The smell hit him first—clotted blood and wet, rotting earth. Then came the pain. Sharp. Deep. Burrowing into his chest like a curse.
Lucas groaned. Smoke curled across a sky stained red and black. He lay on a cold stone floor, soaked in blood that wasn't his, surrounded by corpses twisted in unnatural ways—limbs torn, throats ripped, eyes still wide with terror.
What the hell… did I die? Again?
He sat up, slowly. His limbs felt wrong—too light, too fast, like they didn't belong to him. He could hear the scrape of claws a hundred yards away. He could smell blood… thick, iron-rich, and maddeningly sweet.
A hunger bloomed in his chest.
"Oh no," he whispered, touching his mouth. His fingers found fangs. Sharp. Predatory. "Please don't tell me I'm a vampire."
A voice echoed inside his skull—not his own.
"You are Lucas… heir of the Crimson Bloodline. Our last hope."
Memories that weren't his flickered like broken film—rituals in black stone chambers, war cries in the dead of night, rivers of blood flowing through shattered cities.
Lucas blinked. "Fantastic. I died and respawned as Dracula's heir. Just my luck."
He tried to stand, but agony lanced through his side. Rolling onto his stomach, he bit back a snarl and surveyed the battlefield. A ruined castle courtyard, burned and broken. Broken banners. Charred flesh. Beast corpses curled in death spasms.
Then came the sound—footsteps.
Soft. Measured. Predatory.
Shadows shifted at the edges of his vision. Figures moved between the stone pillars. Their eyes glowed like dying embers.
They were circling him.
Instinct surged. He reached for a dagger still embedded in a nearby corpse—but his grip was weak.
A voice sliced through the smoke.
"Identify yourself."
Lucas turned his head. A pale woman stepped into view. Her armor was spattered in blood, her long silver hair tangled and torn. Her eyes were the color of dying stars.
He forced himself to smirk. "That's funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."
She stared, unmoving.
"He's… alive?" she murmured.
Another figure emerged—taller, cloaked in shadow, his voice gravel and steel. "The seal. Look at his chest."
Her eyes widened. She dropped to one knee.
The second did the same.
Lucas followed their gaze and found it—etched into his bare chest. A glowing sigil, pulsing with blood-red light.
The mark of the Crimson Heir.
"What the hell kind of nightmare did I just wake up in?" he whispered.