The Vampire King was holding the scalpel in his hand, its silver blade catching the flickering torchlight like a sliver of moonlight carved into steel. He moved toward Dan with the eerie grace of a phantom—each step silent, measured, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. The air felt colder with every inch he closed, as if his presence sucked warmth and color from the world around him.
At the same time, the Soul of the Library screamed inside Dan's mind, a voice like thunder cracking through ancient stone.
"Use the Knowing Path to observe it and break it. What are you waiting for? Death?"
Without wasting a second, Dan clenched his jaw and activated his Knowing Path. A subtle shimmer passed over his eyes—like ripples on glass—as his perception sharpened. Symbols etched in crimson began to glow faintly across the Vampire King's arm, the architecture of the sealing technique unfolding before Dan's mind like a cursed manuscript. He strained to decode it, his thoughts racing like a thousand soldiers charging across a crumbling bridge. Sweat clung to his brow, and every heartbeat felt like a drum pounding in his ears.
Dan's chest tightened as he watched the vampire drift ever closer. The Vampire King was serene—too serene. His robes, dark as dried blood, whispered against the stone floor. He twirled the scalpel once, lazily, like an artist inspecting his finest brush before the first stroke. Then, with almost paternal tenderness, he placed his right hand—still clutching the cold blade—against Dan's forehead, just beside his ear.
Dan felt like it was his last day .
A rush of memories swept through him—his life flashing past in ghostly fragments. Laughter, firelight, battles, voices long gone. In the blink of an eye, he relived the weight and warmth of every moment.
Then, a prick—like the sting of a mosquito—touched his skin. A high-pitched hum filled his ears as the scalpel tip pressed gently into his forehead. Cold steel met flesh, sinking in by fractions, and Dan could feel each layer of skin yielding like wet paper.
Suddenly, the Vampire King paused.
Dan didn't know why. The air around them, heavy and unmoving, seemed to shift—like a predator sensing another presence in its territory.
Then came the sound. A soft metallic click—the unmistakable turn of a doorknob.
They both stiffened, tension rippling through the silence. In unison, a thought flared in their minds: Someone is behind the door.
The Vampire King's eyes narrowed. He took a cautious step back, his calm briefly cracking into confusion. A breath of cold air slipped through the cracked doorway, carrying with it the faint scent of damp stone and iron.
Dan, without hesitation, reactivated the Knowing Path. His mind surged with clarity, energy bursting through the final knots of the ancient seal. Yet he did not move. He stood still—rigid, unreadable. His eyes never left the vampire's face.
Behind him, the old wooden door began to open. The hinges groaned like old bones being wrenched from sleep, and the wood scraped slowly across the floor—inch by inch, echoing like a whisper from the abyss.
He could hear the door opening, little by little, the deep creak of ancient wood dragging across cold, uneven stone. The sound echoed through the vast chamber like the groan of a sleeping giant stirring from slumber.
The next second, footsteps echoed—light but hesitant—entering the hall. The air thickened. Everyone fell silent, their breaths caught in their throats. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped, the silence sharper than a blade.
Nia and Zara stepped into the hall—and froze.
It was a staggering shock. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and rusted iron. A chill crawled down their spines. They had never imagined that an entire prison—and a hidden world—lay beneath the Professor's house. That house, which sat quietly like any other on campus, had always felt familiar, almost mundane. They had passed it countless times, chatting idly, never suspecting that below its floorboards was a realm of shadows and secrets.
The prison chamber before them sprawled like a forgotten wound carved deep into the earth—a suffocating expanse of rusted iron and rotting stone. Cells lined the walls in crooked rows, their bars twisted and blackened as if melted by something unholy. Dim, bluish lights buzzed weakly overhead, barely piercing the gloom, casting long shadows that slithered like ghosts across the cracked floor.
In one of the cells, slumped against the wall, lay a human girl—barely breathing, her skin pale and bloodied, her breath ragged. Her eyes flickered open, dull and unfocused, whispering silently for help she no longer expected.
Across from her, in another reinforced enclosure, stood a towering creature—part eagle, part ostrich. Its feathers shimmered with a metallic sheen, and its beak curved like a blade. It tilted its head unnaturally, eyes glowing with intelligence. Then it spoke, its voice low and eerie, echoing through the prison like a forgotten prophecy. "You shouldn't have come here… not to this place."
All around them, monstrous figures stirred in the dark—beasts twisted by experiments, their bodies sewn and spliced, limbs grown where no limbs should be. One dragged itself by clawed arms, leaving a smear of black ichor behind. Another snarled from the corner, its many eyes glinting with madness.
This wasn't just a prison—it was a tomb of mistakes, of failed creations and tortured minds.
And it was still alive.
Their eyes darted around, trying to make sense of what they saw. There were people. Figures. One with his back turned. Another—tall, unnaturally pale—stared at them with wide, glowing eyes, eyes that held an ageless hunger. In his hand gleamed a scalpel, small but menacing, catching the torchlight like a sliver of moonlight dipped in blood.
Dan had just completed the sealing technique. His Knowing Path had dissected it—analyzed every thread and fracture—until the whole ancient spell lay bare in his mind. He understood its structure now. Its rhythm. Its purpose. And he knew—this was his only chance.
He wove three sealing techniques in rapid succession, his fingers moving with desperate precision. It was time to run.
Around him, silence shattered. Eyes widened. The air pulsed with shock.
The Vampire King stood still, but Dan could feel the sharp flicker of surprise in the creature's aura. The King's expression cracked—just slightly—into something resembling confusion. Dan saw it. Visits here were rare—if they ever happened at all. The King had not expected this storm of interruption, not after the centuries of stillness.
And it was Dan's fault. His reckless escape had fractured the house above and opened a path others could follow.
He didn't wait. With a sharp intake of breath, Dan activated Wind Curve Dance. A rush of invisible force swirled around him, tugging at his coat and hair. He turned, a blur of motion, and hurled himself toward the door like a gale breaking free.
As he darted past the two girls—one with pointed elven ears, the other wide-eyed and human—he didn't look back. They were just blurs at the edge of his vision, background to his singular goal: escape.
Then, in a flash of grim clarity, it hit him.
The Vampire King was sealed here. That's why he hadn't left. He couldn't. If he could, he would've vanished long ago. Dan glanced back just briefly—enough to catch the vampire's face.
There was no fury there.
Only... fascination. A quiet, chilling hunger.
Dan was just a few steps from freedom when the door—massive and rune-covered—suddenly slid shut with a shuddering boom, like the final note of a funeral bell.
He skidded to a stop. His boots scraped the stone. Heart pounding, he seized the doorknob—cold and unyielding—and twisted with all the force he could muster. His shoulders trembled. Still, it wouldn't budge.
He twisted harder. Again. Again.
His breath came in ragged gasps. Muscles screamed.
Still nothing.
Panic scratched at the edges of his mind. This couldn't be happening.
But it was.
Dan realized, with a cold dread pooling in his chest, that he was trapped—sealed in the hall with the Vampire King.
He had only two options now.
Wait for someone to come…
Or tear down the walls of this prison himself—and escape.
he Vampire King spoke again, his voice echoing through the chamber like iron scraping across stone.
"There is no use trying—everything inside this hall is under my control."
Dan turned slowly, dread tightening his chest. The hall was dim, cast in hues of violet and deep red from ancient crystal lanterns embedded into the walls. Shadows crawled like tendrils across the floor, retreating and stretching as if alive. Now, the trio—Dan, Nia, and Zara—stood face-to-face with the Vampire King, a figure cloaked in an aura so dense it felt like the air itself had thickened.
Dan's eyes darted around, scanning the massive chamber. The cold floor beneath his feet was made of smooth obsidian, and every wall was lined with cruel, rusting instruments—relics of twisted experimentation. He searched for an exit, anything—a door, a vent, a fracture in the stone—that might offer a way out, a sliver of hope. But the hall seemed to stretch infinitely, like a tomb carved beneath the world.
Realization struck. There was no way out.
Dan looked at the two girls before him. Activating his God's Sight, a shimmering golden glow briefly passed across his irises. He could sense it—both Nia and Zara were mid-level Sacred tier. Power flickered around them like restrained lightning. Still, he couldn't help but curse his luck. He was the strongest among them, and yet he was the one consumed by fear, already plotting his retreat.
Nia and Zara exchanged a look. Then, with quiet fire in her eyes, Nia stepped forward.
"You're running a laboratory on beasts and humans," she said, her voice laced with disgust. "This is inhumane. And not just that—you don't belong here. You're not part of the Academy. You have no permission. No right."
The Vampire King smiled, the kind of smile that sent a chill skittering down the spine. His fangs gleamed under the flickering torchlight.
"I'm going to enjoy playing with three guests," he purred. "It's better than playing with just one."
A pulse of tension throbbed in the air.
At that moment, Nia and Zara released their auras. It was like a thunderclap in the spirit realm—raw power radiated from them, shimmering waves that made the very air vibrate. The stone beneath their feet cracked. Dust floated up, glowing faintly.
The Vampire King answered with a flick of his aura. It wasn't loud—it was quiet, precise, like a blade sliding from its sheath. And it was terrifying.
Nia moved first.
She surged forward, sword gripped tightly in her hand. The steel was etched with runes that glowed faint blue, humming with martial energy. Dan watched in stillness, not even considering joining the fight—his limbs rooted, his instincts screaming to stay clear.
Nia swung with all her strength, but the Vampire King lifted a single finger.
Clang.
The blade met finger—and stopped. Not even a scratch.
Nia's eyes widened, but she didn't hesitate. With a cry, she activated her martial art. In a whirl of golden energy, a hundred miniature swords shimmered into being around her. They floated midair, slender and glinting like silver needles, suspended like a halo of death. At her command, they spun and shot forward in a blinding storm.
The Vampire King didn't move.
The blades ricocheted off him, unable to pierce his clothes, let alone his skin. They fell to the ground with a rain of hollow clangs.
Zara acted next. Her hands lit up with silvery light as she summoned her magic. With a burst, she launched a concentrated beam of radiant energy—brilliant and white-hot—straight at the Vampire King. He simply raised his hand. The beam shattered against it, scattering like sunrays on glass.
Nia was relentless. Her blades surged again, dancing like steel wind, but the result was the same. Ineffective.
Zara shifted tactics. She raised her hands again, this time murmuring ancient words. Her spells twisted into strange forms—phantom butterflies, each glowing with pulsing colors: crimson, indigo, gold. They fluttered toward the Vampire King in a mesmerizing swarm, their wings leaving trails of magic through the air.
For a moment, even the Vampire King paused. These spells were foreign, almost chaotic—elf-magic laced with something deeper, older.
Vampire king narrowed his eyes and began to deflect, more cautious now, but still holding his ground. He had yet to attack.
Then, everything changed.
In the blink of an eye, he moved. With a mere flick of his fingers, telekinesis surged forth like a storm.
Nia's body was yanked upward and flung across the hall like a broken doll. A shockwave followed—Zara was dragged down and smashed against the ground with bone-jarring force. Dust exploded around them. Dan stumbled backward, barely keeping his balance, heart pounding, avoiding the invisible grip of the Vampire's will.
Nia groaned as she slid across the floor, her armor scorched. Blood dripped from her lips. Zara coughed, blood flecking her chin. Pain radiated from their bodies. Both knew—they weren't even close to this monster's level.
But they weren't done.
Without a word, they clasped their hands together, casting a combined spell. Power surged. Their bodies glowed—brilliant red and blinding white. A pillar of energy erupted from them, shooting straight upward like a flare, piercing the stone ceiling above. The beam tore through solid rock, screaming into the void beyond—and vanished.
The next second, the stone ceiling was repaired.
Dan shielded his eyes from the blast. When he looked again, confusion furrowed his brow. What had just happened?
They'd used something powerful. But what was it? A beacon? A message? A last resort?
He had no answers. Only questions.
Then the Vampire King laughed. The sound was deafening, a horrible, triumphant cackle that echoed like a funeral bell.
"Now that you've called for help…" he said, eyes glowing crimson.
"I can kill you without hesitation.
And soon—I'll be free."
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