“I smell something new on the wind, right at the edge of The Crimson Plain.”

“The breeze from that direction… it carries the tang of blood. And… fire and wraiths. Why do I feel a flicker of pressure from it?”

Deep within the castle’s subterranean vault, a crimson sarcophagus rose from a floor etched with silver runes, unleashing a wave of ancient, malevolent power.

With a series of sharp cracks, the lid shifted. An old man with hair like spun silver, dressed in the robes of a silver-clad lord, slowly sat up. His silver eyes held a strange, elegant mystery.

“Iskar, Perrin. Wake up. We have guests in our territory.”

The old man beckoned with his index and middle fingers, and from the depths of the vault, two smaller, matching sarcophagi ascended.

The lids slid open, and two men, also with silver hair and eyes, stirred. They were much younger than the old man, appearing middle-aged.

“My Progenitor, what has roused you from your slumber?”

“Venerable Progenitor, is it time? Are you leading us to invade a higher plane?”

The two men climbed from their coffins and knelt on one knee.

The one they called the Progenitor shook his head. With a casual flick of his right hand, a silver ewer from a nearby shelf flew into his grasp. He gestured again, and a single drop of golden blood floated from the ewer and into his mouth.

He didn’t speak, closing his eyes to savor the essence of the hero’s blood on his palate. If Orion had been there, he would have recognized it instantly. It carried the unmistakable aura of a dragon.

“A host of unfamiliar presences has appeared in The Crimson Plain,” he finally said, his voice a dry rasp. “They are a chaotic mix, some strong, some weak. If I’m not mistaken, they’re invaders from a lower realm. The question is, are they just passing through, or have they set their sights on us?”

He seemed to finish his tasting, swallowing the droplet and letting the vibrant energy course through him.

“Iskar. Perrin. Take some thralls and investigate. If our guests are weak, dispose of them. If they prove to be strong, fall back.”

The Progenitor sent the silver ewer back to its place and summoned a golden one. Another gesture, another drop of golden liquid.

Mm… the blood of giants from the Abyss is always purer than the dragons’. The flavor of the void is so much richer. I do wonder what a demigod’s blood would taste like. Exquisite, I imagine.

In truth, at his level, he no longer required blood for sustenance. But it was a habit, an indulgence cultivated over millennia. Upon waking, he always sampled the finest vintages in his collection.

“Go. If you bring back something worthwhile, these two ewers are yours.”

The old man waved a dismissive hand, closed his eyes, and lay back down in his sarcophagus.

Iskar and Perrin bowed their heads and retreated from the chamber without another word.

Moments later, they stood on the balcony of a spire in Mosela Citadel. The view below them stretched out in a panorama of absolute, terrifying control.

Giants were penned in enclosures, shackled like cattle. Werewolves served as the lowest class of slave. Abyssal boars were treated as livestock. Arachnids with vaguely humanoid faces were forced into brothels, available to be brutalized at any whim. Along the citadel walls, countless bats hung upside down, passively absorbing the ambient blood-mist and the faint sunlight.

“There’s an Archlord-level signature to the southeast,” said Iskar, a tall, elegant man with a severe posture. Clad in the black formal wear of the nobles, he radiated a chilling grace. “That must be where the invaders are.”

Perrin, shorter, broader, and sporting a short, trimmed beard, stood beside him. “Let’s split up. You handle recon, I’ll rally the forces. We’ve slept for too long. The whelps in this citadel have gotten soft.”

He could already sense it—the rot of decadence spreading through the city. The endless parties, the debauchery, the increasingly twisted and inventive ways they tortured their thralls to pass the eons. For a race blessed with near-immortality, staving off boredom was a constant battle, and it often led to paranoia and perversion.

“This is a good opportunity to get the new generation through the Rite of Progeny,” Perrin continued. “For the Progenitor, for our lineage, for the day we finally ascend to the sixth layer of the Abyss… we need more progeny.”

Both he and Iskar were veteran Archlord-level vampires. Their ultimate ambition was to one day achieve the demigod state, just as their ancestor had. To do that, they needed more followers, more territory, more resources. Mosela Citadel was no longer enough.

“Agreed,” Iskar said crisply. They had worked together for centuries and understood each other perfectly. “It’s been too long since I’ve surveyed our territory anyway. Time for a breath of fresh air.”

Iskar’s form flickered. He reappeared on the city wall and let out a silent, high-frequency cry. The sound was imperceptible to mortal ears, but every bat hanging from the ramparts snapped awake, their wings unfurling in unison.

In an instant, a vortex of countless bats swirled in the air above him, their ultrasonic clicks creating an intricate web of information. With a ghost of a smile, Iskar stepped off the wall and began to walk on the air, heading southeast. The swarm followed, melting into the blood-red mist that permanently shrouded their domain.

***

Silverwood Realm, The Gilded Strand.

The beach lay on the continent’s southwestern coast. Orion had flown solo for half a month, leaving his main force far behind to get here.

The Gilded Strand was beautiful, its sands shimmering like molten gold under the sun. But Orion wasn’t here for the view.

He waded into the shallows, extending his senses across the immediate area. After confirming there were no archlord-level powers nearby, he chose this spot for the portal.

Standing knee-deep in the surf, Orion took out a single black pearl and tossed it into the water a few yards ahead.

A moment later, the spatial energy in the area warped violently. The sea churned and pulled back on itself, forming a swirling vortex on the surface.

“Hahahaha! Been a while, Hulk!” a booming voice echoed from the depths. “I knew you wouldn’t forget about your old friend!”

Orion waited. A figure wearing deep blue battle armor and a classic pirate’s tricorn hat rose from the waves, walking on the water as if it were solid ground.

It was Kraken.