- [Snatch] -

A heavy silence fills the air — a quiet so thick it seems to seep into the very stones of the cold throne room. Shadows flicker and dance along the ancient walls, cast by the feeble glow of torches ensconced in wrought, black iron. The air is cool, a biting chill that clings to the skin like an unwelcome shroud. The oppressive atmosphere mirrors the tension in the room, as if the castle itself is holding its breath. Master Inkume sits upon his throne, his regal figure draped in dark velvet, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling blend of malice and amusement as he looks at the traitor. His long and pale fingers, tap lightly on the armrest, a rhythmic, impatient gesture. The throne room seems to contract around him, pulling in and out like a breathing chest. Shadows stretch and coil at his feet as ghosts and spirits weave through the darkness, eager to serve.

Before the throne stands the living wooden doll from inside the mirror dimension, her joints creaking with every subtle movement. She wears an old-fashioned dress — once vibrant but now dulled by time. The doll's eyes, glassy and unblinking, reflect the torchlight in eerie glints, as if challenging the very darkness that surrounds them.

"You are not my true lord!" the doll accuses, her tone both defiant and accusatory, a child's voice twisted by age and anger. She points at him with a wooden finger, the paint off it long since chipped away. "The old Vampire Lord — my real Master — will return, and you will be nothing but dust."

Snatch starts to snarl, flying forward. But the Master grabs her and pulls her back.

— She actually just pretended to become enraged and lose control there because she wanted him to hold her. The oozy ghost wheezes to herself as Inkume pulls her back to himself. Not that she isn’t actually angry about the doll’s treachery, but the Master knows and controls everything inside the castle at all times.

Inkume leans forward slightly, a sardonic smile playing across his lips. "Is that so?" His voice is smooth, like silk. Snatch sighs, melting against his side as he sets her down on the armrest. "And what makes you so certain about that?" he asks, sounding legitimately curious.

The doll tilts her head much too far, an unnatural gesture that sets her joints to groaning as her neck bends at a near full right angle. She reaches up, pushing her head back upright. "Because I remember," she says, simple yet laden with conviction. "I remember a time before you. I remember how powerful he was. Death can’t stop that man." She looks at Snatch. “Traitors will be punished harshly.”

“You’re just mad because I’m the new favorite,” replies Snatch, fully unbothered because she rests easy in this truth.

The doll was the old Vampire Lord’s favorite, but Inkume likes her the most, and Inkume is a much better Master than the old one. She really thinks that she’s never going to get bottled at this rate. It’s almost too good to believe.

Inkume's smile falters, his fingers halting their restless tapping. Memories — unbidden and unwelcome — flicker in his mind like the errant torches. Yet he dismisses them with a flick of his hand, as if swatting away an annoying insect.

“Look. He’s dead,” remarks Inkume. “Death sure did a good job on getting rid of him, because, well.” Inkume gestures to himself. “— I run this place now, if you hadn’t noticed,” explains the Vampire Lord, leaning his head on his hand; his other hand drops onto her head and starts scratching her hair. Snatch smiles, bubbling as his sharp nails run over her scalp.

“I’ll enjoy watching you die, usurper,” says the doll, crossing her arms.

Inkume sighs, rolling his eyes. “Look. Is there any way you can drop the whole ‘Oh, I’m so evil woe is me’ spiel and we can just run this place like a business?” he asks. “You don’t need to like me.”

“— She does!” interjects Snatch angrily, turning her head to look at him. She points at the doll. “Master! Torture her! Burn her alive!” yells the ghost. “She’s only going to sabotage you or something!” The throne room, vast and echoing, holds its secrets well. The floor is a mosaic of cold stone, intricate patterns worn smooth by the centuries. Above, heavy drapes hang, their rich fabric absorbing sound and light. The air is thick.

“A business?” asks the doll, stepping forward. “You think this is a business?” she asks, almost offended.

Inkume smiles, nodding. “We’re making a killing on merchandise, actually,” explains the Vampire Lord happily. “Adventurers are going crazy for all the trinkets and nick-nacks we’re selling outside.”

“Merchan…dise…?” she asks, apparently not sure if she heard correctly. The doll’s face contorts. “The ritual, you fool!” shouts the doll. “Your purpose here is to bring about the night that never ends!” she yells, pointing at him. “Not to make money!”

“Yeaaaah…” says Inkume slowly, making a pained face as he winces with one eye. “About that,” starts the Vampire Lord, placing the tips of his fingers together and leaning forward.

Snatch, crawling out through the open gap between his arms, looks at her. “ — We’re not doing that anymore!” she explains, repeating what the Master told her when they first met.

“W-What?” asks the doll, taken aback. “Heresy! The very purpose of a Vampire Lord is to bring about the era of endless darkness!” she shouts. “The gods put you here to destroy the lives of every mortal on this wretched world!”

Inkume leans back, Snatch clinging to his front. “Mortals make things that I want, though,” he says plainly.

“The Vampire Lord is the Master of all beasts and things with teeth!” argues the doll, stepping forward, seemingly offended. “Monsters fall at your feet and husbands throw their wives in your path to distract you while they run away; what could you possibly want to buy from mortals?!”

As if summoned by a spell, the grand double doors burst open with a crash. “Master!” shout two different voices at the same time.

Fi-Fi the maid and Hwa-Young the witch both stand there at the door to the throne room, each of them holding a broom slung over their shoulders. “The new brooms have arrived from the city!” shouts the witch, holding hers up. “Thank you!”

“We love you, Master!” shouts Fi-Fi and she and the witch hold their hands together, making a heart.

Snatch hisses at them. “Not as much as me! Don’t intrude!” she yells at them angrily as the witch climbs onto her broom and starts flying. Fi-Fi watches her go before trying to do so herself. But hers never rises into the air.

“Aw…”

Hwa-Young loops back, grabbing the skeleton by the hand and pulling her up as the two of them fly away, laughing down a corridor, swooping over a troop of adventurers who duck down in panic, looking over curiously just in time as the grand doors slam shut in their faces and the castle changes its layout.

“Is this a joke?” asks the doll, looking back at him.

“The Master bought me candy! I’ve never had candy before!” says Snatch excitedly.

“You’re a ghost!” argues the doll. “You can’t eat anything!”

Snatch’s eyes light up. “...It’s pretty, and I like to place it in the hallways, and then when a human sees it and tries to take it,” mutters Snatch quietly, leaning over. “— I SNATCH IT!” she yells, getting excited and kicking her legs.

The doll clenches her fists and grinds her wooden teeth. “This is absurd! The Master would never approve of such… such… HABBERDASHERY!”

Inkume gasps playfully, clutching his chest in feigned surprise. The doll's eyes gleam with a fierce light — the kind of defiance that refuses to die. "You will see," she promises, her voice barely more than a whisper. "The master will return and put all of this right!”

The Vampire Lord leans back, eyes narrowing as he studies the creature before him. Shadows dance across his face, and for a moment, the air seems to still — caught between the clash of past and present, of Master and servant. Snatch wonders why he does not simply eat the doll’s soul; it’s what she would do.

But the Master does things his own way. He’s smart.

The chill in the air sharpens, punctuated by the echo of the wooden doll's retreating footsteps as she turns to leave, the sound a hollow thump against the cold stone floor as her rickety wooden frame moves. Inkume watches, his expression a mask of icy determination, as the doll scurries toward the heavy doors to return to some part of the mirror world that isn’t being fought in by a zealous knight.

The chatter of the nearby ghostly courtiers fades into an indistinct murmur, their eyes wide as they witness the confrontation.

“Well, you’ll want to look proper when he returns, right?” asks Inkume.

She stops, her hands on the doors. “W-What?” she asks, slowly looking back over her shoulder.

Inkume leans back on his throne, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Your dress is pretty old; I could have a new one made for you,” he offers. She looks down at the old dress, bitten and worn through in many places. “Some fresh paint for those rough areas, a little oil, and we’ll get those broken joints fixed up,” says the Vampire Lord, interlocking his fingers and crossing a leg. “After all, you’ll want to look presentable for when your old master returns, right?” he asks. The doll’s faded, glassy eyes look at her rickety, half-splintered hands and wooden arms filled with notches and small burn marks.

A spidergirl drops down from above, slowly lowering herself on a strand of silk as she holds out a ready-made, beautiful silk court gown with red fabric and golden lacing. Another lowers herself down on the other side, holding in her eight legs a mannequin, who himself is holding a toolbox full of carpentry equipment.

Her eyes quickly look back up his way. “M-My true Master will love me as I am!” she argues.

“But don’t you want to make him happy?” asks Inkume.

“I…” The doll clutches her forehead, confused.

“Just bend the knee for now, play nice, and when he returns, you can go do whatever you want,” offers Inkume.

“Leave me alone!” yells the doll as she takes a step back, the door looming ominously behind her and then bolts from the throne room, disappearing into the darkened hallways of the castle.

Inkume watches the door swing shut, the echoes of the doll’s retreat fading into the silence. “Well then,” he muses, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes drifting through the windows toward the distant clocktower that looms over the castle grounds. Its ominous silhouette stands against the night sky, a relic of time that has ticked away under the watchful gaze of the Vampire Lords.

“Master, he’s not really going to return, is he?” asks Snatch.

“No, Snatch,” replies Inkume. “I don’t believe so. But if she wants to, it’s not my business,” says the Vampire Lord. “I’m just trying to keep the peace.” He clasps his hands together, a loud clap reverberating around the throneroom. “Thank you, ladies!” calls the Vampire Lord across the throne room. The arachne wave to him before retreating back up into the shadows. “Next time.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

He had a whole scheme set up with them in advance extra for the doll. But it seems that she was overwhelmed.

Snatch bubbles up on his lap, looking at him from up close. “I don’t like her, Master; she’s mean,” argues Snatch. “Can’t you just eat her or turn her into firewood?”

"Now, Snatch, where would we be if I just ate everyone else?” he asks her.

“Paradise,” replies Snatch. “It would be just you and me alone together forever, Master!” she rasps enthusiastically. “Let’s do it right now! You kill the humans, and I’ll kill everyone else!”

He laughs, his hand squishing her head down as he ruffles her hair.

“Snatch,” he calls, his tone shifting. “The clocktower — what do you know about it?”

The ghost girl perks up, her form wavering with excitement. “Oh, the clocktower? Uh, it’s full of, like, gears and… you know, things!” Inkume raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t actually know that much, but she wanted to answer. “It’s dangerous, Master.” She flits closer, her eyes bright with mischief. Inkume pushes a finger into her forehead, slightly pressing her back to regain an inch of personal space — at least as far as his face is concerned. It’s already too late for the rest of him. “We’re lucky that your pet priestess didn’t wake anything up…”

“Like what?”

Snatch shakes her head, not wanting to answer.

Inkume's interest piques — the clocktower hasn’t been an object of his attention yet, but there is so much going on in the castle, it might be worth checking out. “I’ll find out for myself. Keep an eye on things here.” He rises, the shadows wrapping around him like a cloak, a sense of purpose igniting within him. The room dims behind him as he strides toward the exit, the cold air biting at his skin but invigorating his spirit.

“Master!” yells Snatch after him. “Don’t touch the statue!” she calls, wheezing as she looks around herself nervously now that she’s all alone again.

The ghost grabs a box of candy from the tableside, making sure she’s alone before dropping one into her mouth.

It falls straight through onto the throne.

“Aw…” she mutters, before grabbing it and vanishing.

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- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -

As he makes his way to the clocktower, the castle seems to hum with anticipation — the ancient stones whispering secrets only he can hear — most of them are nonsense.

[It Stains the Walls] Passive Ability • In order to know the weaknesses of your enemies, you can hear any embarrassing secret that is whispered within your castle.

The air within the clocktower is thick with mystery and the scent of aged metal, a heady combination. Black gears clank and groan, their ancient machinery echoing in the dim light that filters through the small, grimy windows alongside the inner staircase. Dust motes float lazily in the beams, swirling in a languid dance. The walls, adorned with intricate engravings, loom high above, and the faint ticking of the heavy clock — steady and relentless — adds an unsettling cadence to the atmosphere. It’s like the castle’s heartbeat.

Inkume strides through the maze of gears and chains, each step echoing softly against the stone floor.

The stairwell spirals upward, but the temperature drops, a chill creeping into Inkume’s bones as he reaches the top. He pauses, taking in the sight before him — the inside of a massive clock face dominates the wall, its intricate design a web of cogs and hands frozen in time. Between him and it stands a statue, a figure frozen in a heroic pose, its stone hands clutching chains that dangle ominously.

“Neat,” says Inkume, admiring the workmanship.

Its clenched hands are filled with chains that run off into a series of mechanisms elsewhere.

He looks around himself, seeing a random monster flying past. “You there,” says the Vampire Lord. It’s a ghost, but draped in a long, trailing purple sheet. It looks rail thin, having no legs — as if its upper torso needled down to a soft point below itself. A tattered, hollow face turns his way. He recognizes this undead. He’s seen it once before, a long time ago when he first met Snatch at the castle entryway.

It’s a banshee.

~ [Banshee] ~

A Banshee.

Commonly held in misunderstood folklore to be mournful undead women, wailing in lamentation for their tragically lost lives and loves, banshees are actually closer to being fae than they are undead.

Their songs and cries are said to herald death their way, bringing curses to anyone who hears them mourn.

With eyes red from continual weeping and a ghastly complexion, it is not hard to see why one would consider them to be undead monstrosities. To counteract this, banshees hide themselves below layers of fabric, robes, and dresses. However, this tends to unfortunately make the problem of their frightening appearance even worse. The size of a banshee leans toward diminutive statures. No records exist of what they really look like beneath their robes; some say that they are old, witch-adjacent hags and others that they are beautiful virginial spirits.

While many are haunted by the cry of the banshee signalling death, many poor, regional families say that it is actually a blessing, as they observed banshees only ever coming to mourn for those who are already dying and ill from long sicknesses. They argue that banshees are comforters who come to the dead in their final moments with a song and a hand to take them across the veil, offering comfort to the living left behind that their departed kin will not leave alone.

Whether banshees are actually directly responsible for the deaths of these people or are indeed simply misunderstood shepherds, is unclear.

Type: Fae {Grand} Rank: C+ Common Drop: Ethereal Fabric Rare Drop: Banshee’s Flying Shroud

It looks at him, drifting toward him with a strange, shifting movement that feels like something is constantly pulling it back — as if it were a fish swimming against a tide, like a sheet pressing against the wind. “Master,” it whispers, bloodshot eyes gazing at him. “I will serve you forever,” it says, its voice coming only to one of his ears despite it being straight ahead of him.

“Hi, great! Love the positive attitude,” starts Inkume clasping his hands together as the banshee — boneless and without ligaments other than its gaunt, bony arms — floats around him in a circle, sharp hands gracing over his shoulders and cloak. “Do you know what inevitable pain in my butt this clocktower is going to become?” asks the Vampire Lord, lifting an arm and looking down below it at the sheet that slips through the gap, the icy cold fabric rubbing against his side as it floats back up into the air.

“You smell like a dead man,” whispers a voice into his other ear, despite the banshee leaving.

He tsks. “Personal space and Vampire Lord,” says Inkume, making his two points clear. “Look. Given the last few weeks, I’m anticipating some kind of disaster here sooner or later. What do I need to know?” he asks, watching the banshee swirl as a gust of wind presses against it, moving in through the high clocktower windows.

The dark sheet billows loudly, fluttering as it looses its shape and then falls — like a blanket dropped from a window — until it lands, wrapped around the arm of the statue.

“Look at this,” it whispers in both of his ears at once, breath running up the back of his neck despite him looking at the entity up on the statue ahead of him. Her voice is a soft, ghostly echo that reverberates in the stillness; it’s hollow, like a breath released from an eviscerated chest. A semitranslucent form shimmers faintly below the fabric. “It’s a hero from a thousand years ago,” says the banshee, as the wind comes again. The fabric clings to the statue, but not in full. It blows to the side, fluttering as if it were a cape attached to the stone thing holding the chains. “He tried to stop the old Master and was bound here as punishment.”

Inkume narrows his eyes, studying the statue’s features — noble yet marred by the passage of time, eyes turned toward the clock face as if eternally watching.

He snaps a finger. “Snatch!”

It doesn’t take a second. “Yes Master. I love you, Master,” says Snatch, appearing in a second right next to him, a piece of green candy in her hand.

Inkume looks at her. “Why was I not informed about the time-frozen hero trapped inside of my evil vampire castle?” asks the Vampire Lord.

Snatch looks at him, her smile turning into a frown as she thinks. Her chest heaves, and her eyes dart around the room. The ghost scratches her face, pulling on it as she wheezes for breath. “He’s a statue, Master,” replies the entity. “A captured member of the hero party from a thousand years ago.”

Inkume looks at her. “And he just turned him into a statue? Just like that?”

“Yes, Master.” She nods. “A medusa did it.”

Inkume looks at her. “And he just left him inside his own dark, horrific castle? Unguarded?” Inkume gestures to the statue, his expression lost. “Just like that?”

Snatch nods excitedly. “Yes, Master! To bring despair to the rest of the hero party!”

He leans in toward her. “— Where anyone could wake him up at any time if they found some convoluted, magical make-believe thing fueled by the power of friendship and hope?” Snatch looks around confused and then shrugs. “Snatch. Why did you not tell me about this?” he asks.

Snatch panics, her eyes darting around every which way as she tries to look for an answer around her. Not seeing anything, her breath frantic and desperate, the sweaty ghost looks at him. Not having a good answer, she holds out the piece of candy in her hand to him. Inkume stares at her as she presses the candy into his mouth. “He’s… a statue, Master,” replies the ghost. “Your castle has many statues, but none are as beautiful as you.”

“Thank you, Snatch,” replies Inkume, sighing.

“Deeeaath,” whispers the banshee in the background.

“Quiet!” snaps Snatch.

There’s no way he’s going to risk this. It’s a good thing he came here. Who knows how strong a member of a hero party is? Even if this person here isn’t the big man himself, he’ll be plenty strong and the last thing he needs is for some plucky adventurer to stumble in here and wake up the forgotten savior from a thousand years ago, activating some messed-up side quest for redemption or whatever. He can see it now, the B-tier hero party team member from the last era getting his big chance to prove his value.

Nope.

“Snatch. Please take this statue. Put it somewhere safe.”

She nods feverishly, eager to please, and then grabs the statue. “SNATCH!” yells the ghost, grabbing the entire thing at once. Inkume watches as the two of them just vanish. A second later, the banshee drifts down to the ground, falling to the floor like a rug as the chains whip past it, striking deep grooves into the walls as they’re violently let loose.

“Keep up the good work,” says Inkume, looking at it.

He uses his powers to make a replacement statue, but not before something somewhere within the clocktower activates. The sound of grinding gears fills the air — a cacophony that echoes through the tower, reverberating against the stones like the heartbeat of a slumbering beast.

With a sudden clatter, the mechanisms engage, and the room shakes slightly, a tremor that sends dust and debris cascading from the ceiling as the massive weights in the air realign into a new configuration.

Inkume steps back, watching in fascination as clockwork monsters begin to emerge from hidden compartments within the walls — metallic figures with whirring gears and glowing eyes, their movements sharp and precise. They clank and whir, filling the clocktower with a chorus of discordant sounds. Clockwork golems stir in forgotten chambers, their gears grinding as they shake off centuries of dormancy.

[Clocktower Reconfigured] • [Clockwork]-type Monster spawning rate increased by {100}%

A low rumble vibrates through the castle, a sound that rises from its deepest foundations to the highest spires. The mood shifts, a tense anticipation hanging in the cold air. Black pipes, hidden within the castle's walls, begin to hum with life — steam coursing through their veins with a hiss and whistle, carrying the promise of awakening slumbering entities. The castle, once a monument to silence, now pulses with a heartbeat of metal and magic.

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

- [Fi-Fi] -

In the restored cathedral, the air feels different — charged with an ancient power that crackles against the skin. Stone sigils embedded in the walls flicker, then blaze with a vibrant luminescence, their intricate patterns weaving stories of forgotten magic. The stained-glass windows, depicting scenes of battle and triumph, cast vivid hues across the polished stone floor. The air is cool, yet there is a warmth that emanates from the glowing symbols.

Fi-Fi, humming, pauses in her duties, her bony fingers resting on her new broom. Her head tilts slightly, bones clinking softly, as she observes the change happening around her as magical energy floods through grooves in the stonework.

She turns her head, watching as the altar in the center of the cathedral glows. The channels carved into the stonework are flooded with magical essence, coming through the rerouted pipes.

The Master has set another piece of the ritual into place.

Soon, the castle will be ready.

She shrugs, continuing her sweeping as she sings. The witch laughs, flying overhead in circles on her new broom.