The Damned Demon

As the smoke and flames receded, their widened eyes were fixed on the figure of the vampire. 

He stood unscathed, the fiery inferno that had enveloped him leaving not a single mark on his skin. His piercing crimson eyes seemed to bore into the very souls of those who dared look upon him.

Elder Roku, visibly shaken, whispered in a tone laced with fear, “What kind of a monster is he…” 

His words echoed the collective dread that gripped the hearts of all present. 

Even a peak Soul Devourer vampire would have flinched upon taking on so many explosive attacks head-on without even bothering to shield themselves. Not even a wisp of mana was used to shield himself, and yet his body remained unscathed!

Tarok stood frozen, his eyes trembling with a mix of disbelief and dawning horror.

The werewolves, hardened warriors all, could only watch in stunned silence. They were experienced in dealing with almost everything, but nothing in their combative lives had prepared them for this. 

This vampire’s immunity to flames defied all logic and understanding.

Adding to their growing terror, the vampire began to advance towards them. With each step he took, the flames that had cloaked him were extinguished, as if snuffed out by an unseen force. 

His approach was slow, deliberate, and each footfall resonated like a hammer striking their hearts, amplifying the fear that coursed through their veins.

lightsnοvεl Seeing his people trembling, Tarok felt even more unsettled but also incensed at the same time. 

With a growl, he transformed into his true form, though his voice betrayed a tinge of fear as he pointed a clawed finger at the approaching bloodsucker, “Don’t you dare take another step. Our clan is under the protection of the Darkmoon Clan. You will regret—” His threat trailed off into a gasp of shock and disbelief. 

This bloodsucker continued his advance, utterly indifferent to his warning.

The realization that even the might of the Darkmoon Clan seemed to hold no sway over this intruder sent a wave of panic through Tarok. Even the leaders of powerful covens wouldn’t dare mess with the Darkmoon Clan, especially attacking a clan under their protection without reason.

As the distance between them closed, the vampire’s chilling aura of killing intent became palpable, freezing the blood in the veins of the werewolves. 

Tarok’s bravado crumbled, replaced by raw survival instinct, “Everyone, run and keep blowing the fucking horn!” he barked, the command ripping from his throat as he too turned to flee while Elder Roku already beat him to it.

There was no way he could take on someone who didn’t even flinch after taking all those explosives head-on. Just as Roku said, this was a monster! What kind of hell did he crawl out from?

The sight of their chief, usually unshakeable, now gripped by fear and running for his life, shattered the last vestiges of courage among the werewolves.

In a frenzied, desperate scramble, they bolted in all directions, their growls and cries of fear echoing through the stronghold. 

But suddenly, they found themselves gripped by an overpowering, chilling sensation. It was as if an invisible force had seized control of their very being, freezing them in their tracks. 

Their bodies rigid and immobile, panic filled their eyes as they struggled to draw breath. The sensation in their blood was both searing and icy, a paradoxical torment that seemed to wreak havoc within their veins.

Amidst the chaos, Tarok also found himself ensnared by this inexplicable force. 

His large, muscular frame was shaking with uncontrollable tremors. 

The fear that gripped him was visible in his eyes, which darted around in terror and confusion as he saw all of his people were petrified as well. 

He couldn’t fathom what kind of power could render them all so helpless.

They then found themselves getting forcibly turned around, facing the source of their terror, the monster with the penetrating crimson eyes stood before them, his presence dominating and unyielding. 

He finally broke the silence, his voice resonating with a cold, authoritative tone, “Are you wondering who this bloodsucking insect is?”

The question sent a ripple of bewilderment through the werewolves, their terror-stricken faces turning towards their chief. 

They silently questioned if their leader somehow knew this monstrous figure. Tarok himself was the most perplexed and frightened of all. 

He scrutinized the man’s face, yet he couldn’t even feel any sense of familiarity. He had never seen this monster before in his life!

Raziel’s voice, cold and chilling, cut through the tense air as he declared to Tarok, “You don’t know me, but you are going to die knowing that this insect is going to devour your blood and those of your people until nothing is left of your clan,” His words sent shivers down the spines of the werewolves, their hearts pounding in terror.

In an instant, the immobilizing sensation that had gripped them vanished, and they could move again.

The werewolves, though terrified, felt a glimmer of hope at regaining control over their bodies. 

But Tarok, recognizing the direness of the situation, knew that escape was not an option. He was banking on the imminent arrival of the Darkmoon Clan, signaled by the continuous resonation of the horn. But until they get here, he can’t let this fucker destroy everything.

With a mix of fear and rage, Tarok commanded his warriors to attack, “Tear this bastard apart!” he growled, emboldening his men. They lunged towards Raziel, their jaws gaping wide, aiming to rip him to shreds.

But their assault was short-lived. In a grotesque and shocking display, their bodies exploded upon nearing Raziel, splattering the ground with their blood. 

The scene was one of macabre and utter disbelief. The blood from the fallen werewolves began to defy gravity, rising and swirling in a sinister dance around Raziel before being absorbed into his body. The sight was chilling, further amplifying the terror that had already taken root in the hearts of the werewolves.

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Standing amidst the carnage, he appeared even more monstrous and daunting. The blood seemed to empower him, his aura growing more intense with each passing moment, “The blood of these lowly dogs barely satiated my thirst. Maybe I should try devouring the blood of the rest of you,” he uttered while revealing his sharp fangs. 

The werewolves, including Tarok, were paralyzed with fear, never before having witnessed a monstrous vampire who could devour their blood and gain strength from it.

Tarok found himself stumbling and collapsing to the ground, overcome by the grotesque spectacle he had just witnessed. 

Panic seized the remaining werewolves as they attempted to flee, only to be struck down by the same paralyzing force that had immobilized them earlier. They writhed in agony on the ground, unable to escape the invisible grip spreading over the blood that held them.

In this chaos, Raziel’s figure materialized before the kneeling Tarok. With a swift and brutal motion, Raziel grabbed Tarok’s head, causing him to growl in pain. 

Tarok growled as he raised his arm to claw away at this bloodsucker’s face.

“AAARGHH!”

But Raziel effortlessly tore off his arm, eliciting a guttural howl of agony from Tarok as his blood spilled onto the ground.

“Shhh,” Raziel commanded, silencing Tarok’s cries of pain with a simple gesture of placing his finger against his lips.

He then pointed at the werewolves writhing on the ground in agony and whispered coldly, “Look at your people. Can you feel them dying?”

Tarok’s gaze swept across the scene of his dying clan members. They were in excruciating pain, their bodies betraying them as they succumbed to the invisible force that Raziel wielded. 

Their fur withered, vapors emanated from all their orifices, and blood filled their eyes, an image of terror and helplessness that struck fear into Tarok’s heart.

Raziel’s whisper was like ice, cutting through the air as he demanded, “I am boiling their blood very slowly so that I can give you enough time to apologize to me for baring your dirty maw at me. So why don’t you try before your clan melts to death. They are what gives your clan strength. Without them, you will be the chief of nothing.”

Tarok became enraged, but he was forced to suppress his anger, faced with the realization of his clan’s impending doom and the absolute power that Raziel held over them. 

If his clan dies, then his fate would be no better than a dead man. He might even get enslaved by the other clans.

“F-Forgive me…” Tarok forced himself to mumble with gritted teeth, his voice barely audible, laced with a mixture of rage and fear.

Raziel’s voice was dripping with cold contempt as he addressed the broken chief, “What kind of pathetic apology is that to someone who can kill you with a glance? I can still feel your killing intent,” The words fell upon Tarok like a sentence as a chill passed down his spine.

As Raziel spoke, a horrifying transformation unfolded before Tarok’s eyes.

The bodies of his people began to melt as their blood boiled to the extreme.

Their cries and growls of agony soon faded into eerie silence as they were reduced to lifeless forms.

Tarok, overwhelmed by grief and terror, could only watch in disbelief, “NOO!!” he cried out, his voice a mixture of despair and rage. The sight before him was unbearable – not even his women were spared from the wrath of this monster.

Raziel’s expression remained impassive as he surveyed the carnage he had wrought, “What a pity. They were too weak and died before I could offer you the last chance,” he remarked coldly, his words echoing hauntingly amidst the charred landscape.

He then turned his full attention to Tarok, lifting his head to force him to meet his gaze, “How does it feel to lose everything?” Raziel asked, his crimson eyes boring into Tarok’s.