Chapter 96: The Prophecy Child
Zara kept her eyes on the marble floor.
"Father, we were attacked by a rogue vampire."
Her voice was steady, but shame burned beneath it. She turned her head away slightly.
"He’s at the early Core Realm."
The hall went silent.
Then Hassan pushed off the pillar, his scarred face twisting into something between disbelief and amusement.
"Is this a joke?" His voice echoed off the marble walls. "You and Bashir — a late Core Realm and a mid Core Realm — were both defeated by an early Core Realm vampire?"
"He’s dead, Hassan," Zara snapped. "Bashir is dead. I barely escaped with my life. This is not a joke."
A heavy footstep from the right side of the hall.
Khalil al-Khamsin stepped forward. Tall, lean with the same dark eyes as Zara. He was her elder brother.
"Do you take us for a joke, sister?" His voice was ice. "An early Core Realm vampire? You might as well tell us a Neophyte knocked you down."
Zara’s fists clenched. She said nothing.
Tariq’s frown deepened. His crimson eyes studied his daughter.
"And how did this vampire achieve this feat?"
Zara took a breath.
"Despite being weaker than me in cultivation, his physical stats were almost equal to mine. He moved like a true born — maybe even a direct descendant." She paused. "He had light manipulation. And blood manipulation. Both at high ranks. He could control my Blood Mist — disperse it entirely — with his own blood ability."
Khalil’s eyebrows rose slightly. Dalia’s cold expression shifted.
Zara continued. "He was very good with his abilities. Efficient. Every spell had purpose. No wasted movement. And his swordsmanship..." She hesitated. "He used something I’ve never seen before. A dark light along his blade. When it hit, it didn’t cut like a normal attack. It passed through everything. Bashir took it directly and died instantly."
The hall was quiet again.
Tariq turned his head slowly toward Hassan.
The scarred man had gone still. His bored expression was gone. In its place was something else — recognition. His wild eyes had narrowed.
"If he is who I think he is," Hassan said quietly, "then we must get him at all cost."
Zara blinked. "What?"
Everyone in the hall shifted.
Tariq leaned back on his throne. His crimson eyes gleamed.
"That boy can shorten the time to awaken our Lord." He said slowly. "And we won’t have to go through the trouble of mass blood sacrifice."
Zara stared at her father. "Father, what are you talking about?"
Tariq ignored her. He turned to an elderly figure standing near the shadows at the edge of the hall — an elder with a bent spine and white hair, who had remained silent until now.
"Call the Du Mauriers and the Apeps," Tariq said. "Tell them the prophecy child has awakened."
The elder bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lord."
He shuffled out of the hall, his footsteps fading into the corridor beyond.
Tariq’s gaze returned to Zara.
"As for you — describe this boy to Khalil and Rashid. Every detail. His face. His build. His abilities. His fighting style. Everything you observed."
"Yes, father."
Khalil stepped forward, his cold eyes fixed on Zara. Behind him, the shadows near the far wall shifted, and another figure emerged — taller than Khalil, broader, with a thick beard and scars running down his neck.
Rashid al-Khamsin. The eldest brother.
He said nothing as he simply looked at Zara with an indifferent expression.
Zara swallowed.
"Silver hair," she began. "Crimson eyes. Pale skin. He looked young. Handsome. Very handsome."
Khalil’s expression didn’t change. Rashid remained still.
"He was wearing a black hoodie, so I couldn’t see his build clearly at first. But when it came off..." Zara paused, remembering. "Lean. Defined muscle. Not bulky. Built for speed and precision rather than raw power."
"His abilities," Khalil said flatly.
"Light manipulation. High rank. He created blades, shields, bolts, chains. He could also bend light around himself — some kind of stealth technique. And blood manipulation. Also high rank. He controlled my Blood Mist, created clones, formed chains."
"Clones?" Rashid spoke for the first time. His voice was deep, gravelly.
"Solid blood constructs. They fought independently."
Rashid and Khalil exchanged a glance.
"His sword," Zara continued. "A-Rank at minimum. Crescent-edged. He used a sword art — multiple forms. Slashing techniques. And the dark light. I don’t know what that was, but it was the most dangerous thing he used. It killed Bashir in one hit."
"Anything else?" Khalil’s voice was tight.
Zara hesitated. "He had a sensory ability. He could detect me in blood mist form. He reacted to attacks before they were visible."
Silence.
Khalil turned to Rashid. Rashid gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
They walked out of the hall without another word.
Zara stood alone before the throne, her bandaged chest throbbing, her father’s crimson eyes still fixed on her with that terrible, patient disappointment.
***************
Meanwhile,
Lucian pushed the door of the Havenford apartment open.
He’d barely set his bag down when arms wrapped around him from behind.
"You’re back."
Clara’s voice was muffled against his shoulder blade.
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down.
Their lips met.
They kissed passionately. Clara’s mouth opened against his, her tongue finding his, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Lucian’s hands found her waist, her hips, pulling her closer until there was no space between them.
Mwah. Mwah. Smack.
Clara moaned softly into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his lips. Her hands moved up his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, pulling, yanking.
Lucian broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt over his head. Clara’s hands were immediately on his skin — tracing the lines of his chest, his abs, her fingertips cool against the heat of him.
"Missed you," she breathed.
Her tank top came off in one motion along with her bra underneath. Her breasts were full, pale, nipples already hard in the cool air of the apartment.
Lucian’s mouth went to her neck first — kissing, biting gently, feeling her pulse jump beneath his lips. Clara tilted her head back, a soft ahhh escaping her.
His hands found her breasts. Cupped them. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, and Clara’s breath hitched.
"Kael..." she murmured.
He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled it slowly, then sucked. Clara’s back arched off the wall.
"Aaahnn—"
His other hand slid down her stomach, past the waistband of her shorts, past her underwear. His fingers found her slit — already wet.
"Fuck, you’re soaked," Lucian murmured against her breast.
"It’s been two months," Clara gasped. "What do you expect— aah"
He rubbed her clit in slow circles. Clara’s hips bucked against his hand. Her fingers tangled in his silver hair, pulling, pressing him harder against her breast.
"Don’t stop— don’t— ahhn—"
Her free hand fumbled with his belt. She got it open, pushed his trousers down, wrapped her fingers around his dick. He was already hard — rock hard, throbbing in her grip. She stroked him slowly, her thumb smearing the precum over his tip.
"Clara—"
"I’m cumming— aaahhh—"
Her whole body tensed. Her thighs clamped around his hand. A gush of warm fluid flooded his fingers as Clara came with a shuddering moan, her head falling back against the wall, her mouth open.
Ah... ah... ah...
She sagged against him, panting. Her face was flushed red as she blushed. She raised one hand to cover her face.
"Don’t—" she mumbled through her fingers. "Don’t look at me."
Lucian smiled. He pulled her hand away and kissed her forehead.
"You can moan all you want," he said with a smirk. "Rose isn’t here."
Clara’s eyes widened. "She’s not?"
"Went to visit Ryan at the research department. Said she’d be back late."
Clara’s embarrassed expression shifted. The red on her cheeks deepened — but for a different reason now. Her eyes dropped to his dick, still hard and glistening in her hand.
"Then..." She swallowed. "We have time."
Lucian scooped her up with one arm. Clara yelped, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. He carried her to the bedroom — her bedroom, the big one she’d claimed on their first night here — and dropped her onto the bed.
Clara lay back against the pillows, her blonde hair spread out beneath her, her pale body glowing in the dim light. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. Her thighs parted slowly, revealing glistening pink folds still dripping from her orgasm.
Lucian climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. He gripped his dick, the tip brushing against her entrance. Clara’s breath caught.
Her blue eyes met his crimson ones.
He thrust in.
"Aaaahhh—"
Clara’s back arched off the bed. Her nails dug into the sheets. Lucian groaned as her tight, wet heat enveloped him — inch by inch, deeper, until he was buried to the hilt.
Clara’s moan filled the room.