The night was still—almost too still. The campfires crackled gently in the center of the human war camp, casting flickering shadows on the tents and fortified walls surrounding them. Soldiers and nobles sat around the flames, some playfully clashing wooden practice swords in a mock battle, while others drank and laughed, trying to push back the weight of the war for just a moment. The sound of music from a soldier's harmonica drifted lazily across the cool wind.
Inside the command tent, however, the mood was starkly different. General Mordren, a grizzled man in his late fifties with gray streaks in his beard and a deep scar over his right brow, hunched over the war table with three other high-ranking generals and the head dwarf engineer, Bramak Ironvein.
They discussed tactics in hushed but urgent tones, ignoring the merriment outside.
"We infiltrate from the eastern cliff—this ridge here," Mordren said, pointing at a roughened spot on the map with a dagger. "A scouting team confirms there's a collapsed portion of their outer wall. Minimal vampire patrols. We sneak our elite through there."
General Laeryn, a sharp-featured woman known for her ruthless efficiency, nodded. "The artifact—the Power Stone—it's likely kept in the deep crypts. We'll need more than brute strength. Bramak, what of the weapons?"
Bramak grunted, his thick fingers sliding across the schematics he'd drawn. "The dwarves have crafted something new. Bladefire Arrows. They burn through magic wards on contact. We've also finished our first batch of Dragonsteel spears. The tips are embedded with runes that disrupt healing and regeneration. Perfect for bloodsuckers."
Mordren gave a firm nod. "Good. We split forces. A decoy division attacks the southern border, making enough noise to draw their sentries. Meanwhile, our best enter from the east with the relic team. Once we retrieve the Power Stone, we send a signal flare, then retreat to the rendezvous point outside the forest."
Laeryn frowned. "And if they anticipate our distraction?"
"Then we fight our way out," Mordren said bluntly. "We're out of time. The longer we wait, the stronger they get."
Just then, all generals froze. The air shifted—heavier, colder. The sound of laughter and clashing swords outside died instantly, replaced by an unsettling silence. A faint tremor passed beneath their feet.
Mordren's eyes narrowed. "You feel that?"
"I do," Laeryn whispered, her hand instinctively resting on her sword. "It's… vile."
Then the earth truly shook.
An unnatural quake rolled through the ground, knocking cups from tables and sending a few tents collapsing. Screams followed as soldiers scrambled to their feet. The merriment was gone—replaced by chaos.
Mordren rushed outside, pushing open the heavy flap of the command tent.
He wasn't the only one—soldiers, nobles, and guards emerged from their resting spots, looking to the sky in panic. The wind was thick with power now, an unseen presence that pressed down on their chests.
"It's them…" General Vael muttered from behind Mordren, his face pale. "The barrier—our magical seal—it's been broken."
Everyone turned toward the northern edge of the camp. There, standing just outside the now-cracked and glowing boundary line, were four figures.
Not an army.
Not beasts.
Just four.
Each figure stood unmoving, silhouettes under the dim moonlight, each radiating a level of energy that made even the hardened veterans feel sick.
One of them—tall and slender—stepped forward, his smile visible under a hooded cloak. Blood-red eyes gleamed as he raised a pale hand and tapped the air. The rest of the magical barrier shattered like glass.
Crimson shards of energy flickered into the night sky.
Panic erupted in the camp.
"TO ARMS!" Mordren roared. "CALL EVERY UNIT! FORM RANKS!"
Soldiers scrambled into formation. Mages began chanting protective spells. Dwarves rushed to distribute emergency weapons. The joyful atmosphere from before had vanished completely—replaced by battle cries and the sounds of armor being fastened in haste.
As the humans scrambled, the four vampires walked calmly into the camp's outer perimeter.
The leader—tall, gaunt, wearing a raven-black coat—licked a finger coated in the remains of the barrier's energy. "Humans and their toys. They never learn."
Another, a massive brute of a vampire whose skin looked like cracked obsidian, grinned. "This is a weak bunch. Let's see if they scream like the last batch."
The third, an elegant woman with silver hair and no visible weapon, simply smiled and observed, her very presence twisting the shadows around her.
And the fourth—hooded, silent, dragging a coffin on chains behind him—said nothing, but the very ground he walked on withered into ash.
Mordren's gaze darted between the four. "They're not just vampires. These are Elders... ancient ones."
Laeryn gritted her teeth. "How did they find us? This location was hidden!"
Bramak bellowed from the forge tent. "DOESN'T MATTER! WE FIGHT!"
A blast of dark magic flew through the air, obliterating one of the watchtowers with a thunderous boom. Screams rang out as soldiers were thrown like ragdolls.
The battle had begun.
From the center of the camp, the generals stood united, organizing formations and yelling commands. Bramak and his team of dwarves activated a large mechanical ballista on wheels, launching enchanted bolts at the intruders. A few hit—one striking the brute vampire in the chest. It staggered back with a laugh.
"Cute," he said, pulling the bolt out and snapping it with one hand.
Magic-users flanked the edges of the camp, releasing flurries of spells—fireballs, barrier domes, wind slashes—but the vampires advanced steadily, as if they were simply strolling through a garden.
A soldier ran up to Mordren. "Sir! We've lost the northern post! Casualties already above forty!"
"Fall back to inner defense!" Mordren shouted. "Group all wounded in the healer tents and move the children out through the tunnels!"
As the generals tried to salvage their defenses, the hooded vampire dragging the coffin finally stopped.
He turned toward the humans.
And opened the coffin.
What came out wasn't a body—but black mist. The mist spread rapidly across the camp, seeping into tents, choking torches, extinguishing light. Soldiers began coughing violently as the fog clouded their vision.
Laeryn stood firm, her blade glowing with a rune of purification. "Mordren! If we don't push them back now, the entire army is done for!"
Mordren's eyes burned with determination. "We hold this ground. We fight until the last man. We've trained for this day."
He raised his sword, voice booming.
"FOR HUMANITY!"
"FOR HUMANITY!" the soldiers echoed, uniting for what could be their last stand.
Steel clashed with fang.
Magic battled with darkness.
And somewhere in the trees beyond the camp, unseen and still uninvolved, something else watched silently… waiting for the right time to act.
---
The ground trembled faintly as the air turned bitter and thick with bloodlust.
A fog darker than night crept slowly across the battlefield. Every soldier, every noble, every mage within the human camp could feel it—a terrifying shift in the atmosphere, as if something ancient and unspeakably powerful had just awakened.
From the distant ridgeline, four silhouettes emerged, slowly descending with calm, measured steps. Four vampires, each radiating an aura so dense and heavy that even breathing became difficult for the humans below.
Their eyes glowed faintly red, but it was not rage that lit them—it was boredom.
Soldiers began forming into their battalions, mages lined up in ritual formations, their hands glowing with activated circles of power. Barriers were erected, weapons drawn. The entire army moved in unison, sensing the immense danger before them.
Yet the vampires remained unimpressed.
The one who stood at the center, clearly their leader, wore regal dark robes adorned with crimson embroidery and a high collar framing his pale, expressionless face. His hair was silver-white, and his golden eyes were half-lidded, as though he were on the verge of sleep.
He looked over the prepared human defenses and yawned, loudly, stretching his arms behind his head. "Is this it?" he muttered in a soft, unimpressed voice. "I was hoping we'd find a few worthwhile opponents. But all I see are... insects."
One of the others—leaner, with a twisted grin and crimson tattoos across his arms—laughed.
"You didn't hear?" he said lazily. "The Top One and Top Two were both defeated. The humans are scrambling. They don't even have a real army anymore—just desperate nobles and half-trained dogs."
The leader blinked slowly. "Hm. No wonder their energy feels so... hollow."
"Still," said another, this one older, with a weathered face, long gray hair, and sharp black robes, "don't underestimate them. Desperate prey is still prey. And prey will always bite when cornered."
"Such wise words, Grandpa." The youngest among them, a female vampire, purred mockingly.
She was slim, seductive in posture but deadly in presence. Her hair was short and blood-red, her eyes glowing like rubies. "But I don't mind a little fight," she said with a wicked grin. "Leader, let me take care of the rest. You handle the so-called strongest. I want to savor the screams while I drain them one by one."
The leader sighed again, but there was no amusement in it—only dull acceptance. "Fine," he said, brushing his hand lazily through the air. "You can have the scraps."
He yawned again—this time louder—and then raised a single finger.
A pulse erupted.
Not a sound. Not a beam. Not even a flash.
But every powerful presence in the human army suddenly vanished.
Cassandra, the Sixth Pillar.
All the top nobles.
All the elder generals and high-ranking mages.
Gone.
Without warning. Without struggle. Without trace.
Panic hit the human lines immediately.
Soldiers froze mid-step, glancing around in confusion. The battle formations began to collapse. Fear crept into the hearts of even the most disciplined warriors as they realized their commanders had simply disappeared.
The female vampire tilted her head, intrigued. "Hm... where did you send them?"
"I don't know," the leader replied, voice tired. "Somewhere far away. A place steeped in unstable, chaotic energy. Maybe they'll survive. Maybe they won't."
He walked a few steps forward and, without a care in the world, sat down cross-legged in the dirt.
"I'm going to take a nap," he muttered. "Wake me up when it's over."
He closed his eyes and rested his head against his palm as if he were lying beneath a tree on a summer afternoon.
The eldest vampire gave a nod. "I'll observe. Let's see how well these humans beg for their lives."
The remaining two vampires—the tattooed berserker and the bloodthirsty female—licked their lips.
Then, with a blinding burst of movement, they descended upon the human soldiers.
The air cracked with force.
Dozens of soldiers were sent flying with just a wave of the vampire's hand.
Magical barriers shattered like glass.
Lightning spells, firestorms, wind blades—all thrown by human mages—were absorbed, reflected, or utterly ignored.
Blood soaked the battlefield within seconds.
The female vampire landed in the middle of a formation, her eyes wild with delight as she tore through flesh and armor with her bare hands, drinking deeply as she moved.
"I love it when they scream," she whispered, crimson dripping from her chin.
The berserker vampire spun like a storm, tearing through ranks with his bare fists. Every hit shattered bones. Every step brought death.
"WHERE ARE YOUR HEROES NOW?!" he roared.
The humans, leaderless and overwhelmed, tried to regroup, but the assault was unrelenting.
At the back of the camp, one soldier—trembling—looked to the sky and whispered, "Where... where did Cassandra go? Where is General Cedric.Commander Lyssia,?"
But no answer came.
The battlefield had become a massacre.
And the nightmare had only just begun.
---