Cold moonlight poured like ice. Newly raised high-rises loomed like silent tombstones. A single distant lamp stood like a lone lighthouse, washing the city in pale gold and bathing the prince reclining in the night wind. He waited for his children on assignment to return, hoping they brought a good omen.
“Prince, there are no humans nearby.”
A Blood Clan thrall knelt, voice shaking. The prince had sent him to hunt for blood, but he found only Monsters and livestock. After tasting human Blood, all other blood turned to ash on the tongue.
On the lounge chair, the prince swirled his wine. The bouquet rose like a vineyard’s dream, yet it wasn’t Blood. It belonged to elegance, not to their kind.
“It’s not your fault. The humans have noticed us. It’s normal for ants to scurry and hide.”
Human Blood was a meager comfort, just sating the mouth and gut. As long as Caris didn’t fail, everything would be fine.
Seeing the prince disdain these offerings, the thrall handed the stored blood out to the others. Newborns never complained. For them, any blood was a lucky rain.
The Blood Clan lived long, but that span traded away their fertility. They could only perform a First Embrace on weak creatures from the Abyss, turning them into their own.
They seemed a race spurned by the Abyss, a flawed craft. After a First Embrace, power sagged for a time; the stronger the target was before, the deeper the sag.
Newborns inherited most of their progenitor’s strength. For example, if the prince Embraced an ordinary human with no power to lift a chicken, the subject could leap straight to Cantata Two, or even Cantata Three—if gifted enough.
Caris was the finest proof.
The purer the blood, the longer the life. Yet even the longest road ends. When the purest prince dies, the common ceiling becomes Fourth Generation, and their years are a thin shadow of a prince’s.
Four gives way to five, iteration after iteration, until one day the Blood Clan fades from history like mist at dawn.
The Abyss hasn’t fully cast them out, though. Atavism in the blood, and the Thirteen Sacred Tools of the Blood Clan, sometimes call up throwbacks to extend the clan’s years. It’s extension, not salvation.
Bat wings beat a midnight rhythm. Caris stepped from the full moon’s halo and landed on the edge of the rooftop. Moonlight shone through the crystal at her back; dark red spilled along one side of her body like a wine stain.
The prince frowned at the crystal behind her, then let it smooth away. Caris had failed too. But the bait was in hand. The plan could move.
Break the Order Keeper branch, and they’d ranch the humans on this land—premium blood and a foothold. Build a base, then search for the Blood Chalice.
“I have urgent matters to report.”
He told Caris to speak, and kept admiring the hanging moon. The earth’s moon was beautiful; the Abyss offered only endless dark. The stars they called a moon there were so dim, so far.
“I heard her say those spatial passages are fake, bait to draw us in and trap us. But she seems to know how to open the other passages.”
Her words matched his guess. Passages that blatant were wrong by sight alone, though maybe humans really could be that foolish.
A hundred years ago, he had stumbled into the world. Magic Maidens were few. The strong existed, but mostly no one stopped him. He wandered half the realm, feasted well, and left legends like scorch marks.
Bad luck cut in at the end. Ringed by Magic Maidens, he almost died and had to tear open an Abyssal Rift, escaping in tatters.
This time he had made thorough preparations. His blood children crowded behind the spatial rifts, waiting. If the humans were only as capable as they seemed, victory would be theirs.
Caris worked the crystal. It softened and melted. Concentrated Blood streamed back into her body, then shaped itself into a scythe that rested cold against Qiu Sheng’s throat.
“Life or death—choose. You’re strong. Kneel and cry my name, and I’ll make you a powerful Fourth Generation. Or choose death. I’ll give you a worthy end.”
The prince’s tongue was deft in this land’s language; half a world walked wasn’t for nothing. He raised a hand like a bare branch and pointed at Qiu Sheng kneeling on the ground.
Qiu Sheng bit down, stubborn fire in her eyes. She muttered, “I will never yield,” “humans will prevail,” “if I fall, thousands will rise.” Words like iron banners in the wind.
He admired that kind of soul. Killing her would be a waste. If he could snap her faith and turn her Fourth Generation, what a prize that would be.
Yet as bait for storming the Twelfth District branch, a Magic Maiden like Qiu Sheng couldn’t be Embraced. The moment they set foot in the branch, she would die. Better that than add a new enemy.
But how to pry the positions of the passages from her mouth?
Her will was firm. The afterglow of her breakthrough still wrapped her like a cloak. The Blood Clan’s mind force should nudge her to speak of the other routes.
They weren’t a race of mind adepts, though. Charm worked, but mostly on weak, opposite-sex targets. On Qiu Sheng, it would likely fall short.
Scarlet pupils brightened with a strange halo. Qiu Sheng was drawn into his gaze, eyes going blank, then fighting to surface. Demon-breaking lightning coiled around her like storm serpents and spilled outward.
Caris only had to flick her scythe. Blood surged and pressed the lightning flat. Qiu Sheng drifted deeper into the rose haze of those blood-red eyes.
“Tell me. Where are the hidden passages?”
…Qiu Sheng’s memory pulled back to a few hours ago. After escorting Qianchun, Blade had called her underground.
“Civilians nearby have evacuated. The Formation is running. We stick to the plan.”
Blade took a long, harsh pull of coffee. She drank coffee like water; even strong brew seemed too weak for her grindstone pace.
Blade ignored Qiu Sheng’s look and spoke fast. “Legend says the Blood Clan can charm the opposite sex. Blend that with sound, and they feed easier, or perform a First Embrace.”
She spread all the files across a table—ancient books and old newspapers about the Blood Clan. “You just advanced to Cantata Two. Sorry to throw such a hard task at you.”
Qiu Sheng shook her head. She’d been ready for this when she joined the Order Keeper.
“This chain’s from the vault. It resists mental attacks, to a point. It’s the best Magic Tool we have here. The rest are keeping Illusory Glass stable.”
Qiu Sheng clipped it around her ankle. The chill cleared her thoughts like frost on glass. After a quick test, she and Blade left the vault.
“These are the passage layouts. Study them. If you don’t get grabbed, they’re useless. If you do, and they try to steer your mind, give them these. If you stay free, burn the paper.”
Blade handed over the map, and told her to burn it after reading.
“They could also try to Embrace you. No Magic Maiden has ever been turned, but we can’t assume. If they try to kill or Embrace you, hit this button. The Moon Owl will open a passage and pull you back.”
With that, Blade hurried to the Moon Owl’s room and started the evacuation through comms.
Qiu Sheng snapped back. Cold at her ankle steadied her mind like a winter bell. Following the prince’s coaxing, she fought to lift her arm, pointed in four directions, then writhed with pain. The storming lightning broke loose, and she went limp, blacking out.
The prince shook the lingering bolts off like rain. They burst in blue-white flowers and vanished, leaving him unharmed.
To be safe, he would check those passage mouths himself. If they were sound, he’d take the Twelfth District fast, before Order Keeper HQ could react.
“The spatial passages are fine. The ones here are steadier than elsewhere.”
Caris pressed Qiu Sheng down and watched those glowing routes. Something felt off, a hairline crack in sense. Because of Illusionary Mist’s meddling, parts of her memory wouldn’t come when called.
“Can we send some in through the other passages, Father?”
She suggested sending teams to test them first—see if they were traps—and strike with a feint.
A solid plan. The prince agreed, glanced at the bright moon, and felt the hour cresting. The Blood Clan’s strength and morale would peak right now.
He raised his hand. A razor-thin tip sliced space. Abyssal Aura flooded from him, weaving a narrow Abyssal Rift.
He repeated the cut at the other mouths. Caris stood guarding at his side.
“My valiant children, show your might!”
Cantata Three’s aura billowed without restraint. A giant hand of congealed Blood gripped the void on both sides, tearing the sealed passages inch by inch. In a single breath, the Blood Clan swarmed through like a red tide.
