In a different realm where the sky bled crimson and the buildings, streets, and fashion echoed a twisted 1900s London, vampires roamed freely—buying, selling, chatting, and living as though it were normal. On the outskirts stood a towering castle. Inside, maids and butlers bustled about their duties until the great doors creaked open.
Instantly, everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed to line up before the entrance.
She walked in—tall, graceful, and deathly cold. Her black hair flowed behind her, her crimson eyes scanned the room with indifference. A black gown hugged her figure, its fabric embroidered with red roses that bloomed like bloodstains. Her skin was pale, almost porcelain.
Two maids whispered near the back of the line.
"Why did we drop everything just to greet her?" one asked nervously. "I get she owns the place, but aren't we supposed to be working?"
The other gave her a wary glance. "You must be new. That's Lilith—the Left Horn of Dracula. She may look calm, but don't let that fool you. She's an Elder. If she wanted to, she could kill us before we even realized we were dying. Showing respect keeps us alive."
Lilith stopped mid-step, her crimson eyes drifting toward the whispering maids. Their faces went pale as ice. She stared in silence… then continued walking.
Her voice rang out cold and clear: "Salvatore. Stop what you're doing and meet me in my room. And if you hear any noise from it… continue working. That is an order."
She ascended the staircase without another word. The staff released a collective breath. Then came the teasing.
"You lucky bastard," one of the young butlers whispered to Salvatore.
"She doesn't even know our names," another chuckled. "Make a good impression."
Salvatore scowled. "Shut up. It's not like that."
Inside her room, Lilith stood before the mirror, staring at her reflection. She traced her temple with a finger and muttered to herself.
"There's no horn on my head... So why do they call me the Left Horn? My name is Lilith."
A knock came.
"Ma'am, it's Salvatore. You told me to come."
"Enter."
He stepped in. She sat on her bed and gestured casually.
"Lock the door. Come here."
He obeyed, though visibly tense.
"Is there something you need, ma'am? I have other duties—"
"You're the busy type, I see," she cut in. "Strip."
His eyes widened, but after a moment's hesitation, he complied. Now naked, he stood before her, embarrassed and confused.
"Are you uncomfortable?" she asked.
"A little," he admitted.
Her gaze narrowed. "Have you heard of a girl named Emily?"
The name hit him like a thunderclap. Cold sweat broke down his back.
"N-No… I've never heard of her," he lied.
Lilith's expression turned devilish. A crimson scythe materialized in her hand, forged from her blood.
Shing.
A slashing sound echoed. Salvatore gasped in horror as something hit the floor. He looked down—and froze. His manhood lay severed at his feet. His mind reeled. The pain followed immediately.
Screaming, he writhed as blood poured from his groin.
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!"
Lilith rose from the bed, placed one foot on his head, and pressed down.
"Did you know her?" she asked again, voice like ice.
"PLEASE! STOP! YES—I KNEW HER!"
"What did you do to her?"
"I… I defiled her!" he cried, sobbing.
Lilith leaned in, whispering.
"Defiled is far too gentle a word for what you did."
She stepped off his head.
"I'll give you two choices. One: kill me and walk free. Two: I torture and kill you myself."
He broke, falling to his knees. "Please... forgive me…"
She crouched beside him, mocking.
"You want forgiveness?"
"Yes…" he whispered.
"I'm contemplating."
A moment later, he lunged—blood forming a blade in his hand. He aimed for her throat.
She caught it mid-swing with her bare hand, her eyes glowing. In that instant, her mana surged like a tidal wave.
Throughout the castle, everyone collapsed to their knees, paralyzed by fear.
Salvatore, breathless and trembling, looked up. A phantom horn shimmered on the left side of her head—though it wasn't really there.
Lilith didn't hesitate. She sliced off his arm. Another scream.
He turned and bolted toward the door, but she was already there.
"What's wrong? Where's all that strength now?" she asked coolly. "Do you know why your wounds aren't healing?"
He said nothing.
"I'll take that as a yes," she continued. "My blood is laced with poison—corrosive, burning, and slow. Even your healing can't undo it."
He tried to kick her. She vanished and reappeared behind him. One finger pierced the base of his neck.
His veins turned red. His body swelled grotesquely—then exploded in a wet spray of gore and bone.
Lilith walked calmly to the door, unlocked it, and addressed the silent hallway.
"Clean this mess up."
Then she walks out of the room.
In the middle of the city, nestled in a modest building, an older man in his 60s with white hair sat calmly in a chair, a newspaper in one hand and one leg crossed over the other. He muttered to himself,
"What could've angered Lilith? I should check before innocent people start dying."
Closing his eyes, he connected to her mind.
"Lilith, how are you doing?"
Lilith, seated in a quiet living room, replied casually,
"Xavier, I'm quite well. What's the purpose of this sudden check-in?"
"Don't sound so cold," Xavier responded with mock hurt. "You're breaking an old man's heart. I always check up on you. But this time the whole city felt your mana spike—what happened to get you that angry?"
Lilith paused, then answered,
"Was I angry? I didn't even notice. I was just helping with a request."
Xavier's tone turned curious.
"You don't usually take requests. Did you know the person?"
"Not at all," she said. "I was just passing by when a mother begged me to help her get revenge for what a man did to her daughter. I couldn't turn her down."
A moment passed before Xavier asked,
"Was the man one of the butlers I sent over this week?"
Lilith narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Yes, why do you ask? I specifically told you to bring him to me."
"I don't know," Xavier replied, amused. "Maybe I thought you were interested in him."
Lilith scoffed.
"If I were truly interested in a man, you'd be throwing a street-wide party that lasted for days."
Just then, a carriage pulled up in front of Xavier's home. He glanced toward the window and chuckled to himself.
"When was the last time I had a visitor?" he mused.
Returning to the telepathic link, he said,
"You're quite right. I'll check in later—I have something to deal with now."
"Do you need my help?" Lilith offered.
"Highly doubt it," Xavier replied. "So rest easy—and please, try not to go overboard."
"I'll try," Lilith responded as their link disconnected.
Outside, Charles stepped down from the carriage and turned to the girl inside.
"Stay here, Rebecca. This won't take long."
"Stop trying to sound cool and just be quick," she shot back, smirking.
Charles approached the door, raising his hand to knock—
"No need to knock. I'm already outside," came Xavier's voice from behind him.
A chill raced down Charles's spine.
"When did he leave the house?" he thought, unnerved. "I didn't even notice..."
Xavier smiled and waved casually. "Relax, I'm not here to kill you. But I can't say the same for you."
He inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a calm expression, but his thoughts were far from settled:
"Did he use a teleportation spell? Just how strong is the Right Horn?"
Suddenly, Xavier vanished. Charles tensed instantly, instincts kicking in—until a voice whispered beside him,
"I'm right here."
Charles turned sharply to see Xavier now sitting comfortably on a chair that hadn't been there before.
"What's wrong?" Xavier asked, amused. "Do you have something on your mind?"
"If I may ask…" Charles began cautiously, "are you using some kind of teleportation magic?"
Xavier let out a hearty laugh. "Teleportation? I don't have one. But you can ask Lilith—she's way faster than me. Might have a spell or two. Me? I just walk."
Charles stared, stunned. He has to be bluffing. That's impossible…
Xavier then shifted the conversation. "The woman in the carriage—quite the beauty. Treat her well. Now, what did you really come here for? I doubt it was to catch up with an old man."
Charles took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He's hiding his true self behind that cheerful act...
"We're trying to bring back Dracula," Charles said bluntly.
Xavier raised a brow, then chuckled. "And what makes you think Dracula can be brought back?"
"We're not certain," Charles admitted. "But we've discovered a spell that might work."
Xavier leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "So what do you need me for?"
"Van Helsing is still hunting us," Charles replied. "If he learns we're reviving the man who nearly wiped out every magic user on Earth, he'll come for us with everything he has. And only you Horns can stand against him."
Xavier smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And what if I refuse?"
Charles' eyes flashed crimson. His mana surged as he spoke coldly, "Then I'll force you."
From the carriage, Rebecca felt the pressure in the air. Her eyes widened. Isn't that Charles' mana? Don't tell me… he's provoking the Right Horn? Has he lost his mind?
Xavier rose slowly, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. "I like you, boy," he said calmly. "So I'll do two things."
He stepped forward. "First, a warning—your cult and your plan will fail. Whatever your true goal is… it won't end well."
Xavier placed a hand on Charles' shoulder.
"And second," he continued, "I'll strengthen you. Just a little."
A wave of dark energy surged from his hand. Charles broke into a cold sweat, trembling as overwhelming bloodlust flooded his senses. His knees nearly gave out.
Xavier leaned in, whispering:Don't threaten me unless you're prepared to act. You actually got this old man's blood pumping."
He removed his hand, and Charles collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Xavier then pricked his finger, letting a single drop of blood fall into Charles' open mouth.
"Now go," Xavier said. "Leave."
As Charles stumbled toward the carriage, Xavier called out,
"By the way… do you know where Dracula is?"
Charles paused. "What kind of question is that? You obviously already know."
"Safe trip," Xavier said with a smirk. "And good luck."
Charles gave a small nod, then climbed into the carriage.
Rebecca asked, "How did it go?"
Charles answered, "Let's just be grateful we're still alive."
She scowled. "You're the one who tried to fight him. He didn't even react."
"Because he didn't need to," Charles said, voice low. "The moment he touched me, I felt pure, concentrated bloodlust. If I'd fought back—I'd be dead. Same goes for you."
Rebecca's face paled. "What about the plan?"
"We're still going through with it," Charles replied. "We've come too far to turn back now."
As Xavier watched the carriage disappear into the distance, he exhaled softly, his calm eyes narrowing.
"Dear sir… as much as you'd like to stay asleep, I can't condone your wishes forever. Forgive me—this time, I must disobey you."
Inside the carriage, Charles sat with clenched fists, repeatedly opening and closing them. The tension radiating off him was palpable.
Rebecca, sitting across from him, scowled. "Will you stop that? It's turning me off."
Charles blinked and muttered, "Sorry… you didn't have to shout."
"Well, it was annoying," she snapped, folding her arms.
Charles said nothing more. He leaned back, eyes distant, mind elsewhere.
"I don't feel any different… Did it really work? Was it just for show?"
Later That Night...
The hallway of Charles' estate was dim, lit only by flickering sconces along the stone walls. He walked in silence, fingertips brushing against the cool surface.
Then, it hit.
A sudden, violent surge of energy exploded within him. He staggered.
His eyes began to bleed—thin rivulets of red trailing down his cheeks. Veins bulged unnaturally across his body, pulsating with unstable mana.
Charles dropped to the ground, clutching his head.
"Aaaargh!"
He screamed as his body convulsed, his mana spiraling out of control like a storm with no center. The walls trembled. The air grew heavy.
From deep within his core… something was waking up.