CHAPTER 697: 697

Meanwhile back on the southern continent, the Vampires were about to unleash their planned out plauge upon the empire. Under the nightsky, tall shadows crept from beyond the border of the Misty land as they made their way to the nearest town under the empire.

The guards never saw them.

Under the starless sky, the silhouettes moved like liquid darkness across the ridgeline tall, lean, and unnervingly silent. Their cloaks fluttered behind them without sound, drinking in what little moonlight filtered through the clouds.These were predators who had memorized every blind spot in this town’s patrol routes, who knew the rhythms of human night vigilance better than humans themselves.

As the bell in the eastern watchtower tolled midnight, the first group of five slipped over the wall.

Their feet did not disturb the frost-glazed earth. Their shadows stretched unnaturally long, melding with the cracks in the cobblestone streets as if the town itself wished to swallow them whole.

Tonight, they hunted.

And their prey, any human foolish enough to not understand the night doesn’t belong to them. Foolish enough to travel under the night sky, soon rumors spread like rot they are about to unleash, about how the night is hungrier now.

In a narrow alley lit by a single failing lantern, the first scream nearly rose, caught in the throat of a young courier before a pale hand closed over his mouth. His eyes widened in terror as he felt the cold lips brush his neck, the first puncture like a pinprick.

The alley grew quiet once more.

The vampires fed until his skin was dry, until his corpse was an empty husk crumpled like clothes left too long in rain. Then, as ordered by the court, they opened the chest with careful precision. A drop of their own blackened vitae dripped onto the shriveled heart.

The change was immediate.

The corpse spasmed violently, fingers curling, bones cracking as they elongated. A guttural croak vibrated through its hollow lungs. Where once a human lay, now something else clawed its way upright, a newborn thrall, mindless, starved, obedient.

The vampires stepped back, admiring their craft.

"Feed," whispered their leader. "Then follow the scent of blood to the next."

The thrall collapsed into a feral sprint, vanishing into the maze of streets.

Soon there would be more. Dozens. Hundreds. Enough to choke the empire with its own fear.

This night had been centuries in the making.

At the edge of the border, dozens of tall, emaciated figures stepped forward. Their limbs were too long; their shadows stretched across the ground like claws. These were the Plaguebearers, carriers of the first wave.

Under the night sky, they began their march.

No torches. No banners. Just silence, broken only by the wet sound of their footsteps on the dew-drenched soil.

From the hills above, the Vampire nobles watched with patient hunger, the moon reflecting in their crimson eyes.

"At dawn," said one, "the empire wakes to a kingdom of corpses."

"By dusk," replied another, "those corpses will walk."

The humans would wake up to find streets littered with bloods, but no bodies, their loved one’s missing. Unaware their loved one’s are now reborn in a new form and made a nest under their home, eager for the night sky to come when they would wake up to embrace their loved ones to join them.

Morning came gently like usual.

A soft gold washed over the rooftops, warm and comforting, as if the sun had no idea what had happened beneath its rising. Birds chirped as always. A baker lit his oven. A child yawned and rubbed her eyes.

For a heartbeat, everything was normal.

Until the first shriek split the morning air.

Then another.

And another.

By the time the town bell tolled, the streets were filled with people rushing out of their homes in confusion, worry, and lingering sleep. But what they found froze them in place.

Blood.

Smeared across the cobblestones in long dragged patterns. Splattered on the walls. Dried on doorsteps. Streaks leading into alleys and beneath carts. Everywhere, blood. Yet not a single body.

Not one.

Doors hung open as though someone had fled or been taken.

Mothers called the names of daughters who did not answer. Fathers sprinted from one street corner to another, searching for children who had not come home. Siblings clutched abandoned shoes, home made talismans, bags, hoping their owners would appear around the corner smiling.

But the town remained empty.

"H-Help!" shouted an elderly man near the well. "My wife, my wife is gone! All that’s left is... this."

In his trembling hands, he held a torn shawl soaked in blood, the familiar red-and-white embroidery barely visible beneath the stains.

Panic spread fast.

Within minutes, the entire square was filled with grieving, trembling people. Some wept openly. Others stood in shock. The guards meanwhile noticed that some of their own was missing too, yet there was no cry of battle or weapons clash.

A single, dreadful thought crept through every mind:

What monster kills so many... yet leaves no dead?

But no one, not the heartbroken mother clutching her missing son’s jacket, not the prayer-murmuring priest, not the captain of the guard staring at the patterns in the blood knew the truth.

Their loved ones were not dead.

They were beneath their feet.

In crawl spaces behind cellar walls. In storm drains and storage basements. In old tunnels left by miners long forgotten. Nests, made in haste during the night, where the newborn thralls lay curled like starving pups, shivering, twitching, adjusting to their new forms.

Their ears now sharp enough to hear every sob above them.

Their noses keen enough to inhale the scent of the living they once loved.

And as the sun climbed higher, the reborn creatures pressed themselves deeper into the cool darkness, instincts guiding them.

But even as they slept, their minds whispered with one desire, one command seeded into them by their vampiric creators:

"Wait until nightfall."

When the sun would vanish and the sky would darken...

When their hunger would outgrow their hesitation...

When they would rise twisted, desperate, forever changed and seek out the voices of the people they once cherished.

To embrace them, to feast upon them and to turn them. Family would join family.Households would become nests and soon the town would become a hive.

The town head, Tenichi Denholt, had seen many weird things in his thirty years of service and leadership but nothing like this.

Blood without bodies.

Dozens missing without a sound.

And an entire night that felt... wrong.

Tenichi’s jaw tightened as he watched his people cry and stagger through the streets. He forced himself to stand tall, to project steadiness he did not feel.

"Send riders to Oakfern and Hollowmere," he ordered sharply. "I want to know if this is only happening here or if the entire valley is under attack."

His messengers mounted their horses immediately. The moment they galloped out of town, Tenichi pulled aside his most trusted aide.

"And send this to the county seat," he said, thrusting a sealed letter into the man’s hands. "Use the fastest route. Do not stop for anything."

"Yes, sir. What should I tell them?"

"Tell the Countess..." Tenichi hesitated, glancing around at the blood-stained streets and trembling families. "Tell her we need professionals. Hunters. Exorcists. Soldiers. Anyone who understands monsters."

His aide nodded gravely and rushed off.

Tenichi rang the square bell again and again until the crowd finally gathered. Parents clung to children, neighbors held one another, and the air reeked of fear.

"My people," Tenichi began, raising both hands, "we will find your missing families. We do not yet know what caused this attack, but we will uncover it. I have already sent for aid from the county. Help is coming."

"How can you say that?" cried a woman near the front. "My boys never came home! All that’s left is their" Her voice broke. "their blood on the doorstep..."

Another man shouted, "What if something is hiding in our homes? What if it comes back tonight?"

A ripple of panic spread through the crowd.

Tenichi slammed the town guard’s spear onto the wooden platform. The crack echoed sharply.

"We will not let this town fall into hysteria," he said, forcing steel into his voice. "My men are searching every alley, every stable, every cellar. We will find answers before sunset."

He did not add we must, though the words burned on his tongue.

Guards spread through the town in groups of three, their boots crunching over dried trails of blood. They pried open old basements, crawled into abandoned chicken coops, and combed the graveyard not far from the town.

Everywhere they found evidence of struggle, but never a single corpse.

One guard muttered, "How can so many vanish at once?"

Another whispered, "No beast leaves nothing behind..."

On a rise overlooking the town, hidden among the sparse trees, two figures stood unnaturally still despite the bright daylight. These were the second generations assigned after the bite to keep watch on the thralls and keep them safe during daytime.