Chapter 73: The Sunken Coffin[2]

The red moon was imposing in the night sky, Xior was on the ground, face first as he kissed the soil.

He groaned and got up, his surroundings were changed. He was not at the bottom of the pit but was in front of a gothic mansion, the red moon cast the whole mansion into a dark red hue.

The iron gate was closed, and on its side were gargoyles made up of stone but their eyes were red which shined when he looked at them.

He looked around him and saw an empty barren land, there was nothing apart from the mansion.

As far as he could see, there was only a wasteland. At first he was suspicious of the mansion but he decided to enter it.

He walked towards the gate and with a loud creak, it opened. The small patches of grass which were supposed to be green on the sides of the path leading to the entrance were red.

The plants felt alive as though blood flowed through them. The moment he stepped inside he started hearing countless sounds which felt like heart beats.

The air was heavy, a weight pressed down upon his chest as if the atmosphere here resisted breath itself.

The scent of blood clung to the back of his throat, sharp and mingling with the dust of the place untouched by wind or light.

The walls wept faint streaks of blood, trickling down into cracks on the floor and with each step his boots left imprints, as though the ground had grown soft from the endless saturation.

Xior did not speak a single word, the silence was not something he could break there, so he went inside quietly.

The first hallway stretched narrowly, its walls were lined with smooth black marble. For a moment he thought the way would be simple then the marble shifted.

Panels slid aside with a grinding noise and from behind them shot spikes as long as pikes. They dripped blood before they had even struck, the droplets hissing as they splattered onto the floor.

Xior jumped on the sideways, a spike grazed his shoulder and burned through flesh like acid. He snarled, jerking free and realized it was not only steel but it was blood forged metal which had saturated venom on the tips.

The corridor shifted again and fresh spikes lunged outwards, Xior rolled beneath one and then vaulted high as his gauntlet claws caught the ceiling as another slammed into the wall beneath him.

The stone cracked and veins of red glowed through the fissure as if the manor bled as well.

One spike caught his side, he hissed and threw it out. Blood ran down his ribs, his own blood fought against him and pulled towards the steel.

He ripped the spike from his flesh with brute force and hurled it aside, then charged as he smashed through the narrowing gap before the corridor closed behind him.

*****

The air shifted, the hallway widened into a bigger space, the chandeliers of human bones dangled from the ceiling like an ornament. As he stepped forward, vents hissed open beneath his feet and from them the red mist rose which clung to him as if it wanted to choke him.

At first it was only a haze which obscured his vision but within seconds it seared his throat. His lungs convulsed as a fire spread through his veins.

He staggered and realized with horror that it was no normal mist at all, but it was blood atomized into vapor.

Every breath poisoned him more and more, every inhale burned like acid through muscles.

The chandeliers above began to drip as though sweating, with each droplet joining the swirling miasma.

He took a deep breath in and let dragon-fire erupt which he cloaked himself in. The blood mist hissed and curdled, blackening and burning away as he charged forward.

The stench of scorched iron filled his nose as he forced himself onwards, his lungs raw until at last the mist thinned and the chamber opened once again.

They waited for him, the figures clad in armor of blackened bone, with helms shaped like fanged visages, and eyes glowing with faint red light.

The vampire knights did not breathe nor did they speak. Their silence was much more oppressive than any battle cry.

Their spears were tipped with jagged teeth braced against shields of bone. Xior did not hesitate.

He lunged into them, his gauntlet cleaving through the first shield like butter. The knight behind staggered back, but his silence remained, even as blood sprayed across the floor.

Another one came from the side, as he swung his blade, Xior raised his arm to block, and hissed as the sword bit deep, drinking from his wound.

The weapon pulsed with fresh light, growing heavier with each drop it stole.He roared and lashed out, flames erupting from his mouth.

The knights burned without sound, their forms collapsing into heaps of smoldering ash. But more advanced, their formation was still unbroken.

He smashed through them with sheer ferocity, the gauntlet rending through armor. Yet even as they fell, their silence gnawed at him.

There were no cries and even no resistance…just obedience to their grim duty, as though they had long since abandoned the concept of life.

At last, the final knight crumbled to dust beneath his fist. The hall was full of ash and bone, yet the silence persisted, much deeper now, as though the manor itself absorbed all sound.

He pressed onward, through another narrow passage. Here the blood dripped in steady rhythm from the ceiling, each droplet fell as if it were a heartbeat. The walls twitched faintly, as though muscle lay beneath the stone, pulsing to the same rhythm.

His own heartbeat began to sync with it. Thump. Thump. Louder. He pressed his hand to the wall, and it pulsed beneath his palm, warm and wet.

He pulled away quickly, shaking his head, forcing his focus forward. At last he came to massive obsidian doors.

They loomed higher than any gate he had seen, carved with runes: vampires bowing in endless lines before a towering feminine figure whose face was left blank, her eyes gouged into hollow voids.

Chains wrapped her form, though every link seemed to pulse faintly with blood-red glow. He pushed the doors and they swung open with the creak.

The chamber stretched vast, like a cathedral built in mockery of faith. A carpet of red ran down the center…but as he stepped upon it, his feet sank slightly.

It was wet and sticky. He looked closer, and veins bulged faintly beneath the fabric, pulsing with each step. It was as if the cloth was flesh.

The tall stained glass windows lined the walls, but none depicted any saints. They showed scenes of vampiric ascension: blood drinking, crowns being forged of bone, families kneeling before a single throne.

Each pane glowed faintly red, and when he neared, he saw why the glass was not glass but crystal filled with liquid blood.

Fountains flanked the carpet, spouting crimson in steady streams. The sound was like veins being cut open.

Xior’s every step echoed too loud, though muffled by the wet carpet. Something was here. Watching and waiting.

And then he saw her, at the end of the hall, upon a throne of black stone shot through with veins of red, sat the figure.

She was small, almost delicate, her white hair spilled over her shoulders like silk and her eyes glowed faintly crimson, pools of stagnant blood.

A crown of black bone curved upward, jagged as horns lay on her head. Her hands rested lightly upon the throne’s arms, and she had nails long enough to scratch grooves into the stone.

She did not move, but her gaze was fixed upon him, piercing and unblinking. Yet there was no emotion…no warmth, no hatred and no joy.

Her face was carved in perfect stillness. Xior stopped as his every muscle tensed. He waited for words, for the lash of sorcery, for anything. But the silence still stretched…unbearable.

The chamber seemed to shrink around him. The air grew heavier, pressing him down and suffocating him.

His heart thundered and his breath ragged, yet she did nothing. She only watched him. Then her eyes glowed brighter.

Red light washed across the chamber, painting every surface in blood. But still, she did not speak.

Her gaze dissected him, layer by layer, until he felt as though she had peeled him open and stared into his marrow and soul alike.

This was The Progenitor. The Great Mother of Vampires. The Mother of Depravity–Acheron Sanguis Tenebris.

The name itself weighed upon him like iron. Xior’s hands curled into fists. His voice was caught in his throat, useless.

He understood, suddenly, that she did not need to move, did not need to speak. Her presence alone was an ocean, and he was drowning beneath it.

And still she sat there, silent, unblinking and eternal. Her eyes glowed faintly, and in them he saw no hate, no mercy and no life at all.

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