My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

Rakshasa’s second castle stood much closer to the Vampire Capital than her main residence, built high along a mountain range where clouds remained trapped between dark peaks for most of the year. The fortress was smaller, but far more comfortable, used mainly whenever she needed to oversee matters inside the Empire without crossing half the continent. That morning, however, the place’s usual silence was being destroyed by the constant sound of pages being turned in irritation.

Rakshasa sat sideways in a broad armchair inside her private library, one leg resting over the arm of the chair while two open manuals floated in front of her face. Her eyes moved rapidly between the texts, reading one page from each work at the same time while small notes appeared on their own along the margins through her energy. Anyone else would have needed months to understand even a fraction of the content. Rakshasa was reviewing both techniques for the third time that morning because she still had not decided how to present them to Victor.

The first manual was the Demonic Sword Dance.

The technique had originally belonged to the Heavenly Demon and was considered his most refined and lethal sword art. Rakshasa had not merely learned it. She had dismantled every movement, removed the limitations imposed by demonic physiology, and rebuilt the entire technique to function inside a vampire’s body. The new version required more aggressive blood circulation, extremely fast reflexes, and absolute control over one’s own strength, but rewarded the user with a sequence of slashes capable of cutting through matter, energy, and defensive techniques.

Despite its name, there was no true dance in the art.

No movement existed for beauty.

No step was meant to impress.

Every change in position shortened distance, eliminated waste, and prepared the next lethal strike. The entire body was used to produce clean, fast, unavoidable cuts. The intention behind the technique was simple: destroy the enemy using the fewest movements possible, without hesitation and without offering any chance of survival.

Rakshasa closed one eye while studying a diagram.

"He is going to like this part."

Lyssara, who was organizing several nearby shelves, looked up over a stack of books. The library manager wore modest clothes, kept her hair tied back, and seemed perfectly focused on her work, although she had heard every mutter from the castle’s owner since morning began.

"Which part?"

"The one that teaches him how to cut someone into seventeen pieces before the first one touches the ground."

Lyssara remained silent for several seconds.

"That does sound like something Lord Victor would appreciate."

Rakshasa smiled in satisfaction and returned her attention to the second manual.

The Divine Blood Body Refinement Method was completely different. It taught no strikes, stances, or weapons. It was an internal cultivation technique created to transform the body into a perfect tool for combat. Blood was used to reinforce muscles, harden bones, expand energy channels, and adapt organs to extreme levels of pressure. The farther the user advanced, the more the body learned to survive what should previously have destroyed it.

Endurance.

Regeneration.

Adaptability.

The method did not merely produce a stronger body. It created a structure capable of evolving after every injury, recording previous damage and developing ways to withstand it in the future. Poison, heat, cold, pressure, electricity, and physical trauma could all be transformed into experiences used to refine the flesh itself.

For an ordinary vampire, the technique would be far too dangerous. A single mistake during circulation could rupture the heart, destroy the brain, or cause the blood to consume the user’s own organs. For Victor, who already possessed absurd regeneration and insisted on blowing up parts of his body during battle, it seemed to have been created specifically for him.

Rakshasa slammed the second manual shut.

"I want to give this to him."

Lyssara placed the books she was carrying onto a table.

"Then give it to him."

"That is the problem."

Rakshasa made both manuals float around the armchair while crossing her arms. Her expression became even more irritated, and her lips formed a small pout that did not suit the crushing presence capable of forcing kings to their knees.

"That bastard simply left on a mission and did not even speak to me."

Lyssara blinked slowly.

"I believe the mission was urgent."

"It does not matter."

"From what I heard, there was a wanted criminal, clandestine laboratories, and werewolves involved."

"He could have sent a message."

"Perhaps he had no time."

"He had time to blow up his own leg."

Lyssara tried to control the movement at the corner of her mouth.

Rakshasa noticed.

"Are you laughing?"

"No, my lady."

"You are."

"I am merely imagining how he managed to blow up his own leg."

"With electricity, apparently." Rakshasa rested her chin on one hand and pouted again. "Victor always finds time to do idiotic things, but never finds time to visit his Rakshasa."

Lyssara looked away for an instant. She knew Victor more intimately than most of the servants in that castle, something Rakshasa understood perfectly and seemed to find more amusing than offensive. Even so, it was not wise to comment on the possessive impatience of the woman who ruled the place.

"Perhaps he is still in Bramford," Lyssara replied.

"He is not."

"How do you know?"

"Because I would feel it if he were still that far away."

Lyssara hesitated.

"Lord Victor arrived yesterday."

Rakshasa became completely still.

The two manuals stopped in midair.

Her eyes slowly widened, and the energy filling the library vanished for a brief instant before returning with enough force to make every candle flare at once.

"Arrived where?"

"In the Capital."

"Yesterday?"

"Yes."

"And why did no one tell me?"

Lyssara looked at her cautiously.

"My lady did not ask."

Rakshasa stared at the library manager for several seconds.

Lyssara maintained her composure.

"He returned yesterday," Rakshasa repeated, as though she needed to confirm she had understood correctly.

"Yes."

"Alive?"

"Completely, from what I heard."

"Injured?"

"Already regenerated."

"With a woman?"

Lyssara hesitated just long enough to make the answer unnecessary.

Rakshasa narrowed her eyes.

"Carmilla and Scarlet."

"Probably."

"Those damned women."

She rose so quickly that the armchair slid several inches backward. The manuals fell, but Rakshasa caught them in midair before they touched the floor and threw them directly toward Lyssara.

"Put these away."

Lyssara caught both against her chest and had to take one step back because of the spiritual weight accumulated within the pages.

"On the restricted shelves?"

"In the vault."

"Which one?"

"The one that kills anyone who opens it without permission."

Lyssara nodded as though that were a perfectly ordinary instruction.

Rakshasa crossed the library in quick steps. The irritated pout had vanished, replaced by a smile that would have made any sensible person fear for Victor. When she reached the door, she found the head butler waiting outside, drawn by the sudden change in the castle’s energy.

She pointed at him immediately.

"Prepare a bath."

The butler bowed his head.

"Immediately, my lady."

"I want the moonflower oils, the perfume that lasts three days, and water hot enough to make an ordinary vampire lose their skin."

"Understood."

"Then prepare my best hanfu."

"Which one?"

Rakshasa paused and gave the matter serious thought.

"The red and black one with golden borders. The one that shows my legs when I walk."

The butler remained completely professional.

"Naturally."

"Also prepare my jewelry, my jade hairpin, and the sword."

This time, he raised his eyes slightly.

"The sword?"

Rakshasa smiled.

"I am going on a date."

Lyssara appeared in the library doorway carrying the manuals.

"Do dates normally require swords?"

"The good ones do."

"Do you intend to fight Victor?"

"Perhaps."

"Before or after giving him the manuals?"

Rakshasa began walking down the corridor.

"That depends on how long it took him to miss me."

The butler kept pace beside her while memorizing every order.

"Should I prepare a carriage?"

"No."

"A portal?"

"No to that as well."

Rakshasa looked through a window in the distant direction of the Vampire Capital. Her smile widened as reddish energy began gathering around her body.

"I will go personally."

She continued walking, already imagining Victor’s expression when he found her completely dressed for the occasion, carrying two techniques capable of transforming the way he fought and a sword in case he made the mistake of saying he was too tired for their date.

Behind her, Lyssara looked toward the butler.

"Should I warn Lord Victor?"

Rakshasa answered before he could.

"Do not even think about it."

Her smile became even more dangerous.

"I want it to be a surprise."

...

Victor sat alone at the dining-room table, although his appearance suggested someone had dragged him out of a crypt only minutes earlier. His face seemed thinner, deep dark circles surrounded his eyes, and his hair remained completely disheveled, as though even his regeneration had lacked enough energy to put it back into place. His shirt had been thrown on carelessly, with several buttons fastened into the wrong holes, and small bite marks were scattered across his neck, shoulders, and the exposed part of his chest.

In front of him sat a large blood bag, probably prepared to feed three adult vampires. Victor had pierced the package with a straw and drank slowly while staring at an empty wall, neither blinking nor showing any sign that his consciousness remained entirely inside his body.

He had spent the night being squeezed dry.

Carmilla and Scarlet had not exaggerated when they said they intended to make up for every night he had spent away. Whenever Victor believed they had finally finished, one of them recovered, pulled him back, and reminded him that several days of absence still needed to be compensated for. His blood had been drained so many times that his regeneration had been forced to begin producing more while they continued drinking, and all the energy he had managed to recover after the mission had disappeared inside that room.

His little friend was dead.

Not injured.

Not tired.

Dead.

Victor suspected not even the Divine Blood Body Refinement Method could prepare any man for Carmilla and Scarlet after more than two weeks of abstinence. The only reason he could still walk was that his regeneration refused to allow the muscles in his legs to completely give up.

Rowena remained inside the ring, enjoying the silence in a particularly irritating way.

Victor drank more blood.

"You can speak."

"I have nothing to say."

"You are laughing."

"I am not."

"I can feel it."

A quiet laugh echoed inside his mind.

Victor closed his eyes and continued drinking from the bag through the straw.

"I warned you to look at the fox."

"You asked to leave."

"Because I recognized the danger. You looked at those tails and decided to enter the bedroom anyway."

"Carmilla was there too."

"That made it worse."

Victor did not have enough energy to argue. He rested one elbow on the table and let part of his head’s weight fall against his hand. The blood was beginning to take effect, but every bit of absorbed energy vanished almost immediately to rebuild the reserves the two women had drained to their limit.

Light footsteps came from the corridor.

Scarlet appeared first, wearing only one of Victor’s oversized shirts, which reached halfway down her thighs. Her fox ears remained upright, and her tails swayed behind her with an almost offensive satisfaction. She had no dark circles, did not appear tired, and carried a healthy glow that revealed exactly where all of Victor’s vitality had gone.

She stopped in the doorway and smiled.

"Good morning, husband."

Victor continued staring at the wall.

"No."

Scarlet tilted her head.

"No what?"

"Everything."

She approached, wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, and kissed his cheek. Victor did not react. One of her tails slid around his waist, but he caught it immediately before it could move lower.

"No."

"I was only giving you affection."

"Your tails do not know how to give only affection."

Scarlet formed a small pout, although the satisfaction remained obvious on her face.

"You look very handsome when you are tired."

"I look like a corpse."

"A handsome corpse."

Carmilla appeared shortly afterward, wearing a black robe loosely tied around her body. She also looked completely rested, her hair perfectly arranged and her expression carrying the calm of someone who had just enjoyed the best night of the last several weeks. When she saw Victor clutching the blood bag, she approached and ran her fingers through his hair.

"You need to drink more."

"This is the third one."

"Then you need a fourth."

Victor finally looked away from the wall and stared at both women.

"You sucked out my soul."

Scarlet smiled.

"You said you could handle it."

"I was being optimistic."

Carmilla gently touched one of the marks on his neck.

"You also did not complain during most of it."

"The part where I started seeing a white light should have been interpreted as a cry for help."

"I thought it was your White Fire," Scarlet replied with enough sincerity to make it irritating.

Victor resumed drinking.

Carmilla and Scarlet exchanged a satisfied look before sitting on either side of him. Neither appeared remorseful. On the contrary, they watched their exhausted husband with the possessive pride of two predators who had captured and consumed their prey, then kept it alive solely so they could do it all again later.

"We will let you rest today," Carmilla promised.

Victor looked at her suspiciously.

"The entire day?"

"Perhaps."

"That was not convincing."

Scarlet rested her head against his shoulder.

"Until tonight."

Victor closed his eyes.

"That made it worse."

Before they could continue, a strange sensation crossed his perception. It was not a nearby presence, but a familiar pressure emerging from the direction of the mountains. Powerful, arrogant, and advancing rapidly toward the Capital without making any attempt to conceal its energy.

Inside the ring, Rowena fell silent.

Then she began laughing again.

Victor stopped moving the straw.

Carmilla noticed.

"What is it?"

He continued staring at nothing while the presence drew closer and closer. His body had not yet recovered, his sword was in the bedroom, his little friend remained completely dead, and some part of his instincts told him the previous night had only been the beginning of his suffering.

Victor tightened his fingers around the blood bag.

"Why do I feel like trouble is coming?" he murmured.