The storm broke and ran thin. Rain slid down the stone walls of Obsidian Isle in crooked lines.
Noctis entered the council hall in silence. No fanfare announced him. No wings flared. His base form carried him through the door, plain and without ornament, but the blood in his veins weighed the air.
Selandra walked at his right hand. She had delivered his words for nights. Tonight he came to speak them himself.
The elders sat scattered around the long table. Their parchments were spread, quills still scratching, voices arguing over stores of grain and how many ships could be spared for patrol. The scribe at the wall saw him first. His hand shook, ink spilling down the page. Then one by one the elders turned, the sound of their quarrel draining away.
Varros stood with effort, voice catching. "Noctis."
The name ran around the table like frost.
Noctis set his hand flat on the oak rim of the council table. The wood creaked under the pressure though he had not leaned his weight on it. His eyes moved from face to face.
"You divided my forces while I was bound," he said. "You carved up my fortunes. You plotted a tournament for a seat that was never empty. You whispered to demons and bargained for time while men starved. Those days are over."
Thyra rose half out of her chair. "You were gone. The Isle could not hold itself on memory."
His gaze cut across her. No halo spun at his back, no wings shadowed her, yet she felt the weight of him press into her marrow. She sat again without meaning to.
He dragged his palm across the table. Wood fibers split, leaving a long scar in the surface.
"You will return everything you took. Ships, oaths, coin, men. You have three nights. At the fourth, if anything is missing, I will end you myself."
Maeric clenched his jaw, face blotched red. "And if we refuse?"
"You will not refuse," Noctis said. His tone was flat, as if answering a question about weather. "You will obey because you are still alive, and that is the last gift you will receive."
The hall went quiet.
He turned his head slightly toward Selandra. "You will hold this hall until I tell you otherwise. You will take their ledgers. You will bind their stewards. Any oath that stinks of rot, burn it in front of them."
Selandra bowed her head. "It will be done."
Noctis's eyes swept the elders once more. "Three nights. Then the count."
He turned and walked from the chamber. None followed.
The southern tower lay silent except for the wind in the shutters. Selandra entered behind him, her steps faltering once they were alone. She drew a breath and spoke quickly, voice unsteady.
"If you burn them all, the Isle will collapse into ash. Spare some—only enough to hold the bones of our people together. The women can be kept. They will not command. They will only serve."
Noctis stopped. His face did not change, but his eyes narrowed, and the stillness of his body pressed against her harder than any strike.
"You ask me to keep the same kin who stood idle while I was bound. You ask me to trust hands that carried my banners only long enough to sell them. You ask me to accept again what I already broke." His voice hardened. "The only reason you draw breath is because it amuses me. Do not mistake that for value."
Selandra lowered her head but pressed forward. "Then use that amusement. Aim it where it serves you. Let me gather the women of my line. They can mend what is broken. They can serve as healers, keepers, seamstresses. They will not sit in council. They will not raise voice. They will only answer to you."
For a long breath, he stared at her. The air grew heavier. Even in his base form, his presence filled the chamber like smoke.
Then he crossed the room, seized her, and threw her onto the bed.
The wood groaned under the weight. The frame creaked, steady at first, then louder as the night wore on. Her moans rose in rhythm, echoing against the stone walls, breaking into sharp cries that carried through the tower.
He was rougher than before. She answered not with resistance but with sound that filled the hours until her voice cracked. The night did not soften.
By dawn, Selandra lay trembling in the tangled furs. Her chest rose shallow, her body slack from the strain. She turned her head slightly to look at him, her eyes wide but steady.
Noctis stood beside the bed, already dressed, his hand resting on the hilt of the Reaver propped against the wall. His face carried no warmth, no sign of affection. Only decision.
"You will bring me your female kin," he said. "Only them. They will live stripped of power. They will serve as hands and nothing more. The rest will die."
Her lips parted. A whisper came out, ragged. "Thank you."
He turned his gaze to the window where rain fell steady on stone. "Do not thank me. Bring them where I tell you. Then we will see how long they last."
She closed her eyes and drew breath, her body still trembling, her voice no longer steady. "Yes, my lord."
Noctis left her in the chamber, walking back into the corridors of the Isle. Guards bowed low as he passed. Servants pressed their foreheads to the floor. None dared speak.
The storm outside had thinned to needles. The sea crashed against black cliffs, loud enough to drown thought. He spread his wings only slightly, enough to feel the weight of them settle, then folded them again. He had no need to fly.
Plans pressed heavier in his mind: not only the demons, but the vampires themselves. The covenant had fractured, but it still lived. To him, that was unfinished work.
He stepped to the wall, watching the horizon. "North first," he said to himself, voice plain. "Then here. None of them will remain."
Behind him, Selandra's moans still seemed to echo faintly in the stone, a reminder not of affection but of use.
The moon still held the night when Noctis rose from the southern tower. He spread his wings, black fire cutting through the storm. His body shifted as he climbed—armor brightening, veins tracing white and green light, a golden sheen rising from within. The halo above his back spun into two lights, white and green offset, a vesica burning steady. His Seraphic Apex form stood revealed against the sky.
He crossed the sea in a blur, the Isle shrinking behind him. The waves rolled black under moonlight. The lair of the Obsidian demons loomed on the horizon, its towers of bone glowing faint, its pits still vomiting smoke.
Noctis slowed only enough to hover above it. The titans still slumbered in their trenches. The swarm clung to the earth and sky, restless but unwarned. None suspected the shadow above them.
He opened the Grid without word.
The Sovereign Crucible IX unfurled at full breadth. A dome of bloodlight slammed down across the island. The pressure dropped. The air groaned. Swarm demons shrieked once, then crumpled as marrow tore from their veins. Titans bellowed, tried to lift themselves, but their bodies shuddered under the drain. Black dust scattered where wings had been. Bone armor cracked on titans before they had even stood.
Noctis fed the Crucible harder. Crimson Tempest IX spun within it, razors of wind shredding anything still upright. Voice of Eclipse pressed marrow flat. Choir Drown swallowed every attempt at chant or rally.
The lair collapsed in minutes.
The force of his Crucible rippled outward. The sea heaved against the shore. Waves rose high enough to smash against the outer walls of the covenant grounds. The fortress shook. Vampires stirred from their crypts, rushing to windows and balconies. They looked out across the sea and saw the glow of the blood dome rising from the demon island. The sound of screams carried across the water, muffled but unending.
The titans inside the dome staggered once more. Their frames melted under the drain. Flesh peeled away. Bones turned to hollow shells. One by one they fell, their essence sucked into the Crucible and then into him. Their bodies never struck ground whole—they collapsed mid-fall, nothing but ash when they landed.
When the last scream broke, the island lay silent. No wing stirred, no jaw opened. The Crucible dimmed, folding back into his chest.
Nothing remained. The lair had been stripped bare. Bone towers reduced to slag. Pits collapsed into hollows. The swarm gone. Titans devoured.
Noctis hovered above the ruin, wings beating slow. The Grid swelled with essence. It filled him heavy, burning through his marrow, but the lattice held steady. His evolution did not climb further, but every node reinforced, every chain tightened. His Apex form steadied, its balance firmer than before.
He turned from the ruin. His eyes lifted to the fortress of the covenant, its walls black against the horizon. He opened the bond to Selandra, his voice cutting through her skull.
Have you done as I ordered?
Her answer came at once, weary but steady. Yes. I gathered the women of my kin and brought them away. They are hidden and waiting.
He said nothing more. He folded his wings and climbed. His flight carried him across the water in seconds.
The vampires gathered on the fortress grounds. They had been roused by the tremors, by the waves that smashed against their walls, by the sight of the demon isle covered in a dome of blood. Fear ran sharp through their ranks.
Noctis descended among them.
His Apex form blazed in full view—six wings spread, armor lined white-green-gold, halo split into vesica, one side white with divine fire, the other green with abyssal weight. His eyes burned crimson and jade.
The fortress courtyard filled with vampires. Servants, soldiers, and lesser elders spilled from halls and crypts, stirred awake by the quake of the sea and the sight of the demon isle devoured in a dome of blood. Their voices tangled in confusion until silence struck them.
Noctis descended.
His form blazed in the night. Two crimson feathered wings beat steady, light scattering from each plume. Two draconic wings stretched wide, scales glinting like molten iron. Two black-flame wings curled behind, their fire dripping smoke that hissed when it touched stone. His armor shone red traced white and green. His halo spun, three circles offset into vesica: white on one side, green on the other, the center dark with gathering crimson. His eyes burned, one red, one jade.
The elders came last. They crossed the steps in long robes, stiff with authority. When they saw him, they faltered. None knew this shape.
He let them look. Then he spoke. His voice filled marrow.
"You betrayed me."
Confusion stirred. Murmurs rippled through the courtyard. Some elders frowned. Others shifted.
One elder stepped forward. Varros's voice wavered. "You are not—" He stopped. The cadence. The weight. His eyes narrowed. "Noctis."
The name spread. Faces stiffened. Recognition cracked disbelief.
Maeric's mouth opened, shock breaking into laughter. "It cannot be. Our Progenitor Inheritor has returned!" He turned, arms out to the crowd. "The council stands ready to welcome him back!"
Others joined him, voices rising in false warmth. Some clapped hands. Some shouted blessings. Even lesser vampires smiled, uncertain but eager to believe.
Noctis's face did not change. His wings opened wider. "Do not welcome me. You betrayed me."
Their voices faltered.
He lifted the Twilight Reaver. Its edge burned faint in the night.
"You listened when two other bloodlines whispered. You bent your necks to their promises. You carved my army into shares, my fortunes into ledgers, my name into ash. You stood aside while my inheritance was divided. And you call it survival."
Murmurs froze. Fear crawled down spines.
Varros swallowed hard. "We had no choice. They pressed their claim. Their bloodlines stood against us. The demons came after. Without concessions, the Isle would have fallen."
Seraphyne's oath burned in the Grid at the back of his mind — Selandra's confession, given under blood, echoing with truth. He repeated it for them all to hear.
"You did not break under demons. You broke under your own kind. You betrayed me for their coin, their power, their lies." His voice cut harder. "You chose to sell what was mine because it was easier than waiting for me to return."
The courtyard stilled. Lesser vampires shifted uneasily, glancing between elders and him.
A younger voice cried, thin and desperate. "We did not know! We took no part. We only obeyed!"
Another elder raised his hands, palms out. "Then let us obey again. Let us serve you once more. Take our oaths back. Take our lives if we falter."
Noctis's face hardened. "You want to serve me now that the stronger hand has returned. You want me to forgive treachery because it is convenient. There is no forgiveness. There is no return. You were mine, and you chose to leave. Tonight, you are mine again only to die."
He raised his hand.
The Sovereign Crucible expanded in an instant. A dome of bloodlight slammed down over fortress and courtyard, pressing like the sea against stone.
Screams split the air. Lesser vampires turned to run, wings snapping wide, but their bodies withered mid-flight. Essence poured out of marrow into the lattice. They fell in ash.
The elders resisted. Some called sanctity. Others conjured fire. Some raised weapons. Each word broke, each spell faltered. Their blood drained faster than they could summon it. Their faces twisted, skin sinking, arms shriveling. One by one they collapsed, drained to husks.
The Crucible pulsed again. Every voice in the courtyard ended. The fortress itself groaned. Walls cracked. Ash covered the ground in drifts.
When silence fell, only Noctis remained. His wings arched high, his halo spinning brighter. The crucible dimmed back into his chest.
The Grid roared with essence. It pressed into him, heavy, burning. His body strained, then shifted.
A third halo spun into being. Bright crimson, it slid into the vesica, centered between white and green. The three circles turned together, perfect and balanced.
His form refined. The heavy armor fell away, reshaping into a trench coat bound by a belt, its lower half flowing like a mantle. His claws retracted to pale hands, long fingers tipped with sharp nails. He looked down at them, flexed them, and let a faint smile cut his lips. This form felt natural. Balanced. His.
He opened the Grid again. New nodes pulsed crimson.
Crimson Eye of Dominion: sight into marrow, blood, and spirit at once.Blood Force Pulse: concentrated burst of blood power, detonating at range.Progenitor's Brand: a mark of absolute claim, binding kin to his will, feeding or draining at command.
He closed the lattice and looked out over the ruin. Ash shifted in wind. No voices remained. The covenant was ended.
Through the bond, he reached for Selandra. His voice filled her skull. Bring the women of your kin to the grounds. Now.
Her reply came quickly, tight. They are ready. I will bring them.
Noctis looked over the courtyard one last time. "Then the test begins."
The fortress grounds lay silent. Ash still drifted from the massacre. Only Selandra returned, leading a line of women through the ruin.
They were her kin—daughters, nieces, cousins, elder sisters—pulled from hidden vaults and scattered holdings. Their eyes carried fear, but they came. None dared speak as they crossed the courtyard filled with dust from the dead.
Noctis stood at the center. His coat hung dark, his halo spun white, green, and crimson in slow offset. Six wings stretched behind him: two crimson feathers, two draconic, two black flame. His gaze fell on the women. Their breaths caught as if the weight alone pressed against them.
"Step forward," he commanded.
They obeyed.
The first of them, a young one with sharp eyes but trembling hands, knelt when she reached him. "I give myself to serve—"
"No." His voice cut flat. "Not words. Blood."
He drew her wrist up. His fangs pierced once. Her moan broke sharp and unbidden, echoing through the chamber. He drank, slow, deliberate, until her strength sagged. Then he cut his own palm, pressed blood against her lips, and forced her to drink. The bond took hold.
[Bloodline Claim Set]Name: Selandra's Kin — Bound ServantStatus: Loyal under Progenitor's Brand
The girl trembled, eyes wide, then lowered her head fully.
The others followed. One by one they were drawn to him. Their wills frayed quickly compared to Selandra's—no long hours of resistance, no defiance that had to be broken. Their pride fell like weak walls under storm.
For three nights, the work continued. The bed creaked with the sound of his dominance; their moans rose and broke until they were too raw to resist. The fortress echoed with it. They gave their pledges in gasps, their blood flowing into him, his blood pressed back into their veins. Each oath sealed them tighter, each mark binding them under the Progenitor's Brand.
By the end of the third day, all stood marked. Their eyes glowed faint with his essence. Their bodies obeyed the Grid without hesitation. They stood in rows, stripped of elder's pride, awaiting command.
On the fourth night, they witnessed more.
Noctis drew Selandra before them. He took her in the chamber with the same ruthless rhythm that had broken her once already. The bed groaned under the weight. Her moans rose again, sharp and desperate, echoing against the stone. The younger women stared, stunned and silent, awe filling them as they realized what it meant to be chosen, what it meant to belong to him.
When dawn came, Selandra lay trembling on the bed, her voice lost. The other women stood in silence, their eyes lowered, their breath tight, their devotion sealed.
Noctis rose. His coat hung still, his halo spun steady. He looked across them all.
"You are mine now. Your oaths, your blood, your bodies. If you falter, you die. If you serve, you endure."
They bowed as one, their voices faint but firm. "Yes, my lord."
On the fourth day, he left the fortress.
The line of women followed him across the blackened courtyard, down the broken steps, and into the storm. Selandra walked at his side, pale but unbroken, her kin behind her.
When they reached the shore, the Twilight Kingdom's banners were visible in the distance. The army stirred at their approach, saints and queens watching as the procession came across the sea under his wings.
Thus ended the blood test. The women had been broken, bound, and carried into his march.