Malachi and Angel walked down the long corridor of the mansion. Not long ago, the place had been a rotting husk—cobwebbed, creaking, and decrepit. Now, it shimmered with new life, transformed into a majestic, almost regal residence. The floors gleamed under their feet, the chandeliers above flickered with soft light, and the wallpaper bore no signs of wear. As they passed antique furniture and restored oil paintings, Malachi ran his gloved fingers along the wall, brushing against the patterns with a wistful smile—like a man reacquainted with a long-lost friend.
"Have you calmed down a bit, Angel?" Malachi asked gently, his voice like velvet in the dim corridor.
Angel glanced over, his eyes still wide, tinged with both fear and confusion. "Somewhat. A part of me still thinks this is all just... some kind of dream. Like I'll wake up in my bed, safe, warm, and none of this will have happened."
Malachi gave a knowing smile, one that held centuries of sadness and wisdom. "It's not a dream, I'm afraid. This is a new chapter in your life. One written in blood. You became a vampire the moment my brother's blood touched your tongue."
Angel stopped mid-step. "Your brother? Then… the skeleton I saw in the coffin—that was him?"
Malachi's smile faded, replaced by a heavy expression that pulled the lines of his face downward. "Yes. He was my brother. My elder brother. The man I admired more than anyone."
There was bitterness in his tone—a soft, cold undertone of resentment only siblings could breed. But Malachi quickly pushed it away with a breath.
"I owe you an explanation," he said. "You've been dragged into this without warning. That's on us. We never imagined someone would wander in and drink the vial."
Angel nodded slowly, listening, his nerves still raw from the chaos earlier.
"If you want to keep living a normal life, you'll have to adapt. There's no going back. But there is a way forward. In the courtyard, we grow something called Blood Fruits. Consume three a day, and you'll be able to suppress your thirst."
"Blood… fruits?" Angel raised an eyebrow. "What kind of name is that?"
Malachi chuckled and reached into his coat. He pulled out what looked horrifyingly like a human heart—smooth, crimson, and pulsing faintly in the lantern light.
Angel recoiled. "T-That's a fruit?"
"I know it looks... unorthodox," Malachi said, cracking it open. Inside, the flesh was dark red, dotted with black seeds similar to a dragon fruit. "But it grows from a tree, not a corpse. Here, try it."
Angel took a step back, the scent immediately hitting him. Iron. Warmth. Familiarity. The memory of Jin's torn body flashed across his mind like a lightning bolt. He clutched his stomach, nearly retching.
"This... this smells like—like him…"
"It's okay," Malachi said softly. "Let it out if you need to."
Angel fought the nausea, swallowing hard, forcing himself upright. "No… I'm okay. I'll get used to it."
Malachi took a bite himself, his crimson eyes observing Angel with subtle intensity. "If you don't want to end up feeding on people you love, this fruit is your salvation."
They resumed their walk down the never-ending hallway. The walls shimmered now, flickering faintly, like the mansion wasn't quite in sync with reality. As if it straddled some other realm.
A door creaked open behind them. Augustus, the ever-composed butler, stepped out and gave a deep bow.
"Your Highness," he said. "Lady Airi has been safely moved to her chambers. Her memories of tonight have been erased as requested."
Malachi nodded. "You even took initiative without being told. Well done, Augustus."
"I thought it prudent, given the trauma she endured."
Malachi turned to Angel. "Come. There's more you need to know."
They descended a short flight of steps and entered a quiet sitting room with walls of aged stone and warm golden sconces. The air held the weight of history. Malachi gestured for Angel to sit.
"Three thousand years ago, before vampires ever existed, there was a man named Cain," Malachi began. "He was not unlike you—ambitious, curious, and ultimately, reckless. His obsession with the forbidden led him to uncover a path into the Taboo Realm."
Angel leaned in, despite himself. The name Cain stirred something primal in him.
"His experiments released a plague," Malachi continued. "A living virus that twisted the human soul. It drove entire cities into madness. People devoured one another—family, friends, even children. All sense of humanity vanished."
Angel's stomach twisted.
"But Cain… he survived. Somehow, he mastered the bloodlust. His blood became... different. Pure. Controlled. So he offered it to others—and those who drank it were freed from the madness. Their sanity returned."
Angel frowned. "He fixed what he broke."
"Yes," Malachi said. "But he was never forgiven. The world couldn't forget the horror he'd unleashed. The government of the time—the State of Magistry—labeled Cain and his followers as demons. Monsters."
"And so the vampires were born."
Malachi nodded. "They didn't want to die. So they united under Cain. What followed was a brutal war between humans and vampires. It ended in truce, thanks to Cain's diplomatic prowess. But even then, a new problem emerged."
"Food," Angel guessed.
"Correct. Their bodies rejected normal food—it tasted like ash, like rot. The only thing they could digest was blood. Cain, unwilling to doom his people to slaughtering humans, tasked his researchers to find another way. After decades of failure, they finally succeeded."
Malachi reached again into his coat and showed Angel another blood fruit. "This fruit is the result of plague-twisted plants bonding with hemoglobin-rich compounds in the soil. In essence, it's a blood substitute—organic, sustainable, and ethical."
Angel hesitated. "So I don't have to hurt people?"
Malachi smiled gently. "No. Not if you don't want to."
The grand double doors of the mansion opened behind them. Outside, the sky bled orange and violet, the sun setting beyond the forest.
"This is enough for today," Malachi said. "You're welcome to return when you're ready to learn more."
"Thank you," Angel said quietly, bowing his head before stepping out into the cooling dusk.
---
Midnight.
On the rooftop of the mansion, Malachi stood with his coat billowing in the wind. In his hands was a thin, obsidian tablet. It pulsed, and then a distorted voice came through.
"Uncle Malachi," the voice said, tinged with warmth and static. "Long time no see. I haven't spoken to you since the Second War."
Malachi straightened. "Madame Anne. It's been far too long."
"It's happened, hasn't it?" she said. "The possessor of my father's blood... has awakened."
"Yes," Malachi confirmed. "He drank from the vial this evening."
A pause. Then, softly, "For the sake of my father's final wish, raise him. Teach him. For only his blood is worthy to wear the crown."
Malachi looked toward the moon, its light cold and silver.
"I will."