Two days had passed since the Kulux Dominion strategically withdrew from the siege of the Golden Empire's capital. Remus Kulux, the formidable brother of Lazarus Kulux, had made a calculated decision—not to leave the city entirely unmolested, but to maintain a tactical rear guard. He entrusted the task to a trusted commander, a ruthless and cunning vampire general. With only eight thousand vampires at his disposal, Remus knew this force wouldn't be able to conquer the well-defended capital on their own. Yet, their mission wasn't conquest—it was disruption, chaos, and intimidation.
These vampires, stationed just beyond the reach of the city walls, had been equipped with siege weapons—massive trebuchets and ballistae, whose iron-tipped projectiles hammered relentlessly against the capital's defenses. While the stone walls of the Golden Empire's capital held strong, each impact sent tremors through the streets, wearing down the resolve of the human defenders. The constant bombardment was designed to unnerve the city's inhabitants, leaving them anxious and exhausted. The vampires were not aiming to breach the walls immediately; they were sowing the seeds of fear, eroding the humans' morale.
Worse still was the terror from above. The commander had ordered the release of vampire bats—thousands of them—dark, leathery-winged creatures that blotted out the moonlight as they swarmed over the city. These creatures were not merely pests; they carried a deadly infection, a sickness that could turn humans into mindless vampires or drive them mad with fever. The bats flew into every corner of the city—into homes, through open windows, even into the barracks of the soldiers. Within hours, reports of sickness began to spread like wildfire. The fear of infection compounded the already dire situation, causing panic to ripple through the population.
The psychological warfare didn't stop there. Each night, just as darkness fell and the humans began to settle into an uneasy rest, the vampires emerged from the cover of the nearby forest. They would line the outskirts of the city, their glowing eyes and predatory grins barely visible in the distance, and begin to shout. Their voices—unnaturally loud and echoing—boomed across the city walls, issuing taunts and threats.
"We are legion! Thousands more are coming! Your time is running out!"
The vampires howled and jeered, their numbers masked by the shadows and their voices amplified by the acoustics of the terrain, creating the illusion that they were more than just eight thousand. Inside the capital, fear spread like a plague. The humans couldn't be sure of how many enemies waited beyond the walls, nor when the next assault might come. Paranoia set in, with some believing that the entire vampire army was just waiting for the right moment to overrun the city.
Meanwhile, the vampires executed their orders with precision. They didn't need to rush; they understood that fear, sickness, and attrition would weaken the humans far more effectively than a direct assault. Inside the walls, the Golden Empire's soldiers and citizens struggled with sleepless nights, constant bombardment, and the creeping fear of infection. Remus Kulux's strategy was unfolding exactly as he had intended.
Lazarus Kulux led his army of two hundred thousand vampires through the vast plains, the once-bright banners of the Golden Empire torn and trampled beneath their boots. The ominous thudding of war drums echoed through the landscape, but there was no triumph in the air. They had marched for days, nearly at the border of the Kulux Dominion, yet the frustration among his generals was palpable.
Marcus, his old brother, rode beside him, his armor gleaming in the dying light of the sun. His face twisted into a grimace as he stared at the horizon, the distant outline of their homeland barely visible.
"Damn it!" Marcus spat, his fangs bared in anger. "We were this close to crushing the humans once and for all. This close!" He slammed his fist against the hilt of his sword, the impact sending a sharp metallic clang through the ranks of soldiers.
Remus, riding just behind Marcus, narrowed his eyes, his expression dark. His voice was laced with venom as he spoke. "Demetria truly picked the worst moment to deliver us that cursed news." His grip tightened on the reins of his mount. This Ainz Ooal Gown fellow... he shall regret crossing our path. His interference cost us victory, and for that, he will suffer."
"Amen brother, that insolent fool's days are numbered," Marcus growled, his hand twitching toward his weapon as though he could strike down their unseen foe right then and there. "To think we had the humans on their knees, begging for mercy, only to be forced back because of some pretender's meddling!"
Lazarus, riding ahead of them both, remained outwardly composed. His long, dark cloak billowed in the wind, and his crimson eyes gleamed beneath the shadow of his helm. Pride and power radiated from him, and the vampire soldiers at his back felt both awed and cowed by his presence. Yet behind his calm facade, fury roiled within him like a storm barely contained.
"We had victory within reach..." Lazarus thought, his fists clenched around the reins of his steed. "This entire continent could have been ours, its cities razed, its people slaughtered. And now..." He ground his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. "Now we must deal with an enemy who dares to stand in our path."
Remus, sensing the tension in Lazarus' silence, lowered his voice. "We will deal with this Ainz Ooal Gown swiftly, brother. And once he's dealt with, nothing will stand in the way of our dominion. The humans will cower before us once again."
Lazarus finally spoke, his voice low and controlled, though each word carried the weight of his barely restrained rage. "This Ainz Ooal Gown has made the gravest mistake of his life." His eyes flickered with an unnatural crimson light. "We will march to our homeland, prepare for this new threat, and when the time comes, we will rip his kingdom apart, piece by piece. But for now, we ensure the safety of our own."
His words were cold, final. Both Marcus and Remus fell silent, knowing better than to challenge their brother when he spoke in that tone. Lazarus was a force of destruction, and once his sights were set on an enemy, that enemy was as good as dead.
As the massive army of vampires advanced, the oppressive atmosphere of the Black Forest began to envelop them. The dense, twisted trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches casting dark shadows across the land. This forest had long served as a natural barrier between the Kulux Dominion and the Golden Empire, a silent witness to centuries of conflict. But just before their conquest, the vampires had carved a path through its heart, ensuring that their supplies and siege weapons could pass unhindered.
Now, as they approached the outskirts of the forest, the air felt thick, and the sense of unease grew among the soldiers. The eerie silence was broken only by the soft creaking of the heavy siege weapons and the occasional flapping of vampire bats overhead. It was a silence that Lazarus, Marcus, and Remus all noticed—but none of them spoke of it, their minds focused on the next move, on vengeance against their new enemy.
Suddenly, Lazarus slowed his horse. His sharp eyes caught something up ahead, and an unnatural stillness fell over him. His brothers, sensing his change in demeanor, halted as well.
There, just off the path they had cleared, a grotesque sight awaited them.
It was a lone vampire soldier, impaled through his chest on a thick, jagged tree branch. His body hung lifeless, his blood dripping in a slow, steady rhythm onto the forest floor. The soldier's arms and legs hung limply, twisted unnaturally, and his head drooped, eyes glazed over in death. The sight was macabre, but what was most disturbing was the precision—the branch had pierced the soldier's heart with terrifying accuracy, a brutal but calculated kill.
Marcus was the first to speak, his voice trembling with both rage and disbelief. "What in the name of all the Ancients..." He dismounted swiftly, storming forward to get a closer look. His gloved hand reached for the tree branch, but he stopped himself just short, recoiling at the sight of his fallen kin.
"Brothers!" called Lazarus. "This means one thing… the enemy has reached our homeland first."
The tension thickened as Remus's voice echoed through the grim silence, his words weighing heavy on all their minds. "Ainz Ooal Gown's forces are already in our territory, aren't they? If they've come this far, they've probably taken some of our cities without a fight."
Before anyone could respond, a voice broke the silence. "There was no battle here, brother."
Lazarus turned to see Ulfred Kulux, the youngest of the family, standing beside his twin, Zoltan. The twins were nearly identical, their red hair gleaming like fresh blood in the fading light. Despite their centuries of existence, their youthful, almost childlike faces had remained unchanged, locked forever in the form of 14-year-olds—a fact that had long bothered them. Their eternal youth was a source of frustration, a curse that made them fear they were not taken as seriously as their older brothers.
"What do you mean, Ulfred?" Lazarus asked, his deep voice tinged with curiosity, though his expression remained stoic.
Ulfred stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened woods before pointing to a nearby bush. "Look over there, brother."
Lazarus and the others followed Ulfred's gesture. Through the dense undergrowth, two more vampire bodies lay sprawled on the ground, their insides torn open, entrails spilling out in a grotesque display. It was a sight that would have unnerved lesser beings, but for vampires who had lived through countless wars, it was a chilling sign of something more sinister.
Ulfred continued, his voice steady, but his eyes gleaming with both horror and determination. "They weren't killed in battle. They were running away—being hunted like dogs."
Zoltan, silent but just as observant, nodded in agreement. His eyes were narrowed, scanning the perimeter with a mix of fury and caution. It was clear that this was no random act of violence—these vampires had been tracked, hunted, and brutally executed. The precision of the kills, the way their bodies had been torn apart, was unlike anything they had seen before.
"But why leave survivors to run and be hunted down like this? What purpose does it serve?" asked Zoltan
"Fear," Lazarus said coldly. "It's a message. This bastard Ainz Ooal Gown wants to spread fear among our ranks. He knows we're coming and wants to weaken us before we even reach the battlefield."
Marcus growled in frustration, slamming his fist into a nearby tree. "That coward! Hiding in the shadows, playing these games—he'll regret this."
Lazarus's command rang out with authority, his voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a blade. "Remus, send out the scouts!"
Without hesitation, Remus nodded, his eyes flashing with determination. "Yes, brother!" he responded, his voice steady despite the tension hanging in the air. He turned swiftly to relay the order, motioning to the captains in charge of the scouting units. Within moments, a dozen swift-footed vampires were breaking off from the main force, slipping into the shadows of the Black Forest to investigate further.
Meanwhile, Marcus, ever the fiery one, stepped forward to address the army that stood behind them. His voice boomed with raw energy, reverberating through the ranks of the two hundred thousand vampires. "Alright, you devils, do not give in to fear!" His eyes blazed with fervor as he paced before the soldiers. "We march forward, not as prey, but as predators! Prepare to enter the forest, and remember who you are—warriors of the Kulux Dominion! Our enemies will know terror before we even lift a finger!"
The army, bolstered by Marcus's words, let out a low, unified growl of anticipation. The tension in the air thickened, not with fear, but with a thirst for battle and vengeance. These were no ordinary soldiers—these were vampires, creatures of the night, honed for war and driven by centuries of ruthless conquest.
One vampire soldier, perched atop his dark stallion, prepared to lead his group into the looming forest, something caught his eye. To his right, emerging from the thick tree line, was a group of armored warriors. At first, he blinked, thinking the dense shadows were playing tricks on him. But no, they were real—and they were moving directly toward them. The sight made his stomach churn, but what disturbed him more was the fact that none of his fellow vampires had noticed them yet.
His heart raced as he instinctively glanced to the left. There, another group of warriors—this time even closer—was advancing silently, their armor clanking softly with each step. How had no one sensed this? The vampires, with their superior senses, were usually the first to detect any threat. The realization struck him: they were being surrounded.
"My… my lords!" he called out, his voice cracking with urgency as he tried to get the attention of Lazarus and his brothers. He felt his pulse quicken as his gaze darted back and forth between the approaching enemies.
Lazarus, his eyes still scanning the tree line ahead, turned sharply at the soldier's distressed shout. "What?" His voice was steady, but his crimson gaze was piercing as it fell upon the worried soldier.
The vampire soldier, now shaking, pointed frantically in both directions. "They are here!" he shouted. "On both sides!"
It was in that very moment, as if a veil had lifted, that the rest of the army became aware of the looming threat. The realization spread like wildfire through the ranks—an enemy force had marched right up to them, unnoticed, as if carried by the very shadows of the forest. The atmosphere shifted instantly from eerie anticipation to palpable shock. Murmurs of confusion and alarm rippled through the vampire soldiers, their earlier bravado shaken by the realization that they had been caught off guard.
Lazarus's expression darkened as he turned his gaze toward the right, and then the left. His brothers, Remus and Marcus, stiffened beside him as they followed his line of sight.
There they were.
Emerging slowly from the shadows, a mass of armored warriors. Most of them were clad in dark, full-plate armor, their faces obscured behind menacing helmets. They moved in disciplined formations, shields raised, their heavy boots crunching against the underbrush. But it wasn't just their armor that caught Lazarus's attention—it was their silence. There were no war cries, no shouts of aggression. They marched with a cold, unfeeling precision as if they were machines rather than men.
But that wasn't the most unsettling part.
Behind the armored warriors, positioned strategically to cover their advance, were rows of archers. But these weren't ordinary archers. Lazarus's eyes narrowed as he focused on them—skeletal figures on light armor. Hollow eye sockets glowed with an unnatural, malevolent light. They held bows crafted from blackened wood, their arrows tipped with something that shimmered darkly, like obsidian. Skeletal warriors, animated by some twisted necromancy, prepared to rain death upon the vampire ranks.
"Undead," Remus muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disgust. "They're trying to box us in," Remus said, his gaze flicking from the right flank to the left. "We're still near the edge of the forest—they want to cut us off before we can enter."
Zoltan, still on edge, surveyed the battlefield with sharp, youthful eyes. Though his body remained in a 14-year-old's form, his mind was centuries old, honed by countless battles. "I don't think they have a plan to cut us off, brother!" he called out, his voice rising with the urgency of realization. They're not trying to surround us. They want to crush us right here, on this very spot!"
Lazarus's crimson eyes narrowed as he considered Zoltan's words. Remus, always the cautious one, seemed to agree with a grim nod. But Marcus, ever the hot-blooded warrior, scoffed at the thought. "With such a small force?" he growled, his confidence unwavering. "We will crush them! Let them march to their doom."
But Lazarus, standing as the true leader among his brothers, was not so easily convinced. His gaze swept across the enemy formations, his mind calculating every detail with ruthless precision. "Against this enemy, arrows are useless," he stated coldly. The skeletal archers were dead things, unaffected by pain or fear, making traditional weapons ineffective. His voice hardened. "Hit them with the ballistas! Tear their ranks apart!"
The order rippled through the vampire ranks. Soldiers moved with swift efficiency, turning the massive siege weapons toward the advancing undead. The ballistas, towering machines of war, creaked as their immense arms shifted left and right, their deadly projectiles now aimed at the heart of the enemy forces.
The commanding vampire, standing at the head of the artillery, raised his arm high. His voice boomed across the battlefield. "Fire!"
A deafening whoosh filled the air as the ballistas unleashed their payloads. The projectiles—massive bolts infused with explosive materials—streaked through the sky like dark comets, aimed with deadly precision at the undead horde. The ground shook as the bolts struck, detonating with violent force. Flames and shockwaves erupted upon impact, sending dirt and debris flying in all directions.
For a brief moment, the vampires believed victory was in sight. But then, as the dust settled, a horrifying sight emerged from the chaos. Giant undead monsters, towering behemoths of bone and rotting flesh, had stepped forward, their movements slow but deliberate. Each one carried a massive tower shield, dark and twisted, imbued with unholy strength. The shields had absorbed the full brunt of the explosions, protecting the smaller units behind them.
Lazarus's eyes flickered with disbelief, but only for a moment. These undead were not ordinary soldiers—they were constructs of dark magic, fortified for battle against even the most devastating attacks. "Their shields..." he muttered, his voice low with the realization that brute force alone wouldn't win this battle.
"Damn it!" Marcus snarled, his hands clenching his sword's hilt tighter. "What kind of abominations are these?!"
As if in answer to his question, the undead archers responded. Without a sound, they pulled back their bony fingers, releasing a coordinated volley of arrows that darkened the sky. The arrows, tipped with jagged, rusted heads and glowing faintly with necromantic energy, rained down upon the vampire army in a deadly cascade.
"Shields!" Lazarus shouted, but the warning came too late for some. The arrows fell like a deadly storm, piercing through the ranks with brutal efficiency. Dozens of vampire soldiers screamed as the projectiles found their marks, puncturing flesh and armor alike. Some were killed instantly, while others collapsed, wounded and writhing in pain as dark magic burned through their veins.
The ground was littered with fallen vampires, their bodies twitching and bleeding as the rain of arrows continued. The once disciplined ranks of the army were momentarily thrown into disarray, soldiers ducking behind shields, desperately trying to avoid the deadly barrage.
"Hold the line!" Remus shouted, his voice steady despite the chaos. His sword gleamed as he cut down arrows aimed at him, his precision and speed a testament to his skill. "We are not finished! They have more than shields—we need to break their formation!"
Marcus, enraged by the sight of their fallen kin, bellowed in fury. "We'll tear them apart!" His bloodlust was palpable, his eyes burning with vengeance as he rallied the soldiers around him. "Push forward! We will not be felled by bones and scraps of armor!"
Marcus's rage flared as he barked out orders to his lieutenants, his eyes burning with fury. He didn't notice, at first, that the enemy's numbers were growing with each passing second. From the dark recesses of the Black Forest, more and more undead units were pouring out—different, more twisted creatures, and battle-hardened warriors. What had started as a smaller force meant to harass them had now swelled into a vast, relentless army. The sight of their numbers made even Marcus's rage flicker with a momentary hesitation.
"Crush them! Show no mercy!" Marcus bellowed, his voice booming as he directed his forces on the left. But it was clear that the vampires were unprepared for the scale of the onslaught.
The vampire army, though two hundred thousand strong, had not yet fully formed into battle lines. Their sheer size was both a strength and a weakness. With no proper formation in place, their ranks were spread too thin, making it difficult to muster an effective defense. The cavalry, however, had regrouped swiftly, their vampiric steeds snorting and stamping the ground in anticipation of bloodshed. High on the ridge to the left, the cavalry commanders took the initiative.
"Riders! On me! Charge!" the cavalry leader roared, and with a thunderous roar of hooves, hundreds of vampire horsemen surged down the slope, spears gleaming in the dim light. They aimed to break the undead lines on the left flank, using their momentum and the high ground to crush their skeletal enemies.
But even as the cavalry charged, Remus, ever the strategist, had turned his attention to the right. The growing threat from the undead forces there needed to be met with overwhelming force.
"On the right side, unleash the beasts!" Remus commanded, his voice cold and calculated.
The soldiers near him moved swiftly, hauling open the massive iron cages that lined the rear of their army. From within the dark confines of the cages, the sound of growls and screeches echoed into the air. Then, like an unleashed storm, huge vampire bat monsters burst forth—hulking, savage creatures that walked on their wings like grotesque predators. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, and their fangs dripped with venom as they charged toward the undead ranks on the right flank, eager to tear apart anything in their path.
The ground shook as the beasts rushed forward with terrifying speed, their massive forms creating a wave of destruction as they collided with the undead front lines. One of the bat monsters, the largest among them, leapt toward the enemy's towering Death Knight, aiming to rend the armored warrior apart with its claws.
But the Death Knight was unmoved. With a swift, brutal movement, it raised its enormous shield just in time. The bat monster's claws scraped against the enchanted metal with a screech that echoed across the battlefield. Then, with one powerful strike, the Death Knight slammed the shield forward, hitting the bat with such force that it was sent flying backward through the air. The massive creature crashed back into the vampire ranks with a sickening thud, crushing three soldiers beneath its body in a grisly heap of broken bones and blood.
The other vampire beasts fared no better. As they swarmed toward the undead, they were met by more monstrous foes. Huge, undead creatures wielding battle axes—twice the size of a normal man—marched through the chaos. Their empty, glowing eyes showed no fear, no hesitation. They swung their axes with devastating force, cleaving through the vampire beasts with horrifying ease. One beast was split in half by a single swing, its body collapsing to the ground in a gory mess of flesh and ichor.
"They're stronger than we thought," Remus muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the vampire beasts being slaughtered. His usual calm demeanor wavered as the reality of the battle began to set in.
A sudden shift in the air, followed by the crackling of dark energy, heralded the worst blow yet to Lazarus's army. From the sky, a devastating storm of magic spells rained down, tearing through the vampire forces like a merciless wave. Bolts of eerie green fire and pulses of necrotic energy slammed into the ground, disintegrating the freshly regrouped formation. Vampire soldiers screamed as they were torn apart, their bodies vanishing into ash or crumpling lifeless under the arcane barrage.
Lazarus, from his vantage point, scanned the battlefield with eyes sharp as daggers. There were no siege weapons. No trebuchets or catapults from the enemy. Instead, the source of the destruction stood ominously at the rear of the undead forces. A line of robed figures, floating slightly above the ground, their skeletal faces illuminated by the dim glow of unnatural energy—the Elder Lich. Their bony hands wove intricate patterns in the air, channeling dark power through the air as waves of death magic spread across the battlefield.
Lazarus's eyes narrowed. These were not the undead he was familiar with. His knowledge of this continent had always been absolute—vampires like himself ruled the darkness here. But these Elder Lich were something alien, and their power was overwhelming.
"Brother Lazarus!" Ulfred's panicked voice cut through the chaos. The young vampire, his red hair stark against his pale skin, looked at Lazarus with wide, fear-filled eyes. "There is no way we can win against those things!"
Lazarus's silence was heavy. He knew Ulfred was right. They had no preparation for this. His army, though vast and formidable, was being dismantled by this unholy magic that shattered any hope of regrouping. Around him, vampire soldiers stumbled over their fallen comrades, desperately trying to reform, only to be obliterated by another wave of spells.
Remus, his normally calm face now grim with realization, cursed under his breath. "Damn it," he growled. "So Demetria was right after all."
Before Lazarus could respond, Marcus, always prideful and filled with rage, broke ranks. "I'll cut them down myself!" he snarled, spurring his mount forward. His voice was defiant, filled with blind fury. "Follow me, you cowards! Crush the undead!"
Lazarus's heart sank as he watched Marcus surge into the fray, his cavalry galloping alongside him. His brother had always been a force of nature, driven more by impulse than by strategy, and now that same pride was leading him into the jaws of death.
"Marcus, wait!" Lazarus shouted, but his voice was swallowed by the battle.
Marcus charged headlong toward the undead, his sword gleaming as he singled out a massive Undead Berserker—a towering figure, clad in spiked armor and wielding a battle ax larger than most men. Marcus raised his weapon, ready to strike, but the Berserker moved with terrifying speed. The giant undead swung its ax down with brutal force, cleaving Marcus's horse clean in two. The beast's body crumpled beneath him, and Marcus tumbled to the ground, barely avoiding the crushing blow.
The Berserker loomed over him, raising its ax again, its hollow eyes devoid of mercy. Time seemed to slow as the weapon descended, ready to snuff out Marcus's life in an instant.
But before the blow could land, a dark shadow flew in from above. Lazarus, in his monstrous vampire form, swooped down like a predator. His skin was pale and stretched tight over his elongated features, his crimson eyes glowing with power. Massive, leathery wings beat against the air as he descended on the Berserker.
With a roar, Lazarus grabbed Marcus in one swift motion, pulling him away from the impending strike. The Berserker's ax slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave of dirt and rock into the air as Lazarus flew higher, his brother clutched in his monstrous grip.
Marcus, disoriented and breathless, looked up at his brother, realizing how close he had come to death. "Lazarus..." he muttered, his voice shaky but filled with reluctant gratitude.
Lazarus said nothing, his expression cold, though his grip on Marcus was firm. He had no time for pride or gratitude. Below, the battlefield was spiraling out of control. The Elder Lich continued their relentless barrage, and more undead poured from the forest, including towering Death Knights and twisted skeletal archers.
Landing behind the vampire lines, Lazarus let Marcus down gently, his voice harsh. "You're a fool, Marcus. Charging in without thinking will only get you killed. These enemies are not to be trifled with."
Marcus, brushing himself off, clenched his fists. "I could have taken that beast!"
"You could have died," Lazarus replied, his voice colder than the wind. "Look at them. They're not mere soldiers. They're built for this, and they have reinforcements pouring in every second." He glanced back at the battlefield, his mind racing. "We need to change tactics or we'll lose everything."
"And those tactics are?"
A sharp unfamiliar voice pierced through the chaos of battle. Lazarus's sharp gaze cut through the misty air as he turned toward the source of the voice. The shadows of the black forest stirred, and from the darkness emerged a sight that made even the powerful vampire lord's blood run cold.
There, standing at the edge of the treeline, were his three brothers—Remus, Zoltan, and Ulfred—held captive by the undead. Skeletal warriors in terrifying armor had their bony hands clamped tightly around the brothers' arms, while jagged blades gleamed under their throats, poised to strike at the slightest provocation.
The fear in Zoltan and Ulfred's young faces was evident, though they tried to hide it behind expressions of defiance. Remus, the oldest and most composed, stared at Lazarus with a look that carried both apology and silent determination. His fate now lay in his elder brother's hands.
But it wasn't just the sight of his captive siblings that caused Lazarus's muscles to tense—it was the figure standing at the forefront.
A woman, tall and commanding, dressed in strange, cruel-looking red armor that glimmered ominously in the dim light. The armor, intricately crafted, was designed not just for battle but to inspire terror. Black spikes jutted from her pauldrons, and her helmet, which she now carried at her side, was adorned with menacing horns. In her free hand, she casually gripped a long, dark lance that pulsed with a sinister energy, as if it fed off the very fear of those around it.
But it was her eyes that truly unsettled Lazarus. They were the eyes of a predator, gleaming with an unnatural crimson light. And the worst part—those were the eyes of a vampire.
A vampire, like him.
For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. The massive armies, the clashing undead, and vampire forces, all became background noise to the tension that crackled between the two. Lazarus felt the familiar rage bubbling up inside him, but this time, it was tempered by the unsettling reality that he was facing not just another foe—but one of his own kind.
His voice was a low growl as he spoke. "Who are you?" His gaze flickered to the blades pressed against his brothers' necks, then back to the mysterious vampire. "Why do you fight alongside these abominations?"
The female vampire chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down the spines of those close enough to hear. She lifted her lance, resting it against her shoulder with a casual air, as though the lives of Lazarus's brothers were of no more consequence than insects beneath her heel.
"My name is Shalltear Bloodfallen," she declared, her voice smooth as silk yet laced with venom. She took a step forward, her gaze locking onto Lazarus as if savoring his fear. "Wife of the mighty Supreme Being, the Sorcerer Emperor Ainz Ooal Gown. You stand before the Blood Queen of the Vampires." Her voice held a regal authority, one that sent tremors through Lazarus' resolve.
Lazarus's mind raced as her words sank in. The Blood Queen of the Vampires? Wife of Ainz Ooal Gown? This revelation was far worse than he had imagined. This wasn't just an army of undead monsters; it was a force guided by the hand of a Supreme Being, bolstered by the power of an ancient vampire far more dangerous than he had anticipated.
He cast a glance over the battlefield. His once-proud army—his two hundred thousand strong—was now at the mercy of this terrifying union of vampires and undead. His brothers, Remus, Zoltan, and Ulfred, stood helpless, captured by Shalltear's minions, their lives hanging by a thread. He could feel the weight of the situation crushing down on him.
But despite the terror crawling in his veins, Lazarus's pride was unshakable. His fangs glinted in the dim light, and his claws flexed at his sides.
"Hands off my brothers!" Lazarus growled, his fangs bared as he struggled to maintain his composure. His voice, though filled with fury, felt weak in the face of such overwhelming power.
Shalltear laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed across the desolate battlefield. Her fangs glistened as her crimson eyes narrowed in amusement. "Hands off your brothers?" she repeated, her voice dripping with derision. She took another step forward, her heels clicking on the stone ground with an almost taunting rhythm. "How quaint. Giving demands in such a low situation… is a very bad choice of words."
The smirk on Shalltear's lips widened as she approached Lazarus, her long, clawed fingers flexing as if preparing to strike. She was so confident, so sure of her dominance that she seemed to delight in toying with him.
"You dare speak of demands to me, insect?" Shalltear hissed, her eyes glowing with an unholy light. "I have slaughtered your warriors, razed your lands, and claimed your kin. Your dominion is crumbling, and here you stand, powerless, thinking you can command me?" Her voice grew darker, more menacing with each word.
Lazarus felt his blood run cold, but his rage refused to falter. "I will not let you take them," he growled, his voice hoarse, barely concealing his desperation. "I will fight—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Shalltear moved with blinding speed. In an instant, she was in front of him, her hand clasped tightly around his throat, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Lazarus gasped for air, his feet dangling helplessly as her icy grip tightened around his neck.
"Fight?" Shalltear whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. "How adorable." Her mocking tone sent a shiver down his spine. "You think yourself a warrior? A king?" She tightened her grip, causing Lazarus to wince in pain. "You are nothing but prey, standing before a true predator."
She flung him to the ground with a violent force, sending him crashing into the dirt. Lazarus coughed, blood spilling from his lips as he tried to rise, his vision blurring from the sheer impact
Lazarus roared as he swung his sword in a blur of motion, aiming to sever Shalltear's head with a single strike. His blade cut through the air with deadly precision, but before he could land the blow, Shalltear moved with blinding speed. In the blink of an eye, her armored boot slammed into his stomach. The impact was so immense that Lazarus's breath was forced from his lungs, and in an instant, he was launched skyward.
He shot upward like a missile, piercing the clouds as the wind howled in his ears. The world around him blurred into streaks of gray and white, and for the first time in centuries, Lazarus felt something he had long forgotten—pain. A sharp, tearing agony ripped through his body as if every bone and muscle had been pushed to their limit. He gasped, his monstrous form struggling to contain the sheer force that had rocketed him into the heavens.
How? The thought burned in his mind. Never had he encountered such raw power, not in all his years as the ruler of the Kulux Dominion. His body was still intact, but only barely—it was a miracle he hadn't been torn to shreds.
Before he could recover, Shalltear was suddenly there, her form teleporting effortlessly beside him in midair. Her cruel smile twisted with amusement as she raised her lance. With a single, brutal motion, she brought it down on him, striking his body with such force that he was sent hurtling back to the earth like a meteor.
The ground rushed up to meet him in a heartbeat. Lazarus slammed into the earth with the force of a falling star, the impact shattering the ground beneath him and leaving a massive crater. Dust and debris exploded outward, and for a moment, everything was silent. The weight of the impact was so great that even the vampire soldiers in the distance stopped for a second, eyes widening at the sight of their leader's fall.
"Brother!" Marcus cried out, his voice frantic as he watched the devastation unfold. He tried to charge forward, but two hulking Undead Berserkers seized him, their massive hands like iron shackles on his arms. "Unhand me, you ugly bastards!" Marcus barked, struggling against their inhuman strength.
One of the nearby Death Warriors, a skeletal figure with cold, lifeless eyes, drew a wickedly sharp dagger. He pressed it close to Marcus's face, the blade's edge gleaming in the faint light. "I'll cut off that tongue, boy," the undead hissed, his voice a hollow rasp.
Meanwhile, Shalltear's laughter echoed through the battlefield, a haunting and eerie sound that sent chills through the hearts of the remaining vampire soldiers. Slowly, she descended from the sky, her crimson eyes glinting with cruel delight. She floated down with an effortless grace, landing beside the crater where Lazarus lay motionless.
She reached down, grabbing him by the hair with a brutal yank, pulling his battered form upright. "You will watch this," she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. She turned her gaze to the battlefield, her smile widening. "Slaughter them all!"
The words were like a commandment from death itself. In response, the undead army surged forward, an unstoppable tide of death and destruction. The vampires, already disoriented and scattered from the earlier attacks, now faced an enemy that showed no mercy.
The undead moved like a machine, precise and relentless. Death Knights and Undead Berserkers hacked through the vampire soldiers with brutal efficiency, their axes and swords cleaving through flesh and bone as if it were nothing. The skeletal archers rained down volley after volley of arrows, each shot finding its mark with unnatural precision. Vampires fell in waves, their bodies piling up as the undead forces pressed forward, grinding them down like a relentless meat grinder.
A vampire soldier, his eyes wild with fear, raised his sword to block an incoming blow, but the strength of the undead warrior he faced was too much. His weapon shattered, and the next moment, he was bisected by the Death Knight's massive blade. Another vampire tried to flee, only to be skewered by a spear from behind, his body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.
The chaos was unbearable. Screams of agony and fear filled the air as the vampire army—two hundred thousand strong—was being ripped apart like paper. The beasts that had been unleashed earlier lay dead or dying, their powerful forms now nothing more than broken corpses under the relentless assault of the undead.
Lazarus, still held by Shalltear, could only watch. His vision blurred from the pain, but the horror of the scene before him was all too clear. His proud army—his people—were being massacred. All because of her.
He growled weakly, trying to summon the strength to resist, to strike back, but Shalltear's grip tightened painfully in his hair, forcing him to remain still.
"Look at them, you lowly vampire," she whispered, her voice soft but dripping with malice. "Look at how easily they fall. This is what happens when you stand against the Sorcerer Emperor. You will all be erased."
She threw his broken body down into the dirt with contempt, stepping over him as if he were nothing more than an obstacle. Her laughter echoed once more, triumphant and cruel, as the slaughter continued.
Lazarus, barely conscious, felt a deep, burning hatred rising in his chest. But as he lay there, helpless, surrounded by the bodies of his fallen soldiers, he knew that this was a battle they were never meant to win.
Shalltear's voice rang out with chilling authority as she stood atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the battlefield. Her crimson eyes glinted with unrestrained triumph as she surveyed the devastation she had wrought. The air was thick with the acrid stench of death and the cries of the dying, a macabre symphony underscoring her declaration.
"All shall bow before the Supreme One!" Shalltear proclaimed, her voice echoing across the battlefield like a death knell.
As if on cue, the forest to the north of the battlefield began to churn with movement. Out of the dense, shadowy woods emerged an even more imposing force—an immense undead army, their ranks stretching as far as the eye could see. These new reinforcements were a sight to behold: towering Death Knights, hulking Undead Berserkers, and legions of skeletal soldiers clad in dark, menacing armor. The ground trembled beneath the weight of their advance, the trees shaking as they marched forth with a relentless, unfeeling precision.
The sky seemed to darken further as the colossal undead forces filed out from the forest, their numbers vast enough to make the initial wave of attackers seem small in comparison. The new army advanced with cold, calculated intent, their formation perfect and unyielding. Their march was methodical, each step a measured beat in the symphony of conquest. The sight was enough to chill the blood of even the most battle-hardened warrior.
Lazarus, lying battered and bruised, could only watch in horror as the new wave of undead swarmed into view. His vision, blurred by pain and dust, caught glimpses of the monstrous new units being led by spectral figures and wraith-like entities. The enemy's intent was clear: total domination.