Azerion stood on a narrow stone path, fenced by strange metallic rails. Carriages—no, machines—zoomed past on a wide road, leaving trails of noise and smoke. Human voices buzzed around them like flies.
No magic.
No night fog.
No familiar scent of vampiric realms.
Just chaos.
Just… humans.
Hundreds of them, passing by. Some stopped and stared.
Azerion realized why.
He was still dressed in torn royal battle armor, stained with blood and ash. Marek looked even worse—pale, feral, corpse-like. Not exactly subtle.
A little human girl tugged on her mother's sleeve.
"Mom… are they filming a movie?" the girl asked, eyes wide.
Her mother pulled her back quickly, whispering, "Don't stare, sweetie. They're probably… actors."
Azerion knew that tone.
Suspicion.
Fear.
Human prey instincts.
But these humans—
they carried no scent of fear delicious enough to taste.
They smelled… different. Cleaner. Colder.
Unaware.
Marek groaned and pushed himself up. "My Prince… the Blood Veil. Did it tear us into another realm?"
Azerion scanned the strange horizon. Towers of glass. Lights that mimicked daylight. No mana in the air. No vampire presence at all.
"We are far from home," he muttered, voice steady but tight. "Too far."
A sudden blast of noise jolted them—the honk of a car passing too close.
Azerion instinctively tensed, claws half-formed. The humans gasped. Phones lifted, recording him.
"Prince," Marek hissed, tugging his tattered cloak to hide his ghoul-like features. "Your armor—your fangs—they can see us."
"Is this a cosplay event?"
"Are they shooting something?"
"Bro, that makeup is insane. So realistic."
As they glanced around the pair of numerous eyes locked on them, marek couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.
"There is… too much sound, My Prince. Too much light. These moving metal beasts—are they alive?"
"No," Azerion said, but he wasn't certain of anything anymore. "This world is built by humans. Their tools have advanced far beyond what we knew."
Before any of them could move, a blinding flash lit the sky. A thunderous BOOM followed, as if the world itself were being torn open.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at the sky with awe and excitement.
A massive bird-shaped structure soared above, leaving a trail of fire. It split the clouds, roaring like a dragon made of metal.
Azerion staggered back in shock.
"Master…" Marek gulped, eyes wide. "The humans in this realm… are they this advanced?"
Humans—
The weakest of races—
Flying in the sky? Launching metal dragons?
Azerion felt a chill.
"I do not understand this world," he whispered.
But he didn't have time to reflect.
Because behind them came a sound that froze them both.
Clack… clack… clack.
Bootsteps.
Many of them.
Azerion turned slowly.
A group of humans in dark jackets were approaching. Each carried strange weapons glowing with blue light. Their eyes locked onto the Vampire and his ghoul, like hunters spotting prey.
One of them raised a device to his mouth.
"We've found the two unidentified individuals. Proceed with capture."
Azerion's expression darkened.
Capture?
These humans dared—
"Master," Marek whispered, "I think they're trying to attack us."
Azerion gritted his teeth. "Then this realm is more dangerous than I thought."
He tried to summon his power — but his blood was too low. The Blood Veil had drained him nearly dry.
One of the armed men stepped forward.
"Hands where we can see them."
Azerion stared at him coldly.
"You mortals truly do not understand what you are approaching."
"Now!"
Blue lights brightened as they aimed their weapons.
Marek moved in front of Azerion, snarling. "Master, go! I'll distract them!"
"No," Azerion hissed. "You are all I have left. We must leave this open place, now."
A volley of blue energy flashed toward them—
Azerion reacted on instinct.
He grabbed Marek, leapt behind a stone barrier, and the world exploded in blue light.
Humans shouted. Sirens wailed. More troops approached.
Azerion felt a bitter truth sink in:
He and Marek were alone, weak, hunted, and stranded in a world where humans wielded weapons rivaling magic.
Using his supernatural speed, Azerion moved into an alley between two tall buildings, escaping from the men in black jackets.
Finally, there was Silence, and there was no one passing through the hallway.
Azerion leaned against the nearest wall to him, catching his breath. His body still felt torn from the blood spell. The Veil had drained nearly all of his power. His limbs trembled—not from fear, but from weakness.
"My Prince," Marek whispered, voice trembling, not from fear but loyalty. "What is your command?"
Azerion closed his eyes.
He saw the throne room burning.
He saw Lunara's blade striking their father.
He felt the weight of failure crushing his chest.
He inhaled deeply.
Then he opened his eyes—cold, sharp, and resolved.
"We survive," he said. "We adapt. And when my strength returns…"
His pupils thinned into crimson slits.
"…we rebuild our clan. Stronger than before."
Marek bowed deeply.
"Yes, My Prince."
But before they could say anything further, a sharp click echoed from the alley's entrance.
A human male stood there. Early twenties. Wearing a blue shirt. Holding a small rectangular device pointed at them—not a weapon, but clearly recording.
"Uh… hey. Sorry," the human said nervously. "Are you guys… okay? You look like you've been in a fight or something."
Azerion stiffened.
A human had followed them.
And worse—
his scent was different. Not normal. Not fully human.
Azerion's gaze narrowed.
A hybrid.
But how? In a world where vampires no longer existed?
The human stepped closer.
"Did someone attack you? Do you need help?"
Azerion's fingers curled into claws.
"Stay back."
The hybrid froze—eyes widening slightly at the tone.
Marek hissed, low and warning. "My Prince, he might expose us—"
"No." Azerion lifted a hand.
Because the hybrid had just whispered—so quietly even Marek barely heard:
"I know what you are."
Azerion's heart stopped for a beat.
The hybrid swallowed, lifted his hands slowly in peace, and said:
"You're… vampires. Aren't you?"