From the moment of her rebirth, Marilyn—Jack Arnold's first Second-Generation Vampire—had gifted Lorien two new abilities.
"Bloodflow" and "Shattered Revenant."
One, the power to control and weaponize blood.
The other, the ability to raise and command corpses.
Lorien stood still, absorbing the new surge of power.
Compared to when he revived Jack Arnold, the physical boost from Marilyn was nearly negligible.
But that wasn't the point.
This time, the true gain was in 'spirituality.'
A qualitative and quantitative leap in his spiritual essence.
His 'Spiritual Intuition' had awakened.
A constant, ever-present sense of danger.
Paired with 'Environmental Awareness,' his perception was now—
—monstrous.
But that wasn't all.
'Bloodflow' allowed him to control blood at will.
'Shattered Revenant' let him raise corpses as temporary servants.
Lorien's gaze drifted to the corpse in the center of the room.
A subtle command.
A ripple in the unseen.
And the dried husk twitched.
Fingers curled.
Lifeless eyes snapped open.
It moved.
Slowly. Stiffly. But undeniably, it moved.
It felt no pain.
No fear.
It did not think.
It only obeyed.
A tool of flesh.
A disposable soldier.
A perfectly loyal puppet.
"Clean the blood," Lorien ordered.
It obeyed without hesitation.
He turned to Marilyn.
"Do you know of 'Zenoni'?"
Marilyn hesitated.
"I heard his name from Maryanna."
She didn't call her 'mother.'
Lorien noted the detail.
The mother-daughter bond had been fractured long before death.
"If Maryanna was his mistress, why would Zenoni want you dead?"
Marilyn's red eyes dimmed.
"I was too young to understand," she admitted.
"But I suspect Maryanna secretly gathered evidence against him."
Lorien smirked.
"So she was smart when it mattered."
"Did she pass anything down to you?"
"No."
"Not even on her deathbed?"
"Nothing."
"Then we'll have to find it ourselves."
East London. Whitechapel.
A shadow slipped through the slums.
Stopped at a familiar apartment.
Marilyn's old home.
"You have ten minutes," Jack said.
"I only need five."
Marilyn stepped inside her old home, her expression unreadable.
No sadness. No pain.
Only detachment.
She walked to the window.
Lifted an old photograph.
Brushed the dust away.
Then—
CRACK!
She smashed it against the floor.
Glass shattered.
The frame splintered.
And from the ruins—
A silver chain fell loose.
A jade pendant glimmered in the dim moonlight.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
"What is it?"
Marilyn picked it up.
Fingers tightening around the cold metal.
"Zenoni gave this to Maryanna the day they met."
"He was also the one who got her addicted to opium."
Jack was silent.
Marilyn pocketed the pendant.
"Let's go."
"The Lord awaits."
Then, after a pause—
"What is He?"
Jack's expression changed.
Solemnity. Reverence. Devotion.
"You are one of us now," he told her.
"You deserve to know."
"The Lord is a god who dwells in the depths of Hell."
"A Great Devil whose presence alone commands power."
"What we see now is but a fragment of His will—yet even that is enough to defy the world."
"He resurrected the dead."
"Spread the bloodline of vampires."
"He will rule the night and the day."
"He will rule above and below."
"He will end tyranny and cleanse corruption."
"And we, the blades of the Great Devil—"
"—will cut down all who stand in His way."
Marilyn's breath hitched.
The moment she was reborn, she had seen it.
That crimson silhouette.
That gray-white abyss.
That overwhelming force.
It had not been a dream.
It had been real.
"But the world will resist," she whispered.
"Men will never accept a devil standing above them all."
"They will fight. They will rebel."
Jack's golden eyes gleamed.
"Let them."
"They do not need to understand."
"They need only kneel."
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