One moment, I was just a boy, half-asleep in the backseat, watching the city lights flicker like fireflies through the glass. The next, metal screamed, glass shattered, gasoline burned my nose and then there was silence. That kind of silence that presses down on your chest, seeps into your bones, and never lets go. I crawled out of the wreck, bleeding, coughing, my hands sticky with blood and then I saw them. Their faces. Their stillness. Frozen. Unmoving. That image… it doesn't fade. It doesn't let you forget. It scars you in ways nothing else ever can.
After that, we ended up under our uncle's roof. He wasn't cruel, but tenderness wasn't in his vocabulary either. A man of stone, who thought grief could be fixed with three meals a day and a pat on the shoulder. Survival was enough for him. For us? Survival felt like a hollow, grinding ache that never let up. Haeryn cried herself to sleep for months while I learned to make a fake smile with teeth, act like nothing mattered. Calm. Relaxed. Pragmatic. If I didn't, the weight of it all would've crushed me. And honestly… I wasn't about to let anyone, not even life itself, see me break.
That's why I call myself an orphan—not because I lacked a roof over my head, but because something inside me was ripped away and never came back. Home didn't feel like home. Family didn't feel like family.
But hey, let's not get lost in my tragic backstory. You didn't come here for pity, did you? You want the real deal—the Queen.
Ah, yes. The so-called Queen of the Blood Ruins.
Her real name? Seraphine Von Crimsonvale. Sounds fancy, doesn't it? Rolls off the tongue like both a curse and a prayer—just the way I like it. According to the scraps of lore I dug up—yeah, I actually read the dusty old tome from the 29th Floor boss library—she isn't some random monster. No. She's the Primordial Progenitor, the very first vampire to ever exist. The mother of them all. And of course, I know all of this before anyone else even blinks. Naturally.
The story I dug up? Practically poetry. Betrayal. Fear. Hunger. Picture it: Seraphine, in all her brilliance, makes kin in her own image, handing them tiny shards of eternity like gifts. And how do these ingrates thank her? By scheming in dark corners, letting fear choke out loyalty. They didn't just betray her—they sealed her away, shoved her into the deepest floor of the dungeon. Call it exile if you want, but let's be honest.It was nothing less than an execution. And I'm the only one sharp enough to see the truth behind it.
Centuries later she'd been reduced to a campfire tale. Something to scare rookies and hush children into bed. A myth wrapped in rumor.
Me? I didn't wait for rumors. I dug her up.
Not only did I find her. I stared her down and made her pay attention.
I guess the writers back then were nothing short of legends—pouring their whole soul, every drop of passion, into this tale. And what happened? Their masterpiece got tossed aside, collecting dust in some forgotten corner, left unread and unappreciated. Honestly, it almost feels like I'm the only one who cares enough to dig it back up and give it the weight it deserves.
Picture it: the air reeked of rust and old blood, the walls humming with the whispers of the dead. In the center, bound by glowing runes, she waited — Seraphine. Even half-starved and broken, she carried the kind of presence that made knees go weak. Crimson eyes burned like twin suns in a pit of shadow. Her voice slid out silk-smooth and venom-sharp, offering death and godhood in the same breath.
By every logic, by every brutal calculation, I should have died that day. Ripped apart, drained, another husk in her collection.
But I didn't.
I stood victorious.
Worse yet, I didn't win because I was stronger. I won because I was smarter. Calculating. Ruthless. I tricked her into underestimating me, fed her rage and loneliness like bait, then struck where it hurt. Words became weapons, my silence a shield, and when the chance opened, I drove the blade clean through.
Don't call it mercy. It wasn't. It was ego. The high of proving that even a primordial could be bent to my will.
The relic… ah, the relic. That was the key. A cursed artifact I had plucked from the dungeon's depths, one whose origin I barely understand even now. It glowed with a hunger of its own, and when her blood touched it, chains erupted—spectral, searing, unbreakable. In that instant, Seraphine Von Crimsonvale, the terror of forgotten ages, the Queen of Blood Ruins herself… became mine.
A bounded summoned spirit.
Yes, I said it. My summoned spirit. Do you hear the arrogance in my voice? Good. Because I want you to hear it. I earned it. Few men get to say they tamed a primordial monster and lived to brag about it. Fewer still keep their sanity afterward.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering. I look at her kneeling in those crimson chains, head bowed, her voice finally stripped of venom and I ask myself: who's really in control here? Is she mine, shackled and obedient, or am I the one trapped, drunk on the taste of power I keep feeding myself until I can't even feel the bars I'm building?
Of course I won't tell Haeryn any of that. She thinks I'm calm, steady, unbreakable. Let her keep that. She doesn't need to know that when Seraphine tilts her head and gives that faint, mocking smile, the ground under me shifts and I have to swallow hard to stop the empire in my chest from cracking.
Call me orphan, survivor, manipulator, victorious fool, name me what you want.
But never forget this: in the dungeon's deepest dark, where even gods hesitate, I bound the Queen of Blood Ruins. I shackled her, bent her will, and walked away with a relic that still hums in my palm. That makes me more than human. That makes me dangerous.
I stepped out of my apartment, the air heavy with morning dew tangled with the sharp bite of gasoline. Out here, the city wasn't quiet.Sirens wailed in the distance, urgent and restless. Probably the authorities scrambling, trying to make sense of the impossible: the Tower being summoned.
I hit you with a smoother, more natural polish that keeps the warmth between them but still carries that quiet edge of responsibility:
I tugged at the strap of my black hoodie and glanced back. Haeryn stumbled out behind me, hair still tangled from sleep.
"I've got a few things to take care of," I said, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "Head to Father's house first. I'll catch up with you soon."
She yawned, gave a small nod, and padded off without protest. She'd grown used to me vanishing without explanations, reappearing when I pleased.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my black jeans, thumb brushing against cold metal as I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up, the numbers staring back at me like a quiet reminder that time never stopped ticking, even when I did.
[Time: 8:30 A.M.]
[Cab Service: Searching...]
[Estimated Arrival: 8:31 A.M.]
"…Fast," I muttered with a crooked smile. "Guess Seoul's traffic hasn't woken up yet."
While I waited, I flicked open my notes app. My thumb hovered over the screen, my own voice dropping low, almost ritualistic.
"If you want to enter the Tower, there are only two ways…"
Right then, headlights cut across the curb as the cab rolled up. Perfect timing, as if the world itself was syncing to me.
I slid into the back seat without hesitation. "Banpo Station, ajeossi," I said smoothly, like the city was mine to command.
The driver gave a single nod in the mirror, no questions asked. Good man. Knew his place.
I leaned back, eyes half-lidded, and started reciting in my head everything I'd carved into memory.
The first method? Eat the Fruit of Desire from the Mangrove of Greed.
The second? Brush hands with death itself and accept a Constellation's offer.
And the third… well, let's just say I know it. But I'm not telling you. Why? Because spoilers. And because if I so much as whisper it, that damned Author might decide to drop a hammer on me—kill me off, torture me, whatever sick twist they've got lined up.
That's the difference between you and me: I know the rules, and I know when to keep my mouth shut.
And if you're sitting there scratching your head about what a Constellation is… just think ORV. Yeah, that ORV.
Still lost? Then forget it—you're already screwed. Not my job to spoon-feed the clueless.
But then-
[Explain the Constellations or die]
Jeez,Quartz-ssi. Please don't give me so much trouble.And aren't you interfering now, Webnovel's going to dispromote you.
[I need to fill the word count]
Okay,Got it!A Constellation? Simple. It's a starbound contract you get when you almost die. Power in exchange for a price. A passive, an active, and a curse stitched into your soul.
Take it, and you rise above humans. Refuse, and you stay weak.
That's all you need to know.
[To be Continued...]
[End of Chapter 5: