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Chapter 1 - Crimson Moon

The first notes of a violin rose like a whisper from the grave slow, trembling, sorrowful. A piano answered, each keystroke echoing through the marble hall which was made of pure obsidian and was lit by the soft glow of the candle like a heartbeat that refused to die. The music wound around the congregation like mist, thick and mournful, filling the air with an ache older than time itself.

Then came silence.

The guests — noble vampires draped in black and crimson robes — stood in reverent stillness. Candles burned low, their flames bending toward the couple at the altar as if drawn by their gravity. At the center the bride and groom stood like statues, pale as moonlight, their hands bound by a ribbon stained with red wine and ash. Between them, a silver chalice shimmered with dark liquid, it was a mixture of their blood which is drank by the groom and the bride to seal their lives together.

The officiant, an elder with eyes like dying stars, raised his hand. "Tonight, under the gaze of the crimson moon, two immortal hearts bind as one. Their hunger shared, their shadows joined, their eternity sealed."

He turned to the groom. "Do you swear to walk beside her through hunger, silence, and flame, until the last dawn fades?"

"I swear it upon the blood that gave me life," the groom answered, his voice steady as the music swelled again.

The bride lifted her gaze; her lips trembled into a faint, knowing smile. "And I…" she began, but her voice frayed.

As the piano faded to a single, lingering chord, the moon above wept crimson light across the cathedral's shattered stained glass.

A hand brushed the elder's sleeve. "What's wrong, my dear?" a voice asked softly from the shadowed pews.

"Why do I have to be forcibly married to a noble like you for the rest of eternity?" she demanded, every syllable a blade. Her tone was stern, fierce with an edge the hall hadn't heard in centuries.

Before the groom could answer, she moved — a sudden, impossible blur — and dashed from the ruined cathedral with inhuman speed. Her feet barely whispered on the stone.

"Catch her and kill her!" one of the Primordial vampires roared, venom lacing the command.

The elder leaned close to his ear and whispered something that left the Primordial bewildered. "Do not kill her, just capture her," the elder repeated, softer this time.

"M'lord, does that not break the law if we—" blood spilt.

"Does anybody else have questions?" the elder snapped, wiping the blood from his hands as if he could tidy the moment away.

She paced across the starry night like a shadow in the mist, urgent and lithe, desperate to leave the continent. They did not know that Nyx — for that was her name — grew especially powerful under a red moon. Her raven hair swished behind her; she moved as swiftly and silent as a river. Her crimson eyes fixed on a single goal. At the city limits she shed her human guise, bones shifting, limbs folding; in an instant she was a sleek black bat and slipped away from the wretched place she had once called home.

Four centuries later.

In 2067, Neo-London's neon glow painted the rain-slicked streets. A young woman with shoulder-length raven hair and moon-pale skin stood outside a biotech office, the red light of a nearby pillar box just below her height. She wore a black crop top under a faux-fur coat, tailored business trousers, and an air of dangerous calm. Men glanced twice as they passed; none guessed the centuries coiled beneath her bones.

She drew on a neon-tipped cigar, the ember haloing her lips. Then, from the alley to her left, came the raw sound of violence. A struggle and stifled cry. A young employee, pinned and beaten by thugs, groped for air and for mercy.

"Time to eat," she murmured, voice flat as the fog. Then she moved.

What followed was quick and brutal. In the blink of an eye the thugs lay broken, their blood a dark stain on the cobbles. She bent over the young man, looked deep into his eyes, and pressed her palm against his temple. He blinked as if waking from a dream, and when he looked again he remembered nothing of steel boots or fists.

The next morning the police arrived at her doorstep. She answered, composed, as officers muttered about witnesses and a survivor. Standing just behind them — awkward, pale, and avoiding her gaze — was the young man from the alley.

He recognized her.

'a small thing like that somehow avoided compulsion. I have to find out how.'

After the encounter with the police department Nyx simply compelled them to forget it ever happened and immediately snatched the young lad into a private room to interrogate him.

"So, how are u able to resist my compulsion"

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