Surviving in this world has never been easy; one's existence seemingly tethered to group affiliations, nationality, and the like.

Yet, in the labyrinth of life, sometimes existence becomes naught but another form of demise.

Could one truly be considered alive under specific conditions, living beneath the looming shadow of a wall?

The avarice of the living, I contend, is undying. It parallels hunger; relentless until one's demise. It mirrors the abyss, ceaseless — a single offering merely intensifying its voracious appetite.

Yet, not all can satiate themselves, let alone feed the abyss.

This realm is cold, and emotions are numbed; whether by the frost that blankets the land or that which encases the souls.

Amidst the darkness, a voice resonates.

"How can we allow this to persist? Our brethren are reduced to servitude under the hooves of those pitiful animals. Our blood is being disgraced!" A young man's impassioned speech echoes in a dimly lit feast hall.

The colors within are scarce a mix of black, beige, and blood-red. Tables and chairs crowd the hall, leading to a throne at its end. Large windows grant the moonlight admission, illuminating an otherwise dark hall.

The guests, adorned in elegant Victorian-like garments with subdued colors, exude an air of death. Despite appearances, one might mistake them for humans if not for distinctive features: a pale complexion, elongated fingernails, red eyes, and a bluish-greenish tinge on their faces.

One thing, however, distinguishes them clearly.

Their blood filled glasses.

"Silence, young one!" roars the man seated on the throne.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"You deem yourself powerful, yet the strength of the beastmen is not to be scoffed at," he adds with a grin. "You wouldn't even withstand their weakest warrior."

"I may be young, weak, and hasty, but you, the Father of Night, the ruler of all night creatures, and the noble vampire, how can you idly stand by as our once-great empire crumbles under your rule?" retorts the young man.

"Young one, you overestimate this so-called empire." says one of the onlookers. "We are no longer the great empire we once were; we live under the shadow of the beastmen now."

"You, who once struck terror into the living, can you accept such existence? Have you no heart for our brethren?" questions the young man.

The vampires, uncaring, laugh at such provocations. "The fire in your heart hasn't died, yet you seek your own demise. Our hearts died long ago; now they lay cold and rotten. We cheated death once; would we be fools to seek it again?" says one of them.

"It seems your brains have rotted away too." murmurs the young man.

"Alfance!" roars the man on the throne.

"Watch your words. We will not accept such blatant insults. We've said what we had to; we shall not battle the beasts." he continues.

"I will do it myself. Just grant me control over the night-born, and I will offer you the hearts of the beasts. Provide me with weapons, armor, and I will liberate our brothers. It's the least you can do." demands Alfance.

"Troops you shall receive, but not an army or gear. We cannot afford to weaken ourselves, even the humans dare to provoke us these days." says the man.

"Then give me a thousand blood knights; I shall sow chaos in the land of humans and hunt down the humanoid animals to save our brothers." demands Alfance in visible excitement.

His demands receive another round of laughter. "Such a significant dent in our forces; even a hundred would be excessive." says one of the guests. "Even dhampir warriors would be too much of a demand." adds another. "I suggest giving him ghouls rather than blood knights." proposes a third. "You should be given a hundred ghouls; that would be our only expendable force, isn't that right, Lord?" smirks a middle-aged man with an upright eyebrow, a long mustache, and a long goatee. His white hair frames a smug face.

As he speaks, he turns to the man sitting on the throne, who only responds with a glare.

'Silence is also considered a sign of acceptance. Alfance, you shall march tomorrow after sunset. We look forward to hearing of your great victories." says the man before continuing, "It's also acceptable if you don't want to go; after all, the instinct to live is the greatest of all."

"Tsk. I will go; I shall return again, and you will witness the greater heights I reach, even with the pitiful things you gave me," says Alfance, clearly annoyed.