"Vlad, I mean my king... How are you?" Agatha descended the spiral stairs, behind the young man leaning against the wall. The sound of gunfire echoed in the walls, the smell of gunpowder and blood permeated the air.

"Just Vlad outside formal events," he corrected, catching his breath, and after a brief pause, he regained his composure. "I'll be fine, it's just the shock of the infernal dog, nothing I can't handle..."

His words caught in his throat as he reached the last step. There in front of them lay the elongated projectile: a gigantic spear of flesh embedded in the threshold, blocking the path to safety. A sense of imminent danger stirred in the king, manifested in the firm grip on his sword and the impetuous defense of his protector standing before him in a combat stance, despite her fatigue. Unaware that outside their visual range, on the other side of the solid mass, a huge hole of hanging flesh dripped into a thick black pool, after the release of its host.

"Vlad, don't move," Agatha whispered, pointing to a growing darkness on the other side of the arch, formed by a slow drip, originating from something on the ceiling.

Ready with the spear aimed at the entrance, she approached, ready to shoot. The blade's friction against the rock structure unleashed the shadow hiding on the other side, pouncing in a hideous bite towards them, stopped by an improvised barrier of Agatha's, shattered into pieces by the shockwave that sent them rolling on the floor, and a white noise vibrated in the room.

A painful moan muffled by teeth, Vlad pressed his hand to his side and sat on the floor, breathless. Agatha lay unconscious in the adjacent corner beside the spear, now broken in half. And over there, on the other side of the threshold, lay a humanoid mass of reddened, flayed flesh, with animalistic, tired breath.

Vlad's insides churned, nearly causing him to retch at the deathly stench emanating from that creature, which lifted its head, revealing a cadaverous face with sunken, enraged eyes. What had been left behind was a decoy; the skilled warrior had kept one last trick up his sleeve. Drawing his revolver, Vlad fired three shots in sheer desperation. His trembling hand caused the first bullet to miss, the second hit the shoulder, and the third hit the chest as the shaky vampire rose; weakened.

Their eyes met, Vlad backed away weakly on his legs, frustrated by the pain and fear that plagued him in the presence of Dimitri, who, trembling, raised his claw, releasing trails of hot steam from his own flesh; his healing factor reacting.

"Vlad... Vlad..." The creature growled, each step gaining speed, halted only by a well-aimed shot from the revolver to the legs, but it didn't stop him completely. With the magazine emptied, Vlad leaned on the second step of the stairs, standing abruptly as he drew his sword, glancing sideways at his unconscious friend. He intended to give it his all to protect her.

A beam of light appeared from the entrance, climbing the sculpture of flesh and tackling Dimitri from the side, slamming him against the wall. Vlad breathed a million sighs of relief as he placed his hands on his knees, comforted by the presence of Lawrence, standing victorious with his foot on the unconscious vampire's neck.

"Was he bothering you, my lord? Forgive my late arrival; I hope you're alright," the lord commander acted confidently, pleased with Vlad and Agatha's confirmed safety, as Agatha regained consciousness, still dazed.

"I'm alive... that's a start."

"What happened?" Agatha said, assisted by her king, whose face wrinkled in bewilderment at how Lawrence picked up Dimitri by the ankle, dragging him to the courtyard.

"What are you waiting for, Lawrence? Finish him!" Vlad never imagined he would order his first execution on the first day of his coronation.

"It's your mother's orders, my lord," Lawrence explained, tilting his head over his shoulder. "You should rest; we'll take care of this."

"No more formalities! That bastard killed my father and turned my men into puppets. He must die; he's too dangerous for..." Vlad's angry roar was cut short by a pain in his side; he still hadn't recovered from the blow suffered from the shockwave. He needed a few seconds to catch his breath.

"Vlad! I mean... Your Majesty is right!" Agatha continued, still not used to it. In her training days, Vlad asked his close allies to call him by his name. "That monster must die, his body opened up and his head impaled in a live broadcast execution to send a message."

"Forgive me for saying this, but you haven't completed your coronation yet, so for the moment, your lady Alexandra is the regent queen," Lawrence informed forcefully, descending the stairs, carrying the unconscious prisoner like a sack on his shoulders, followed by Vlad and Agatha. "So, we will be under her absolute command. If she decides he lives, he lives... believe me, I want to kill him just as much. He took one of my best friends."

"And he took my father. That son of a bitch will end up on a spike when I get the chance."

Furious, his eyes burned; Vlad's hand trembled on the sword hilt, tempted to draw it and impale the flayed, jaw-hanging creature with its head bowed over the lord commander's shoulders. It looked like a grotesque corpse, if not for the slow breathing; hearing it felt like an insult. As they walked, they encountered tired troops sitting on the ground, their faces barely visible under their helmets, emitting a myriad of conflicting emotions.

"What is the state of the castle?" They heard Alexandra in front of her regrouped guard in a kiosk.

"Critical, my lady," explained one, manifesting a hologram from his bracelet. The armor's AI connected to the castle's, so it could count the damage recorded by the cameras. "According to reports, casualties count over a hundred."

Lawrence's step halted in front of the stairs, throwing Dimitri's body forcefully at the queen's feet, escorted by a guard of well-armed soldiers aiming at the perpetrator. Among the companions were Garland and Frankenstein. First, the queen looked at her son; a healing relief entered her as she silently acknowledged that he had survived, and in a blink, she focused on the prisoner.

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"An aberration, no doubt," Alexandra said, glaring at the being in pure coldness.

"You idiots...," the barely conscious vampire growled, helpless against the ring of spears and bayonets aimed at his head. "You haven't won anything; you've only delayed the inevitable. My lord Nosferatu will reclaim what is ours; we are far above you in the evolutionary scale; you are mere cattle."

"I've heard that vampires can heal from almost any wound, as long as they're supplied with blood," he snapped his fingers, a signal for Franksteine to step forward. "Doctor Franksteine, make sure he's well-fed, enough to make him presentable but not enough to make him a nuisance; he has much to tell us about that rebel to whom he owes his devotion. If he refuses to eat, force him... I want him alive long enough to see his king's head impaled in this very courtyard where he claimed so many souls."

"As you wish, I have many techniques I'd like to try. The regeneration of a vampire is uncharted territory."

A malicious spark ignited as he adjusted his glasses, standing in front of Dimitri, who could do nothing but fear for his fate, knowing the grim reputation of the master of machines and his unrestrained passion for experimentation devoid of any moral compass.

Vlad's gut churned again as he watched two automatons march forward and drag the flayed man away amidst furious screams, dragged through the mud and mire on the way to the dungeons under the doctor's care. He could never get used to the grotesque appearance of his so-called "children," even though he maintained a close friendship with him, he kept himself away from his work, and as king, he tried to divert attention away from that field as long as it didn't disturb the government.

A small part of him harbored some pity for his enemy, overshadowed by the satisfaction of the miserable end that awaited him under the shadow of the smiling doctor heading to perform his work, escorted by his creations that obscured the unsettling feeling of the other guards, forced to step aside and not retaliate. Artizan, land of heroes, sang the poets, stories that did not cover or condemn the blood-stained methodologies that built the nation's foundations.

"Mother, that man..."

"He will suffer, son. That's all you need to know," Alexandra hardened her heart, shielded by tears of ice hidden by an expressionless feminine helmet, crowned by a pair of golden wings. "It's up to you to prepare for what comes next; the people of Artizan must know that their new king has fire in his blood and an iron will. We will mourn our fallen in due time."

That was the last thing his mother said before leaving, escorted by her retinue of guards. The courtyard quickly filled with medical units, tending to the wounded who didn't need to be transported to the already overcrowded infirmaries. Surgeries were performed for the injuries; those who survived the battle met their end due to infections and fatal injuries, deprived of knowing Artizan's fate in the war against Valaquia.

Sitting on the bench of the kiosk, Vlad stripped off his torso clothing, including the bullet-resistant vest. He received bandages to tighten a slightly fractured rib and some scrapes on his arms. Nothing serious; Artizan's advanced healing would have him in full health in a couple of hours.

Immediate attention was offered in an infirmary, which Vlad declined considering those in critical condition. The damage he suffered could barely be considered superficial, hiding a blow to his pride over what he considered a poor performance in battle, guarded in a bitter gesture that he couldn't change despite Agatha's company, who suffered minor bruises and dehydration from her constant use of magic and was equally attended to.

"We're screwed," he heard his squire complain as the doctors moved away after their examination. "It's only a matter of time before that bastard Samael sets his sights on us, mark my words... the moment you ask for his help, the son of a bitch will send his troops and catch us with our pants down."

"Valaquia and Seraph. Yeah... we're in deep shit," Vlad cracked his knuckles, overwhelmed. He hadn't even donned the crown yet, and enemies surrounded him. "Let's contact the Makian; my brother will surely want Nosferatu's head."

"To be honest, I was hoping that in your reign that bastard would try something and give us an excuse to have his head on a spike. I wouldn't ask you to kill him just for me, unless he gives us a reason to. I know what you're going through; I've lost a father too..." Agatha confided as she sat beside him; their hands intertwined for mutual support. "I want you to know that I'll have your back; with all due respect... more than my king, you're my best friend."

"I feel the same, Agy."

A faint, faltering smile grew on Vlad, gaining slight strength. The sound of metallic pieces approaching startled them, at first, he thought of a guard's presence, but upon turning, he shook off drowsiness. A maiden dressed in a light platinum corset with white details over a padded suit, smeared with blood and mud, approached. A metal skirt that reached her knees highlighted a pair of round shoulder pads engraved with a green blade, the symbol of the medical units. She removed the helmet crowned with a green feather, lowered the tight white hood, shaking her head to reveal a cascade of crimson hair that reached halfway down her back. The porcelain-white face of a doll, thin and delicate with thick lips and freckled cheeks, laden with a powerful expression that was both authoritative and commanding.

"So here you are! Aren't you supposed to be in a medical center? You have us all worried, Mr. Tepes," she judged with emerald eyes like jewels, showing neither respect nor devotion to her lord as she focused on Vlad, who knew immediately from the first exchange; like all outsiders to his inner circle, they tested him, and he stood up, ignoring the pain in his side. He wouldn't show weakness to anyone; he would never forgive himself, he could still feel his father's presence judging him without donning the crown; he had to be stronger than ever.

"Who do you think you are? You're speaking to your king," Agatha interjected harshly, arms crossed, interrogating the maiden who lacked a sheathed weapon; an alarming sign for those of her class, she could feel the spark's gift emanating from her.

"My name is Liz, I am a White Monk. The protege of Lord Commander Lawrence," she introduced herself with a hand on her chest, proud of whom she served.

"Liz? Well... you've certainly grown."

Vlad could barely remember the adopted daughter of the man he considered a second father. He never had deep interaction with her, as she was sent to the convent to train from a young age; they barely exchanged limited words.

"I recently obtained my bank seal. My lord father has ordered that you will be under my protection."

"Hey! His Majesty doesn't need more protection than mine and Garland's, miss," Agatha frowned, moving her staff.

"Nevertheless, it is the queen regent's orders." Liz acted professionally, ignoring the witch's hostility, appearing indifferent. "I hope we can collaborate and..." A vibration sounded from Vlad's bracelet.

"Wait." He activated the hologram of the communicator; it was his brother Adrian, his face dark with a whirlwind of anger and sadness that surged in the frozen surprise of the new king. "Adrian? By the goddess... you've..."

"Yes..." he answered coldly. "I saw everything from the transmission, Vlady. I don

't know what our mother has decided, but... I'm going after his head."

"And I'll put it on a spike. We're going to kill them all." In that exchange, the brothers nodded, ready to exact revenge against the vampires.