Chapter 201: A Taste of Pureblood

Lilith’s threads tightened around the vampire’s throat, drawing a thin line of crimson that beaded against pale skin. The vampire’s eyes fixed on the spider with cold contempt.

“Sneaky monster.” The vampire’s voice was low, venomous. “Using such underhanded tactics. How lowborn.”

Lilith’s smile didn’t waver. Her fingers curled around the threads, feeling the tension, the pulse of the struggling creature caught in her web.

“Say what you will.” Her voice was light, almost dismissive. “This is my victory.”

Then the door burst open.

Boots. Dozens of them. The torchlight that flooded the storehouse was blinding after the dim, blood-soaked darkness, and for a moment, Lilith’s crimson eyes narrowed against the glare.

Serris stood at the front of the gathered soldiers, his sword already drawn, his pale grey eyes sweeping the carnage—the bodies, the blood, the three women frozen in their deadly tableau.

“What in the hells is this…?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was something underneath it. “Viks. Explain. Now.”

Viks, still bound by Lilith’s threads, still bleeding from a dozen wounds, lifted her head. Her eyes, when they met Serris’s, held no fear. Only irritation.

“As always, you’re an idiot.” Her voice was flat. “Can’t you see?”

Serris’s jaw tightened. His hand, wrapped around his sword hilt, went white-knuckled. He wanted to snap back—she could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his breath caught—but he forced himself still. His gaze swept past Viks, past the vampire, to Lilith.

“Surrender, monster.” His voice was steel. “You’re surrounded. Don’t move. Follow my orders, and perhaps—”

“Perhaps what?” Lilith’s voice cut through, soft and amused. “You’ll let me live?” Her threads pulled taut, and Viks’s breath caught as the silk pressed against her throat. “You dare threaten me, when your commander’s life hangs by a thread?”

Viks’s eyes, sharp and cold, met Lilith’s. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg. Didn’t even blink.

Vedran stepped closer to Serris, his voice a low whisper. “Captain, we can’t lose Commander Viks. We need to—”

“I know.” Serris’s voice was clipped. “So think of something.”

The vampire watched the exchange with pale, calculating eyes. Her lips curved into a slow, bitter smile.

“Pointless.” She shifted, and Lilith’s threads bit deeper into her skin, drawing fresh blood. She didn’t stop. Her body moved, slow and deliberate, each motion tearing against the silk that bound her. “I was waiting for this moment, you know. For them to bring me to Solaria’s capital.” Another tear. Another drop of blood. “But it seems that was pointless too.”

Her eyes blazed—crimson, blazing, no longer the pale, exhausted blue of before.

“I’ll just kill you all.”

The air in the storehouse changed. Pressure built, thick and suffocating, pressing against Lilith’s senses like a physical weight. Above the vampire’s brow, something began to form—a crown, dark as old blood, shaped like a halo of twisted thorns.

Lilith’s threads snapped.

The silk that had held the vampire, that had drawn her blood, that had bound her as surely as any chain—it simply broke, falling from her wrists, her ankles, her throat, like dead leaves falling from a winter tree.

’Dangerous.’ The thought flashed through Lilith’s mind, cold and clear. ’I need to kill her. Now.’

Her threads shot forward, aiming for the vampire’s throat—for the artery that would spray blood, that would weaken her, that would end this before it truly began.

The vampire’s hand shot up.

She caught the threads.

The silk wrapped around her hand, and she pulled, and Lilith felt herself being dragged forward, off balance, her threads no longer her own.

“Blood Wave.”

The words were soft, almost gentle.

The explosion of crimson that followed was not.

It tore through the storehouse like a living thing, slamming into walls, ceiling, floor, consuming everything in its path. Lilith’s threads, still wrapped around the vampire’s hand, dissolved where the blood touched them. She released them—barely in time—and threw herself backward, her body twisting, contorting, trying to escape the tide.

Behind her, Viks’s bonds dissolved as well. The threads that had held her, that had pressed against her throat, her wrists, her ankles—they melted away, and she stumbled, catching herself against a crate, her hand going to her throat where the silk had left red marks.

Serris’s voice rose above the chaos. “TAKE COVER!”

The soldiers scrambled—some diving behind crates, others pressing themselves against the walls, a few simply dropping to the ground and covering their heads. The blood wave slammed into them, but it was not aimed at them. It was aimed at the storehouse itself.

The walls groaned. The ceiling cracked. Dust and debris rained down, and through it all, the vampire stood untouched, her crimson eyes blazing, her crown of thorns pulsing with dark light.

Lilith landed in a crouch, her threads reforming around her fingers, her smile finally gone.

Lilith’s crimson eyes narrowed as she studied the crown of thorns pulsing above the vampire’s brow. The shape, the way it caught the light, the hunger that radiated from it—it was familiar.

“That crown…” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “It looks like Adam’s.”

Vedran, his face pale beneath the torchlight—stumbled back a step. His eyes were fixed on the vampire’s blazing crimson gaze, on the halo of twisted thorns, on the blood that still dripped from her fingers.

“No…” His voice cracked. “Why is she here?”

Serris, pushing himself up from where the blood wave had thrown him, turned sharply. His grey eyes swept over Vedran’s pale face, his trembling hands.

“What do you mean? You know her?”

Vedran’s throat worked. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

“That’s Isolde Draven.” He swallowed hard. “A demon. Pure-blooded vampire. She was…” He paused, his hands clenching into fists. “She was the Demon King’s right hand.”

Serris’s head snapped toward Viks, his eyes blazing with fury.

“Damn it, Viks! You brought a Demon King’s servant into our territory?!”

Viks, still leaning against the crate, still bleeding from a dozen wounds, met his glare with flat, unimpressed eyes.

“I didn’t bring her. My soldiers found her. And she surrendered without a fight.” Her voice was cold. “I thought she might be useful.”

Isolde’s lips curved into a slow, bitter smile. Her voice, when it came, was soft—but it carried.

“You have a loud mouth, human.” Her crimson eyes fixed on Serris. “I was never the Demon King’s servant. I helped him. Occasionally. When it suited me.” She tilted her head, the crown of thorns pulsing with dark light. “There’s a difference.”

Vedran’s face had gone white. His hands were shaking. His voice, when he spoke, was barely audible.

“She slaughtered an entire battalion. During the war. Thirty years ago.” His eyes were fixed on Isolde’s face, as if he were seeing a ghost. “My uncle commanded that battalion. He was the only survivor. And he never spoke of it. Until the day he died.”

Serris’s jaw tightened, his grey eyes never leaving Isolde’s crimson gaze. “Your uncle was traumatized that badly? Then this vampire left quite an impression on him.”

Lilith’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile. Her threads reformed around her fingers, delicate and patient.

“So my suspicion was correct.” Her voice was light, almost purring. “You are fascinating. I’m very satisfied.” She tilted her head, studying Isolde with an expression that held no fear—only hunger. “I’m curious. What does pure-blooded vampire taste like? I’m very curious.”

Isolde’s eyes blazed with cold contempt. Her crown of thorns pulsed with dark light.

“You are disgusting.” Her voice was flat, venomous. “Why don’t you just go back to the dungeon? There are plenty there who share your frequency.”

Serris didn’t respond to the exchange. He stepped closer to Viks, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her.

“Drink your potion. Now. Be ready.” His eyes flicked toward Isolde, then toward Lilith. “This is not one of the low-level demons we usually face.”

Behind them, Vedran’s face had gone pale. His hand trembled on his sword hilt.

“Captain… we’re going to fight her?” His voice cracked. “That’s not possible. We can’t win.”

Serris’s voice was steel, cutting through Vedran’s fear. “Calm yourself, Vedran. We cannot run. That vampire’s attacks have wide, lethal range.” He glanced at Viks, his eyes sharp. “We can’t turn our backs on her. We’d die for sure. Isn’t that right, Viks?”

Viks, who had already raised a healing potion to her lips and drained it in quick, efficient swallows, lowered the empty vial. Her wounds were still visible, still bleeding, but the bleeding had slowed. The color was returning to her face.

“Correct.” Her voice was steady, despite everything. “That vampire has skills that can attack entire areas with wide range.” She met Serris’s gaze. “At close range, we lose. We need long-range attacks.”

Serris nodded slowly, his mind already calculating.

“I have several skills for that.” His grey eyes swept the room—the soldiers cowering behind crates, the blood-soaked floor, the two monsters who stood at the center of it all. “But we need to pin the vampire in one place.” His gaze settled on Lilith. “And the spider too. Her aura is… terrifying.”

Isolde’s voice cut through the whispers, cold and amused.

“What have you been muttering about this whole time?” Her crimson eyes swept over them, dismissive, contemptuous. “Do you still think you can survive after seeing me?” She laughed—a soft, chilling sound. “How arrogant.”

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