Chapter 25

* * *

...The snake has no limbs and is venomous and cold, and only the ice of snake rings can wait for someone else's impatience, a careless strike, and will wait for its snake...

The vampires had it all figured out right. For centuries they lurked in the darkness, creating the illusion of submission, winning their freedom drop by drop. Slowly, bit by bit, they grew in influence and numbers, learning their nature and the abilities it gave them. They knew that one day the mortals would let their guard down.

Twenty days have passed since the Curse of Tyran, and the chaos has only grown. The division of the royal family, the desperate fights between nobles who had chosen different parties. Conflicting manifestos by the generals of the Northern and Southern armies finally plunged the country into internecine strife. The cult of Derkana, the official religion of the kingdom, had fallen silent after a vague statement of support for the current Son of the Sea, and several of its top hierarchs had defected to Zonna and were now rumored to be preparing to perform the coronation ritual for Prince Kono. Both sides were actively amassing troops and preparing to begin open hostilities any day now.

In the current situation, the risens were forgotten. They did not flatter themselves, realizing that the calm is temporary and largely due to the death of their most consistent enemies in the square in front of the Academy. The temples of Blue Ang and the Sun had lost their most revered leaders - it would be better for them to deal with internal squabbles now. In any case, the vampires made good use of the respite.

The communities hastily shifted resources and members among themselves. Zervan put off bringing the bandits to submission and swept the country in a whirlwind, executing the few traitors. His foe Latham went to Lascaris, which had suddenly transformed from a mere major city into a crucial player in the coming confrontation. The principality had a good personal retinue, excellent relations with the leadership of the western army, and serious trade routes passed through it. Much depended on which side the blessed Yunarik would take. The feudal lord was well aware that fate had thrown him an excellent card, and he intended to sell his loyalty more expensively. The vampires could help him decide on a future buyer, and in exchange for the peace and development of his community, they would provide information straight from the heart of Taleya.

Prince Kono, head of the rioters, was not forgotten.

You shouldn't call him "rioter," but "rebel" or something neutral like that," Medea said. "After all, he does have some claim to the title. But why me?"

"Who else could I send?" Celesta wondered. "Latham is busy, Hastin is physically incapable of being away from his home laboratory for long periods of time. The others are either not manners fit for the high aristocracy, or not competent enough. So you'll have to act as our ambassador to Zonna, and at the same time strengthen the community there."

The friend shrugged: "I don't mind. Anyway, I can't stay in Taleya right now."

It was impossible to conceal the risens' participation in the evacuation of the mages. In fact, it is impossible to keep an operation of this magnitude secret. As a consequence, the authorities instantly had extremely uncomfortable questions for Medea, still officially considered the head of the Capital's community. Now it was impossible for the beauty to appear in the homes of aristocratic acquaintances, theaters, and simply in public places, so her departure for Zonna was seen as a return to her usual way of existence.

It was annoying that she wouldn't be able to come back anytime soon. It wasn't as if the mortals were going to compromise, which meant they'd be slaughtering for a long time, and in earnest. So again, famine, plagues, bands of marauders ravaging villages, poor refugees dying on the roads and fields of war. In such years, the Dark One looks more closely at the world than usual, and more of the dead rise up. Wonder how many newcomers will come into the communities over the next five years? Will there be enough to replace those killed in the recent standoff? Hardly. There are fewer risens now than in the past, and almost all of them are insane.

It's a good thing Celesta doesn't look like an otherworldly creature anymore and looks human. At any rate, she was free of the pressing sensation of alien eeriness that had come over her before, and the shadows didn't dance around her in a rippling, black whirl. Except that she could no longer be confused with a mortal: the darkness was still in her eyes. The Morvanite fanatics would be ecstatic to see their Mistress.

"Your blood tastes different," Medea suddenly reported. "It's drunk like wine."

"Crumbs of energy seep out of the seal. It's for me, I'm for you. Not a bad source of power, you know."

"Oh, yes, Zervan especially liked it," chuckled her friend. "Remember how he used to run around the dungeons?"

Celesta also laughed softly, then frowned.

"I don't think I'm going to make that connection to anyone else. At least, not until I know more about the properties of the Seal."

"Is it because of Latham?"

"He burned out his throat with one gulp! If he hadn't had the support of the ancestral spirits, he wouldn't have survived the ritual, and he's an Elder, one of the strongest. I don't want to risk."

"He recovered pretty quickly."

"And yet," the Mistress shook her head. "We have received too generous a gift, too large a piece. I don't want to choke on it."

"What does Hustin say?"

"He's fascinated! If he had his way, he'd lock me in the lab."

The vampires looked at each other understandingly. The wizard, who was a fine thinker - at least he knew his politics well, and could give good advice if he had to - was completely insane when it came to the work he loved. Fortunately, Celesta belonged to that very small circle of people with whom Hustin did not dare to be intrusive. He understood that demanding anything from the leader was dangerous, with unpredictable consequences.

The warlock did not bother Medea either. He was afraid of her abilities as a scandaless.

"Okay, I'm going to go pack," she rose from her chair. "I have to get ready for my first diplomatic mission."

"I agree about the diplomatic one," Celesta smiled, "but why the first one?"

"At this level, and almost officially, it is the first." Medea twirled in front of the mirror, admiring the provocative dress that enveloped her ideal figure with satisfaction. "This is not a seduction of small border chiefs! You don't do enough with a couple of seductions in Zonna. They're trained differently, they're taught to be cool from childhood. You can't fool them with smiles... That's it, I'm off."

She was happy. Medea, impetuous and flighty, suffered more than any other from the limits imposed by mortals. The need to obey people infuriated her, though she settled in well in comparison to the other risens. But it's one thing to obey her older sister or act within the framework of some higher, natural laws, and quite another to take orders from the lip-synching officials of intelligence. Belle acknowledged the director's need but demanded competence from him. Now, praise the Dark One, she was no longer dependent on amateurs!

Celesta glanced at her sister, sat for a moment longer, mindlessly admiring the dance of the flames in the hearth, and then got up as well. Time was of the essence. There were a lot of unresolved issues, each or almost everyone required her participation, and the problems multiplied at a mind-boggling rate. She tries to shift some of it to her assistants, but they have enough of their own. Besides, some decisions can only be made by her.

For example, how to use the former territory of the Academy. It is now completely inaccessible to humans and the living in general, but the undead can exist there for a while. Not for very long. It seems that the "little blessing," a ritual shown by the dark priests and linking Celesta with three Elders already, increases the length of stay in the cursed place, but that still needs to be verified. One wonders what the mortals will do with the area affected by the curse. They seem to be going to fence it off with a wall. They've calmed down a bit now. But at first, they planned to move the city. Then they figured out how much it would cost to move it, other concerns piled up, and the boundaries of the sphere are not changing - most likely, it really will do with half measures. They will simulate a semblance of activity, they will fool themselves.

And there, in the center, is the Darkness. The Abyss. Another sphere, no more than four meters in diameter, was completely black and motionless. A tear in space, shackled by the most complex magic, which is frightening to even approach. The seal put on the rift is difficult to break, but it is possible, and she was warned that there are beings in the world with the right knowledge. Or the same Hustin, with his irrepressible craving for experimentation? No, until a way to further protect the seal is found, no one can be brought inside.

Though the warlock was now immersed in another project. A vital one for the entire vampire kind.

The Taleya catacombs had long ago become the fiefdom of the risens: people did not dare to descend to the lower levels without special need or permission. It is quite natural that for convenience the main routes were strengthened, cleared of debris, and sometimes even laid new ones. And the latter was disguised by different tricks. With the beginning of the known events, the dungeon maps, stored in the archives of the intelligence service, were stolen or destroyed. In short, the risens considered the lower paths relatively safe and tried to use them to the maximum. So it was no surprise that on her way to Hustin's lair, Mistress twice encountered her kin hurrying somewhere, who halted in reverence at the sight of her, and then stared after her with awe-inspiring eyes.

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

It is pleasant, of course, to be considered a messenger of a god (or goddess, according to public opinion). But what is forgivable to an ordinary ruler is often dismissed from the pedestal by the superior powers. Long-lived vampires are not zealots or cultists, they don't get their heads screwed on, and they don't like to be disappointed in anyone. And if they think they've been deceived, they don't want to be. She must put a stop to rumors of her godhood before they spread too widely.

Hustin's laboratory - although his bedroom was also here somewhere, it was hard to call the complex of libraries, storage, ritual rooms, and outbuildings home - and greeted Celesta with silence and the echoes of recently cast spells. The background of power wavered. The Mistress did not wait until the master reacted to the appearance of the guest, and walked deeper down the corridor. She didn't want to think, she wanted to act.

First an encounter with legendary wizards, incredibly far along the path of evolution, and the need to make a difficult, somewhat imposed decision. Then an attempt to tame the alien energy raging in her body, a merger with a pseudo-intelligent spell that has its own purpose and will. Praise Morvan, the seal acknowledged her supremacy. Next, a transfer of some of the power to the Elders. With Medea (she was the first, because the trust of both parties was an unusually important factor in the ritual) and Zervan, the bonding went well, and they both became much stronger as a result. But with Latham, it was almost a disaster.

Celesta did not understand why her bodyguard was hurt. She seemed to be doing everything right. So until the cause of such a painful reaction to the ritual was found, no new connections could be made. That's too bad. With Zervan, who was two days away from Thalia, Celesta could now communicate almost without strain, and the Elder himself had gained ample advantage over his kin. From this moment on, there was little fear of treachery on his part-it was unlikely that he would be willing to give up his free power.

In the last month, she often had to calculate, to map out ways in which her kin would develop. Circumstances demanded strategic decisions, and time was taken up by routine. Rest - half an hour of light chitchat with Medea. Fortunately, there are intelligent assistants, and some questions with the answers have been determined long ago. All that was required was not to deviate from the chosen line.

As now.

"I thought it was explained to you why we needed you, Devlin."

The trio, bickering in the back room, were so engrossed in the heated process of mutual mudslinging that they ignored the appearance of the Mistress. Her voice came as a surprise to the disputants, causing the two disputants to jump on the spot. The warlock, who was third, turned stately, and poked his finger: "There! Explain to Messena what else you are dissatisfied with!"

The company was strange. If Hustin looked in the atmosphere of the ritual hall organically, so to speak, fitting into the atmosphere, his newly admitted apprentice Vador, with a commoner face, decorated with knuckles, and wearing a dirty cloak of a day laborer seemed to be an outsider who accidentally wandered into the light. Nevertheless, the warlock liked the inquisitive newcomer, and he slowly dragged him to his assistant.

The last disputant was a man, tall, with a scowl on his face. A mortal. Considering that people had only been brought into the lair of the Elder-Warlock as test subjects before, a man without shackles, and one who dared to argue with his master, was not an uncommon occurrence. It is, in fact.

"Devlin?"

"Mistress," the man bowed, and remained in a bent position, not daring to look at Celesta. "Maitre says I will be left alone with one or two people after the ritual."

"Yes, and so?"

"Wouldn't I lose my mind?"

For a few seconds, the mistress considered the man. Devlin was the eighth. She hadn't bothered with the previous ones. But on those seven they experimented and practiced, identifying possible mistakes, the moral qualities of the material did not concern them. On the contrary, Celesta tried to pick the ones she didn't feel sorry for. Murderers, thieves, whores, just lowlifes. They were used and then eliminated, though Hustin seemed to keep a few in a cage. Why he needs plants is unclear, but that's his business. The Mistress, determining the principles of selection of human material, was guided by expediency, and only - the rudiment of mercy left over from the former life did not speak up. There are our own, there are strangers, and one must protect one's own. The guards don't look for beggars and other bottom dwellers, so it's better to use them.

Devlin was treated differently. He was required to consent voluntarily for two reasons: first, for the ritual to be successful, the man must not resist the vampire, and second, he must not turn into an enemy in the future. If it was successful, Devlin would become one of Celesta's closest companions for years to come, and she didn't want to have a creature who hated her at her side. So when Hustin reported that he saw no more problems with the ritual and the methodology was fully worked out, the Mistress went to the long-found man and offered him a deal.

Everyone is bought. Some for money, some for fame, for others the price is an honor, good name, or family safety. It was on the latter that Devlin broke down. In exchange for a move to the Northern Foothills, to a quiet town, sheltered from hardship, and a house with a large plot, not to mention gold and other benefits for his family, the man agreed to give the Dark One his soul. I mean, that was roughly how he imagined the nature of the offer he had received, and, hand on heart, he wasn't much mistaken.

"Don't you care?" She was really curious to hear what he would say.

"Maybe afterward it won't matter..." The mortal still kept his eyes on the floor, but his whole figure was stubborn. "Right now, not yet."

Perfect. Although principles allow for the manipulation of their possessor, without them the personality is incomplete.

"We could use animals, but their blood doesn't fit several parameters," Celesta explained as if doing a favor. "The first victim would have to be a human. To reassure you, they wouldn't have long to live anyway: they're bandits, caught in the middle of a robbery. By human law, they are entitled to the death penalty. So you might consider yourself an executioner, carrying out the sentence."

The mortal dared no further objection. He stood there, silent. The Mistress quickly glanced at the warlock, who nodded in response, confirming that everything was fine, we could begin. After the fusion of Celesta's energy and the seal, she was hesitant to perform the ritual, or better to conduct another series of experiments, but Hustin vouched for success. He said that the seal had no effect on the transfer of the risen's abilities and could not interfere with it.

She stepped closer to the mortal and touched his chin, forcing him to lift his face. The man was a head taller than she was - perhaps the vampiress would have fit on his chest. But despite the difference in height, they stared into each other's eyes, and the man's gaze was suffused with fear.

"Don't be afraid, Devlin," the soft, sing-song voice penetrated the consciousness, suppressing the will. "You'll just fall asleep and dream. Go to sleep, Devlin. Go to sleep..."

The theory was quickly formulated-the foundations were laid by the Tyran hundreds of years ago. For a new vampire to emerge, it was necessary and sufficient to rebuild his energy according to the already formed pattern. To put a copy of the matrix, based on which the young undead would begin to develop. However, in practice, there were a hundred small problems and roughnesses that hindered the successful completion of the process. The psyche could not withstand it, the living body refused to transform into pseudo-dead flesh, and the resulting ghouls thirsted for blood and pounced on their creators. In the end, the way out was found, they seemed to have created a method that eliminated all the shortcomings, but they dared to test it in practice only now. That is, to finally test it.

The man stared into nothing with empty eyes, without a glimmer of reason, his heart beating smoothly and strongly. He saw nothing and heard nothing, plunged into a deep trance, completely subject to Celesta's desires. The vampiress gently pulled him by the head, forcing him to bend over, and just as gently laid him on the floor, holding his torso with her hands. She pressed her forehead and touched her lips to his defenseless throat.

Quickly and sharply she sank her fangs in. The body didn't twitch.

It is difficult to drain a healthy adult male. A vampire, unless he is extremely hungry, cannot drink more blood than his stomach (one of the few remaining internal organs) can hold. So unless the wound is lacerated and the life-giving moisture pours out on the ground, victims rarely die of blood loss. More often, they are sent to the afterlife from shock or a heart attack. Well, or if the vampire isn't too ceremonious with his prey, which is also not uncommon. Celesta's last meal was four days ago, and she wasn't hungry, but the more blood she absorbed, the stronger their bond would be. And that meant the more of her power she could pass on to it.

The man's face grew pale, his heartbeat slowly subsiding. It was time. The vampiress slashed her fangs into her wrist and stretched her hand over Devlin's neck, making sure the drops of her thick black blood fell directly onto the wound. At the same time, she opened herself up as much as possible, literally driving a stream of unformed images into the dying mind of a mortal, reshaping it in her image. Blood changes the body, and thoughts change the mind. A deceptively simple ritual.

There was a muffled creaking sound in the corner, and Celesta turned her head and was surprised to see the dumbfounded look in the eyes of a teenager held by the scruff of his neck. She'd forgotten all about the audience. Vador seemed a little taken aback by what he saw since Hustin saw fit to hold his apprentice.

"How much time has passed?"

"Forty minutes." The warlock let go of Vador and moved cautiously closer. Celesta could slash him with her claws if he made a careless move toward the chick, at least right after the ritual. Later, the obsession would wear off. "You held Devlin's head in your hands and sat perfectly still, unresponsive to stimuli."

"I don't want to let him go," Celesta listened to her feelings.

"That's the way it's supposed to be. He's draining the power out of you at an alarming rate, and you need tactile contact right now."

"How long?"

"Three, maybe four days. Until the organism is rebuilt. Then the power will go only to change and grow the thin layers of energy - they require less expenditure."

"It's still a lot," Celesta closed her eyelids tiredly.

According to a preliminary estimate, the process of becoming takes place in several stages. The first lasted only three days, as Hustin had announced, and consists of the transformation of the body. The flesh becomes non-living. The simplest, but also the most energy-intensive stage, during which the chick actively sucks energy for the transformation from all available sources, primarily from the master. Then, when the young one is no longer a vampire, but rather a specific kind of undead, comes out of a literal dead sleep, it is the turn of the energy body. The energy is being rebuilt with all its might, and the framework is being built on the matrix laid down at the moment of the first death. No one knows how long this will take, but it is obvious that the process is long. Years, if not decades.

At the same time, the psyche will change. It is also not quite clear how and to what extent. Celesta believed that the master's life values would be reflected in the chick, but to what extent, she could not predict. Time will tell.

"Do you have a room with a bed or a wider sofa?"

"Yes, but I'd hate to see the room in ruins after your pet wakes up," Hustin admitted.

"We'll move closer to the dungeon anyway before he wakes up."

The small, frail girl rose from her knees and lifted the man in her arms with no visible effort. She didn't even seem to feel the weight.

"Tell them not to bother me unnecessarily."

The deputies can manage without her. Its unlikely mortals will want to hunt vampires anytime soon. They have other things on their mind right now. The preparation of an army against the Separatists alone was enough. With the rest, the Elders or Celeste's senior deputies shouldn't have any trouble. Areas of activity have been mapped out, sectors of responsibility have been identified, and instructions have been handed out. At the very least, Merk, who has never been too shy, would bother his Mistress. Though it would be better for him to be independent.

Dark Mother, Mistress of Taleya is busy.

On her lap lies the first transformed vampire.

The future of the bloody kind.

* * *