Chapter 1: Girl in the gilded cage
The last sensation she recorded was the sterile chill of the MRI machine and the blinding white lights of the university hospital's laboratory. It was 3:00 AM on the Blue Planet. She had been the nation's top medical student, a prodigy obsessed with cellular regeneration and oncology, pushing the boundaries of human endurance. But the human body has limits, even for a genius. A sudden, crushing weight in her chest, a collapse of synapses, and then... darkness. Calculated, clinical, final death from severe exhaustion and cardiac arrest.
Or so she thought.
The first sensation to return was not the cold floor of the lab, but a burning, searing agony in her sternum.
She gasped, her eyes snapping open. The air didn't smell of antiseptic; it smelled of old wood, dust, and the coppery tang of fresh blood. She tried to sit up, but a heavy object pinned her to the silk sheets.
Looking down, her mind—trained to analyze trauma instantly—registered the situation with horrific clarity. A dagger. An ornate, ruby-encrusted dagger was buried deep into her chest, piercing precisely where the left ventricle should be.
"Cardiac tamponade," her mind whispered automatically. "Pericardial effusion. Fatal."
Yet, she was breathing.
With a trembling hand, she gripped the handle. It felt real. The pain was real. Gritting her teeth, relying on a willpower forged through hundred-hour residency shifts, she pulled.
Squelch.
The sound was nauseating. As the blade slid free, a fountain of blood erupted, soaking her white nightgown. She waited for the darkness to return, for her blood pressure to bottom out. But then, she felt it. A strange, crawling sensation beneath her skin. Heat rushed to the wound.
She watched in disbelief as the torn flesh knitted itself together. Muscle fibers reconnected, the skin stretched and sealed, and within seconds, only a pale, faint scar remained before fading entirely.
"Hyper-accelerated cellular mitosis?" she muttered, her voice sounding higher, softer than she remembered. "Impossible. Energy conservation laws should prohibit this."
Then came the headache. It wasn't a migraine; it was an invasion.
Memories that were not her own flooded her hippocampus. She saw a lavish palace, a man with a golden crown looking at her with pity—King Aethelgard. She saw a woman in shadows giving birth and dying—her mother. She felt the loneliness of a child growing up in a gilded cage on the outskirts of the kingdom.
She was Serafina. She was ten years old.
She was the illegitimate daughter of the King. Her mother, a noblewoman, had died in childbirth. The Queen, having discovered the King's secret affair, feared Serafina might eventually challenge her own children for the right of succession. The Queen had made her move.
The final memory was of a masked figure standing over her bed just moments ago.
"The Queen sends her regards, little bastard," the assassin had sneered before plunging the dagger down. He had watched her stop breathing and left, confident the job was done.
But he hadn't known what Serafina was. Neither had Serafina, until this moment.
She threw the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She paused. Her feet were tiny. Her hands were pale, delicate, and small.
She rushed to the standing mirror in the corner of the room. The reflection staring back was breathtaking but alien. A girl of ten stood there, possessing an ethereal, almost haunting beauty. Her hair was a cascade of liquid silver, shimmering in the dim light. Her eyes were the most striking feature—a deep, glowing purple, like amethyst crystals lit from within.
"I have transmigrated," she whispered, touching the glass. "A magical world. Humans, Beast-kin, Elves, Dwarves, Dragons..." The taxonomy of this world existed in her new memories.
She looked around the room. It was spacious, furnished with expensive mahogany and velvet—the King's guilt money. She lived here with a small staff: a few maids, a cook, a male servant, and two knights stationed outside to 'protect' her.
Her stomach growled, but it wasn't a normal hunger. It was a dry, parched sensation in her throat, a craving she couldn't identify.
Knock, knock.
"Lady Serafina? Are you awake?"
It was Martha, the head maid. Serafina quickly hid the bloody dagger under her mattress and pulled her robe tight to hide the bloodstains on her nightgown.
"I am awake," Serafina replied. Her voice was steady, regal, inheriting the muscle memory of the previous owner's etiquette training.
"Breakfast is served in the solar, My Lady."
Serafina quickly washed her face, changed into a fresh dress, and composed herself. As she walked through the hallway, she analyzed her gait. She felt lighter, faster. Her senses were dialled up to eleven. She could hear the knights whispering near the front gate about their pay. She could smell the dust motes dancing in a sunbeam.
She entered the solar. Martha pulled out a chair.
"We have prepared a vegetable stew and roasted lamb, My Lady," Martha said, lifting the silver cloche.
The moment the steam hit Serafina's face, she recoiled violently. The smell was acrid, burning her nostrils like ammonia. It was repulsive, triggering a gag reflex so strong she nearly vomited.
"What... what is in this?" Serafina choked out, covering her nose and mouth with a napkin.
Martha looked confused. "Just the usual herbs, My Lady. Rosemary, thyme, and fresh garlic from the garden."
Garlic.
The word echoed in her mind. Along with the craving in her throat. Along with the rapid healing. She looked at Martha's neck. There, pulsing beneath the skin, was the jugular vein. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound was mesmerizing.
Serafina's eyes widened. Silver hair. Purple eyes. Healing factor. Aversion to garlic. Blood craving.
"Remove it," Serafina ordered, her voice trembling slightly as she fought the urge to lunge at the maid. "Take it away immediately. And inform the cook: never use garlic in my dish again. I have developed... a severe allergy."
"Yes, My Lady! I apologize!" Martha rushed the food away.
Serafina sat alone at the table. "I am a vampire," she whispered. "I died from overwork trying to save lives, and I have been reborn as a creature that takes them."
She needed data. She was a scientist first.
"System!" she called out firmly. "Status Window! Open!"
Silence.
"Menu? Stat sheet?"
Nothing.
"Great. No cheat system. Just biological anomalies," she sighed. "I must conduct my own clinical trials."
She dismissed the servants, claiming illness, and locked herself in her room. She retrieved a leather-bound journal and a quill. She began to write in English—a perfect cipher in this world.
Subject: Serafina (Current Host)
Species: Vampire (Presumed Pureblood variant)
Age: 10 (Physical)
Condition: Post-Mortem Reanimation
She began her experiments immediately.
Experiment 1: Regeneration
She sliced a deep gash into her palm.
Result: The wound pulled itself shut in 4 seconds. Functional immortality confirmed.
Experiment 2: Photochemical Sensitivity
She extended her hand into direct sunlight.
Result: No burning, but a 10% reduction in physical parameters (Vikar factor). She felt heavy, sluggish.
Experiment 3: Traditional Weaknesses
She pressed a silver letter opener against her skin. Result: No reaction.
She tested the 'Holy Water' from the mantle. Result: It was just water.
Conclusion: My biology is magical/genetic, not theological.
Experiment 4: Hemokinesis (Blood Control)
This was the most critical test. Serafina reopened the wound on her finger. A single drop of crimson welled up. She focused her will on it, imagining it was a slide under a microscope, something to be manipulated
Rise, she commanded in her mind
The drop defied gravity. It floated up
She swept her hand to the right. The blood followed
She concentrated harder, pouring more intent into the liquid. She pushed the blood from her open wound, not letting it heal yet. More blood poured out, but it didn't fall. It swirled around her hand.....
Experiment 5: Dorsal Appendages (Wings)
This was the sensation that had been bothering her since she woke up—a persistent itch and pressure between her shoulder blades, deep in the dorsal muscles. It felt like something was coiled there, waiting to be released.
She stood in the center of the room, ensuring she had space. She closed her eyes and focused her internal mana toward that pressure point. She visualized the release.
Crack. Snap.
It wasn't a gentle unfolding. It was an explosion of anatomy.
Two large, leathery wings erupted from her back, tearing through the back of her dress.
She gasped, stumbling forward from the sudden shift in her center of gravity. She turned to the mirror, her purple eyes wide with scientific fascination.
They were magnificent and terrifying. They were not the feathery, angelic wings of storybooks. These were dark, membranous structures, spanning nearly seven feet fully extended. The skin of the wings was a deep, midnight obsidian, stretching tight over a framework of strong, hollow bones that resembled elongated fingers. They pulsed with a faint violet aura. At the apex of each wing joint, a small, curved black claw protruded, sharp enough to gut a man.
"Chiroptera morphology," she noted breathlessly, examining the reflection. "Similar to a bat, but far more robust. The muscular attachment at the scapula must be immense to support flight."
She began her tests.
Wing Test A: Motor Control
Serafina concentrated. Fold.
The wings responded instantly, snapping tight against her back like a heavy cloak.
Extend.
They shot out, the wind from the motion knocking a stack of books off her desk.
Note: Neural connection is flawless. They feel like a third and fourth arm.
Wing Test B: Aerodynamics and Lift
Serafina looked at the high vaulted ceiling of her room. It was about fifteen feet high.
"Let's test the thrust-to-weight ratio," she murmured.
She crouched low, engaging her leg muscles, and then sprang upward while simultaneously thrusting the wings down.
WHOOSH.
The force was shocking. She didn't just hop; she rocketed upward. She nearly smashed her head against the ceiling rafters, having to execute a panic mid-air flip to push off the wooden beam with her feet.
She hovered there, upside down, clinging to the rafter with her feet and the claws on her wings.
"Incredible," she whispered, looking down at her bed. "The lift generation is absurdedly high. I can hover effortlessly."
Wing Test C: Offensive Capability
She dropped back to the floor, landing silently. She looked at a heavy wooden chair in the corner.
She spun her body, whipping the left wing forward like a scythe. The hardened, bony leading edge of the wing struck the chair.
CRACK.
The solid oak chair shattered into splinters.
Serafina retracted the wings, wincing slightly. "High tensile strength. Hardened bone ridges. They are not just for transport; they are bludgeoning weapons and shields."
She sat back down at her desk, the wings folded neatly behind her, looking like a dark cape. She dipped the quill again.
Current Abilities:
Immortal Body: High-speed regeneration.
Hemokinesis: Blood control.
Vampire Wings: Flight, shielding, offensive striking.
Solar Penalty: -10% Stats.
Lunar Buff: +20% Stats (Estimated).
Aversions: Garlic.
She stared at the blank page. Being strong was not enough. The Queen wanted her dead. The assassin would return. If she wanted to survive, she needed to evolve. She needed to treat this like a game, or a very difficult surgery.
She began to write her Hypotheses for Development:
Hypothesis A: Dietary Evolution.
Theory: Consumption of blood is likely the source of XP/Mana.
Proposition: Consuming the blood of higher-ranking beings (High Mages, Dragons, Nobles) may induce physiological evolution or "Rank Up."
Hypothesis B: The Servant System.
Theory: Vampiric folklore cites the creation of thralls.
Proposition: Injection of my blood into a host may create "Blood Slaves" or a "Clan." These subjects would be physically incapable of disobeying a direct order due to neuro-chemical binding.
Hypothesis C: Hypnotic Suggestion.
Theory: My eyes seem to hold raw mana.
Proposition: Eye contact combined with vocal commands may override the frontal cortex of lower-ranking beings.
Serafina closed the diary and locked it in the secret compartment. The sun was setting. The shadows lengthened, and she felt her strength doubling, the night calling to her.
She walked to the window, her leather wings twitching in anticipation. She looked out toward the distant capital where the Queen sat on her throne.
Serafina smiled, and her canines extended, sharp and glinting.
"You tried to excise a tumor," she whispered to the wind. "But you only woke up the pathogen."
The medical student was dead. The Crimson Progenitor had risen.