The barracks did not sleep.
All night the horns had called, bells tolled, and boots hammered through halls. Patrols marched out and limped back in, reporting nothing but silence where screams had been heard. The air reeked of oil and sweat, torches burning low, their light more smoke than flame.
Every soldier felt it: the sense that something walked among them, unseen.
Sergeant Harl leaned against a pillar in the yard, helm under his arm, face pale. Around him, a knot of soldiers muttered.
"I swear by the Saints, he was behind me," one whispered. "Then the line turned, and he was gone. No sound. No body."
"You didn't check properly—"
"I checked! I swear it!"
Another spat, voice shaking. "It's demons. Has to be. From the cathedral."
"No, not demons. Demons would burn the flesh, twist it."
"Then what?"
A silence stretched. One man shifted uneasily, eyes darting toward the shadows that pooled at the barracks wall.
"Vampires."
The word cut the air like a blade. Several men cursed under their breath. One made a hurried sign of warding.
"Don't say it," another hissed. "Not here."
The first soldier held his ground. "Tell me I'm wrong. Vanishings. No trace left. Shadows moving. What else could it be?"
The debate spread. Some nodded grimly, others shook their heads. Fear bloomed fastest in speculation.
The officers broke it with their presence. Lieutenant Serana stepped into the circle, helm under her arm, sword at her hip. Her gaze swept the men, steady as stone. The muttering cut off.
"Vampires?" she repeated, voice even. "No. Vampires drink. They take what they need and leave husks in their wake. They do not clean up after themselves. They do not make men vanish whole. This is something else."
The men exchanged looks, half-relieved, half-unsure. Her words carried weight, her calm a balm against panic.
Serana's eyes lingered on each of them. "You are soldiers of this city. Hold your discipline. Fear feeds what hides in the dark more than blood ever could."
The men straightened, some ashamed, some grateful. She nodded once, then turned toward the gate. "With me. Patrol."
The night passed in marches and searches.
Serana led her squad through alleys dusted with ash from the cathedral's collapse. They lit lanterns in the dark, their light sweeping across stone walls, through empty stalls, under archways where silence clung too tightly.
At every corner, men looked for traces — blood, bodies, prints, anything. There was nothing. No drag marks, no smears, no discarded weapons. The barracks had lost men, yet the ground bore no memory of them.
The silence was more terrifying than screams.
At one point, Sergeant Harl bent low over a stretch of cobblestone, his torch scraping light across it. "Here," he muttered. "There's—something."
They crowded close. Faint streaks, thin as hair, glistened under the flame. Red, then gone — dissolving into dust before their eyes.
The men drew back sharply. Serana crouched, eyes narrowed. She touched the dust with her gauntlet. It smeared into nothing.
"Residual essence," she said quietly. "Not blood. Not human. Something else devoured it."
The men murmured, unsettled.
The patrol continued until the eastern sky paled. Lanterns guttered low, torches nothing but stubs. Men's eyes were ringed in exhaustion, their voices rasped from muttering prayers under their breath.
But still, there was no trace. No leads.
In the yard, the remaining officers gathered the reports. Speculations tangled. Some insisted on demons. Others whispered of sorcery. A few repeated the vampire fear, only for Serana's voice to cut through again, sharp as a drawn blade.
"No vampire did this. No demon we've seen either. Whatever it is, it knows how to erase its own tracks."
The words chilled the men more than any comfort might have.
When dawn finally bled across the barracks walls, the horns ceased. Patrols staggered in, eyes red from the night. The officers dismissed them to their bunks, though few would truly sleep.
Serana walked the yard one last time, gaze sweeping the men, the walls, the shadows that pooled under the stairs. Her face betrayed nothing. Her stride was steady, her sword hand loose. She gave no sign of fatigue, no crack in her resolve.
At last, when the sun rose above the eastern roofs and painted the stone in pale gold, she turned and returned to her chamber.
The door shut quietly behind her.
Behind her wall, Noctis lay still in his hollow. His eyes opened once, faint gleam of crimson in the dark, before closing again. He had listened to it all: their fear, their guesses, her calm.
And he smiled in silence.
Stone pressed close on every side. Dust clung to his skin, stale air filled his lungs.
Noctis's eyes opened, glowing faintly crimson in the dark. The hollow wall held around him, the bricks rebuilt by his own hand still masking his presence from the waking barracks. Beyond the stone, he heard them: boots striking floors, doors opening and closing, orders murmured in weary tones. The soldiers still lived in fear, though dawn had broken.
He inhaled once. Exhaled. The rhythm steadied.
[Status Check]HP: 2,400 / 2,400Blood: 860Faith: 117Iron: 54Soul: 4Wraith: 2Apex: 1
The numbers steadied him more than the air did. They were truth. Hard, unyielding. Survival written in essence.
He closed his eyes again. The darkness within became lines of crimson and gold, runes etching themselves in a vast lattice that stretched across his mind. The Blood Grid opened.
[Blood Grid: Active Skills Available]
Tier II / Shadow Branch
Shadowmeld (Cost: 30 Blood + 8 Faith) — Slip into darkness, negate presence, critical bonus on emergence. [Unlocked]
Ghost Vein II (Cost: 55 Blood + 15 Faith) — Phase movement through shadow-veins, footsteps erased. [Unlocked]
Tier II / Fang Branch
Crimson Grasp II (Cost: 40 Blood + 10 Faith) — Extend blood-forged claws, bind and tear essence. [Unlocked]
Exsanguinate II (Cost: 60 Blood + 15 Faith + 5 Iron) — Drain enemy life directly, transfer into Blood pool. [Unlocked]
Tier II / Vital Branch
Sanguine Recovery II (Cost: 65 Blood + 18 Faith) — Consume stored essence to heal wounds. [Unlocked]
Tier II / Weapon Branch
Eucharist Blade II (Cost: 70 Blood + 20 Faith + 1 Soul) — Infuse weapon with sanctified blood, critical strikes amplified. [Unlocked]
Tier II / Core Branch
Soul Spire II (Cost: 80 Blood + 22 Faith + 2 Soul) — Manifest tower of soul-essence, amplifies all following skills for duration. [Unlocked]
The grid shimmered. Faint, pulsing paths extended outward from each rune, lines not yet lit, waiting for essence to be fed. He traced them with his mind.
Beyond Shadowmeld, new branches whispered of deeper stealth, illusions spun from blood and darkness. Beyond Exsanguinate, hungrier paths pulsed — bloodstorms, crucibles that could burn whole squads dry. Eucharist Blade's path hinted at blades that could wound even divine marrow.
But each line demanded more essence.
He measured what he had: 860 Blood, 117 Faith, 54 Iron, 4 Soul. Enough to open a new door, but not many.
Not yet.
He closed his hand in the dark, watching runes ripple like liquid beneath his grip.
Outside the wall, boots passed. A squad shifting patrol, their voices low.
"Serana's still out. Took the east rounds herself.""She doesn't rest?""Not her. She'll keep walking till the sun bleeds."
Noctis smiled faintly.
The grid dimmed, runes folding back into darkness.
He rested his head against the stone. He would bide here until the moment came. And when he moved again, it would be with new hunger, sharpened by the numbers in his veins.
The barracks still thought itself a fortress. By nightfall, it would be a larder.
The hollow was still.
Stone pressed around him, dust dry against his tongue, but Noctis's eyes opened without strain. The barracks hummed faintly on the other side of the wall — boots striking floors, voices carrying commands, the weary shuffle of men who had seen nothing but shadows all night.
He inhaled. His body was whole, his veins thick with essence.
[Status Check]HP: 2,400 / 2,400Blood: 860Faith: 117Iron: 54Soul: 4Wraith: 2Apex: 1
The ledger was clear. He had fed, and fed well. Enough to reach deeper into the Grid.
Noctis closed his eyes. The lattice unfolded in his mind again — crimson lines spanning darkness, runes beating like hearts along branches of bone. Some pulsed brighter than others. Unclaimed. Waiting.
The first node that drew him was a vein of shadow threaded with Wraith essence. A rune etched like a fang, thin and sharp. Phantom Dash.
He traced it with his mind. The rune flared, light spilling like blood across silk.
[Skill Unlocked: Phantom Dash]Cost: -25 Blood, -1 WraithEffect: Phase-step through enemies or obstacles. Grants brief invulnerability frames.Synergy: Shadowmeld → Dash extension.
[Resource Update]Blood: 860 → 835Wraith: 2 → 1
The wall around him seemed to ripple as the rune bound itself into his flesh. He tested it — one thought, one pulse — and his form flickered. He was still in the hollow, yet for a heartbeat his body had been nowhere, only the whisper of displacement.
A grin split his lips in the dark. Silent. Swift. Untouchable. He would carve fear into every narrow hall with this.
His gaze drifted deeper. The lattice wound toward a heavier rune, iron and bone tangled, pulsing with weight. Marrow Forge.
He reached for it, essence bleeding into its channels.
[Skill Unlocked: Marrow Forge]Cost: -40 Blood, -12 IronEffect: Upgrade Crucible. Fallen remains may be reforged into relic-weapons, one-use sigils, or bone-armor.Synergy: Sanguine Crucible.
[Resource Update]Blood: 835 → 795Iron: 54 → 42
A furnace roared to life in his mind. He felt bone crack and reshape under unseen hammers, marrow liquefying into sigils that burned like brand-marks. The Crucible inside him deepened — not just forge, but workshop, a place where death itself became armament.
The thought pleased him. Every soldier here would be more than prey — they would be material.
He drew back from the lattice. The runes dimmed, folding into silence.
[Current Essence]Blood: 795Faith: 117Iron: 42Soul: 4Wraith: 1Apex: 1
Satisfied, he lay still.
The barracks continued beyond the wall. He could hear them — captains barking, soldiers muttering, Lieutenant Serana's measured voice cutting through fear. They still searched, still failed to find any trace of the vanished men.
Noctis let his eyes close again, lips curling into a faint smile.
When night fell once more, the Phantom Dash would let him pass through their walls like smoke, their shields like paper. And the Marrow Forge would feast on their remains, shaping weapons from their bones, sigils from their faithless marrow.
He would not simply kill them. He would hollow the barracks out and wear it as his own.
Outside, the horns called again. Patrols gathered. Faith banners rustled in the wind. The city still thought the cathedral's fall the worst of its night.
But inside the wall, Noctis was sharpening himself against their ignorance.
The real ruin was still waiting to be born.
The barracks quieted at last.
From within his hollow, Noctis felt the rhythms of boots outside slow and scatter, the edge of urgency dulled by exhaustion. Patrols still circled, ropes tied at their waists now, each man tethered to the next in fear that one might vanish as so many had before. But the halls themselves were calmer.
Serana had returned late, her stride steady but wearied. She had dismissed her squad with clipped orders, stripped her armor piece by piece, and finally lay down on her cot. Her breathing slowed. Before long, her body surrendered to sleep.
Noctis opened his eyes.
The wall parted silently as he slipped through it, Ghost Vein II carrying him like smoke from stone. He stood in her chamber, moonlight spilling through the shutters, dust floating in its path.
She slept. A commander wrapped in fatigue, her hair loosened, her face unguarded. For a moment, Noctis simply watched. Beauty and strength, fragile only now in slumber. His lips curved.
He stepped closer, noiseless, and the moonlight caught the movement.
On the wall opposite her bed, their shadows stretched and warped. Hers, at first lying still — then shifting strangely, as though in a dream, rising and falling. The silhouette bent atop his own, as if she straddled him, her form swaying in rhythm. His shadow leaned back beneath her. The illusion moved with uncanny cadence, projected by silver light.
Noctis tilted his head, watching in silence. A faint smile touched his lips as the silhouette danced in that slow rise and fall.
Outside, the guard patrols looped their rounds. Ropes tugged gently between them with each step. Thud, thud, scuff. Some muttered prayers under their breath, others stared at the rooftops, waiting for eyes to gleam back.
The rope cords tightened with every turn, reminding them of the vanishings. But no man disappeared. No cry echoed. No shadow stirred.
A sigh of relief passed through the lines. Armor creaked, voices lowered, the tension eased fractionally.
Inside Serana's chamber, the moonlight shifted.
On the wall opposite her bed, their shadows stretched and warped. Hers, at first still — then rising, bending over his. Slowly, it moved as though she straddled Noctis, body rising and falling in steady rhythm. Her faint moans carried into the silence: "nnnh… ahhh…" Breath caught in her throat, a shiver of sound as if caught in some dream.
Noctis tilted his head, golden eyes narrowing. His own shadow leaned back beneath hers, and for a moment the illusion looked like a dance, a dark embrace writ large across the stone.
A smile spread across his lips. He watched the silhouette move, savoring the uncanny cadence, the way her hahhh… ahhh… breaths filled the chamber like a secret hymn.
Then suddenly, his body tensed. His smile sharpened. He sat up beneath the moving shadow, eyes glowing, fangs bared toward her throat.
And then: a knock.
"Lieutenant Serana," a voice called softly. "Report: no strange occurrences. Patrol complete. City stable."
Noctis stilled. He let his breath out slowly. Then, with uncanny precision, he mimicked her voice:
"Continue. Keep your men alert. Report at dawn."
The guard outside hesitated, then answered, "Understood." Boots receded down the hall.
Noctis waited until the silence was whole again. Then he lowered his mouth to her throat. His fangs pierced skin. Warmth rushed into him, rich, sanctified, unlike the common blood he had drained before.
Serana stirred faintly but did not wake. Her moans faded into a low gasp before dissolving into silence.
[Blood Essence Acquired] +140[Faith Essence Acquired] +25
He drank deep. And then the System flared.
[System Message]
New Combat Tree UnlockedDesignation: FaithbreakerCondition: Feed on consecrated officer of the Faith.Nodes available:
Throat-Sever Hymn — silence through sword.
Zealot-Piercer — anti-shield thrust.
False Moon Reversal — blood-feint counter.
Blood-Cross Execution — cruciform finisher.
Noctis froze, lips still stained red. His eyes narrowed in the dark.
A new tree. Another path of power, carved open by this night's indulgence. He pulled back, gaze lingering on her still form, then licked her blood from his lips.
His smile gleamed.
The System message burned bright before his eyes.
[New Combat Tree Unlocked]Designation: FaithbreakerCondition: Feed on consecrated officer of the Faith.
Noctis exhaled softly, crimson lips curling as he still held Serana in his arms. Her body was limp against him, her breath shallow, her pulse a fading drum that only he could hear. He lowered his chin, gazing at her pale face.
"A commander of faith," he murmured. "And your blood gives me this."
The lattice of the Blood Grid opened instantly in his mind. Crimson lines branched outward, bending into a new arc. Runes glowed faintly, silver mixed with red, each one shaped like a scar turned into a blade. Four nodes pulsed, as though Serana's swordsmanship had been stolen, bent, and made his.
He read them carefully, savoring each description.
[Faithbreaker Node: Throat-Sever Hymn]
Cost: 40 Blood + 10 FaithSword Art: Silencing slash at the throat or jaw, cutting voice and breath. Cancels chants, halts orders.Vampiric Twist: Stolen voice clings to the blade. Victims rasp hollow, their song forever broken.
[Faithbreaker Node: Zealot-Piercer]
Cost: 30 Blood + 8 FaithSword Art: Precise thrust through shield gaps and armor seams, followed by a cruel twist.Effect: Sunders zealot guard, leaves them bleeding.Vampiric Twist: Blood clings unnaturally to the steel, feeding the wielder with each withdrawal.
[Faithbreaker Node: False Moon Reversal]
Cost: 60 Blood + 20 Faith + 1 SoulSword Art: Feigned stagger into a spinning crescent counter. Cuts multiple foes pressing in.Vampiric Twist: The blood arc behind the strike flares like an eclipse, blinding enemies for a heartbeat.
[Faithbreaker Node: Blood-Cross Execution]
Cost: 80 Blood + 25 Faith + 2 IronSword Art: Horizontal slash to stagger, vertical cleave to crush, forming a blazing cross.Effect: Executes through consecrated armor, stuns zealots.Vampiric Twist: The strike burns with corrupted faith, a mockery of their sacred symbol.
The nodes dimmed, waiting to be claimed.
Noctis laughed quietly, his voice vibrating in the chamber. "Your sword, Serana… your style, given to me. What a gift you've given."
He brushed her hair back, pressed her head against his chest. She breathed faintly, lost in dreams, unaware of the predator that held her. He stroked her cheek with surprising tenderness, sealing the wound on her neck with a pulse of red essence. Her skin smoothed, unbroken, as though he had never bitten her at all.
"You have given me a gift," he whispered into her ear. "And I shall celebrate it."
The moonlight caught their forms. On the wall opposite, shadows stretched and warped. His leaned back, hers bent forward. Slowly, her shadow climbed atop his, straddling, rising and falling in rhythm. The cadence was slow, deliberate, silver and black shifting in a dance of uncanny shapes.
Her lips parted. Soft moans slipped free, caught in her throat. "Nhh… ahhh…" The sounds blurred with the whisper of night, half-breaths that trembled into the silence.
Noctis tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly. A smile spread across his lips as he watched their silhouettes move. He did not need to move her body — the shadows themselves danced for him, an illusion made real by his will, her dream-bound breath syncing to the rhythm of silver shapes.
"Yes…" he murmured, almost to himself. "This is fitting. A celebration of the Faithbreaker."
Outside, the guards continued their rounds. Boots struck stone. Thud, thud, thud. Ropes tightened as men walked in tethered lines, fear still clinging to them. But no one vanished. No cries sounded. No shadows stirred.
They sighed in relief, whispering prayers into the darkness. Some laughed nervously, tension loosening from their shoulders. For the first time in many nights, the city felt still.
But within Serana's chamber, the faint moans continued. The shadows on the wall rose and fell in ceaseless cadence, silver light tracing movements that did not belong to waking men.
The night bled into morning.
Serana stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. She felt the world tilt, her body weighed down, her head thick with haze. Groaning softly, she pressed herself upright, breath uneven. Her skin was pale, her limbs weak.
Fragments clung to her mind — warmth like an embrace, whispers she could not place, the memory of rising and falling as though in someone's arms. Her lips trembled. She looked down and froze. Her clothes lay scattered across the floor.
Her hand touched her bare skin. Her cheeks flushed. She could not remember removing them. Could not remember… anything clearly.
A knock broke the silence.
"Lieutenant Serana," a voice called through the door. "Report: no incidents. All guards accounted for."
Serana swallowed hard, voice steady despite her trembling body. "…Good. Keep them sharp. I'll be out soon."
She stood, staggering as she gathered her garments. Piece by piece, she dressed, covering herself in steel once more. But her strength faltered. Each buckle and strap weighed heavily. She steadied herself against the wall, forcing her breath to calm.
Finally, she pulled her blade at her hip and left the chamber. Her stride wavered, but her expression remained resolute, a commander to the end.
In the wall hollow, Noctis lay hidden once more. He stretched languidly, eyes half-closed, lips curling into a faint smile.
He had fed. He had learned. He had celebrated.
The Faithbreaker was his now. And with it, the city would one day tremble.