The palace was alive with rumor. Courtiers whispered behind jeweled fans, guards traded glances at their posts. Three unfamiliar women walked in step with the queen, their cloaks discarded, their figures dressed now in silks and gold-threaded gowns.
Iris walked steady, her head high, her dagger hidden beneath the folds of fabric. Clara followed with a calm smile, every step graceful, her eyes sharp and watchful. Tina, quiet as ever, moved like a shadow half-disguised in finery, her gaze lowered but keen.
At the queen's side, they looked less like servants and more like noble-born ladies. The courtiers dared not question, but whispers spread like wildfire: candidates for the princes, chosen companions for the royal bloodline.
The queen did not deny it. Her lips curved faintly, her tone even as she moved through the halls. She treated the three as her equals, shielding them beneath her own authority. None dared challenge.
Beneath their feet, in the depths of the lair, Noctis sat upon a throne of stone he had carved for himself. The Grid pulsed before him, its newest branch burning bright.
He tested each new skill in silence.
Sovereign's Voice — his command rang out, the chamber itself seeming to vibrate as shadows obeyed his will. Even without thralls, the air bent to him.
Throne of Shadows — crimson essence flared as the crude stone beneath him warped into a dark seat of power, runes glowing faintly along its arms. Strength and essence coursed into him, his veins igniting with restored energy.
Coronation Rite — the lair trembled as his aura expanded, a flood of dominion that crushed the space around him. Even the air seemed to kneel. For a brief hour, he felt the weight of sovereignty made flesh.
When it faded, he exhaled, golden-crimson eyes burning brighter than before. Yes. This branch is true power. The throne of blood has already begun to take shape.
Above, the queen and the women returned to the great hall. Courtiers bowed in passing, uncertain but unwilling to question. Guards whispered of alliances, of secret trials for the royal heirs.
Below, Noctis sat in silence, his claws drumming on the arm of his conjured throne.
The cathedral searched still — into the sewers, into the gutters, into the dark corners of the city. But their quarry was already enthroned beneath the palace, binding its blood, bending its crown.
The lair's stone walls pulsed faintly with the echo of his dominion. Noctis sat upon his conjured throne, claws drumming lightly against its armrest. His golden-crimson eyes burned as he thought.
The cathedral searches blind. They know I am here, but they cannot find me. If they search forever, suspicion will spread. Panic will breed resistance. I need a scapegoat. Someone they can slay. Someone they can call the evil they feared.
The plan solidified. He rose.
That night, the queen's chamber stirred with anticipation. The queen sat waiting, clothed in silks. Iris, Clara, and Tina knelt nearby, their faces glowing with devotion.
Noctis emerged from the hidden panel, his presence filling the room. Their eyes lit at once, but his expression was calm.
"I must leave tonight."
Disappointment flickered in their faces. The queen lowered her head. Clara bit her lip. Iris and Tina exchanged glances.
He touched each one lightly, claw to chin, to cheek, to shoulder. "Patience. When this task is finished, I will return. And then, I will show you proper love."
Their eyes brightened, voices uniting: "Yes, Master."
Noctis smiled faintly, then turned, disappearing into the passage.
The slums reeked of smoke and filth. Noctis moved unseen through narrow alleys, sanctity veiling his aura.
He struck first at civilians. His fangs pierced flesh, blood rushing hot, leaving only husks behind. But this time, he did not devour. He left their bodies collapsed in mud, shriveled and drained, a trail of corpses leading deeper into the filth.
At last, he entered a den at the slum's heart. A gang leader lounged in drunken pride, surrounded by coin and weapons.
Noctis appeared in silence.
Skill: Binding Stare — Activated
The man froze where he sat, eyes wide, limbs stiff. Terror filled his face.
Noctis bent low and sank his fangs into the man's throat. Blood surged. The leader's body shriveled, drying into husk-skin as his lifeblood drained away.
Noctis drank deep, then pulled back, crimson dripping from his lips.
System Notice[New Doctrine Branch Discovered: Assassin's Vein]
A flicker passed the Grid, but he ignored it. More important was the next step.
He sliced his wrist, letting his blood spill into the husk's mouth.
The corpse twitched. Skin regained color, moisture returning, body quivering until the man gasped awake.
He clutched his chest, horrified. "What… what is this? What have you done?"
Noctis's eyes gleamed, his voice low. "I have given you new life. From this moment, you are special. You will cause havoc in this city. You will overturn even the church. I will bestow strength to shatter your chains."
Crimson essence surged into him.
Skill: Blood Blessing — Activated
The gang leader convulsed, veins glowing red. His breath turned ragged before laughter ripped from his chest, sharp and wild.
"Yes… yes! I feel it! Power! A voice! A voice telling me to kill!"
He grabbed a weapon, swinging it madly, smashing tables and walls.
Noctis stepped back, fading into the shadows. His lips curved in satisfaction.
"Now go. And have fun."
The gang leader burst from his chamber, shrieking in madness, striking down civilians, cutting hunters who rushed to stop him. Blood sprayed the streets, his laughter echoing into the night.
From a rooftop above, Noctis watched, crimson-gold eyes glinting.
Perfect. The cathedral will think they have found their evil.
He vanished, slipping back to the palace, disappearing into the hidden passage.
The streets of the capital burned with chaos.
Hunters swarmed the slums, shields raised, spears thrusting through smoke and shadow. Zealots chanted in frantic tones, relics glowing faintly as they pressed forward. Civilians screamed, fleeing from alleys lined with corpses — husks dried and brittle, their faces twisted in terror.
At the center of it all rampaged the gang leader, his body swollen with corrupted essence, his eyes blazing red. His blade cleaved through armor and bone alike. His laughter echoed, shrill and mad, drowning out the prayers around him.
On the cathedral's upper balcony, high priests watched the slaughter unfold. Their faces were pale, their hands clutching their staffs tightly.
"There! That is the source!" one shouted. "The evil we felt! The corruption walks in flesh!"
Another priest nodded, though his voice trembled. "It reeks of shadow… but sanctity does not pierce him. He is too far gone. Only holy fire will end him."
The cathedral's bells rang out, summoning more hunters to the streets.
The battle raged until the gang leader was forced into the open square. Dozens of hunters surrounded him, their shields locking, their spears forming a wall of steel. Priests raised their hands, chanting, their relics flaring with golden light.
The leader shrieked, his body convulsing, his blade swinging madly. His strength tore through two men at once, but the circle held. Spears pierced his flesh, relics burned his skin, holy fire consumed him from all sides.
He screamed, his laughter twisting into howls of agony. His body collapsed into ash, black smoke curling skyward before vanishing into nothing.
The square fell silent.
A priest lowered his staff, his voice breaking into triumph. "The darkness has been vanquished!"
Hunters raised their weapons, voices echoing in victory. The crowd that had gathered cheered weakly, clinging to the hope that the terror was finished.
The high priests exchanged glances. Relief flickered across their faces. Yet in their eyes, doubt still lingered.
One whispered under his breath: "If that was the shadow… why does the city still feel heavy?"
Far above, in the hidden passages of the palace, Noctis felt their relief. He smiled faintly, his golden-crimson eyes burning in the dark.
Yes. Hunt your phantom. Rejoice in your false victory. The true throne is already mine.
The palace was quiet. Beyond its walls, the cathedral still rang bells of triumph, celebrating the slum's fallen scapegoat. Priests and hunters claimed the darkness had been purged. The city breathed easier, if only for a moment.
But within the queen's chambers, another truth reigned.
Noctis reclined upon silks, the queen at his side. Her lips still parted in soft sighs, her eyes lowered in reverence. Clara leaned against his chest, Iris rested with her head upon his lap, and Tina curled close at his leg. Their bodies were spent, their devotion absolute.
He looked upon them and smiled faintly. The city celebrates a false victory, and here I sit with its true crown already in my grasp.
His hunger stirred again — not for blood, but for dominion.
His golden-crimson eyes flared.
Skill: Binding Stare — Activated
The chamber doors opened. One by one, the queen's maids entered, their gazes blank, their wills shackled by his stare. They bowed silently before him, awaiting command.
Noctis's lips curved. "Come and serve me."
The queen trembled at his words, her breath catching. Clara, Iris, and Tina stirred, their expressions mixed between shock and quiet acceptance. Yet when Noctis reached out, they yielded without hesitation.
He pulled the maids closer. Their garments fell. The chamber filled once more with sound.
Moans rose and fell in waves — first one voice, then another, until the air quivered with a chorus of pleasure and submission. The queen's cries blended with Clara's soft gasps, Iris's broken moans, Tina's breathless whimpers, and the new voices of the maids, rising one at a time, echoing across the stone.
Noctis laughed, the sound low and resonant, carrying through the chamber as he took them all into his dominion.
The night burned long, silks torn and bodies entwined, the palace's shadow master claiming every voice as his own.
By morning, silence lay heavy. The bed was a ruin, the floor strewn with limbs and tangled garments. The queen and women lay sprawled in exhaustion, the maids collapsed where they had fallen, all unable to move.
Noctis stood at the center, untouched, his eyes glowing with cold satisfaction.
The city believes the darkness slain. Yet its true lord feasts in silence, his dominion absolute.
Morning light spilled through the stained glass of the palace council chamber. Gold and blue colors played across the stone floor as nobles, priests, and royal heirs gathered. The air buzzed with restless voices, rumors moving faster than truth.
"The cathedral has purged the darkness," one lord declared. "The priests claim the evil was destroyed in the slums. The city is safe again."
Another noble raised a brow. "If it was so great a threat, why was it found in filth and not within the walls? What kind of shadow is slain by gutter-hunters?"
"Do not question the cathedral," snapped a zealot scribe, robes quivering with indignation. "The Sun's will guided us. The danger has passed."
Yet murmurs continued. Some whispered of bodies left as husks, drained but not devoured. Others spoke of the gang leader who had grown monstrous overnight, only to fall to holy fire.
At the dais, the queen sat with her sons, her crown gleaming beneath the morning light. Prince Kaelen, poised and composed, addressed the court.
"The cathedral has claimed victory. We will not contest it. Let the people believe. The city needs calm, not doubt."
Prince Ryvar slammed a fist against the table. "Calm? The cathedral failed for weeks! Now they take glory for slaying a mad dog in the slums? If they were hunters worth their vows, the streets would not have drowned in blood before their triumph."
Nobles murmured agreement. Priests bristled. The chamber teetered on argument.
The queen raised her hand, silencing them all. Her voice was steady, her expression unreadable. "The Sun's servants claim a victory. Then let it be so. The crown will not dispute it. Order is maintained. That is what matters."
Her words carried more weight than her tone, for every eye in the chamber saw her composure — calm, serene, unshaken by fear. None saw the truth beneath: that her will was not wholly her own.
At the back of the chamber, servants moved quietly, pouring wine, carrying scrolls, taking notes. Among them were the queen's maids, their eyes lowered, their faces blank. None noticed how their movements were too synchronized, how their silence carried too perfectly.
Noctis's dominion lingered, invisible, woven into the heart of the palace.
The court debated policy, the cathedral boasted victory, and the people whispered relief.
And all the while, the true lord of the castle sat unseen in shadow, his laughter silent in their midst.
The great doors of the council chamber opened with a low groan. Sunlight spilled in, reflecting off gilded vestments and relics of polished gold.
A procession of cathedral dignitaries entered — high priests in white and gold, zealots with chains of relic-charms across their shoulders, and scribes carrying bound tomes heavy with seals. At their head walked Archbishop Helvar, a gaunt man with silvered hair and eyes that burned with holy fire.
The nobles rose in half-bows. The royals remained seated.
"Your Grace," Helvar intoned, bowing shallowly toward the queen and her sons. "The cathedral stands before you, triumphant. The evil that threatened your people has been destroyed by our hand. We come not for praise — but for recognition."
The chamber stirred. Nobles muttered. Priests among the court smirked with pride.
Prince Ryvar's fist tightened on the table. "Recognition? You let corpses pile in our streets. You failed to find the shadow for weeks. And now, because one gutter-beast dies shrieking in the slums, you demand glory?"
Gasps filled the chamber. Zealots stiffened, hands tightening on relics.
Helvar's gaze sharpened. "Careful, Prince. Blasphemy spoken in these halls echoes louder than you know. The Sun's judgment does not forgive."
Prince Kaelen interjected smoothly, his tone calm. "The crown does not dispute the cathedral's effort. We acknowledge the hunt ended. But recognition is not demanded — it is earned."
The queen raised her hand, silencing the growing noise. Her expression was serene, her voice soft but cutting.
"The people believe the danger ended by your hand. That is enough. The crown will not challenge the cathedral's story. But do not mistake our silence for submission. This city belongs to its throne."
Tension hung thick in the air. The archbishop's lips tightened, but he inclined his head.
"As you will, Your Grace. Let the people rejoice in their king and their crown. Let them see you as sovereign. But never forget whose light guards your walls. We are always watching."
With that, he turned. The dignitaries departed, relics clinking as they left the hall.
The nobles exhaled. Murmurs resumed, softer this time, some praising the queen's poise, others whispering of the cathedral's arrogance.
At the chamber's edge, the queen's maids moved quietly. Their eyes remained lowered, their silence perfect. None saw how their movements matched too closely, as though guided by a single unseen will.
In the hidden veins of the palace, Noctis stood in shadow, crimson eyes glinting.
Yes, archbishop. Watch the city. Watch the slums. Watch the streets. But never the throne. You will not see until it is too late.
The palace slept. Torches guttered in empty halls, guards marched their routines in silence, unaware of the predator in their midst.
Noctis moved through hidden passages, his steps soundless, his aura concealed beneath layered wards. Tonight, he would claim the throne's lifeblood for his Grid.
He reached the chamber of the first prince.
Skill: Binding Stare — Activated
Golden-crimson light flared in the darkness. The prince froze in bed, eyes wide and blank. Noctis leaned down, fangs sinking into his throat. Blood surged, hot and sharp, filling his veins with princely essence.
He drank until his Grid pulsed, then withdrew. The bite sealed clean, no scar left. The prince collapsed back to rest, unaware.
The second prince fell the same way. No struggle. No alarm. Just the stare, the bite, the silent drain. Another pulse through the Grid. Another node flickering to life.
Finally, Noctis entered the king's chamber. The old man lay frail beneath heavy quilts, his breath shallow. For a moment, Noctis lingered, eyes narrowing. Then he moved.
Skill: Binding Stare — Activated
The king stiffened, eyes glazing. Noctis's fangs sank into aged flesh. The blood was weaker, yet steeped in authority. His Grid flared brighter than before, and new branches unlocked, whispering power.
He wiped the wound away with a trace of essence. The king's chest rose and fell as before, as though nothing had touched him.
Noctis returned to his lair, blood still burning in his veins. He sat upon the stone throne, calling the Grid forth.
Its web of crimson light pulsed, nodes glowing brighter. Royal blood had changed it. Skills long locked now trembled at the edge of awakening. Entire branches shone with new possibility.
His claws flexed. His lips curved. It is time to strengthen them all.
The lair pulsed with quiet power. Noctis sat upon his stone throne, golden-crimson eyes fixed on the lattice of blood and light before him. The Blood Grid stretched endlessly, its nodes gleaming brighter after the royal feast.
Now was the time.
System Notice[Royal Blood Branch: Reinforced][Multiple Tier II and Tier III upgrades available]
Noctis raised his claw. His will pressed into the Grid. One by one, nodes flared open.
Predator Doctrines
Predator Flame II → Predator Flame III — Fire ignited hotter, laced with essence that burned through magical resistance.Predator Frost II → Predator Frost III — Frost spirals lengthened, detonations piercing deeper before shattering.Predator Gale II → Predator Gale III — Currents expanded, slashing wider arcs across battlefields.Predator Bolt II → Predator Bolt III — Lightning chained farther, unraveling enemy circuits.Helix Bore II → Helix Bore III — Torque doubled, drills tearing even hardened armor.
Doctrines
Sword Doctrine: Dual Blades I → Dual Blades II — Movement synchronized, reducing stamina cost by half.Sword Doctrine: Orbiting Arsenal II → Orbiting Arsenal III — Restriction lifted: all weapon types now orbitable, not just swords.
Shield Doctrine: Blood Barrier I → Blood Barrier II — Radius expanded to 7 meters, sustain cost reduced.Shield Doctrine: Blood Bind Chains I → Blood Bind Chains II — Chains grew thicker, anchoring enemies longer.
Faith Doctrine: Dawnshroud Vein I → Dawnshroud Vein II — Sunlight resistance increased by 50%, holy burns reduced to negligible levels.Faith Doctrine: Blood Blessing I → Blood Blessing II — Buff extended to 1 hour, fatigue reduced by half.
Assassin's Vein: Shadow Step I → Shadow Step II — Range doubled, execution speed sharpened.
Royal Bloodline
Crown of Veins I → Crown of Veins II — Thralls now 40% more obedient; ability extended to noble-born retainers.Imperial Resonance I → Imperial Resonance II — Aura bonus increased: +20% attributes to nearby allies.Sanguine Heir's Command I → Sanguine Heir's Command II — Essence cost reduced; now affects multiple thralls within sight.
The Grid dimmed as the surge settled. Noctis leaned back, claws flexing, feeling each new power settle into his flesh. Fire flared hotter, lightning chained sharper, sunlight itself bent weaker against his veins. His dominion over thralls pulsed, stronger, deeper.
He exhaled slowly. Every path strengthens. Every throne bends closer.
The lair fell silent again, but the air itself trembled around him.