- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
Outside of the castle, an icy fog blankets the jagged mountains, obscuring the moon and stars, casting the world in a perpetual twilight. That omnipresent fog clings to the outside world tonight, seeping through cracks and crevices, lending the interior an ethereal glow that dances across the polished surfaces as firelight lingers on the dewy stonework.
That same biting chill lingers inside the corridors of the Vampire Lord's castle, the air full with the scent of old stone and the distant echoes of troubles elsewhere — battles, and so on.
Vampire Lord Inkume strolls through his labyrinthine halls, his footsteps a soft thud against the ancient floor. In his hand, a bottle of blood — dark as rubies — serves as both a weapon and a shield against the most despicable enemy of them all, boredom.
Like an alcoholic father in the middle of the night on the way to silence a screaming baby because it’s better than lying next to his wife, whom he shares a dead marriage with, he pauses while there comes a distant crying from the end of the hallway that he ignores. The vampire brings the bottle to his lips. He feels the liquid course through him, igniting dormant strengths with a tantalizing warmth — as if it were the memory of a first kiss from back when he still felt alive inside.
— Some adventurer is being attacked by monsters somewhere nearby. He can hear it.
His mind flickers with thoughts of getting stronger. Even if his abilities are useless, if he can get enough of them, then there are surely ways he can use them nonetheless to keep his people safe. Every new level up he gets by drinking tonight’s variety of vintages is a new option available to him.
[Experience Points Gained] You have drunk a large amount of blood from a particularly nervous young man thinking about his first love!
Race: Human
Class: Shieldswain
Adrenaline: Extremely High
Inkume's thoughts are interrupted as the shifting shadows reveal a stark contrast: a wandering barbarian, lost and curious, her eyes wide as she wanders the castle — the last of her group, perhaps.
— Or she’s just bold enough to enter alone. Functional immortality is making the intruders rather brave these days.
She stands there, muscles taut beneath her rugged attire, her presence a vivid splash of life against the castle’s muted backdrop. Her gaze locks onto Inkume, a spark of recognition — or perhaps mischief — lighting her features.
The two of them stare quietly for a while. She seems shellshocked, but he’s just ready to take another drink. Her expression changes.
Here we go.
“Daddy!” she calls excitedly, echoing with an audacity that almost seems to laugh in the face of danger as she holds out her arms his way. She moves toward him, confidence radiating from every step that insinuates she does not actually think he’s her long-lost father. “I want to be a vampire! Please let me -!”
And then, in a blink, she's gone — reduced to a swirl of dust that settles slowly to the ground.
Inkume remains still, the bottle poised at his lips, his expression unreadable as he drinks deeply, the rich taste mingling with the realization of her sudden disappearance.
The toxic steam that shoots out of the pipes from the wall’s corner in a violent spray continues to hiss for a while as it eats away at the hallway before the flow eventually stops. Some melted leather and a half-way sagging axe flop to the ground, landing in the pile of acidic sludge that remains.
Inkume keeps walking, tipping over his bottle toward the puddle as he steps over it. A splash of red liquid dribbles out over the floor as a gesture of respect for the dead. “Guess you were adopted,” he jokes to himself before continuing his night-drinking.
— He thought that was pretty clever. The living painting on the wall seems to think so at least, given its clapping. Inkume waves to it with an idle hand as he passes.
His ruby eyes scan the area. The castle is always changing, always altering its layout.
The walls here are adorned with ancient carvings and scenes of battles and victories etched into the stone. The flickering torchlight casts a warm glow, contrasting the cold, unyielding stone beneath his fingers as his free hand runs over the wall. The air is dank with the scent of dampness and melted person.
Good thing that trap was there, or else he would have had to come up with something himself. It’s a troublesome business, given his circumstances. The solution is simple, as with all of life’s other problems — more drinking.
The light is dim, flickering uncertainly as if unsure whether to hold back the darkness or join it. He turns a corner, and the silence is broken by the distant clatter of pots and pans, the ever-present noise of unlife within the castle’s depths. Fi-Fi, the skeletal maid, hums an unsettling tune — for the people of this world. He just recognizes it as some typical pop fair.
She moves with grace, her bony fingers a blur of motion as she tends to her tasks, a constant presence in the castle’s heart. Stopping by the door, he looks into the kitchen. “Busy night, Ma-Ma-Mas-tah~?” Fi-Fi asks without turning, her voice a gentle lilt amidst the clatter. She shakes her waist from side to side with the beat of her nonsensical tune.
Inkume nods, though she cannot see him as she’s busy stirring something in a large bowl. “Not as busy as yours it looks like,” he replies, his voice a low rumble, tinged with a weariness he cannot quite shake.
Fi-Fi’s skull turns around on her neck, looking at him. “You look sleepy,” says the maid, the rest of her skeleton turning to follow in suit to face him as if she were some kind of owl. Holding the bowl under her arm, she continues to mix some batter with the other. She shakes the spoon at him. “Maybe you need some vitamin-D?” asks Fi-Fi. “When’s the last time you had sunlight?” She tilts her head.
He laughs to himself, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway. “…Very cute, Fi-Fi,” replies the Vampire Lord dryly.
“Correct!” She kicks up a leg, holding a peace sign over her hollow eye socket as she stands there on one foot. A dribble of vaguely beige liquid with a pudding-like consistency falls from the spoon. “Tender, kawaii Fi-Fi is always very cute!” exclaims the maid. “Chu~!” she says, flicking her fingers his way to blow a kiss through the air toward him.
The Vampire Lord quickly grabs his cloak, the black fabric fluttering through the air as he shields himself from the metaphysical attack. His ruby eyes shine over the edge of the fabric, covering his torso like a bat’s wing. “Nice try,” he says. Fi-Fi gasps. “But your power is too weak to challenge mine,” declares the Vampire Lord as the spiritual essence of her sign of affection dissipates into the emptiness.
The goopy spoon swings out toward him, droplets of batter splattering over the walls as she holds it, arched his way like a sword. “Monster! Dog! Demon of the night!” proclaims the maid. “— I accept your challenge. You will suffer not but for a moment, as I will provide you with a clean death.”
He points at her. “You’ve already lost. It’s over,” he proclaims.
With a clatter, the bowl slides over the counter, rattling as it spins with the large spoon inside. In the same movement, Fi-Fi holds her hands together, forming a large heart shape with her thumbs and index fingers pointed his way. “Super lovely special beam attack!” yells the skeleton, starting to hum and sing some sort of drum-heavy guitar riff in the background.
Glass shatters as the empty bottle falls from his hand, and Inkume hisses. His knees hit the stone floor, his other hand clutching his chest as a desperately pained look covers his expression. “Impossible!” yells the Vampire Lord through a breathless rasp. “Where did you get this sudden but inevitable inner strength to defeat me shortly before the final episode?!” he cries, arching his back in great agony.
She nods confidently, stepping toward him. “The power of my friends who believe in me because I believed in them has now come to give me special strength that doesn’t actually make sense just in time before the end of the season — but not earlier — so I can defeat you in a timely manner but still early enough so that we have space for sequel bait for the next season to cooome~!” she proclaims in a quickfiring spouting of words, pulsing her hands in and out as she continues making beam noises as the ‘magic’ intensifies.
He cries, clutching his face in agony as he’s defeated.
Next to them comes the sound of someone clearing their throat.
Fi-Fi and Inkume stop, quietly turning their heads to look at Cvet. The boy is just standing there with a rather plain, unimpressed expression on his face. A platter is in his hands that he had come into the kitchens with.
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The three of them quietly stare at each other for a while.
Then, without saying anything, Cvet sets the silver platter down and turns away, walking back out of the side door to the kitchens.
Inkume and Fi-Fi watch him go, the door closing quietly behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps making their way back down the corridor. They look back at each other.
“Will I, the former villain, have a redemption arc and then be a part of your ragtag group of unlikely friends next season?” he asks, looking at her. “Before we encounter an even greater threat that I’m not really useful against because somehow all of my powers are useless despite me literally having been the greatest threat to the world for the prior thirty-six episodes?”
Fi-Fi thinks about it for a moment, her finger tapping her chin. “Well…” she muses. “No. But we don’t have a comic relief series mascot yet,” replies the skeleton. “It’s very bad for our current merchandising opportunities,” she notes, leaning down over him. “How good do you look in a little bear suit?”
“Terrible,” replies Inkume immediately. “My best features really are my delicate frame and my beautiful eyes, you see,” he notes, flashing his black painted nails down over the sides of his face in dramatic fashion. “Why would you hide these moneymakers in a plastic suit?”
The two of them stare at each other as she lifts a hand, pointing a fingergun his way. "That's a shame," she says, shaking her head as she lowers her thumb. "I liked you. Oh well." She shrugs with her free arm before using it to stabilize her wrist. “DEADLY LOVE BULLET ATTACK!” yells the skeleton maid as she finishes the job. The Vampire Lord cries out one last time as he’s destroyed forever and ever more.
"I will have my revenge!" he declares as his final words before he is no more.
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It is ten minutes later. He has stopped being destroyed forever and ever more. He's postponed his revenge to some other time.
It happens. That's life.
Vampire Lord Inkume stands at the heart of a grand, dimly lit chamber. His eyes, sharp as daggers, survey the scene before him. Rows of hollow guardsmen fill the space, their black armor polished to an eerie gleam.
They stand motionless.
Inkume raises a hand, fingers curling with intent. A surge of power courses through him, crackling in the air like distant thunder. The suits of armor respond, shuddering to life with a metallic whisper. This is the moment of transformation — a metamorphosis.
[{Restored} Castle Barracks]
{Monster Formation Collection Zone}
The castle’s barracks, home to the core defensive forces of the Vampire Lord within his fortress.
While it might seem odd that the undead would require a personal retreat space such as this, the undead would like to argue that the world is rather inconsiderate of their needs and desires and that it really isn’t that big of an ask in the grand scheme of things.
Room Effects:
• All melee formation-forming monsters will gain an additional commanding unit champion-level monster within their group to lead them.
• All champion-level monsters now regenerate HP passively at a rate of {01}% per second.
• [Hollow Armor] patrols will now regularly scour the forest.
• [Stable Ruins] have now been unlocked for restoration.
The room is active! Monsters are currently spawning here!
The barracks — newly forged from the Vampire Lord’s will — expands around them. Walls spring to life, imbued with dark, swirling patterns that pulse with a faint glow. The castle itself seems to breathe, each stone resonating with the magic that flows through Inkume's veins. A lovely ornate water fountain even appears by the doorway.
Inkume watches with satisfaction as the freshly selected hollow guard champions begin to move with newfound purpose. Their armor clinks softly, a symphony of readiness as they turn to one another, acknowledging their shared transformation.
That’s step one.
From the alchemy laboratory, the witch Hwa-Young's potions arrive — carried by unseen hands of ghosts. The hollow champions drink deeply, the potions bubbling and hissing as they strengthen the magic-infused metal of their forms.
That’s step two.
A low, throaty growl echoes from the weapons forged by the trolls — blades and axes, each a masterpiece of black metal — as they are carried in via air by swarms of disgruntled dark-fairies. These workers are the losers of the previous gambit from a few nights ago, who now have to work as his slaves.
— He means his full-time employees, not slaves. He can’t be too soft on everyone, after all.
That was step three, by the way, of his master plan to finalize the upgrades to the castle's hollow guardsmen.
Inkume nods, content. These new champions will protect the castle, the forest, and all that lies within his domain. Snatch was right with her advice for him to focus on low-level monsters. The dragon is cool and all, but these guys are the bread and butter. They’re the ones who make sure he can sleep peacefully during the day. They are his vanguard, his shield against the encroaching tide of adventurers who dare challenge his domain.
The air within the barracks is thick with the scent of metal and magic. Torches flicker in their sconces, casting wavering shadows that dance across the armor-clad figures. The light is dim, a soft glow that casts the room in shades of gray and silver.
Inkume's gaze shifts to the open archway leading to the outside world. The fog is a veil, concealing the forest beyond. “Go out there and make me proud, boys,” says the Vampire Lord, holding his hands behind his back. “Remember. Kill everyone with colorful hair first,” he remarks. The hollow champions, now elevated to their new status, march silently toward the threshold, their movements fluid and purposeful. Behind them, the others file into lines. They form ranks, disciplined legions prepared to face whatever preppy, quirky, and delightfully excitable threats may come. The hollow armors advance, a tide of dark armor and gleaming weapons as they march out into the night. They move as one, a silent storm sweeping out into the fog-laden forest.
Like a strong mother hen, Inkume watches them go, his heart a complex knot of pride and resolve.
The blood moon is coming soon. That means the ritual to end all sunlight will find its way to happening, one way or another. He needs to prepare himself for what that means if he wants to avoid it. He’s gotten to liking this world; it’s a nice place. Even more so, he’s carved himself out a nice corner of it for himself and the people he guards. It’ll be a shame if something so tiresome as fate were to get in the way of that.
But with his champions at the forefront, he is confident in their ability to hold the line. Inkume lingers at the entrance, his thoughts a mess of strategy and anticipation. He’s still a little foggy from that love-beam attack.
These new champions will be another brick in the road of protecting what is his.
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- [Hwa-Young, the Witch] -
A warmth permeates the witch’s hut, curling around the cluttered space with an insidiously charming and quaint touch. The air is full of the scent of herbs and incense, mingling with the faint tang of magic that lingers like a storm on the horizon.
Hwa-Young stands hunched over her mystical orb, its surface swirling with chaotic colors that pulse with urgency. Her brow furrows, eyes wide with alarm as a new vision forms — an image of a great hero marching from the city, intent on the ruin of the Vampire Lord and his dark castle.
Panic grips her, sharp and unyielding. She gasps, the sound echoing off the stone walls like a ricochet. In a flurry, she leaps to her feet, the hem of her robe catching on a crooked table leg. She stumbles, her floppy hat flying from her head, a cascade of hair tumbling free. The floor rises to meet her with a dull thud.
For a moment, she lies there, the world a blur of confusion and forgotten urgency.
Groaning softly, Hwa-Young pushes herself upright, rubbing her face with a hand that trembles ever so slightly. The vision — so vivid and terrifying — slips from her mind like sand through her fingers.
She blinks, bewildered, then shrugs with a sigh. “…Ow,” mutters the witch. She looks around herself, rubbing her sore spots. “What was I doing?” she muses quietly, sitting there on the floor.
Uh…
Hmm. Well, whatever it was, it will come back to her. It always does.
The witch’s hut — a cozy, ramshackle abode nestled amidst a riot of blooming flowers and twisted vines. The little hut out in the gardens is a riot of color and clutter, every surface brimming with arcane paraphernalia. Shelves sag under the weight of dusty tomes and jars filled with mysterious substances. Soft candlelight flickers, casting shadows that dance across the walls in time with the crackling hearth. It’s chaotic, but comfortable.
Hwa-Young pauses, a vague sense of purpose tugging at the edges of her memory.
There was something she needed to do, someone she needed to see. It hovers just out of reach, a ghost of intent that refuses to solidify.
“Now what was it… something about the Master?” she mutters, rubbing her head. Pursing her lips in a doubtful pout, she rises back to her feet.
Someone is outside the door. Curious, she peeks through the peephole. Sometimes adventurers try to get in, but the little hut is sealed and protected from them.
It’s the Master!
The Vampire Lord stands there imposing, his presence a dark contrast against the castle’s somber hues behind him. Opening the door, her eyes meet his, gleaming with an enigmatic light that hints at secrets untold. “Oh, Master!” she exclaims, a delighted smile spreading across her face. Whatever it was she needed to warn him about is forgotten, lost in the simple joy of the moment. “Would you care for some tea in the garden?” asks the witch eagerly.
Inkume’s expression softens, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “I’d like that,” he replies, his voice a deep, resonant murmur that seems to fill the space between them. “I wanted to stop in and check in on how your whole ‘school’ thing is going,” he explains.
She welcomes him in. “Please sit! It’s funny; I think I was just thinking of you too,” she notes.
“Only good things, I hope,” he replies, sitting down on a floor cushion.
Outside, the storm finally breaks rather dramatically all of a sudden; rain hammers against the windows. Lightning flashes, illuminating the hallway in stark, brilliant white.
Hwa-Young glances sideways at Inkume; her curiosity piqued. “Quite the dramatic weather all of a sudden,” she notes, confused.
Inkume nods, his gaze fixed on the rain-splattered glass. “That might be my fault,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Probably some weird ability of mine.” The two of them continue on, passing through rooms filled with memories and echoes.
“...Huh…” she mutters, staring at the flash of lightning making the window light up. Her eyes wander over to the orb on the table, staring at it for a second. Then back to the window and then back to the orb as a dramatic storm flairs outside, as if having come now to perfectly accompany some dark prophecy of some sort. But she doesn't know anything about anything like that.
“...You good?” asks Inkume.
She hits her fist into an open palm. “I got it!” she says eagerly, nodding and then sighing in relief.
Hwa-Young walks over to the table and covers the orb in a cloth, putting it away. “I forgot to put my orb away!” explains the witch.
That must be what she forgot. How silly.
“Oh yeah, for sure,” notes Inkume, raising an eyebrow. “Never can be too careful with those… orbs… I guess,” he says.
Hwa-Young bustles back to the kitchen, her hands already reaching for the kettle.
Inkume watches her and then looks out of the window as the rain dances across the garden with wild abandon. He turns back to the witch, his thoughts momentarily consumed by the tranquility of the moment. “So how do you like it here? Give me an update,” Inkume asks, his tone casual yet threaded with genuine curiosity.
Hwa-Young pauses, the kettle humming softly in her hands. She considers his question, then shakes her head with a small, wistful smile. “This is my home now,” she says simply, setting the kettle on the hob. “I have had much worse accommodations before this!” She hums softly to herself as she prepares the tea, her earlier panic forgotten in the face of simple pleasures. "As for my students, they show great potential!" she explains eagerly over her shoulder. "I think they will be ready for you to meet soon!"
The tea is ready, steaming cups placed before them with a flourish. Together, they sip their refreshments, although he does put a shot of blood into his first.
— It just gives it a little more kick.