A welcome change from Kars’ dazzling crystal walls, Nargoz’s stygian atmosphere brought Kilian a certain peace, enabling him to put the demons in his mind at ease. Two bodyguards flanked his large suite’s door, while the rest occupied their assigned rooms in silence.

As Killian stated, those 12 members of the Seared Hearts were nothing more than his jailors. Protecting him from harm was a consequence, not the aim of their duty. Having fought with and killed more than one, Kilian knew very well of their fanatical tendencies. Just like Wilfried, they lived and died for Klaus’ glory—nothing else mattered.

But as the 12 stood watchful of any suspicious move, Kilian rubbed his chest, and while a dynamic, holographic replica took his place, he vanished from the room. An anti-heat-sensor mechanism that made Kilian’s hologram project the same infrared radiations as his body swindled the 12 guards, preventing them from sensing his departure.

As Klaus said, Wilfried sometimes overthought things and took unnecessary actions. If Kilian wished to escape, it wasn’t those 12 that’d stop him. Breaking down into detached, invisible molecules, Kilian bypassed the walls and reappeared on top of Nargoz’s Chiropteran Tower. From there, he swept the stygian kingdom.

“Mother, father, here I take the first step of my fell rebellion. Blood will flow, the self-destructive and innocent alike will suffer, but to avenge your tears, even if it wrenches my heart, I will not stop until Klaus’ dreams are torn to shreds.

If heaven embraced you, will you renounce me?

If hell stole you, will you welcome me?

I don’t know, yet dearly hope, that one day I can see you two smiling once more—beyond the phantasms of my dreamscapes,” Kilian whispered, and as per his tribe’s customs, gashed his palm to let his blood flow toward the ground. Arcadians may have lost their faith, but the remote tribes still held on to some ancient traditions.

In Kilian’s fallen tribe, a child cutting open his palm to drip his blood on his parents’ grave was the greatest form of filial piety. Alas, Kilian didn’t have a grave to shed his blood onto, and so could only spread it from the highest vantage point, hoping that the wind would carry some droplets to his beloved—it didn’t.

Death was the starting point of a new journey. As Kilian would come to accept, the world had neither heaven nor hell—only endless reincarnations. But as Kilian’s open wound healed at abnormal speed, night replaced dusk, and the scent of fear swelled from Nargoz’s streets.

Due to all the rituals and genetic enhancing that surrounded his birth and growth, even on Arcadian standards, Kilian was an anomaly. Sight, smell, physical abilities, even without knowledge of dra manipulation, he could now rival Core Templars like Viktor. No, in terms of pure senses, he left them far behind.

Only Klaus understood the roots of his unique condition, something he kept hidden from all besides that mysterious old fogey others dreaded. And now, this condition warned Kilian of a danger in Nargoz’s night. With a smile, he stretched out his arms, and from beneath his aristocratic garb, black plates surged, tearing off the fabric and turning Kilian into a walking mech suit.

With an obsidian metal that devoured the moonlight, a helmet shaped like a ravenous demon knight, retractable energy wings and 2.5 meters of height, Kilian’s power armor made his guards’ Zurishells look like rotten cabbage. But in fact, it wasn’t that much stronger. Klaus called it the Fallen Angel Armor, a name Kilian always found puzzling.

A prototype straight out of Klaus’ labs, the Fallen Angel Armor was a bridge between the Zurishells and the Crystal Lord Armor. And while all Zurishells and Power Armors required extensive training, only High Templars or anomalies such as Kilian could endure the toll of the Fallen Angel Armor.

Activating his bright-red visor, Kilian scanned all activity across 50 square kilometers and cloaked himself to patrol Nargoz’s streets. Although he initially had other plans laid out, should he catch bloodkin cabals preying on Nargoz’s citizens, Kilian didn’t doubt that Oliver would dance on his tune.

Men, women and children alike rushed back into storeyed houses of thick black stones and hip roofs. If their hurried moves and fright-torn faces didn’t paint a vivid enough picture, the sudden gathering of blood hunters and their huntmasters in various key corners of the city put Kilian on maximum alert.

Mauve mist surged from Nargoz’s streets, filling the many quarters with overwhelming clouds whose indiscernible magical nature contrasted with the city’s natural mist.

Twelve huntmasters currently guarded the streets, each with six blood hunters by his side. The massive mastiffs growled, eyes glowing red as they stared at the source of the sudden cloud of mist. And while all those huntmasters were top-level Core Templars, unease creased their brows.

“It’s time,” said a senior huntmaster through an earchip, and instantly, all his peers stretched out their hands, summoning long blood lances while eerie, slithering sounds came from narrow corners.

Sitting on top of a three-storeyed house, Kilian watched as sanguine fog gathered around the huntmasters, and their hounds aligned, ready to pounce on the expected threat.

And so it began.

Crack

Faster than the first huntmaster could react, a serpentine figure emerged from his back, constricted his arms, limbs and neck in its monstrous snake tail, and snapped all his bones with one squeeze. The huntmaster’s eyes widened, his lips parted, and his tongue flopped over as he struggled to choke out his final words—they never came.

The serpentine figure’s blurred upper body snaked around the huntmaster, and it sank its fangs in his jugular, tearing through flesh and veins to siphon all his blood. The red liquor gushed forth, splattering the creature as its blood feast went on. Only now did Kilian get a glimpse of the fiend’s true form.

With the upper body of a female and the lower end of a mighty constrictor, she moved with predatory grace and boundless bloodlust in her bright-red eyes. Dozens of purple serpents adorned her head, all matching the uncanny shade of her scaly tail. Hissing in a mixture of glee and thirst, the snakes lashed at the blood hunters, expanding endlessly to fasten the disoriented mastiffs.

Without their huntmaster or bloodkin lord to control them, the blood hunters lost much of their efficiency, becoming easy prey for the vampiric medusa’s serpent to feast on—and feast they did.

As the abomination pulled out her fangs, releasing the atrophied bloodkin from her grasp, her snakes dined on the thrashing mastiffs necks. Resistance proved futile, and by the time the huntmaster reached the ground, his mastiffs no longer had the tiniest drop of blood in them.

The vampiric medusa glanced at the barricaded houses in the distance, sneered, and ignored them to lunge at the nearest huntmaster.

Seeing this, Kilian couldn’t prevent his lips from curling into a smile.