When the door opened, Helena stepped inside. A spacious room stretched before her, illuminated by flickering candlelight.
Three chairs were arranged in front of her. Yet only one was occupied—the center seat—by an elderly man whose face was stern and commanding. On his left and right, several figures in dark robes stood silently, their faces completely hidden, like shadows given life.
Helena halted. Her gaze remained steady as it met the man before her.
"You've been locked in that room for two days, Helena," the man said, his voice heavy with age and authority.
"Farkas wants to wage war against Victoria," Helena replied without preamble. "I tried to advise him, but he refused to listen."
The man let out a long sigh and shook his head. "I've known that boy was foolish for a long time."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "But what choice do we have? Placing the Lycans there will keep Victoria busy monitoring our movements."
"They'll all die, Marius."
"Do not underestimate the Lycans, Helena."
"I'm not underestimating them," Helena retorted firmly. "Victoria can now live in the daylight."
Marius rose immediately, his expression shifting. Around them, the room grew restless with anxious whispers from the robed figures.
"Silence!" Marius shouted.
He stepped forward and grasped Helena's shoulders, his voice low but tense.
"Are you certain of what you're saying? Victoria… alive in daylight?"
"Yes," Helena replied without hesitation. "That's what Farkas' followers reported. And I believe they are not lying."
"That's impossible," Marius muttered, releasing her shoulders. He began pacing anxiously. "If it's true… her blood would be invaluable to us."
"But we cannot face her, Marius."
Marius stopped. His face appeared older under the dim light of the room.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I know."
He paused for a moment, then said:
"Contact them."
Helena raised her eyes. "Who?"
"Talamasca."
Helena's expression changed. "For what purpose?"
"Let them investigate whether this is true," Marius replied calmly, but firmly.
"Do you think they'll dare?" Helena asked sharply.
"That doesn't matter," Marius answered. "We cannot send our own people. If Victoria finds out, she will come for us."
"What difference does it make, Marius?" Helena shot back. "Have you forgotten Victoria's capabilities? If she catches them, no secret can escape her—everything will be revealed."
"Enough."
Marius' voice cut through the argument with a single word. He turned, his gaze sharp and leaving no room for dissent.
"That is the final decision," he said. "You monitor the situation there and report everything to me."
"That's a reckless decision," Helena retorted, restraining her tone. "And you know the consequences that will follow."
Without waiting for a response, Helena turned and walked away.
Marius did not follow. He remained standing, letting the echo of Helena's footsteps fade beyond the door. Slowly, he returned to his chair and sat, his face once again shrouded in shadow.
"Call Salena."
***
The sun slowly sank beyond the western horizon, surrendering its brilliance to softer light as the moon began to rise, replacing day with night.
In the courtyard of a grand mansion, dozens of men and women stood motionless, like living statues. No voices, no movement—only readiness etched into every body as they awaited orders.
Alena approached Victoria, carrying a black leather coat. With practiced reverence, she draped it over her mistress's shoulders.
"Have they all arrived?" Victoria asked without turning her head.
"Yes, my lord," Alena replied. "The rest are in the Bronx, under Curren's command."
"Bring me my sword."
Alena obeyed at once. A silver sword hanging on the wall was lifted with both hands and presented with utmost respect.
"They are waiting for your arrival, my lord," Alena said.
"I know," Victoria replied. "Farkas desires war. And this time, I will grant his wish."
Victoria drew the sword halfway from its sheath. The silver gleam caught the moonlight before the blade slid back into place.
"We move now."
In the mansion courtyard, silence turned into tension—a sign that tonight, an ancient pact would end in blood.
Victoria stepped out of her chamber, Alena at her side. Several men in black coats were already waiting outside, standing straight and silent. The moment Victoria appeared, they moved at once, falling into formation behind her.
Their footsteps down the stairs were measured and synchronized, as if every step had been rehearsed long ago. Ahead, Alena opened the main doors.
The night air greeted them.
Victoria stepped outside and raised her sword. Moonlight reflected off the silver blade, cold and lethal.
"Tonight," her voice was calm yet commanding, "we eradicate every Lycan."
"We obey!" they answered in unison, their voices echoing briefly before fading back into silence.
"We move. Now."
In an instant, the mansion courtyard was empty.
Black shadows swept across rooftops, racing through the city. Bodies leapt from one structure to another without hesitation, leaving no trace, making no sound. They moved with the night wind—too fast to be seen, too silent to be detected.
The city lights streamed past beneath them.
Before long, the landscape began to change. Buildings grew sparse, the streets darker, and the atmosphere heavier. In the distance, the northern Bronx stretched out—a territory long detached from human law.
Victoria came to a halt atop a tall building and looked down. Below, the darkness pulsed with another presence—the scent of iron, damp streets, and feral instincts lying in wait.
"They are ready, awaiting your arrival, my lord. Their numbers are large," reported a broad-built man with a pale face, his voice balanced between caution and fear.
"Order everyone down. Now," Victoria commanded without hesitation. "We will face them directly."
"Yes, my lord."
Curren raised his hand high. The signal was immediately answered. Black shadows poured down from the rooftops one by one, flooding the dark streets below. In an instant, the vampire force formed a tight, menacing formation.
Victoria stood at the front, flanked by Alena and Curren. Her silver sword remained sheathed, yet her presence alone was enough to weigh down the air.
"Come out, all of you beasts," Victoria shouted, her voice shattering the silence of the night.
"Hahahaha… hahahaha…"
Rough laughter echoed from the darkness.
"At last, I get the chance to kill a Vampire Queen."
From the shadows, Farkas stepped forward. His body was massive and powerfully built, his silhouette devouring the moonlight. His stride was arrogant, brimming with confidence. In the next instant, hundreds of large men emerged behind him—their eyes gleaming, jaws clenched, feral instincts laid bare.
"Congratulations, Farkas," Victoria replied coldly, her mockery sharp. "You've succeeded in making me come here myself."
"Are you ready, Vampire Queen?" Farkas shouted. "Ready to die!"
He roared with laughter, joined by the savage howls of his followers until the entire area seemed to tremble.
Victoria drew her sword. The silver blade caught the moonlight, flashing like lightning. Behind her, the entire vampire army drew their weapons in unison, the clash of metal ringing sharply through the night.
"No need for long words with beasts who lack reason," Victoria said calmly, her voice laced with menace. "Tonight, I will annihilate all of you."
Farkas raised his hand, a defiant smile curling across his face.
"What are you waiting for?" he shouted. "Attack!"
The night air seemed to split.
In that instant, the long-suppressed war erupted.
Farkas' roar was the signal.
The bodies behind him began to shift.
Bones cracked with sickening sounds. Muscles swelled, clothes tore, skin stretched until it was swallowed by dark fur. Jaws elongated, teeth sharpened into fangs, and human eyes were replaced by feral, bloodthirsty light.
Within seconds, the line of humans vanished.
All that remained were werewolves—massive, savage, and uncontrollable.
They howled in unison, the sound shaking the surrounding buildings. The streets of the Bronx transformed into a hunting ground.
"Hold the line!" Curren shouted.
The vampire squad moved with lethal precision. No transformations, no cries—just calculated, ruthless strikes. Silver swords slashed, stabbed, and pierced with the efficiency of seasoned killers.
The first werewolf leapt.
A vampire dodged at the last second, swinging her blade sideways. The silver sword cut through the creature's torso. Black blood sprayed across the asphalt, but the wolf managed a final roar before collapsing.
The others did not stop.
Claws tore through walls and asphalt. One vampire was thrown backward, slamming into a parked car, yet he rose again before the second werewolf lunged—only to meet Alena's silver blade piercing its skull from the side.
"Do not break formation!" she shouted.
Victoria stepped forward.
The werewolves attacked in unison. She did not flinch. Her sword moved like lightning—one thrust to the neck, a slash severing a front leg, another precise stab to the heart. Every movement clean. No hesitation. No emotion. Only resolve.
Before her, massive bodies fell one by one.
Farkas howled, his roar deeper, more menacing than any other. His body began to transform fully—bigger, darker, more vicious. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he leapt into the fray.
He struck two vampires at once, hurling them aside like ragdolls.
"Victoria!" he bellowed. "See what you have done to my people!"
Victoria lifted her sword, the silver blade streaked with dark blood.
"You chose tonight," she said coldly.
All around them, the battle raged on.
Vampires leapt from rooftops, striking from above. The werewolves countered with raw power, tearing and biting. Screams, howls, and the clang of metal filled the night air—a symphony of carnage.