The storm hit Duskveil without warning. Rain fell in sheets, hammering the stone walls and turning the courtyard into a river of mud and blood. Thunder cracked across the sky, shaking the towers as if the heavens themselves were angry.
Aelric stood atop the battlements, cloak plastered to his frame, eyes scanning the horizon. He could feel the tension in the air — a pulse, a heartbeat that was not human, not even entirely natural. Something was coming. Something worse than the last attack.
Kaelen appeared behind him, the wind tugging at his cloak. His eyes, crimson in the dim light, were sharper than a blade. "They've moved faster than expected," he said. "The demon vanguard has split. Part strikes here, part moves north toward Ashmar. They're testing us."
"They're baiting us," Aelric said, gripping the hilt of his sword. "And I'm supposed to bite?"
Kaelen's lips curved faintly. "Only if you want to survive. Otherwise, wait for the strike."
---
The first warning came as whispers in the wind. Figures darting through the storm — demons slipping between shadows like smoke. Then came the screams.
From the north gate, a massive shape emerged: the demon general Var'eth himself, wings unfurled, eyes burning like molten rock. Behind him, the lesser demons surged forward, a tide of darkness that crashed against Duskveil's defenses.
Aelric leapt into the fray, silver blade gleaming, heart pounding with the promise of vengeance.
The battle was chaotic, a storm of claws, fire, and steel. Vampires clashed with demons, the clash of metal ringing in the stormy night. Aelric moved through them like a shadow of rage, striking, dodging, killing. Each blow fueled by memories of Velmora, each swing a whisper of revenge.
But then he saw her — a figure unlike the others, moving with a predatory elegance that froze his blood.
Serath.
She didn't fight. She watched. Her violet eyes glimmered with amusement. And then, before Aelric could react, she pressed her lips to his in a kiss — quick, sharp, and venomous.
The world shifted. Fire and shadow merged. He felt a surge of power he had never known — strength, speed, hunger, and an unholy desire coursing through his veins. But it came with a price: a whisper of something darker, urging him to kill, to take, to embrace the monster within.
Aelric tore away, gasping. "What… what did you do?"
"I gave you a taste," she said, voice like silk over steel. "The demon's kiss awakens what's been lying dormant in you. Embrace it, or let it destroy you."
---
In the courtyard, vampires were falling. The traitor moved silently among them, a shadow cloaked in familiarity, striking with precision. Aelric caught a glimpse — a hand, a familiar ring glinting under the torchlight. His blood ran cold. Someone from Duskveil had betrayed them.
Kaelen fought beside him, eyes blazing, cutting down demons with terrifying grace. "Aelric!" he shouted over the chaos. "The traitor — watch for their mark!"
Aelric's gaze swept the battlefield, heart hammering. He saw it: a sigil carved into a demon's chest — the same sigil he had seen in the burned village. The traitor was guiding them, feeding them information.
And worse… they were still alive, hiding, watching, waiting.
---
Hours passed like moments. The storm began to ease, and the battlefield lay strewn with bodies, both vampire and demon. Duskveil had survived, barely. But the cost was high.
Aelric stood atop the gate, bloodied, exhausted, and trembling from the power that Serath had awakened in him. He looked at the horizon, where smoke curled from the distant forest, and made a vow:
"I will find the traitor," he whispered. "And I will make them bleed. Every drop of my vengeance will be theirs."
Serath appeared at his side once more, a shadow in the moonlight. "Good," she said. "Let the thirst guide you. Let it sharpen you. Soon, you will taste the true power of the night."
Aelric's hand tightened on his sword. "And when I do… they will all pay."