The sky over Whitmoor turned an ominous shade of grey, bruised clouds drifting low as if the heavens themselves were brooding. A sharp wind rattled the trees, whispering secrets through brittle leaves. Tension gripped the town. People felt it in their bones, even if they couldn't name it. Something ancient had awakened.
In the shadows beyond Whitmoor's forest, Steve stood over his latest victim — a local hunter whose rifle lay useless beside him. Blood soaked into the damp soil, steam rising from the gaping wound in the man's neck. Steve's silver eyes gleamed as he licked the blood from his fingers, his lips curving into a crooked smile.
He didn't kill for hunger alone. He killed for thrill, for control — for power.
Steve was unlike any vampire that had walked Whitmoor. Born centuries ago in the heart of Romania, he had sharpened his fangs on betrayal and bloodshed. And now, the whispers he'd been following had led him here. To Whitmoor. To the legacy of Sabastin. And to something much older than the town itself.
The scent was growing stronger. He could smell it in the wind.
The Blood Monarch.
It was said the Monarch would rise when the old blood was stirred — when science and curse met in violent union. And if the rumours were true, the Monarch had already begun to turn.
Steve tilted his head toward the breeze. Others were coming. He wasn't the only one who had heard the call.
Back in Whitmoor, Mr. Sabastin stood at his office window, staring at the shifting clouds. He gripped a half-burnt file in his gloved hand — a sealed document from years ago. The file bore the royal crimson stamp of the long-dead Helsing Order.
His eyes narrowed. "They're moving too fast."
He hadn't expected the vampires to catch scent of the hybrid so soon. It had taken him decades to isolate the dormant gene, decades more to synthesise the catalyst. Alex was supposed to have more time — time to train, time to understand.
He pulled a dagger from his drawer. The blade glowed faintly blue — pure wolfsilver, forged in an underground guild long thought extinct. Sabastin sighed and sheathed it, his expression hardening.
"I warned them," he muttered. "Now I'll have to clean up the mess."
On the other side of town, bodies were beginning to surface.
Three students from Whitmoor High were found near the football field, each drained, their bodies pale and cold. One had strange carvings across her stomach — a spiral of runes only visible under UV light.
Detective Lena Rourke, a seasoned but skeptical cop, stood over the third victim. The body was fresh.
"No blood. No struggle," she whispered. "Just... dead."
She turned to her partner. "You feel it, yeah?"
Her partner nodded. "Like something's watching."
Lena looked toward the woods, shivering. "Get the mayor. And Sabastin. Now."
Meanwhile, Steve wandered the alleyways of the lower town, his movements slow and deliberate. His presence caused dogs to howl and streetlights to flicker. He passed unnoticed, cloaked in glamor, his smile wide beneath a dark hood.
As he entered an abandoned chapel, his eyes scanned the stained glass windows — scenes of saints slaying demons, swords piercing hearts, light casting out darkness. Ironic, really.
He chuckled.
From the altar's cracked floor, a creature slithered up — another vampire, younger and starving.
"Master... is it true?" it rasped. "The Monarch... he walks?"
Steve didn't reply. He simply extended a hand and sliced the fledgling's throat with a clawed finger.
"Too many mouths spoil the hunt," he whispered as the creature collapsed, its dust mixing with candle ash.
That night, Adam sensed something watching from the treetops behind his house. He closed his blinds tightly and locked his bedroom door. Alex was gone again — off chasing leads about his transformation, reading forbidden texts, asking the kind of questions that got people killed.
Adam didn't know how to feel. His best friend was changing. Literally. Alex had started speaking in older dialects, his eyes occasionally flashing red in the dark. He barely slept. And sometimes, when Adam looked at him, he saw something... feral.
But they were brothers, weren't they?
He texted Alex: "You ok? Weird stuff happening again. 3 ppl dead near the field. Call me."
No response.
Alex was not okay.
He stood alone in the woods, shirtless, chest rising with laboured breaths. The blood from his nose had dried into a rusted smear across his mouth. His heart beat too fast. He could hear insects burrow beneath bark. He could smell metal from twenty feet away.
He clenched his fists. His veins glowed faintly — not blue, not red, but dark gold. Something within him was waking up. Something violent.
And he was terrified.
"I'm not ready," he whispered.
From the trees, a voice answered.
"No one ever is."
Alex spun, eyes flaring.
Steve stepped into the clearing, his silver gaze locking onto him.
"You're the boy," Steve said. "The experiment."
"Who the hell are you?" Alex barked.
"I'm the one who's going to set you free."
Steve lunged. Alex barely dodged, crashing against a tree trunk. Claws raked past his throat, and blood sprayed.
Alex lashed out with his foot, knocking Steve back, but the vampire only grinned.
"You're stronger than I thought."
"I'm not like you," Alex hissed.
Steve chuckled darkly. "Not yet."
Alex tried to run, but Steve blurred behind him, slammed him into the earth.
"You can't outrun destiny, child."
Just as Steve raised his claws for the killing blow, a flash of blue light struck him in the chest.
Steve growled and stumbled back.
Sabastin emerged from the shadows, his wolfsilver dagger glowing in his hand.
"Back off, leech."
Steve scowled. "You meddling rat."
"You've made a mistake coming here," Sabastin warned. "The boy's under my protection."
Steve licked the blood from his fingers. "For now. But the hunt has begun, old man."
And with that, he vanished in a swirl of dark mist.
Sabastin knelt beside Alex. "You alright?"
Alex nodded weakly. "I think... something's wrong with me."
Sabastin looked toward the dark forest. "Something's wrong with all of us now."