Secret Government Prison – Location Classified
Michael was strapped to a cold metal chair. His body was limp, bruised, and soaked in blood that had already begun to dry. His breathing was ragged. Every movement triggered the harsh clank of the iron chains that bound his wrists and ankles.
Sterile white-coated researchers surrounded him, their faces devoid of emotion. They wrote notes, jabbed, and sliced—as if Michael were nothing more than a specimen, not a living being. They extracted blood from his arm with thick needles, carved into his flesh without an ounce of mercy.
His screams evoked no sympathy. To them, it was merely another data point in a laboratory report.
Across the room, another vampire was also chained, tubes and electrodes embedded into his body. But his blood triggered something unexpected. A nearly dead test subject—sprawled on a metal table—suddenly opened his eyes after being injected with the vampire's blood.
But he was no longer human.
Fangs elongated.
His pupils turned pitch black.
His skin tightened as blue veins crawled across his entire body.
He had become a vampire.
Behind the one-way observation glass, a man stood silently watching. A thin smile curved on his lips as the transformation unfolded without a hitch. No compassion—only calculation.
"Your Excellency, Minister of Defense," a military officer in white uniform said respectfully. "The vampire has been successfully recruited. According to intelligence reports, their base is in an old noble estate on the outskirts of the city. They call it the 'Old House.' But this werewolf—Michael—he's… different. There's an unusual mutation in his blood. The research team is still analyzing it."
The Hungarian Minister of Defense didn't flinch. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
"Continue the research. That vampire isn't strong enough. Send a recon team to the designated location. Capture their Elders," he ordered coldly. "I want their blood."
"Orders received, Minister," the officer replied before promptly leaving the room to execute the mission.
---
Aboard the Supercarrier-Class Warship – Atlantic Ocean
Inside a grand, pristine command room, Alexander Corvinus stood facing the open sea. The ocean breeze tugged at his long coat and hair, but his thoughts were more turbulent than any storm.
The news had arrived.
One vampire captured. Michael, too. The Hungarian government now knew they existed.
Too late. All the concealment and protection he'd built over centuries… had crumbled.
It wasn't time yet. That's what disturbed him the most.
Open conflict with mankind—especially a Central European superpower—would shatter the delicate balance of the supernatural world. And he wasn't ready to let it all be revealed. Not yet.
In a low, firm voice, he called out.
"Cleaner."
A tall man in a dark uniform entered swiftly and bowed.
"Yes, Lord Alexander Corvinus."
"Send an envoy to the Old House—the vampire stronghold. Deliver a covert message that the Hungarian government is aware of their existence. An assault is likely imminent. Operate silently. No one must detect our movement."
"Understood."
The Cleaner commander saluted and quickly exited, followed by his troops, moving as efficiently as shadows.
Alexander remained still. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to the deep blue sea—calm, for now.
He wasn't afraid.
But he knew the storm was coming. And he could only hope… the vampire coven was wise enough to understand this wasn't merely a warning—this was destiny's ultimatum.
---
The Vampire's Old House
Once, this place had been the shadow fortress of Viktor—the supreme ruler and the most feared creature of the night throughout history. Giant stone pillars held up the high vaulted ceilings, adorned with carvings from a dark age long past.
Now, it belonged to Kraven, a man who called himself Viktor's rightful heir. But everyone knew—he was merely dancing on the ruins of a legend's glory.
That night, the old house glowed dimly with flickering candlelight and torches. In the grand hall, an opulent feast was underway. Vampires arrived clad in Victorian gowns and aristocratic suits, regal and alluring. But the red gleam in their eyes betrayed the truth: they were no ordinary nobles—they were eternal predators.
Crystal glasses were raised high, filled with a dark red liquid that looked like vintage wine. But among the creatures of the night, everyone knew—red didn't always come from grapes.
Witty jokes, aristocratic laughter, and polite conversation filled the air, crafting a peaceful illusion that nearly made them forget: the world had changed. Humans no longer hid. Now, they hunted.
CRAAACKK!
A sharp sound shattered the calm. An arrow pierced through the gothic glass window, shattering it into shards that glittered like fragments of hellfire.
Attached to the arrow was a parchment, floating gently to the floor—like it was carried by the hand of the grim reaper.
Seconds later—BANG! A distant gunshot shattered another window. Glass rained down, flooding the stone floor with jagged fragments.
A black-clad guard entered the hall. His face was pale, tense. He handed a scroll wrapped in thick black cloth to Kraven—like a message from the land of the dead.
Kraven unwrapped it.
The arrogance that normally defined his face vanished in an instant. His eyes widened. The hand that had once held a dagger without hesitation now trembled slightly as he read the message.
Its contents were clear:
One vampire had been captured.
The government knew of their existence.
And they were coming.
Kraven stood frozen. He had never imagined the Hungarian government would find their trail—let alone capture one of them alive.
Who had leaked their location?
An old enemy? A traitor from within?
Or worse—had mankind developed a way to detect them?
He exhaled coldly. "The party's over," he muttered.
Then, in a voice that echoed across the entire hall:
"Prepare for battle. The enemy is approaching."
No protests. No questions. The vampires knew well: if the intel was true, they stood on the edge of annihilation. If not, only a bit of effort would be wasted. But if they ignored it… that would be suicide.
Kraven continued:
"Arm yourselves. Gather the warriors. Reinforce the defenses. Tonight… we hunt the hunters."
In an instant, servants pulled open hidden panels along the stone walls, revealing an ancient armory—silver swords, cursed bullets, modified weapons born of dark wars never recorded in human history.
Evening gowns were discarded, replaced with black combat gear. Eyes glowed red. Fangs protruded from cold lips.
The clash of metal echoed through the halls.
The scent of blood began to rise.
Under Kraven's command, hundreds—maybe thousands—of vampires moved. They took up their positions, following battle formations passed down since the dark ages.
Tonight, Viktor's House was no longer a place for feasting.
Tonight, it was the last bastion of resistance.
---
Dominion Warship – Command Deck
Reuel, Selene, and several core personnel stepped into the central command deck of the Dominion warship—a massive control room clad in dark metal, humming with energy, filled with the faint blue glow of holographic displays and the heavy weight of tactical anticipation.
A colossal tactical map covered the main wall, showing a live aerial feed of the old house on the outskirts of Budapest—now the epicenter of their attention.
The room was a hive of military efficiency. Uniformed officers and operators moved swiftly between terminals, issuing reports, analyzing signals, and adjusting strike coordinates. Some saluted Reuel—Master of Mankind—before returning immediately to their posts.
One of the hovering cameras zoomed in. On screen, the vampires were clearly mobilizing—fangs bared, weapons readied, crimson eyes glowing in the dark. There was no doubt: Alexander Corvinus had warned them. Kraven's leadership, while riddled with vanity and personal ambition, was still competent enough when it came to survival.
Selene stared at the screen in silence for a moment. Then she asked, her voice low but firm,
"Reuel… do you think they can hold off the Hungarian forces?"
Reuel didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the display, weighing every detail. Finally, in a calm and measured tone, he said,
"This time? Possibly. The Hungarians aren't carrying silver nitrate rounds, let alone ultraviolet munitions. Without specialized weapons, breaching a fortified vampire stronghold is nearly impossible. Unless they brought heavy artillery—which is unlikely—the government will suffer... heavy losses."
Selene nodded slowly, then added,
"They won't use heavy weapons. That house is too close to central Budapest. This operation isn't sanctioned. Anything too loud would expose them to the public."
"Exactly," Reuel agreed. "They're covering it under the guise of counterterrorism. They'll stick to conventional arms to make it look like a normal raid. As if they're not hunting vampires at all."
"I concur," Amalia interjected, her voice analytical and composed. "The political fallout from an overt supernatural confrontation would be catastrophic. Hungary is not prepared for an open war with an entity like Alexander Corvinus—let alone a global inquiry if this gets leaked."
Her tone was crisp and clinical, dissecting the situation with the precision of a tactician. Selene listened closely, then nodded, accepting the assessment. She looked distant for a moment, as if calculating consequences.
"If the government takes heavy losses tonight," Selene said quietly, "they won't dare send in more troops anytime soon. At least… not without serious hesitation."
Suddenly, Amalia pointed at the main screen.
"Look—Hungarian forces have arrived," she said sharply.
The tactical display zoomed in. Outside the old manor, a convoy of unmarked military vehicles pulled up in tight formation. Soldiers disembarked quickly, moving with practiced efficiency, armed with standard rifles. Some carried biometric scanners, others fanned out with sniffer dogs and surveillance drones.
But one thing was unmistakable:
They had no idea what they were walking into.
---
One by One, the Military Vehicles Arrived
One by one, military vehicles emerged from every direction, forming a precise siege formation around the old house—once Viktor's residence, now Kraven's fortress.
Troop carriers halted at tactical distances. Nearly two thousand fully armed soldiers disembarked in disciplined lines, locking down the building's perimeter like a tightening noose of death.
A high-ranking officer—marked by golden stripes on his shoulders and a military radio clipped to his collar—issued a short, firm command:
"Assault. Capture the target alive. Eliminate the rest."
Thud... thud... thud...
The stomp of combat boots struck the damp earth and gravel of the courtyard, creating a grim rhythm that heralded death's approach. The formation advanced with precision, weapons ready, eyes scanning every shadowed window.
But just as the vanguard stepped within reach of the front entrance...
Clink.
Something was tossed from behind a shattered window—a small silhouette glinting in the torchlight.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three sharp explosions tore through the night. Shockwaves ripped apart the front lines. Flames erupted into the air, stone shards blasted in every direction, and soldiers were hurled like ragdolls.
The commanding officer didn't even have time to shout. The blast erased him from existence, leaving behind nothing but a blood-stained shadow on the ground.
Panic exploded. Some soldiers dropped and scrambled for cover. But—too late.
From the shadows of the house, the vampires leapt out—terrifying and deadly. They struck in coordinated waves: some hurled alchemical grenades that triggered acidic blasts, others unleashed bullets from hybrid weapons—part ancient, part modern.
Before a single soldier could reach the front steps, dozens had already fallen, consumed by chaos and brutal ambushes.
Tak-tak-tak-tak!
Military gunfire split through the heavy night air. Bullets tore into the building, punching through wooden walls and dusty glass windows.
But the effect—was almost nonexistent.
The vampires kept advancing. Blood might spill from bullet wounds, but their bodies didn't fall. Their eyes blazed like coals, locked onto their prey with an insatiable hunger.
Bratatatatat!
The firefight hit its peak. Muzzle flashes lit up the gothic pillars and stone walls. Some vampires darted out from cover, zig-zagging with superhuman speed, dodging bullets with impossible grace. Curved blades gleamed under the moonlight before slashing through throats or piercing chests.
They flanked from both sides. Regular bullets tore into flesh—but did nothing to stop them. Not a single one.
Trapped soldiers had no chance in close quarters. Throats were slit, chests stabbed. Blood arced through the air in cruel red crescents.
One officer tried to open a comm channel:
"–requesting backup! We need reinforcements now! We're surrounded—they're not human! They're—ARGHHH!"
His voice was cut off by screams and gunfire. On the ground, the situation had completely collapsed—pure chaos.
The vampires had lost all control. Their red eyes burned, ancient instincts taking over. By the old laws of their kind, drinking the blood of living humans was forbidden.
But tonight… those laws meant nothing.
Wounded soldiers were dragged into the shadows. Screams echoed—before being replaced by wild, ravenous slurping. They tore, they bit, they drank straight from open arteries—as if they had fasted for centuries.
"There's no way out! We're trapped! They're… they're slaughtering us—!"
The comm cut off again. Combat formations disintegrated completely. Some soldiers fled into the underbrush and ruins, only to be dragged back into the dark.
In less than thirty minutes, the entire two-thousand-man unit was wiped out.
Not a single survivor.
No silver bullets.
No ultraviolet rounds.
No artillery.
They were just humans—
standing before a legend far too long denied.
---
Inside the Dominion Warship Command Center
The Dominion warship's command center was steeped in silent tension.
No shouting.
No barked orders.
Only a stillness far sharper than the sound of explosions.
The massive central holographic screen displayed the battlefield footage: the old house on the city outskirts, now nothing more than scorched rubble. Smoke still rose slowly, and blood stained the courtyard like a permanent scar on history.
Thermal scans confirmed it: no signs of human life remained.
Selene stood frozen, her jaw clenched tight.
Nearby, Amalia's hand curled into a fist—her eyes burned, concealing a storm barely held in check.
Reuel stood with both hands behind his back, staring at the screen for a long moment before finally speaking. His voice was flat and calm, but every word carried a weight that couldn't be ignored.
"They acted recklessly. This time they weren't prepared. But next time… they won't make the same mistake."
His gaze remained locked on the devastation. Hungary's elite government forces—an entire unit—had been completely annihilated by the vampires.
"If Kraven weren't such a fool, he would've evacuated from the start. Staying there was a death sentence," Amalia said sharply.
There was no anger in her voice—just the cold assessment of a battlefield strategist.
"Marcus is still asleep beneath that house. Do you think… Kraven will try to wake him?" Selene asked, her tone laced with unease.
That name—Marcus Corvinus—cast a shadow far darker than anything visible on the screen.
Reuel fell silent for a moment, as if just remembering. Marcus—currently imprisoned beneath that house—remained a latent threat.
"No. Kraven wants control of the vampire coven. Waking Marcus means giving up that power. He'd rather run—or die. But knowing him… he'll run. He always finds a new lair," Amalia replied, her tone certain.
Her eyes met Selene's. There was no fear—only calculation.
"Forget Kraven," Reuel said. "Alexander Corvinus will warn them. He won't let vampires and lycans go extinct. That's always been his role—preserving balance, no matter the cost."
"So Alexander will tell them… about what the Hungarian government is doing to the vampires and lycans?" Selene asked, eyes narrowing.
Reuel gave a slow nod.
"He will. Alexander doesn't care who dies—as long as the bloodline survives. It's a kind of… penance. Even though both his sons tried to kill him, he never sought revenge."
He paused briefly, then continued.
"Marcus and William created the two most dangerous races in history. And Alexander… he won't kill his own blood."
Amalia swallowed slowly. The words lingered. She was beginning to understand that Alexander took no sides. He stood above all of them.
"So... we're just going to stand here and watch?" Selene asked softly.
Her voice carried frustration. There was a wound buried in the question—a sting of disappointment that Reuel hadn't moved yet.
"Of course not," Reuel replied calmly. "You forget my agreement with Alexander. It's not time yet. Our position isn't ideal. And the Hungarian government… hasn't even used its full strength."
He placed a hand on Selene's shoulder—a slow but firm gesture, trying to calm the fire burning behind her blue eyes.
"You… you intend to go to war with this country?" Amalia asked, almost in disbelief.
The command center fell into absolute silence.
That question—and its implications—hung in the air like a ticking time bomb.
And that was when Amalia realized.
Reuel wasn't passive.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the right moment.
With a space fleet, orbital weapons, and Dominion technology at his command, Reuel had been preparing for this a long time.
Amalia looked at Reuel longer than she ever had. Now she understood why a being as powerful as him hadn't wiped out the vampires and lycans already.
Because of Selene.
And even if he never said it aloud, Amalia could read it in his eyes:
To him, vampires and lycans were nothing more than disgusting creatures that deserved extinction.
But something—or someone—had stayed his hand.
And that…
was more terrifying than any war.