The grand Gothic hall of Morzon Veil was cloaked in silence. Thousands of vampires stood beneath towering pillars, their pale faces barely illuminated by the dim candlelight. Shadows crawled across the stone walls, shifting like restless spirits.

A tall figure stepped forward.

He was youthful in appearance—flawless, almost unnaturally so. Draped in a sleek black tuxedo, he carried himself with an air of quiet command. The moment he arrived, all murmurs ceased.

Victor Draeven

His voice cut through the stillness, smooth yet edged with authority. “Vampires of Morzon Veil, how has the past month unfolded? Any reports?”

No one answered.

Victor’s cold gaze swept the gathering. “Good. Continue your duties. And remember, no outsiders. If vampires from other factions trespass, they may feed recklessly and endanger the Vampire Society.”

His tone sharpened. “You all know the law.”

A pause. Then his next words dropped like stone.

“If any vampire, no matter their allegiance, crosses into our territory and threatens exposure, eliminate them at once. If they belong to Morzon Veil, I will deal with them personally.”

The silence thickened. The message was absolute. Defying the Vampire Society meant consequences far worse than death.

Most stood rigid, apprehensive. Yet, among them, a few appeared unbothered, some even entertained.

Then, a hesitant voice broke the quiet.

“M-Mr. Victor,” a vampire stammered. “I and this one here… we’ve spent years guarding the borders, ensuring no intruders slip through. Could we receive a reward? Perhaps… a hunt?”

Victor’s gaze snapped to him. A cold, piercing stare. The vampire visibly tensed.

For a long moment, Victor said nothing. Then

“Fine,” he murmured. “But only one human. And there must be no trace.”

The vampire, though nervous, looked satisfied. Hunting was a rare privilege as Morzon Veil provided enough blood to keep its members from taking unnecessary risks.

Victor straightened. “If there is nothing more, I am leaving.”

As he turned away, the thick tension in the hall finally loosened. Though vampires did not breathe, it felt as though the entire room exhaled in silence.

Victor sat leisurely in his study, swirling a glass of crimson wine. Beside him stood Tobias Falkstein, his towering and formidable right-hand man. Victor took a sip before turning to Tobias with a calm yet firm command.

"Follow those two from earlier. Make sure they don’t create a mess."

Tobias bowed slightly in acknowledgment before stepping out into the night.

Two vampires, rewarded with a hunt, exchanged knowing glances. Their grins stretched wide, revealing sharp fangs as hunger gleamed in their eyes. They were ravenous, eager for their next meal.

Redwood University. Evening

The bell rang, signaling the end of class.

“Yo, Ethan, you hungry?” Jacob asked, his tone light and cheerful.

“Sure,” Ethan sighed. “I don’t know how you still have energy after sitting through hours of endless yapping.”

Jacob grinned. “Easy, I wasn’t listening.” He laughed, amused by his own laziness.

As they made their way to the cafeteria, they noticed a crowd gathering in the courtyard. At the center, two students sat across from each other at a chessboard. One of them frowned deeply, lost in thought, while the other remained eerily composed, cold, emotionless, with striking red eyes.

Can a human even have eyes that red? Ethan thought, narrowing his gaze.

Suddenly, a loud thud broke the silence as a piece was slammed onto the board.

"Ahh, I lost… Damn it, here’s your ten dollars," the frustrated player groaned. "You’re insane! It’s like you can read minds."

Ethan stiffened at the words read minds and turned to Jacob.

“Who’s that guy? I’ve never seen him before.”

"Silas Wolfe," Jacob replied. "He transferred here a month ago."

Ethan watched Silas closely, intrigued.

"You thinking of playing him? Waste of time," Jacob warned. "I’ve lost too much money to that guy. It’s freaky—he always knows exactly what move to make. Feels like he can read minds or something."

Ethan remained silent, prompting Jacob to continue.

"You’re a Grandmaster, sure. But get this—he already beat one Grandmaster from our school’s chess club."

Ethan’s expression grew more serious.

"But here’s the weird part, he only started playing chess when he transferred. I know because a friend of mine taught him."

A month. That was all it took for Silas to defeat a Grandmaster? Ethan didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, pushing through the crowd, and sat across from Silas, placing a ten-dollar bill on the board.

"Play me," he demanded.

The crowd gasped at his sudden appearance, murmuring among themselves.

"Ethan Graves?!"

"He's a Grandmaster!"

"Is he really going to challenge Silas?"

Silas met Ethan’s gaze, unblinking, unfazed. The weight of his stare was suffocating, as if he could see straight through him.

Then, in a voice cold as steel, Silas said

“No.”

A ripple of shock spread through the crowd.

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

Silas replied coldly. “I’m bored.”

The crowd murmured louder.

Silas tilted his head, his crimson eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“But if you really want to play…” His voice dropped, silky yet menacing. “Raise the stakes.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”

“$10,000.”

The crowd gasped. A ridiculous amount for a college student. But Ethan didn’t flinch.

Is he that confident? Even knowing I’m a Grandmaster? Does he not fear losing? Or is he some rich kid who doesn’t care about money? Ethan thought.

Ethan’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then, he nodded.

"Fine. If you win, I’ll transfer it after the match."

Jacob grabbed Ethan’s arm. "Dude, don’t—"

Too late. 

Ethan set up the board, pushing the white pieces toward Silas. A silent challenge, he wanted to see Silas go first.

If he really beat a Grandmaster, then at worst, he’s at that level. I can’t underestimate him.

Silas made his first move. Simple. Almost amateurish.

Huh? Ethan frowned. A basic opening? He responded confidently, waiting for Silas’s real strategy to emerge.

He responded with his own move.

Silas played another move like someone's still learning to play chess.

What is this? Did he really beat a Grandmaster?

Another move. Another simple response from Silas.

Ethan’s expression darkened. Is he messing with me?

Another move.

Frustration built up inside him. He finally spoke up.

"Take this seriously. I don’t care if you’re some rich kid who throws money around, but you’re insulting chess. Did you bribe that Grandmaster to lose? Is that how you got your reputation?" His voice was sharp, accusing.

Silas remained unfazed, his face unreadable.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Ethan’s anger flared. So that’s it. He’s just another fraud. But he won’t buy his way past me. Ethan thought to himself.

He moved his piece, determined to crush the illusion.

Silas responded.

And then

Thud.

Checkmate.

Silence.

Ethan’s frustration vanished, replaced by shock.

"What…?" His voice barely came out.

The crowd erupted.

"Holy shit, he won again!"

"That’s insane! Ethan has the highest ELO in our chess club!"

"How the hell does he do it?"

Ethan sat frozen. 

Slowly, he stood up, grabbed Silas by the collar, and hissed, "What the hell are you doing? Do you think chess is some joke? Why didn’t you take the game seriously?"

The crowd fell silent.

Silas calmly pried Ethan’s hand away and fixed his collar. His crimson eyes met Ethan’s, still as emotionless as before.

"My moves were simple because I’m a beginner. I just played the best I could within my level."

He picked up a chess piece, rolling it between his fingers.

"You accuse me of disrespecting chess, but you dismissed my moves just because they were simple. Doesn’t that mean you’re the one looking down on chess?"

Ethan stood frozen. The words cut deeper than he expected. The crowd, too, seemed shaken by the weight of Silas’s remark. Silas's words made Ethan feel like he was his own enemy, the real reason for his own defeat rather than anyone else out there. 

---------------------------------------------------------------

7:15 in the evening.

At a boxing gym in the city of Morzon, the sharp creak of the door echoed through the space as Leo Carter, the gym’s seasoned owner, returned from his trip. His expression was as fierce as ever, his presence alone enough to make the younger boxers straighten their stances.

"Welcome back, old man. How was the trip?" asked Liam Hale, one of the gym’s coaches, leaning casually against the ring ropes.

Leo locked eyes with him, then, without warning, clung his suitcase into the air and lunged forward, throwing a punch at Liam’s stomach. Liam barely dodged, stepping back just in time.

"What the hell, old man?! What kind of trip did you go on that you’re taking it out on me?" Liam barked, dodging another punch.

Leo continued his onslaught, jabbing and hooking as Liam weaved effortlessly out of harm’s way.

"I went gym to gym, looking for matches for our fighters," Leo snapped. "But what I saw pissed me off. Their boxers are on a whole different level!"

Liam finally caught Leo’s wrist, stopping the flurry of attacks. "Relax, old man. I’ll turn our guys into monsters for you," he said with a grin.

Leo exhaled sharply, finally stepping back and picking up his suitcase before retreating to his office.

---

After putting his things away, Leo returned to the gym floor, ready to train his fighters. As he passed by the heavy bags, his gaze fell on an unfamiliar figure. The guy had an intense aura, his blood-red eyes fixated on the bag he was striking with precision.

Leo narrowed his eyes. "Liam. Who’s that? I’ve never seen him before."

Liam glanced over. "Beats me. He signed up when I wasn’t here. Maybe Bob knows."

Bob, another coach, walked over when he heard his name. "Yo, what’s up?"

"That kid over there," Leo said, nodding toward the new guy. "Who is he?"

"Oh, him? That’s Silas. He joined a month ago." Bob’s expression shifted, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "Old man, I’m telling you… that kid ain’t normal."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Bob hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. "He’s an orthodox boxer, yeah. But fighting him? Feels like you’re up against someone completely unorthodox. No… it’s weirder than that. It’s like… he’s reading your mind..."

Leo smacked Bob upside the head. "Stop spouting nonsense."

But as he continued watching Silas train, a strange chill crept up his spine. There was something unsettling about the way the kid moved, efficient, deliberate, like he was operating on an entirely different frequency.

"Hey, kid," Leo finally called out, stepping toward Silas. "Wanna do some pad work with me?"

Silas turned and stared directly at Leo. Leo was a terrifying man, but standing in front of this guy made him feel a chill down his spine, like the person in front of him was already dead.

"No. I’m busy hitting the bag."

From a distance, Liam frowned and approached. "Hey, kid! What kind of attitude is that toward the old man?!"

Silas remained unfazed.

Liam scowled, grabbed a headgear, and tossed it at Silas. "Get in the ring, kid."

"Liam!" Leo barked. "What the hell are you doing? He just didn’t want to do pad work!"

As the two argued, Silas spoke up. "Alright."

Both men turned to him. A slow, eager grin spread across Liam’s face.

Leo sighed. "Go easy on the newbie."

The gym members gathered around, Liam sparring was a rare event. The anticipation buzzed in the air.

Silas climbed into the ring, adjusting his gloves. Liam noticed he wasn’t wearing headgear.

"You’re not putting that on?"

Silas remained blank. "No need. It obstructs my vision."

Liam smirked. "Don’t blame me if you start bleeding."

The bell rang.

Liam opened with jabs, testing the waters, establishing rhythm. Silas blocked, his guard tight, his stance steady. When Liam launched a hook, Silas dodged, but he didn’t counter.

Liam pressed forward, throwing a mix of hooks and jabs, looking for an opening. Still, Silas dodged, weaved, blocked, never retaliating.

"Trying to tire me out before attacking? That’s the oldest trick in the book, kid. I don’t get tired that easily. I’ll force you to strike."

Liam threw a right hook. Silas dodged.

"Counter!" Liam thought.

But Silas didn’t.

"This annoying brat—"

A jab suddenly landed on Liam’s face. It hurt more than expected, catching him completely off guard.

A murmur rippled through the gym.

"Did that kid just land a clean hit on Coach Liam?!"

"It was just a jab."

"Still, even a jab."

Leo narrowed his eyes and thought to himself. "Liam might underestimate an opponent, but he will never lower his guard. That wasn’t luck." 

Liam shook off the sting, eyes locked on Silas. 

"This kid… I was sure he wasn’t going to counter. I was expecting him to counter with with every attack even a jab, but that’s not the issue. It’s like he read my thoughts. The moment I became certain he wouldn’t counter, he did just a second later." Liam thought to himself

"Not bad, kid" Liam admitted. "Not many in this gym can touch me."

Silas remained cold, expression unreadable. "Really? The people in this gym must not be too good then."

The room erupted.

"Hey, don’t get cocky just because you landed one punch!"

"Yeah, punk!"

"Such arrogance!"

Silas remained unfazed. "Just stating the truth."

Liam shook his head. "This brat…"

The sparring continued.

Silas began attacking, throwing simple combinations. Liam dodged and blocked, analyzing. Silas ducked, landing a liver hook. Liam absorbed it.

"Shh, I knew he’d lower his guard for a body shot, I could’ve punished him with an uppercut… but I didn’t expect it." Liam thought to himself

Liam decided to bait him into another liver shot, leaving himself open. Silas didn’t take the bait.

Liam scowled. "Fighting him feels less like boxing and more like a damn guessing game."

Outside the ring, Leo called out, "That’s enough, Liam. How long are you planning to bully the new kid?"

Liam sighed, stepping back. Silas did the same, removing his gloves.

"Sorry for being rude earlier kid. You’re better than I thought."

Silas remained expressionless. "It’s fine."

10:15 PM

After an intense boxing session, in the dimly lit locker room, Leo strode in as Silas was changing.

"You’ve got real talent, kid. Want to fight under my gym?"

Silas, his face devoid of emotion, replied flatly, "i’d like to give it a shot."

A subtle smirk tugged at Leo’s lips, his excitement carefully concealed but the old man try to hide it.

After saying good night to the coach and old man Leo, Silas gathered his belongings and stepped out. Tonight, the sky bore an eerie, unexplainable quality. The night sky stretched dark and endless, as if something unseen lurked just beyond the light.

On his way home, Silas purchased a cup of coffee from a vending machine. The moonlight bathed his cold features, and his reddened eyes held an eerie, almost inhuman glow.

He strolled leisurely, savoring each sip, unaware of the two ravenous vampires lurking among the towering trees behind him, silent, patient, and ready to tear him apart.

As Silas walked, a shadowy figure appeared ahead of him. As he passed by, the figure's voice suddenly broke the silence, prompting Silas to turn around.

"Excuse me, is this Area 20? I'm looking for a house."

Silas met the figure's gaze, his own bloodshot eyes locking onto the stranger’s. He noticed the man’s eye, one was a deep blood-red. The man appeared to be in his middle years.

"Yes," Silas replied, his tone as cold as ice.

Silas's face betrayed a flicker of surprise as the figure's lips curled into a sinister smile, revealing sharp fangs as his mouth stretched wide.

"Thank you." 

End of chapter 1.