The wind over the flats smelled of metal and heat. The glassed plain under Noctis's boots still glowed faint red where the Crucible had scarred it. Ahead, banners marked with infernal sigils stood along the ridge. A group waited beneath them—demons, human magisters, and a few vampires who had sided with whoever looked strongest. Their armor was ceremonial, polished for show.
The lead envoy, tall with swept horns and a staff bound in chain, stepped forward. "By right of reclamation, these lands are now under infernal control. Maltherion is gone, and the envoys of his former court hold his domain in trust. You have entered without sanction."
Noctis stopped in the center of the road. The seventeen Bloodfang Reapers circled him in three silent rings. The mixed host behind him—men and women—halted on cue. Vaelora waited off his right shoulder, eyes fixed on the ridge.
"You're claiming a dead empire," Noctis said. "That's not control. It's looting."
The envoy tilted his head. "Then prove the stronger claim."
He struck his staff against the ground. Summoning circles flared along the ridge. Red light spread outward, and wings unfolded from the heat. A swarm of demons poured through—hundreds, then thousands, turning the air into a furnace.
Noctis looked back at his lines. "Hold position. Don't break formation."
The vampires shifted their footing, shields locking together. The Reapers expanded automatically. The outer ring became guan daos for reach; the middle ring folded into scythes; the inner ring turned to greatswords and chain-reapers. The air brightened to deep red.
The first wave of demons hit the edge of the field and burst apart. The second broke against crossing blades; the third tangled in chains that glowed green-crimson and burned through their wings. The sky filled with scattered sparks.
The envoy lifted his staff to open more gates. Noctis raised his hand. Shadows thickened around him until the ground curved upward, forming a low platform of dark glass. A black outline of a throne appeared behind him—the Abyssal Throne of Dominion. The weight in the air changed; even the heat bent toward him.
His voice carried without volume. "All summoned creatures will stop fighting now. You're under my command."
The order spread like a vibration through the field. The nearest demons slowed, wings locking mid-stroke. Others turned in confusion, then aligned toward him. The summoning circles shrank to glowing lines and went dark. The swarm hovered, waiting.
Noctis looked at the envoy. "You've lost them. Tell your people to stand down."
The envoy opened his mouth to argue. Chains dropped from the sky, black and red, wrapping his arms and legs. Glyphs lit across his armor and cooled to gray. Around him, every envoy froze the same way.
Noctis walked forward through the haze of bloodlight. "You came here to divide what's left of this continent. That ends now."
The horned envoy struggled against the bindings. "What do you want?"
"Information," Noctis said. "Where are the rest of your forces? Who's running them?"
"Maltherion's consort," the envoy answered. "Two demon prefects and three human magisters. They run the pylons that power the academy gates."
"Locations."
"North ridge, the vault under the Ember Gate, two in the salt flats, and one mobile gate disguised as a caravan."
Vaelora stepped forward a pace. "You've been trading blood for protection. That ends too."
Noctis looked back at the envoy. "You and the others will guide us to every site you just named. You'll open the gates and shut them down when I tell you to. Refusal means I remove the choice."
The envoy nodded once, jaw tight. "Understood."
Noctis turned to his host. "Secure them. Keep the chains tight."
The vampires moved efficiently. The envoys were linked together by their wrists, the glyphs on each chain pulsing faintly as the field adjusted to the strain. Above them, the captured swarms circled in neat spirals, silent except for the beat of their wings.
"Move out," Noctis said. "First stop is the Ember Gate."
The column started forward—vampires first, envoys in the middle, swarms overhead. As they passed, the infernal banners along the road ignited and burned themselves away. Vaelora glanced back once at the shrinking glow, then faced forward again.
The fortress was built to keep out gods.
Its walls rose higher than mountains, fused from obsidian and bone, carved through with pulsing veins of violet light that marked its abyssal heartbeat. Every gate bore a demon sigil; every corridor whispered with the breath of entities buried alive beneath the stone.
None of that slowed Noctis.
He entered under the pale half-moon, cloak torn short from travel, eyes reflecting crimson across the dead. The outer guards saw him too late — the first simply stopped existing, blood essence evaporating into mist before his body knew it had been struck. The next dozen fell without a sound, their armor still upright when their marrow turned to dust.
The deeper he walked, the quieter it became. Even the walls seemed to retreat from him.
Vampires of Maltherion's house spilled from side halls in desperate clusters — nobles, retainers, hybrid soldiers bearing abyssal sigils on their skin. Their spells hit nothing. Their shadows ran ahead of them and never returned. Every strike they attempted ended the same way: a clean flash, a splash of vapor, silence.
The Bloodfang Reapers trailed behind him like patient animals, orbiting slow, each blade a crescent of crystallized blood humming with low metallic resonance. Where they passed, the torchlight bent and warped, heat shimmering away from the edges.
By the time Noctis reached the inner corridor, hundreds had fallen. The floor glistened with thin rivers of red light running between the tiles, converging at the end of the hall where a great door of black metal waited.
The door itself was alive. Runes crawled along its surface like worms. They flared when they sensed him, flinching in lines of fear.
Noctis raised one hand and pressed it flat to the surface. His aura answered.
A sharp crack rang out. The runes shattered, spraying violet sparks across the floor. The doors slammed inward under their own panic.
The main hall opened before him.
At its center stood a long black carpet that led directly to a throne carved from bone and crystal. The ceiling arched far above, lost in fog. Green flames burned along wall sconces, their light dimmed by the density of the abyssal air.
Nyxira sat upon the throne as if she had been waiting for him all night.
Her posture was a study in composure — one leg crossed, chin high, bare arms resting along the throne's curved supports. Her skin was pale with a violet undertone that shimmered faintly when she moved. Her hair flowed like black silk tinted with indigo; her eyes, deep violet burning toward black, glowed faintly from within. Chains of runes coiled around her wrists, not as restraint but as ornament, the same symbols etched across the hall's pillars.
Her gown was cut from living shadow, clinging close before fading into mist around her ankles. The scent of salt and iron hung faintly in the air, the ocean-deep mark of the abyssal siren.
When she spoke, her voice filled the chamber without effort.
"You've made quite a mess," she said. "Maltherion's kin may be fools, but they were mine to command. Tell me, deserter — why do you cut your way into my halls?"
Noctis stopped halfway up the carpet. His eyes lifted to meet hers. "You already said it. I'm the deserter. The traitor. The one your master betrayed before he sold his allegiance to the abyss."
"You speak as if betrayal were not your craft."
He laughed once, low and sharp. "Maltherion started it. He took what was mine — my armies, my blood stores, my title, even my name among the inheritors. All to hide his fear of me."
"You expect me to believe you came all this way for wounded pride?"
"I came for justice."
Her expression hardened. "You slaughtered my kin for justice?"
"They stood in my path."
Silence filled the hall, cold and heavy. Then Nyxira leaned forward slightly, her fingers tracing the runes at her wrist.
"You're lying," she said. "I knew Maltherion. I knew the way he spoke of you. You ran from your post, fled to the mortals, hid among the Church's shadows. You betrayed the inheritance."
Noctis smiled faintly. "That's the version he told you. A comfortable story for a coward."
She rose from the throne, her aura stirring the torches into violent motion. "You call him a coward, yet you invade his halls after his death?"
"No," he said. "I invaded them because he's dead."
The words landed like a blade dropped point-first. The torches flickered once and stilled.
Nyxira blinked, then straightened, her tone colder. "You lie."
"I killed him personally."
A long silence followed. The runes along her arms flared, then dimmed again as she drew in a measured breath. When she spoke again, her voice was calm, but the air trembled around it.
"If that is true," she said, "then his lands, vaults, and armies pass to me. As his queen."
"No," Noctis said. "Vampire law applies. The one who kills inherits all."
"This is not vampire land," she replied. "This is Maltherion's dominion — demonic law governs here."
"I don't use demonic law."
Nyxira's eyes narrowed. "Then you steal." ← removed as requested (line removed)
Nyxira exhaled, her lips parting in something between a sigh and a warning. "You think you can claim his throne because you killed him? Fool. You will drown in what he left behind."
Her runes flared again. The hall dimmed. Light bent.
For a moment, Noctis stood surrounded by endless corridors — copies of the hall, infinite in every direction, each one containing an image of Nyxira watching him. Her voice echoed from every side: "You tread in my illusions, Crimson Inheritor. Tell me which of me you will kill first."
He lifted a hand and swept it once through the air. The illusions shattered like glass, collapsing inward. The true hall returned, its torches snapping back to full height.
"You should've used something harder," he said.
Her composure cracked; a flash of rage flared through her aura. "So you would challenge me in my own throne?"
"You already did," Noctis said.
The floor shook. Her power surged, violet waves breaking across the chamber like a living tide. He felt it wrap around him — pressure, heat, the pulse of the deep.
Noctis's eyes glowed in response. "Then you'll suffer the consequence."
Their auras burst outward at once, red and violet colliding in a shockwave that split the tiles beneath their feet. Torches blew out, leaving only the light of their dominions burning in the dark.
Around the hall, the Kaeltharion vampires who had survived his entrance instinctively backed away, shielding their eyes. Their instincts screamed that what stood before them was no longer two beings — it was law meeting law.
Nyxira straightened, her tone now devoid of elegance. "Then come, Crimson Inheritor. let's see how strong you are."
Noctis tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable. "How naive."
The first thunderclap of power cracked through the hall as they moved.
The torches went out as their auras met.
Pressure flooded the hall. Dust lifted and hung in the air; obsidian veins in the walls pulsed like arteries. Every flame bowed to the weight of two dominions colliding.
Nyxira vanished first. Her body broke into mist, leaving only her voice. The sound vibrated through the marrow—part song, part command. The air distorted; pillars multiplied until the hall became a maze of mirrors. A hundred Nyxiras stood across the field, each trailing a chain of violet runes burning like cold fire.
Noctis's expression didn't change. The Bloodfang Reapers formed their orbit, seventeen blades drawing slow crimson circles around him. Light bent where they passed, the sound of metal blending into a low heartbeat hum.
The illusions struck together. Chains lashed from every angle, leaving streaks of black-violet flame. His reapers moved in counterpoint. Each impact burst into sparks, each illusion dissolved into dust.
He didn't move. The blades moved for him.
When silence returned, only one Nyxira remained — the real one — standing ten paces ahead, whip coiled in her hand. Her eyes glowed faintly as she smiled. "You are quick," she said. "But you cannot cage what you don't understand."
The whip uncoiled. It struck. Air cracked like thunder. The lash wrapped his shoulder in violet light before disintegrating on contact with his aura.
Noctis turned his head slightly. "You mistake sound for strength."
He stepped forward. The Bloodfang Reapers followed, slicing invisible lines through the air. Each pass left trails of red pressure, vibrating through the stone. Nyxira's next illusion failed before it could form.
She reappeared behind him, whip raised. He caught it midair with one hand, the heat of her demonic energy hissing against his palm. The hall quivered.
Her breath hitched when he pulled once. She stumbled forward. His fist met her stomach.
The impact threw her across the chamber; stone cracked as she hit the wall. Her body folded, blood at her lip.
Noctis didn't follow. "You should have stayed on that throne."
She pushed herself up, trembling but furious. "You speak like a god in my house."
"Then kneel in it."
He disappeared. Dominion Step. The air folded — he reappeared in front of her, backhanding her with such precision the shockwave tore the nearby tapestries from the walls. She hit stone again, the pattern of cracks spreading behind her like a spider web.
Her breathing turned ragged. Yet her eyes remained fixed on him, steady, hateful. She gathered her remaining power into her chains; they erupted from the floor, arcing toward him in thick lashes of violet light.
He broke them bare-handed. Every fragment that touched his aura melted.
"Your law is fragile," he said.
Her response came as a scream — a hymn turned into a curse. The sound spread in waves, invisible and piercing. It wasn't meant for him. It reached behind him, where Vaelora and her kin stood watching at the edge of the hall, their eyes locked on the duel.
The effect was immediate. Several of the vampires flinched, their breathing uneven. One of Vaelora's younger kin clutched her chest as black light flickered along her veins. Another's eyes turned faintly violet. Nyxira's corruption was crawling across their minds, twisting their hunger into obedience.
Vaelora hissed, stepping forward, fangs bared, aura spiking crimson in defiance. "Get out of my head!"
Nyxira's laugh echoed, sharp and layered. "Even your loyal ones crave the abyss."
Noctis's voice cut through her hymn like a blade. "Enough."
He clenched his fist. The ground shattered. Crimson Chains erupted from the floor and coiled around Nyxira, binding wrists, ankles, and throat. The sound of the links striking each other filled the hall like metal rain. The hymn stopped.
The chains lifted her from the ground, suspending her midair. She twisted once, twice, but the bindings didn't yield. Her eyes glowed bright, trying to pull strength from rage alone.
Her gaze flicked toward Vaelora and her kin again, and for a moment the violet in her aura surged — a last attempt to reach them. Vaelora's hands clenched into fists. "Try it," she whispered, trembling with fury.
Noctis appeared in front of Nyxira before the words could form. His fist struck her stomach again, silencing the pulse of her magic. She gasped; he covered her mouth with one hand and hit her twice more, each blow precise and measured.
The light in her eyes faded. Her body went limp, aura dimming into residual static.
The chains held her suspended.
Noctis lowered his hand and turned his head toward Vaelora's line. "If any of you feel her song again, kill it before it finishes."
Vaelora bowed her head, voice steady. "As you command."
He gave no further word. He turned from the scene and walked toward the corridor leading deeper into the fortress. The Bloodfang Reapers followed him, their hum fading behind his steps.
Vaelora and her kin remained in silence. The smell of iron and ash filled the air. Even after the clash ended, the floor still vibrated faintly, as if the fortress itself remembered being afraid.
The fortress stilled after the battle.Only the faint crackle of broken torches and the distant groan of shifting stone remained.
Noctis descended the main stair behind the throne. Each step answered his presence, the black marble pulsing dull red where his boots touched. The Bloodfang Reapers trailed him in slow rotation, cutting faint rings of light through the dust.
Vaelora and her kin followed at a distance, silent, eyes low. Nyxira hung suspended behind them, wrapped in Sovereign Chains that glowed faintly with containment light.
At the base of the stair, the corridor narrowed into a single hall carved entirely of bone and obsidian. The walls bore thousands of symbols — runes not written, but grown. They moved when looked at, tiny veins shifting like living creatures retreating into darkness.
Vaelora spoke softly. "The vault?"
Noctis nodded once. "He hid his heart here."
The doors at the end of the hall were immense, built from two slabs of abyssal alloy engraved with layers of moving script. Each line pulsed violet, feeding into a central seal shaped like an eye. It opened when Noctis approached, revealing a vertical iris of raw light.
The first defense activated.
A column of black flame rose from the floor, stretching from wall to wall, barring the path. Within it, faint silhouettes moved — the shapes of those who had tried to enter before and failed.
Noctis lifted one hand. The Bloodfang Reapers answered.Blades spun into formation, weaving a lattice that carved through the barrier. The sound that followed was not fire but wind under pressure. The flames split neatly down the center, the core guttering out.
He stepped through.
The corridor beyond opened into the lower sanctum: a narrow bridge suspended above an abyss filled with marrow smoke. Chains thicker than tree trunks hung from the unseen ceiling, each tethered to a stone spire glowing with faint runes. Between those spires hung spectral sentinels— faceless guardians shaped from bound souls.
They turned as one toward him, drawing weapons made of light and bone.
Noctis didn't slow.His voice was low, controlled. "Abyssal Genesis Dominion."
The air blackened instantly. Chains of void and crimson fire erupted across the gap, binding the sentinels mid-motion. The marrow fog boiled away. Within seconds, the guardians convulsed and shattered, their fragments pulled into the bloodlight storm around him.
Each death fed into the Grid. His essence pools swelled.
He reached the other side of the bridge unscathed. The final door waited — smaller, older, built from pure bone carved with hymns of both faith and abyss. It pulsed once as though it recognized him.
Vaelora's voice echoed faintly from behind. "We can feel it, Sovereign. The core's pressure bleeds through the stone."
Noctis pressed his palm against the door. "Then watch."
A heartbeat later, the seal detonated. White flame burst outward, sanctity inversion meeting abyssal defense. His aura devoured the backlash. The door dissolved into fragments of light that spiraled away like dust in water.
Beyond it lay the Dominion Core.
It hovered above an altar of black crystal, a sphere of swirling light—half violet, half red, bound by a lattice of shifting glyphs. The air vibrated with its hum. Every breath tasted of iron and lightning.
Noctis stepped closer. The reapers spread around him, forming a perimeter.He could feel it pulling at him, testing his presence, remembering the hand that once owned it.
He bared his fangs and spoke quietly, a final verdict: "Maltherion's law ends here."
He reached out and sank his teeth into the Core.
The sound was like metal tearing underwater. Energy erupted from the sphere, slamming into the walls. The entire chamber blazed crimson. Vaelora and her kin dropped to one knee, shielding their eyes.
The Dominion Core fought back. Its abyssal half screamed, unleashing a vortex of violet fire. For a moment, the world turned inside out. Symbols peeled off the walls, spinning into the air.
Noctis didn't release. The Blood Grid within him roared to life, consuming. The fusion of vampiric and divine devour traits locked around the Core's resistance.
The light collapsed inward.
When silence returned, the sphere was gone. Only shards remained — small, crystal slivers that hovered briefly before disintegrating into bloodlight and sinking into his aura.
He straightened, eyes glowing faint gold over crimson.
The vault trembled once, then went still. The chains overhead released a deep metallic sigh as if relieved.
Vaelora looked up slowly. "It's… absorbed?"
"Consumed," he said. "His Dominion is mine now."
He opened his hand. A faint crimson pulse flickered across his palm — the new signature of control. The fortress's heartbeat synced to it instantly, walls breathing in rhythm with his aura.
He turned back toward the corridor. "Gather what remains. The relics, the shards, anything forged from his essence. The rest will burn."
Vaelora nodded and gestured to her kin. They dispersed into the side chambers, their movements careful, reverent.
Noctis stood alone at the center of the sanctum, the air around him calm at last. The abyssal hum that had filled the fortress since his arrival faded into quiet.
He looked once more at the empty altar and whispered, almost to himself, "Justice complete."
Then he turned and ascended toward the hall where his captives waited.