Sebastian's gaze met Alex’s, his crimson eyes filled with the weary agony of a century and a half of suffering.
"Whatever you do, just do it quickly," he whispered. "I can't go on waiting."
Astarion exhaled sharply, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he held back the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "We will be back. You have my word."
They turned, walking toward the gate at the end of the hall. The vast corridor stretched before them, its oppressive silence broken only by the shuffling of unseen prisoners in the cells. At last, they stopped before the towering, ornate door that marked the threshold to Cazador’s domain.
A shout grabbed their attention. A voice, high-pitched and frantic, rang out from the last cell on the left.
"Hey! Hey, you!"
They turned toward the voice, and their breath caught at the sight of a little girl with blonde hair, her crimson eyes wide and desperate, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth.
"Oh gods… it can't be…" Astarion murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.
The girl gripped the metallic grates of her cell, her fangs bared as her gaze locked onto Astarion.
"It's you! I knew it!" she shrieked, her small fingers tightening around the bars with unnatural strength. Her voice trembled with rage, but it was layered with something deeper—pain, grief, an agony that no child should ever endure. "I'll kill you! Once I get out of here, I'LL KILL YOU!"
Alex stepped forward, his gaze steady. "You're from the monster hunters' camp, aren't you? The Gur?"
The girl’s fury faltered. Her expression shifted from murderous to stricken, like a puzzle being forced together in her mind.
"The camp... the monster hunters... the Gur camp?" Her voice cracked as something in her shattered. "Oh gods—my parents' camp!"
Her hands clutched at her head as though trying to keep her thoughts from fracturing further. A quiet, desperate mantra left her lips.
"Chessa, focus. Resist the beast inside you. You promised."
Behind her, two more figures emerged from the darkness of the cell—two boys. One was close in age to Chessa, but the other… the other was heartbreakingly small, no older than four.
Chessa’s glowing eyes locked onto Astarion again, and though her fury had ebbed, what remained was worse—pure, bitter condemnation.
"It's your fault," she spat, voice trembling with rage and sorrow. "You did this to us."
Astarion couldn't lift his gaze. He stood frozen, it wasn’t his usual calculated composure. It was guilt, raw and unfiltered.
"He’s the one who kidnapped us. He’s the reason we’re spawn." Chessa turned her piercing stare onto Alex and Amanita, her voice sharp and accusing.
The weight of her words hit Astarion like a silver stake to the heart.
A chuckle—bitter, empty—escaped his lips. He ran a hand through his pale hair, his fingers shaking.
"Quite the deviation from my usual routine, isn’t it?" he said, attempting to mask his pain with his usual wit, but the attempt was hollow. "Capture, rather than lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweetrolls and honeyed words."
His smile faded, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I felt nothing when I handed them over. Not a shred of guilt. Not then."
Alex placed a steady hand on Astarion’s shoulder, grounding him.
"Do not worry," Alex told Chessa gently. "We promised your parents we would save you."
Chessa’s breath hitched. She blinked rapidly as though trying to wake from a nightmare. "Parents? You… you’ve seen my parents?"
"They’ve been searching for you," Alex said. "They even tried to breach the palace. They failed, but they’re alive. They never gave up on you."
Chessa clenched her small fists, her entire body trembling. "I miss them, I think," she mumbled. "Or perhaps it's just the hunger. It's… it's so hard to tell anymore."
She turned her back to them, her small frame casting a long shadow in the dim torchlight. "You should go. Leave us here. We shouldn't be out there. We'd hurt them. We'd hurt everyone."
Alex crouched down, his voice unwavering. "Never give up hope. Trust me—I know what I’m talking about."
Silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, Chessa turned around, her glowing crimson eyes searching his face.
"Cazador has a staff," she said. "It controls the door. If you get it, you can set us all free. If… somehow…"
Alex nodded, his determination unwavering. "We will get it. I promise."
A bloody, weary smile curled Chessa’s lips. "Good luck," she said, attempting a weak joke. "If you fail, well—I suppose we'll be seeing you again here."
Alex rose, turning toward the looming gate at the end of the hall.
Astarion lifted his gaze to the ceiling, his breath catching as a painful realization dawned on him. "Gods above... ," he murmured. His voice was barely above a whisper, raw with grief and disbelief. He squeezed his eyes shut, his body stiffening as he fought against the tears that threatened to spill.
"I feel ill. All the fools and villains who ever fell for my ploys... they're here." His voice wavered, haunted by the ghosts of the past.
His trembling gaze dropped to his hands—hands that had led so many to their demise. Hands that had once touched Sebastian with tenderness, only to betray him.
"Each of the seven… we must have brought in thousands over the decades... They are all lambs for his slaughter. Every single one who ever trusted me enough to let down their guard... innocents, idiots, and the unlucky."
Alex, silent yet resolute, placed a firm hand on Astarion’s back. Astarion stiffened at the sudden warmth, but as it spread, something else changed. A fire surged through him, a searing heat running along the length of his spine.
Then—release.
Astarion inhaled sharply, his entire body shaking. He turned to Alex, wide-eyed, realization dawning in his expression.
"The contract..." he breathed, voice cracking. "The contract has been severed."
Alex gave him a steady nod, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "Now it’s time to get your revenge."
Astarion’s gaze burned with renewed determination. He swallowed hard and turned back to the gate, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation.
Then Alex looked at Amanita, his gaze filled with an understanding that required no words. "And you too, Amanita."
Amanita met his eyes.
No more cages. No more torment. This was their moment—to break the chains of their past, to carve a future of their own making.
"One more thing," Alex said, grabbing their attention. He exhaled slowly, then pulled down his collar, revealing the smooth expanse of his neck.
"Have your fill."
Amanita and Astarion stared at him in stunned silence, confusion flashing across their faces.
Amanita, remembering the intoxicating taste of Alex’s blood, felt her instincts stir first. She hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward, her fangs piercing his skin. The moment his blood touched her tongue, she shuddered. It was richer, even more potent than before—an overwhelming sensation of power coursed through her veins as she drank deeply.
"Do not worry. Drink until you are full," Alex assured her, his voice steady despite the warmth draining from him.
When she had taken her fill, Amanita withdrew, licking the last drops from her lips as the strength in her limbs surged.
Astarion remained motionless, watching with wary eyes. But the temptation was too great. He stepped forward, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder before biting down. The first taste sent a shock through him—pure vitality, unlike anything he had consumed before. He drank greedily, the hunger that always lurked beneath the surface momentarily sated in a way no ordinary blood could accomplish.
When he finally pulled away, his lips were stained crimson, his body thrumming with renewed energy. He flexed his fingers, feeling the raw power coursing through him.
"I feel... unstoppable," Astarion murmured, rolling his shoulders. "Gods, your blood—it's unlike anything I’ve ever tasted."
"Alex’s blood holds an immense vitality," Amanita added, her voice hushed with reverence. "Perhaps not even a dozen humans would amount to a single cup of his."
They exchanged one last glance, the weight of everything unsaid lingering between them. Their eyes burned with the same resolve—this was it. Their moment.
Then, with a firm push, Alex swung the gate open.
The darkness beyond beckoned, thick with anticipation and malice.
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The chamber they stepped into had an ominous grandeur, a structure both ancient and cruel in its design. The platform at the center of the cavernous space was a massive, multi-layered dais, constructed from dark stone and gilded with sharp, angular patterns of gold. The geometric lines crisscrossed the floor, creating an intricate network of symbols that pulsed with a crimson energy. The floor itself bore the scars of time—cracked stone, faded engravings, and remnants of dried blood.
Towering spires surrounded the platform, each adorned with runes and inscriptions worn by the passage of countless years. Black iron chains, thick as a man’s arm, hung from the cavern’s ceiling, stretching endlessly into the abyss below. Suspended from them were cages, swaying slightly in the still air, their skeletal occupants long since turned to dust. Shadows clung to the walls, shifting and twisting as though they had a life of their own, cast by the eerie glow of arcane torches that sputtered weakly in sconces of blackened brass.
At the heart of it all stood a figure, bathed in an unnatural glow. The magic radiating from him illuminated the runes carved into the floor, their dull shimmer intensifying with each arcane word uttered. Surrounding him were others, five figures floating between the spires. The spawn's bodies were marked with sigils of dark power.
The air was thick with an oppressive, suffocating presence that crawled beneath the skin, whispering of power and inevitability. The walls of the chamber seemed to hum, reverberating with the echoes of countless tormented souls, their agony woven into the very fabric of the ritual about to unfold.
Alex felt the calling again, but somewhere deep down below the platform. He raised his hand.
"We are invisible," Alex informed. "Let's walk closer."
They approached the platform. The spawns stood frozen, floating as Cazador held a scepter aloft, its dark metal reflecting the dim, cursed light around them.
The scepter had been forged from dark metal, its surface smooth yet cold to the touch, exuding an aura of malevolence. Along its shaft, veins of crimson energy pulsed like lifeblood trapped within steel, illuminating the eerie engravings etched deep into its surface.
At its head stood a twisted effigy of both man and bat, its wings curved inward as if to shield the power contained within. The creature’s face, frozen in a silent scream, bore an expression of agony and dominion, as though it had been bound to the weapon against its will. Its clawed hands extended outward, grasping at nothing, while the edges of its wings sharpened into cruel, jagged points, poised to cut into the very fabric of reality.
The crimson aura surrounding the scepter flickered like a dying flame, yet it held a menacing vibrancy that never truly faded.
Cazador stood deep in concentration, carefully channeling the crimson energy that swirled around him like tendrils of living fire.
"Alex, undo the invisibility," Astarion said, his body encased in an ethereal purple armor, leaving only his face uncovered.
Alex glanced at Amanita, who already had her crossbows drawn, her hands steady, her crimson eyes sharp with focus.
With a wave of his hand, the invisibility dissipated.
Cazador's long ears twitched at the disturbance, and a slow, smug smile crept across his face as he ceased the ritual and turned to face them. His expression was one of amusement and confidence, as if he had been expecting them all along.
A sneer curled across Cazador’s lips. "Who stands before us? Is this truly our prodigal son?" His voice slithered through the air, dripping with false amusement before turning sharper as his gaze moved to Amanita. "And my ungrateful niece?" He tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity flashing behind his contempt. Then his eyes landed on Alex . His presence was an itch Cazador couldn’t place, and that alone set his nerves on edge. Something about him was unnerving. He wore no armor, held no weapon, yet he stood unshaken, calm in a way that defied reason. There was no fear in his expression, no fury—just a quiet certainty that sent a ripple of unease through Cazador’s ancient bones.
Cazador's grip on his staff tightened as his voice cracked like a whip. "Do not slouch before me! Have you no respect for yourselves?"
His gaze swept over them with unhidden disdain. "Look at you both, crawling back after abandoning your family. You should be begging for my forgiveness."
Amanita stepped forward, her eyes gleaming like rubies set alight. "Forgiveness?" Her voice was eerily calm, yet it carried a venom that could rot flesh. "You should be the one begging me for forgiveness after what you did to me."
Astarion moved beside her, each step a measured declaration, his armor-clad form casting deep shadows against the ancient stone. His gauntlets clenched so tightly that they groaned. "You’ve never forgiven anything," he spat, his voice trembling with long-buried wrath. "Every mistake, every slip was punished. Every moment under your rule was suffering!"
Astarion stepped forward again, his presence looming over Cazador, yet the vampire barely seemed fazed. Instead, he examined him with a bored expression, as though he were appraising a broken instrument.
"I strove for perfection in all things—even those as imperfect as you," Cazador mused lazily, his voice devoid of warmth. His gaze flickered briefly to Amanita before returning to Astarion. "A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts."
Astarion’s fangs gleamed as he bared them. "No! No, fuck you and fuck everything you’ve ever done to me!" The words ripped from him, raw and unfiltered, echoing across the chamber with the weight of centuries of pain.
Cazador sighed, feigning exhaustion. "What about you, my niece? Have you lost your mind as well?" he asked Amanita, his voice laced with mock disappointment.
Amanita met his gaze without faltering, her crossbow already aimed, steady as stone. "I am more sane than I have ever been."
Cazador exhaled, shaking his head as if burdened by their disobedience. "Betrayed by family. What could be worse?" He clicked his tongue, turning his attention back to Astarion. "I suspected you would return to me changed. Never did I imagine you would be so... wretched."
His eyes darkened. "Thankless children," he hissed, voice slithering through the chamber like smoke. "Did I not bless you with the gift of immortality? Did I not make you what you are today?"
"You son of a bitch." Astarion’s voice was a guttural growl, his entire body wound tight like a spring ready to snap.
Cazador smiled, slow and predatory, feeding on the anger radiating from them.
Amanita’s expression remained unreadable, but her gaze flickered to the side, to Alex, who stood with his hands tucked behind his back, watching—waiting.
'I can do this. I can do this,' she told herself, anchoring her resolve.
A voice, calm and steady, echoed in her mind. 'You can do it.'
Her lips curled into a small, determined smile despite the darkness that surrounded them.
Astarion’s fist shot forward, his muscles coiled with the promise of retribution, but before his knuckles could connect with Cazador’s smug face, the staff in the vampire lord’s hand pulsed with a sickly crimson light. A crimson mist coalesced in the air, taking the form of spectral chains that lashed out, snapping around Astarion’s wrists like iron shackles, halting his strike mid-air.
“You truly have forgotten your place,” Cazador mused, his smirk widening. His voice dripped with condescension, a cold amusement dancing in his red eyes. “You believed that mere defiance, that your pitiful will alone, was enough to break my hold over you?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “You are weak, my child. A small, pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”
A volley of bolts whizzed through the air, their silver tips gleaming, but before they could find purchase in his flesh, a translucent crimson barrier erupted around Cazador, absorbing their impact. He turned his head slowly toward Amanita, his smirk deepening, but his amusement was short-lived. His expression faltered as his gaze snapped back to Astarion. Something was wrong.
The chains binding Astarion’s wrists trembled, cracks forming along their spectral length, glowing with a dark energy that pulsed like an erratic heartbeat. His body convulsed as something ancient and powerful surged within him. His silvery-white hair darkened, growing longer, thick tendrils of black cascading past his shoulders. His once-beautiful crimson eyes ignited, glowing with a feral intensity like twin suns drenched in blood. His fangs, already sharp, extended to monstrous lengths. He was changing, becoming something else, something greater than a mere spawn.
Cazador's smirk vanished. His fingers clenched around the staff, his stance shifting, a flicker of something foreign—unease—flickering in his eyes.
“Impossible,” he whispered, though the word barely escaped his lips before Astarion moved.
Astarion’s hand shot forward, the chains that once bound him snapping like brittle twigs. With terrifying speed, he closed the distance between them. A single blow crashed against Cazador’s face with the force of a divine hammer, sending him hurtling across the platform. His body skidded along the gilded stone, stopping just before the edge, teetering over the abyss.
Cazador staggered to his feet, half of his once-perfect face caved in, his jaw hanging loose and fractured. But as the staff pulsed once more, crimson tendrils slithered over his wounds, stitching flesh and bone back together. He lifted a trembling hand to his face, feeling the fresh skin knitting itself in place.
“No,” he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “No, this is not possible.”
Astarion stood before him, transformed, his ethereal armor glistening like tempered shadows, his demonic visage staring him down with unrelenting fury. A helmet, forged from the same spectral energy, encased his head, leaving only his glowing eyes visible—two burning orbs of vengeance in the darkness.
A deep, guttural growl rumbled from his throat. When he spoke, his voice was no longer entirely his own. It had deepened, layered with something ancient and wrathful, something monstrous.
“Time to suffer as I did.”
Astarion launched himself at Cazador with a thunderous impact. The vampire lord barely had time to react before Astarion's fist met his barrier, shattering it like brittle glass and sending him skidding backward. The force of the impact sent cracks rippling through the stone platform beneath them, the sheer power reverberating through the air. Before Cazador could recover, Astarion dissolved into mist, reappearing behind him in an instant. His knee drove into Cazador’s spine, a sickening crack echoing through the chamber as the vampire lord grunted in pain.
Cazador retaliated with inhuman speed, his fingers crackling with dark energy as he cast Blight. A pulse of necrotic rot surged toward Astarion, tendrils of decay twisting in the air, seeking to drain the very essence from his body. But Astarion’s form flickered, dissolving into mist, and the attack struck nothing but the cold stone floor, leaving deep, withering scars in its wake.
Astarion reappeared above, fists glowing with raw psionic energy. He slammed his knuckles down onto Cazador’s shoulders, the force of the blow sending the elder vampire sprawling. The ground beneath them cracked, splintering like ice under pressure. But before Astarion could follow up, Cazador’s body melted into a shadowy cloud, reforming a few meters away. With a snarl, Cazador extended his hand, summoning a jagged bolt of lightning from the darkness above. The bolt struck Astarion mid-air, sending him hurtling back into the obsidian pillars surrounding the platform. The impact shattered the ancient stone, dust and rubble cascading down like rain.
Amanita raised her crossbows, her fingers tightening on the trigger, but Astarion shot her a look. “Stay out of this!” His voice was distorted, deeper, almost monstrous. This was his fight. His vengeance. Cazador was his to break.
Cazador sneered, levitating above the battlefield, his crimson eyes glowing like embers in the dark. “You are nothing without me, Astarion. You exist because I allowed it.” His voice was steeped in arrogance, sharpened by centuries of dominance.
Astarion flexed his fingers, the ethereal armor around his form crackling with psionic energy. “I exist in spite of you.” He lifted his hands, forming a translucent barrier as another bolt of lightning crashed down upon him. The moment the energy dissipated, he blurred forward, a crimson mist left in his wake, moving too fast for mortal eyes to follow.
His fist connected with Cazador’s gut, bending the vampire lord in half before sending him crashing into the stone floor. The impact created a shockwave that sent loose debris flying. Astarion followed, slamming his foot down, shattering the platform beneath them. Cazador coughed black ichor but retaliated instantly, teleporting behind Astarion in a blur of dark mist.
His clawed hand reached out, gripping Astarion by the throat. With an explosion of dark energy, he lifted Astarion and hurled him through one of the towering pillars. The ancient stone crumbled, but Astarion emerged from the rubble, unfazed, his glowing crimson eyes locked onto Cazador with deadly intent.
His form flickered—then he was behind Cazador, his arms coiling around his master’s torso in a crushing grip. “You taught me to be a monster,” Astarion whispered against his ear, tightening his hold. “Let me show you what you created.”
He lifted Cazador off the ground and hurled him skyward. As the vampire lord attempted to recover mid-air, Astarion teleported above him, clasping both hands together and bringing them down onto Cazador’s chest with a force that sent him plummeting like a meteor. The entire chamber trembled upon impact, the golden inlays in the stone flickering as if reacting to the devastation.
Cazador coughed, sprawled on the shattered stone, his regal appearance now tattered and broken. His robes were torn, his once-pristine form marred by battle. His eyes burned with desperation. “You... you cannot win. I am your master.” His voice lacked the confidence it once held, the cracks of fear slipping through.
Astarion descended upon him, landing with the weight of centuries of rage and pain. His fist came down like a hammer, shattering Cazador’s face, reducing it to mist and bone. Cazador let out a final, gurgling snarl before his form crumbled into a misty, writhing shadow. The remains of his body shuddered, dissolving into nothingness. The oppressive aura that had filled the chamber began to dissipate, replaced by a liberating stillness.
Astarion stood over the broken remnants of his tormentor, his breath heavy.