Chapter 8: The Death Dealer's Oath
Lucius
The Elder Chamber pressed down like a tomb.
Six of us knelt on cold stone—the survivors of training week. The other fourteen had washed out or died. Soren had executed two for cowardice. Three more had failed to return from feeding hunts. The rest simply couldn't keep pace.
Six survivors. Six new Death Dealers. Assuming we survived the ceremony.
Three sarcophagi dominated the chamber—massive stone coffins carved with runes and imagery I couldn't decipher. Candlelight flickered across ancient surfaces, casting shadows that moved in ways physics shouldn't allow.
Blood Appraisal tried to read the occupants.
[ SCANNING... ]
[ TARGET 1: ??? BP (ELDER CLASS - ESTIMATE: 800+) ]
[ TARGET 2: ??? BP (ELDER CLASS - TRACE CORVINUS SIGNATURE DETECTED) ]
[ TARGET 3: ??? BP (ELDER CLASS - CURRENTLY HIBERNATING) ]
[ WARNING: POWER DIFFERENTIAL EXCEEDS SAFE ASSESSMENT PARAMETERS ]
Viktor. Marcus. Amelia. The three Elders who'd shaped vampire civilization for over a thousand years. Even in hibernation, their presence was oppressive—a weight in the air that made breathing difficult.
"Kneeling before gods. Good practice for what comes next."
Kraven stood before the center sarcophagus, dressed in ceremonial robes that somehow managed to look pretentious even in candlelight. His Blood Appraisal reading—[ 156 BP ]—seemed almost modest compared to the sleeping powers behind him.
"Death Dealers," he began, voice echoing off stone walls. "For fourteen hundred years, we have hunted the Lycan plague. We are the sword and shield of our species. The first and last defense against bestial corruption."
The history lesson continued. Viktor's formation of the original Death Dealers. The centuries of war. The gradual pushing of Lycans to extinction's edge. Standard propaganda, familiar from the films, delivered with theatrical gravity.
But the sarcophagi were the real focus.
Viktor's tomb radiated cold—not physical temperature, but something deeper. Power compressed into dormant form, waiting. The system's estimate of 800+ BP was almost certainly conservative. An Elder who'd ruled for millennia would have accumulated strength beyond easy calculation.
[ WARNING: ELDER BLOOD CONTAINS MEMORY-TRAP CONTINGENCIES ]
[ CONSUMPTION BEFORE MEMORY SIPHON LV.3 = 87% CHANCE OF PERMANENT INSANITY ]
The notification had appeared when I'd first scanned Viktor's tomb. A warning I'd filed carefully away. The Elder's blood was treasure—hundreds of years of combat experience, political knowledge, secret histories—but poisoned treasure. His memories were designed to overwhelm anyone foolish enough to consume them without proper protection.
"Not yet. But eventually."
Kraven finished his speech. Soren stepped forward, carrying a branding iron that glowed silver-hot.
"The oath," he said. "Repeat after me."
We spoke in unison, six voices echoing through the tomb:
"My blood for the coven. My death for the Elders. My blade for the war eternal."
The brand came next.
Soren pressed heated silver against my left shoulder blade. The pain was extraordinary—burning through skin, searing into muscle, marking bone with permanent scarring. My Enhanced Reflexes tried to flinch away but I controlled the motion, minimizing the burn depth without appearing to resist.
Soren noticed. His grunt held something like approval.
The wound healed within minutes, leaving a white scar in the shape of crossed blades. Permanent. Identifying. The mark of a Death Dealer.
[ STATUS GAINED: DEATH DEALER - RANK 1 ]
[ COVEN AUTHORITY: HUNTING LICENSE GRANTED ]
[ EQUIPMENT ACCESS: TIER 1 UNLOCKED ]
Kraven presented weapons next. Each new Death Dealer received the standard kit—dual Beretta 92FS pistols modified for full-auto capability, two hundred rounds of silver ammunition, a black leather combat coat lined with lightweight armor.
The weight felt right. Professional.
"Assignments," Kraven announced. He read from a scroll, matching Death Dealers to patrol territories. The first five received standard routes—commercial districts, residential areas, zones where Lycan activity was minimal and survival likely.
Then my name.
"Lucius Vane. District Seven."
Murmurs from the other Death Dealers. District Seven was a death sentence. The poorest area of Pest, riddled with abandoned buildings, subway tunnels, and condemned infrastructure. Prime Lycan territory. The place where new Death Dealers went to die.
"The Regent's confidence in you must be considerable," Soren said. His tone suggested the opposite.
"He's testing whether I'm expendable or exceptional. Probably hoping for the former."
I kept my expression neutral. "I'll manage."
"Survival odds for new Death Dealers in District Seven are approximately thirty percent," Kraven added. "You have two weeks to prove yourself worthy of the assignment. Succeed, and you're permanent. Fail..."
"I'll be replaced. Understood."
The ceremony concluded. New Death Dealers dispersed toward their quarters, chattering nervously about assignments and odds. I lingered, studying Viktor's sarcophagus in the candlelight.
[ TRACE CORVINUS SIGNATURE DETECTED ]
The system kept flagging it. Some connection to the Corvinus bloodline—Alexander, the original immortal whose sons became the first vampire and the first werewolf. Important. Filed away for later.
Footsteps in the corridor outside. Light. Precise. I recognized the pattern before Blood Appraisal confirmed.
[ SELENE - 178 BP - APPROACHING ]
She appeared in the chamber's entrance, silhouette sharp against the hallway's dim lighting. Her expression was unreadable—the same cold focus she'd worn all week.
"District Seven," she said. First words she'd ever spoken directly to me.
"So I'm told."
"It's suicide for new Death Dealers. The Lycans there hunt in packs. Raze himself commands that territory."
Raze. The Alpha who'd nearly killed me twice now. The one who'd torn Rigel's throat and escaped my bullet in the waterfront ambush.
"Any advice?"
Selene studied me for a long moment. Her eyes—dark, ancient, carrying six centuries of warfare—assessed something beneath my surface.
"Don't take backup," she said finally. "Other Death Dealers will slow you down. Hunt alone. Move fast. Trust your reflexes."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Speaking from six hundred years of killing Lycans." She turned to leave, then paused. "You shoot like someone with decades of training. You fight like someone who just learned what fists are for. The disconnect is... unusual."
"I'm a fast learner."
"We'll see."
She disappeared into the mansion's shadows.
[ SELENE RELATIONSHIP: RESPECTFUL RIVAL (15/100) ]
I grinned at the empty corridor. The legend had given me advice. Noticed my potential. Flagged me as worth watching.
Progress.
Tomorrow, District Seven. Tomorrow, the hunt began for real.
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