In a completely different environment—one that stretched endlessly in all directions—it seemed like a universe of its own. The sky was perpetually dark, illuminated only by the pale gleam of a massive moon and a thousand silver stars that shimmered like distant embers scattered across velvet. The air was still and biting, the kind of cold that seeped through skin and bone until it felt like part of one's blood. The silence here wasn't peaceful; it was heavy, almost watchful, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The land was vast and alien. Strange trees grew in twisted shapes, their bark the color of ash and their leaves translucent, glowing faintly in the dark. They swayed with a sound like whispering glass. Strange creatures roamed between them—some with too many eyes, others with none at all—yet their movements had a natural rhythm, mirroring the familiar animal patterns of Earth. It was as though nature had been rewritten in a different language here.
This was not Earth. This was a planet far removed from humanity, a world where the sun never rose and light was not really cared for much. The sky never changed—no dawn, no dusk, only eternal night. It was the perfect sanctuary for the vampires: a place where they could exist free from the curse of sunlight, where the sky itself swore loyalty to their kind. To the vampires, this planet wasn't desolate—it was paradise.
But paradise, to mortals, would have been unlivable. The lack of sunlight made the world cruelly cold. There were no green pastures, no warm soil, no trees that bloomed. Rivers wound across the landscape like veins of liquid silver, cold and pure, feeding into hidden caverns deep below the crust. There were no oceans here, no tides, no waves—only quiet lakes that reflected the stars like mirrors. The air itself felt ancient, untouched by time. To a human, it would have felt suffocating. To a vampire, it was home.
To the east lay the heart of their civilization: the Vampire Village. Despite the ominous name, it was far from savage. The settlement stretched like a geometric web—orderly, structured, and beautifully cold. At its core stood seven colossal castles, their obsidian walls rising like jagged fangs against the horizon. Five of these belonged to the ruling clans, each one arranged in a perfect pentagon, surrounded by towering barriers reinforced with runic symbols that glowed faintly red under the moonlight.
Each clan castle functioned as a small city of its own. Within its walls, life thrived in disciplined harmony. Streets paved with black stone reflected the moon's dim light. Markets bustled with vendors trading in blood-crystals, enchanted fabrics, and spirit-bound metals. Even here, in a world of monsters, there was a sense of community—of hierarchy, order, and pride.
At the center of every clan's fortress stood its Royal House, a magnificent structure that pierced the sky like a spear. The Royal House served as both home and stronghold for each leader and their family. Its halls were lined with portraits of ancestors, its chambers adorned with ancient relics of their lineage. Guards patrolled the balconies like silent shadows, their armor crafted from dark metal that shimmered faintly with crimson energy.
The vampires who had earned distinction through talent or service—blacksmiths, scholars, soldiers, artisans—were granted the right to build and personalize their homes. Some chose elaborate mansions; others preferred simpler, fortress-like dwellings. There was pride in every structure, discipline in every design. The Vampire Village was no chaotic nest of predators. It was a civilization reborn in shadow.
At the heart of all five castles stood two that dwarfed the rest. One belonged to the King of Vampires himself—an enigmatic figure who ruled from behind a veil of ancient power and wisdom. The other was reserved for a mysterious order known only as The Special Ones. Few outside the royal circles understood what they truly were—warriors? scholars? experiments?—but every vampire knew enough not to speak their name lightly.
To the north stood the castle of the Virefangs, a clan renowned for discipline, precision, and mastery of the Blood Arts. The castle was surrounded by towering obsidian spires that gleamed faintly red, as if veins of molten blood ran beneath the surface. Inside the Royal House, a dim corridor pulsed faintly with crimson light—until suddenly, one of the doors blazed open, spilling white brilliance into the hall.
"You're back already, Roy, Ross," came a smooth, feminine voice. It carried a playful edge, though beneath it lingered a note of curiosity. "Judging by your condition, I assume the mission is complete?" Her lips curved in a teasing smile. "Though it seems the kid gave you quite the challenge."
Roy and Ross ignored her jab and continued walking, silent and grim. Their boots echoed softly against the stone. Bon, however, stopped and turned toward her.
The woman was striking. Her dark red hair, streaked with black, framed a small but fierce face. Her eyes burned with a subtle, dangerous allure—a beauty sharpened into a blade. She stood with casual confidence, the faint crimson glow of her aura wrapping around her like silk. Petite, yes, but there was power in the way she held herself.
Bon studied her in silence. His expression gave nothing away, though his aura flickered faintly, deliberate and controlled. Roy and Ross glanced back, sensing the tension between them.
"You're quite strong, aren't you?" Bon said at last, his tone calm, his gaze steady. "Fight me when you get the chance, okay?"
A faint grin tugged at his lips before he turned and walked away.
The woman blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Huh?" she murmured softly, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of his fading aura. It pulsed once—a calculated flare meant to be seen. Her expression hardened, curiosity sparking behind her eyes. "That boy's aura… he did that on purpose," she whispered. A slow, amused smile crept across her face. "What an interesting boy."
As the trio continued down the hall, Roy shot Bon a look of warning. "Hey, kid," he muttered under his breath. "Do you even know who that is? That's the leader's daughter—and one of his personal guards. You'd better stay clear of people like her if you wanna live long enough to breathe the same air as the rest of us."
Ross nodded. "We still don't even know why the leader wants you here. So, for your own good, keep quiet. No stunts, no attitude."
They stopped before a massive iron door adorned with glowing sigils. A moment later, it creaked open on its own, revealing a vast chamber bathed in shadow. The air inside felt heavy, regal… ancient.
Without another word, they stepped inside.
---
Meanwhile, far away—on Earth—Barek Ironkong was preparing for a journey "back home" he called it.
He stood in the middle of his workshop, a massive room lined with weapons, talismans, and broken training dummies. His fists clenched tightly, veins bulging with rage. "They think they can just take my boy?" he muttered. "Over my dead body."
The air vibrated faintly as his energy flared. "And that kid Bon… when I get my hands on him, he's gonna learn to never pull a stunt.like that again."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a glowing orb—the same kind Bon had used before. The light shimmered, swirling with strange runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Barek's jaw tightened. "No more talking," he growled. "It's time to move."
He crushed the orb in his hand.
A portal burst open before him, spiraling with silver and crimson light. The air howled as the energy tore through the room. Barek stepped forward, his expression set with iron resolve.
"I'm coming for you, son," he said quietly, and without hesitation, he vanished into the light.
The portal sealed behind him, leaving the room silent once more.
Only the faint echo of his words lingered—like the promise of a storm.