The appearance of that figure was enough to freeze thoughts and drown words in the hall. The air became solid, making inhalation difficult even for those who did not need to breathe. The mere presence of Lucieno —with his shadow heavier than the castle stone— was a reminder of how gruesome the heart of the night could be. Even under Belzblehem's custody, the vampires cowered, as if touched by the invisible claw of a profane god. Heads bowed slightly, avoiding direct eye contact.
—You are the duke of this forest —Lucieno said with a soft voice, yet as sharp as his fangs—. This castle is impenetrable. No demon, angel, or mortal would dare to challenge it. You should not worry about anything, father.
His words floated in the space without echo, absorbed by the density of his own aura. His tourmaline eyes swept the room with indolent arrogance, fixing upon each face with the brutal certainty that they were prey. His gaze lingered a second longer on Astilbe, then on Hassis, cataloging potential threats. Lucieno was beautiful in the way a well-preserved corpse is: tall, with snow-white skin, his black hair falling in waves over his face like an omen of mourning. He smiled. Fascinating and somber at once. The expression in his eyes remained confident, like a mask painted over bone.
Belzblehem descended toward him, extending his frozen hands to take his son's face. The movement was slow, deliberate, almost tender in its falsehood. The skin-to-skin contact transmitted no warmth, only the natural cold of their existences.
—Always so cold... so presumptuous, dear Lucieno. Should we then remain behind these walls until we starve? —he whispered with seductive venom—. Or perhaps we should serve as your nourishment. I do not believe you have forgotten that only beings like you are capable of feeding upon their own kind.
The threat was veiled, but the meaning bled into the silence of the hall. Lucieno let out a faint smile. His lips parted barely, revealing the sharp whiteness of fangs always hidden, as if the threat slid forth without the need for words. The glint of his teeth was the only thing that moved on his static face.
—Father, I could never drink from you. That would be to betray the eternal gratitude I have for you having fathered me from your own desire.
To anyone else, his words would be a blasphemous joke. But no one dared to laugh. Silence was the obligatory tribute to his supremacy. Not a single facial muscle twitched among the onlookers. Belzblehem arched a subtle, indulgent smile. He had never denied his son anything he desired. From the first instant of his existence, he knew that Lucieno was more than an heir: he was a living weapon, a hybrid that surpassed even the purebloods in power. The creation had cost noble blood, a price few would have paid.
—Forgive me then —the father murmured— if I disappoint you by asking you to protect our family.
The word family sounded hollow in that context. Lucieno's green eyes darkened. To him, those vampires were not family: they were cattle, useless shadows that did not even look at him due to their fear. The contempt was palpable, a wave of negative heat emanating from his body.
—You are pretentious if you believe I am going to help you.
The proud Lucieno knew his father's games, all the arrogance behind that smile. He took a step back with a dry expression and tints of coldness. He began to walk toward the exit, accompanied by a dismal silence. His steps made no noise; they were ghosts that did not materialize.
It could be said that a profound calm followed when Lucieno's trail vanished, for his presence was as dangerous to vampiric existence as the demonic empire itself. The air circulated once more, though filled with residual statics. He was the supremacy of the race, blasphemy made flesh. A hybrid born from the sacrifice of a pureblood. His very existence carried a taboo so terrible that even the eldest demons did not dare to pronounce it aloud. The ambition and thirst for power had to be immense for one pureblood to sacrifice another with the aim of creating such beasts.
Belzblehem considered himself a genuine demon within the darkness for having no remorse in experimenting with the body of another pureblood only to achieve that power.
Lucieno's mother was squeezed until the end, absorbed by the malignant seed implanted within her, and she ended her existence as a sacrifice, being the first nourishment for her offspring. The memory generated no guilt in the father, only a cold satisfaction for the result obtained.
The converted children of the night, who were once human, could never comprehend the world of the purebloods. To them, eternal condemnation was given as a new beginning, but those born with it saw existence from another perspective. The hierarchy was biological, impossible to scale for those born mortal. So surprising was the power of pure blood that only nobles could convert mortals into conscious vampires. In all congregations, it was forbidden for the converted to infect mortals, for from their poison only instinctive beings would awaken, finding their own destruction and exposing the existence of the species.
Lucieno had hunted thousands of involuted vampires, tearing out their throats in public as if they were livestock. He fed upon purebloods, humans, and transmutated beings alike. He distinguished neither hierarchies nor laws. He was a monster without limits, a predator without morals.
The hall remained in silence long after his departure, assimilating the truth of his nature.
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