The chamber hummed with an uneasy energy as Valerius Duskborne addressed the assembly, his shadowed presence commanding silence. Each word he spoke seemed to ripple through the gathered Arch Vampires and their advisors, resonating like a thunderclap in the vaulted hall.

"We are beset by challenges," Valerius began, his voice deep and deliberate, "both from within and without. The ferals spread like a plague in our cities, a reminder of the consequences of dwindling human stock. And now the resistance grows bold, striking in ways we can no longer dismiss as mere nuisance."

Ephraim Calder, Keeper of Fangs, rose from his seat. His pale, gaunt face twisted in displeasure as he unrolled a map of the surrounding regions. "Reports confirm that feral infestations are increasing near major cities. We've identified at least three human resistance camps in the west—heavily fortified and with growing support. Scouts indicate they're using their accursed pacts to cut through our sentries." He jabbed a skeletal finger at a cluster of red-marked areas on the map.

"They will fall," growled Draven Blackspire, his hulking figure looming over the table. "Send me and my forces. I will drag them from their hovels and feast on their despair."

"You underestimate them," Lady Elara Nightveil countered, her serpentine tone cutting through his bravado. "These humans are no longer the fractured prey we once hunted. Their demonic allies have made them something... formidable."

Murmurs rippled across the table. Valerius raised a hand, silencing the room. "Formidable, yes. But they remain mortal. Flesh and blood. If their resistance persists, we will crush them. However, we cannot do so blindly. I will dispatch reconnaissance teams to gather intelligence on their camps. Only once we understand their weaknesses will we strike."

A low hiss of approval swept through the room.

It was Saria Duskthorn, the thin and angular head of the mansion's resource management, who next spoke. Her voice was sharp, her words measured. "We have another matter to consider, my lord. The scarcity of human stock is at the root of all our problems. If we do not act now, we risk an even greater calamity."

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"Your solution?" Valerius asked, his tone neutral but laced with authority.

"Blood farms," Saria replied, leaning forward. "Enclose a manageable population of humans, breed them, and harvest their blood systematically. We could sustain ourselves indefinitely without risking the collapse of our supply."

The room erupted in a cacophony of voices.

"Reducing us to cattle farmers?" Kryos Valemir sneered. "Pathetic."

"It is practical," Draven said with a shrug. "We need stability. Desperate humans breed desperate measures. If a few confined humans can bring balance, so be it."

Lady Elara raised an eyebrow, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying curiosity. "And what of the cost? Humans, bred in captivity, may lose the essence that makes their blood so... delectable. The risk outweighs the reward."

Valerius let the argument play out, his eyes narrowing as he observed the factions forming within his council. Finally, he stood, shadows pooling at his feet. The room fell silent again.

"Blood farms may be a solution," Valerius said slowly, "but they are not the solution. For now, we will focus on securing our existing resources and thinning the resistance. Discuss your proposals further and bring me a plan that does not risk the dignity of our kind."

The decision was final. Saria inclined her head, though the tightening of her jaw betrayed her discontent.

As the meeting adjourned, the council members began to file out toward the feast hall. Among the last to leave were two visiting Arch Vampires—Tiberius Vorthan, a lean and pale figure with piercing crimson eyes, and Morrigan Saelith, her skeletal frame draped in a flowing black gown that seemed to shift like smoke.

Tiberius leaned close to Morrigan, his voice a venomous whisper. "Duskborne grows weak. He dithers while humans encroach on our lands."

Morrigan's skeletal grin widened. "The cracks are forming. His council is divided. Perhaps it's time to remind him that even Arch Vampires can fall."

Tiberius's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Agreed. If we can carve away portions of his territory, the others will follow. Soon, this mansion and his influence will crumble beneath him."

The two dissolved into the shadows, their treacherous whispers fading as they disappeared down the corridor.

The feast hall was a vision of decadence. Massive tables laden with exquisite dishes—roast venison marinated in red wine, bowls of exotic fruits glistening with syrup, and goblets of the finest blood, siphoned from pets groomed for perfection.

The Arch Vampires and their heads took their places, the room abuzz with conversation. Tensions lingered, but the grandeur of the feast provided a temporary reprieve.

Valerius sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he watched his guests. His mind, however, churned with thoughts of betrayal and impending war.

"Let them conspire," he thought. "When the time comes, they will see who truly holds power." Each vampire holds their goblets in a toast to "victory," though each sip seems laced with suspicion and ulterior motives.