Xavier was barely standing now, but "barely" didn't mean anything anymore. His body wasn't following the same rules as before. His veins glowed in a pattern Luther had never seen—spiraling, branching like veins of black fire crawling under his skin. His claws had grown longer, his wings had hardened, their edges gleaming like jagged blades of glass.

Luther stopped moving for the first time. The air around Xavier was wrong—alive in a way that shouldn't exist.

He whispered to himself, "This… isn't vampire energy."

Xavier looked up, his eyes no longer red. They had turned pale white, glowing faintly, with faint streaks of gold running through the irises. His breathing had slowed, but every inhale made the air tremble. He took a step forward, and Luther's instincts screamed.

For the first time in centuries, the great Luther Von Stein hesitated.

He felt it—something ancient. Something that didn't belong to any species. Not human, not vampire, not divine. Something older. It was inside that boy's body, waking up like it had been asleep for too long.

Luther clenched his jaw. "No more."

He vanished from sight. When he appeared again, he was already behind Xavier, his hand glowing with bloodlight. He pressed it forward, and the ground collapsed in a line from where he stood.

"Enough of this farce!"

He raised his hand to the sky. The bloodlight gathered into a burning spiral, red lightning snapping from his fingertips. The very ground beneath them began to melt under the pressure.

The elders on the outer rings began shouting orders again. One of them screamed, "He's using Crimson Judgment! Evacuate the west wing!"

Crimson Judgment—Luther's strongest art. A technique forbidden even to the royal vampires, said to drain an entire bloodline to fuel a single strike. The scene became silent, the light darker, and the sky began to bend inward as his power gathered.

Every drop of blood spilled in the castle rose from the floor—floating upward, joining the storm swirling above Luther's head.

He locked eyes with Xavier one last time. "I'll erase you completely."

He pushed his hand forward.

The entire courtyard lit up in red.

But before the strike could land, something split the air apart—like a curtain tearing. A veil of blood rose between them, thick and fluid, forming a wall that shimmered with its own heartbeat. Luther's attack hit it full force, and the sound it made wasn't an explosion—it was silence.

The energy vanished.

The blood barrier rippled, then reformed again, smooth as glass.

Luther froze. Then his eyes narrowed.

Footsteps echoed across the shattered ground. Slow, uneven, and almost dragging.

Out of the smoke walked an old man, dressed in deep maroon robes that shimmered faintly under the red moon. His hair was silver-white, long and unkempt, his eyes sunken but glowing with a dim, terrifying calm. Even among vampires, age was rare—most of them didn't survive long enough to grow old, either because they always looked young, or their life choices and circumstances got them killed.

This one, however, was ancient.

Luther's blade lowered slightly. "Great Grandfather…" He bowed his head out of instinct. "Eryndor Von Stein. What are you doing out of your chamber? You should be resting."

"It's hard to rest with all the noise and quakes you were making." The old man—Eryndor—stopped near the edge of the crater, staring at Xavier trapped behind the blood veil. His gaze was sharp, dissecting. "I wondered what sort of fool was shaking my mountain at this hour," he said quietly. "I expected an army, not… this."

Luther kept his head lowered but his jaw tightened. "Apologies. I dragged the fight too long. I was about to finish it before you arrived."

Eryndor chuckled faintly, the sound old and hollow. "Finish it? My boy, if you finished this, there would be nothing left to rebuild. The mountain would be dust."

He looked up, eyes catching the light of the blood veil. "And you still wonder why the mortals call us monsters."

Luther frowned. "This isn't the time for lectures, Great Grandfather. This creature—whatever he's becoming—shouldn't exist."

Eryndor tilted his head slightly. "Creature?" He took a step closer to the barrier, the blood rippling with each movement. Xavier slammed against it, roaring like a beast, trying to tear through. Every strike bounced off, and the blood simply stitched itself back together.

Eryndor watched him quietly, then turned to Luther. "Who is he?"

Luther exhaled. "A human. Or he was. Eleanor's… lover." The word burned on his tongue. "She brought him into this house. He trespassed into my castle. And now he—this thing—is corrupting the very air we breathe."

Eryndor looked back at Xavier, who was now clawing at the veil, his face twisted, his wings thrashing.

A faint smirk appeared on the old man's face. "Human, you said?"

"Yes." Luther spat the word. "Human filth."

Eryndor's gaze lingered on the flickering blood veil, his wrinkled hand half-raised as if reading the pulse of what was trapped inside. The light from the moon glazed over the old vampire's eyes, and something like curiosity sat behind them.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "A rogue phase… or perhaps a failed awakening. But look at him, Luther. That's not an ordinary failure. That's a fracture."

Luther folded his arms, still catching his breath from the fight. "He's beyond repair. His mind's gone, his form's corrupted. We both know what comes after this stage."

Eryndor turned his head slightly. "Did Eleanor turn him?"

Luther's jaw tightened. "I'm not sure."

"You live under the same roof, and you're not sure?"

"It's not something that can be done by accident," Luther shot back. "Turning a mortal isn't as simple as sharing blood or a bite. It's a process that takes ritual knowledge, sigil alignment, and essence control. A single mistake kills the subject outright. Even I wouldn't dare perform it without full preparation."

Eryndor's eyes narrowed. "And you believe she has no such knowledge?"

"She shouldn't," Luther said flatly. "Our ancestors outlawed the art generations ago. The peace treaty at the end of the Vampire War made sure of it—no new bloodlines, no new turns. It's the first rule of coexistence. You break that, and every kingdom hunts you to extinction."

The old man hummed, fingers drumming against the head of his cane. "Then tell me, Luther… how does a human turn into this?"

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