours to reveal. What was done to him—let that be between you all and Joseph. But know this, the seal is breaking. If he is not guided, it will shatter him. He needs you, Lazarus. And you will not abandon him. Right?"
Back to Present Time…
The storm outside clawed at the fortress, wind howling, rain slashing against stone like whips. Lightning split the sky in white fury, turning night into fleeting day. Yet within Joseph's chamber, silence 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.
"So… is there any way to fix me?"
Azryel's reply came like a verdict.
"The demonic energy inside you is pure—too pure. Its density is beyond reason. It's a miracle you still draw breath."
He stepped closer, his tone grave.
"But miracles fade. When your body ceases its fight, the corruption will consume you."
Joseph's expression hardened, his eyes dulling like glass.
"So, you're no help after all."
Thomas leaned forward suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness.
"Ourja!"
The word struck the room like a spark.
Azryel's gaze snapped toward him, narrowing.
"What do you mean by that, human?"
Thomas hesitated, the burden of forbidden knowledge crushing his chest. At last, the words slipped from his lips like a confession.
"The Conjurare… the relic humans surrendered to the Vampire Lord in our pact… it is said to hold the power to suppress—perhaps even annihilate—the corruption of demonic energy within a living soul."
The chamber froze.
Lazarus's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable flashing within.
Thomas steadied himself, his voice firmer.
"Legends claim it rests in the Royal Vault. None know its true resting place…"
"Except one," Lazarus cut in, his voice like a blade through silence.
Joseph's pulse hammered, breath catching in his throat.
"Who?"
Lazarus lowered his gaze, every word weighted with shadow.
"The Lord himself."
For a heartbeat, hope sparked in the room.
"Then we ask him!" David pressed, seizing the thought like a lifeline. His voice was too quick, too desperate.
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.
"The Lord… is no longer in a state to speak."
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.
"…Nor to move."
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.
"What do you mean by that?"
Lazarus lowered his gaze, jaw tight, teeth grinding.
"I cannot say more. Forgive me, Young Master."
The storm thundered outside, echoing the pressure in the chamber.
After a long silence, Lazarus spoke again, his tone heavy.
"Even we vampires never fully understood the depths of the Conjurare…"
David's eyes hardened, shifting toward Thomas.
"Then it's good, we have someone who does."
Thomas shook his head, unease written all over his face.
"Sir David, you can't simply drag me into vampire territory. Not after… that incident."
His glance slid to Joseph.
"And I doubt the Vampire Lord would be pleased to see me either."
Lazarus's voice cut across them, sharp with conviction.
"That incident was over a century ago. And if you ask me, Young Master's life outweighs such old grudges!"
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.
"After all these years… now I matter to you again? Why?"
His eyes fixed on Lazarus, burning with restrained fury.
"Tell me."
Lazarus flinched at the weight in his tone, then forced the words out.
"You have always been important to us, Young Master. But we had no choice. We sent you to the human world so you could live in peace. Lady Aria wished it so—she wanted you far from the bloodshed."
Joseph's jaw clenched, teeth grinding as his chest rose and fell.
Lazarus added, quieter,
"Sealing your memories was part of that choice. It was… meant for your protection."
That was the breaking point.
"ENOUGH!"
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.
"Stop burying me in excuses," he snarled, his chest heaving.
"Stop hiding behind her wishes. Get to the point!"
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.
"The Vampire Lord's condition is unstable. The heir's race has begun… but in truth—"
his throat tightened, words cracking like old glass,
"I believe you are the most fitting to succeed him. Because—"
"Enough."
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.
"I need rest," he whispered, the sharp edges of his anger dulled into something heavier, lonelier.
"…Leave me. Alone."
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. His vision tunneled, every thought drowned in vengeance.
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, a strangled breath catching in his throat even inside the dream.
"…Adam."
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. Dew clung to the grass, the air thick with the scent of wet earth.
Joseph stepped into the lawn, his figure stark against the fragile light.
A voice cut through the stillness.
"Where are you going?"
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.
"…Adam."
David's brows furrowed.
"What about him?"
Joseph's fists clenched at his sides, veins taut, fury trembling beneath his skin.
His voice cracked with restrained venom.
"I saw him. That night. At the edge of the forest."
A crow cawed in the distance, harsh and jarring against the fragile dawn.
"He was there, David," Joseph continued, voice trembling with a betrayal too deep to mask.
"Watching. While everything… while I—" His words fractured. A sharp breath filled the silence.
"…He knows something. Maybe more than that."
David stepped closer, eyes narrowing, urgency hardening his voice.
"Joseph—if you're right, then—"
"I'm not asking for permissions anymore."
Joseph cut him off, his tone like steel shattering. His crimson eyes lifted, burning like coals in the soft morning light.
"I'm going to make him talk. Whatever it takes. Before Sabrina gets hurt."
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.
"…Then I'm coming with you," 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 dawn as a car carried them toward the Enigma Tower.
To be Continued…