No one spoke. Not a single word, not a whisper, not even a breath louder than necessary.
Everyone in the vast hall, vampires and Aurors alike, enemies moments ago now united in shocked incredulity watched in heavy, oppressive silence as Trask Graves went about his mysterious work without offering a word of explanation; For what was happening before their eyes had exceeded their comprehension.
They simply couldn't understand why Graves had killed Morgans so suddenly and brutally, cutting down his own ally at the moment of their apparent triumph.
Nor could they begin to fathom the spell he was now casting—a spell so greatly evil in its essence that even vampires, those dark creatures who embraced shadow and blood, acknowledged its profound wickedness from the depths of their immortal being. They could feel it in their bones, in their cursed blood: this was magic that surpassed ordinary darkness.
That glowing white orb that had been ripped from Graves's chest, that had floated through the air like a fragment of captured moonlight... what had Graves done to this clan's vampiric ancestor?
But one thing was becoming increasingly, horrifyingly clear: this was not Graves having a sudden change of heart at the final moment, nor was it a spur-of-the-moment decision born of belated conscience. This was something he had meticulously planned all along, perhaps for years.
An invisible sense of impending doom, a premonition of something terrible about to unfold, tormented Sirius's keen nerves that had been sharpened by years of danger and narrow escapes.
He could no longer endure the suffocating uncertainty. Despite having weathered countless storms in his tumultuous life, despite facing down Death Eaters and Dementors and the Dark Lord himself, his voice now trembled:
"What exactly have you done, Graves?"
Graves knelt on the ground beside the blood pool, his breathing as heavy as bellows, as labored as a man who'd run for miles. His graying hair was completely drenched in cold sweat, soaked strands hanging down limply to obscure his eyes and much of his face.
He looked simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated, drained yet somehow more alive than he'd been in years.
"You—"
Sirius was about to press further, to demand answers with more force, when—
Whooom!
A powerful wave of pure magical force swept out from the blood pool at its center, emanating in concentric rings like ripples on a pond but far more potent.
Every living being touched by these faintly crimson ripples whether vampire or Auror blanched in perfect unison! The color drained from their faces.
Throughout the hall, one creature after another fell to their knees, not just the vampires, but the Aurors as well, their bodies moving without conscious command.
A fierce gleam flashed through Sirius's gray eyes. He gritted his teeth hard enough to crack, trying desperately to force himself to stand, to resist this invisible compulsion. But his body completely refused to obey his will, as if the connection between mind and muscle had been severed.
Another force had taken complete control, paralyzing his body with terrible efficiency. It was his blood, his own blood had turned traitor!
The blood within each person's body had seized control of its host like a parasite assuming command, forcing them to bow in involuntary submission to the resurrected Blood Lord!
Splash, splash—
A sound like lapping waves filled everyone's ears, clear and distinct despite the silence. It was like the tide rising and falling beneath the moonlight, crisp and melodious, intoxicating without any conscious intention. The rhythm was hypnotic, seductive.
Many Aurors' expressions grew visibly dazed, their eyes unfocusing as if their minds had been seized by something, their consciousness was pulled toward that rhythmic sound. But not Sirius, his mental defenses held firm.
His eyes remained sharp and clear, glaring viciously at Graves with neat hatred and determination. However—
Splash, splash!
The sound intensified, doubled in volume and presence.
Sirius's sharp gaze suddenly went blank, all focus draining away in an instant. In his frozen stare, a trace of genuine fear seeped through that he couldn't suppress. It boiled up uncontrollably from some deep place in his psyche!
Behind Graves, the body—no, it was no longer merely a corpse, but a resurrected vampire lord, rose slowly. A crystalline red glow, translucent as blood itself yet solid as gemstone, surrounded its perfect form. The aura expanded out like a vast blood moon rising from beyond the horizon, casting everything in crimson shadow!
Sirius stared helplessly, unable to look away, as the vampiric ancestor slowly opened its bright red eyes for the first time in centuries.
This vampire was quite possibly the most physically beautiful creature he had ever encountered in his entire life and he'd seen Veela, had met the most attractive witches and wizards across two continents.
It possessed skin more pristine and paler than the most beautiful woman, like porcelain that had never seen the sun. Its facial features were strikingly deep and perfectly proportioned, in a way that transcended any single culture or time period.
Its appearance was so perfect it seemed to have gathered the finest traits from countless faces throughout history, as if beauty itself had been distilled into physical form.
The sight caused the heart of every living being whose gaze fell upon that impossibly attractive face to race with uncontrollable palpitations, with something that might have been attraction or terror or both inseparably mixed.
The only marring feature, the single imperfection in that flawless face, was the two white, savage fangs showing prominently between its lips.
This was absolutely not an opponent he and his group could handle, not even close. Sirius's mind remained analytically clear despite his body's paralysis. The power radiating from this being was on an entirely different scale. He wanted desperately to look toward Fawkes, to somehow communicate urgency, to urge the phoenix to hurry and fetch Bryan immediately.
Within the current American magical world, perhaps within the entire Western hemisphere, only Bryan had any realistic chance of defeating this evil, terrifying creature!
But Sirius couldn't do it. Couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even shift his eyes.
His body's movements were completely suppressed by that invisible force. He couldn't make a single sound, could only stare with fury and unwillingness burning intensely in his eyes at those vampire eyes, the source of all this evil.
Suddenly, Sirius froze for an entirely different reason.
Those were eyes of crystalline red, translucent enough to rival Fawkes's ruby-like pupils in their clarity and depth—eyes that perfectly matched their owner's breathtaking face. Beautiful, mesmerizing, hypnotic.
Only...
"Heh heh heh..."
Laughter suddenly rang out in the hall, cutting through the desperate silence. The strange laughter, inappropriate and unsettling, drew everyone's attention immediately toward Graves.
"Heh heh..."
The laughter gradually turned frenzied, rising in pitch and intensity, finally becoming completely unrestrained and wild.
"Ha ha ha! HA HA HA!"
Kneeling by the blood pool, facing the Blood Lord that had fallen from the pool onto its edge like a discarded doll, Graves whose shoulders trembled slightly as if in worship or perhaps suppressed hysteria, finally raised his head.
Madness ravaged the light in his eyes, replacing any semblance of the man they'd known!
Graves sprang up lightly despite his earlier exhaustion, moving with sudden vigor and energy. He tore open his shirt once more with violent gestures, buttons scattering. When his gaze fell upon his own upper body, when he saw what had changed, he finally burst into wild, triumphant laughter that echoed off the broken walls.
Sirius knew immediately the reason for Graves's dramatic demeanor. He blinked with difficulty, fighting against the paralysis, his face full of disbelief and horror.
They had just seen Graves's upper body few minutes ago: a body carved into grotesque fragments by crisscrossing black veins, withered and dying, due to the curse destroying him from inside. But now the situation was completely different.
Graves's body had returned to perfect normalcy, better than normal even. That robust chest radiated the surging vitality of a healthy teenager!
Had the curse truly been resolved so fully? So easily?
Sirius, Amelia, Uriel, and Selena, the four who had just heard Graves recount his tragic past in this very hall, who'd felt sympathy for his desperate situation, all showed expressions of disbelief mixed with growing dread.
Although Graves had insisted he had confirmed with the vampires that resurrecting their ancestor would restore him to normal health, in reality, all of them had been deeply skeptical of this claim. Throughout this entire affair, Graves had seemed far too much like a tool being manipulated by the vampires!
Moreover, this vampire ancestor standing there frozen like a statue, empty-eyed and motionless, hadn't actually done anything yet, had it? So why had Graves's curse automatically lifted?! What was the mechanism?
"Heh heh, this day—"
The laughter grew increasingly eerie, taking on an edge that sent chills down spines.
Graves by the pool still wore the same physical face, the same features they'd known for years. But everyone who knew him, everyone who'd worked under his command, felt utterly alienated from this person. This deep sense of wrongness was even different from the earlier betrayal.
When Selena and Uriel had learned that Graves had betrayed justice for darkness, had chosen survival over duty, they had felt their revered figure become strange and disappointing, yet still somewhat familiar in his desperation. That had been understandable human weakness.
But now, this thing standing in front of them, that man whose facial features had suddenly become incredibly sinister, whose very essence radiated wrongness left these experienced Aurors completely bewildered and deeply unsettled. This wasn't the same person at all.
It was actually Sirius, with his broader experience of dark magic and dark wizards, who sensed something terribly familiar in this 'reborn' Graves. His blood ran cold as recognition hit him. He seemed to see in Graves's altered air... the shadow of Voldemort!
"Ah—"
Graves spread his arms wide exaggeratedly, facing the broken ceiling and the sky visible beyond with an excited yet deeply twisted smile on his face. His expression was one of ecstatic freedom.
"This day has finally come after so many years of careful planning! This is... what a free and unrestrained feeling! No more curse eating at my magic, no more weakness, no more limitations!"
Graves lowered his head, looking at his outstretched hands as if seeing them for the first time, turning them over to examine both sides. His entire body radiated such concentrated evil and wickedness that it was actually painful to look at directly, like staring at something that shouldn't exist!
Tap—
Stepping casually over a puddle of blood splattered on the floor, Morgans's blood. Graves's gaze finally fell upon this 'reborn' vampire ancestor standing motionless. His face showed open mockery and disdainful ridicule. He raised his hand almost playfully and patted the vampire's shoulder as one might pat a loyal dog, snorting contemptuously twice.
"G-Graves, sir—"
After Graves moved away from the pool, the heavy pressure in the hall dissipated considerably, though not completely. The crushing weight lifted enough for speech.
A vampire near the front of the group, one who'd survived the battle, looked bewilderedly between their ancestor whom they revered as a deity, whom they'd sacrificed everything to resurrect and Graves. The creature's teeth were chattering with confusion and rising fear.
"What exactly is going on, Mr. Graves? Our ancestor... he has been resurrected, hasn't it? We succeeded, didn't we? Why does it stand there like that? And why did you kill Mr. Morgans, who was loyal to this cause—"
"Oh, that's an interesting question, a very good question indeed!"
Graves circled the motionless vampire ancestor twice in a slow orbit, observing it from different angles as one might examine a piece of sculpture or a prize animal.
Upon hearing the vampire's trembling inquiry, he cast over an interested gaze, his vision sweeping across the hall. He could see the confusion written clearly on everyone's faces. He could even sense their confusion like a tangible force, could feel their desperate need to understand.
Finally, after letting the tension build, he looked toward Sirius and the others, smiling in a relaxed, frivolous manner.
"I imagine you're all feeling quite confused right now? Desperately trying to piece together what you've witnessed?"
Sirius's expression was solemn and controlled. He refused to show the slightest weakness before this utterly evil wizard, wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"I'm not confused at all," Sirius said in a low, steady voice.
"You used some kind of evil magic to control this resurrected vampire ancestor, didn't you?"
"Oh, don't be like that, Mr. Black—"
Graves frowned in exaggerated, feigned displeasure, as if Sirius had committed some terrible social faux pas.
"In this moment of such immense personal pleasure, such long-awaited triumph, you shouldn't deprive me of the joy of sharing my accomplishment, should you? I've waited so long for someone to appreciate the genius of what I've done. Besides—"
His smile widened, taking on a show that was genuinely disturbing.
"The truth is somewhat more interesting than you think..."
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