Chapter 57: Domain manifestation
The Original’s feet touched the factory floor with the softness of falling snow, but the impact sent vibrations through the concrete that made every piece of machinery in the building ring like a bell.
The remaining vampires—two third generations and the handful of lesser bloodsuckers who’d survived the initial assault—immediately fell back, arranging themselves behind their master like a pack acknowledging their alpha.
The hierarchy was unmistakable. Even the third generations, creatures that could tear through steel and command absolute fear from human prey, looked diminished in the presence of something that had walked the earth since the first nights after the Break.
Agent Richardson, barely conscious and clutching a handheld scanner that had been beeping frantically since the explosion, looked down at his device with growing horror.
The readings were off the charts—power levels that shouldn’t have been possible, energy signatures that made his equipment whine in protest.
"Colonel," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the factory’s groaning steel framework. "The scanner... it’s reading First Generation. Confirmed First Generation."
Steele didn’t need confirmation.
The aura radiating from the creature was like standing too close to a blast furnace—overwhelming heat and pressure that made every survival instinct scream warnings.
He’d heard stories about Originals, read classified reports from operations that had ended in total unit losses, but this was his first encounter with something that old and powerful.
The Original surveyed the humans scattered across the factory floor with the detached interest of an entomologist examining insects.
Its eyes—red stars burning in a face that looked like it had been carved from marble—moved from one agent to another, cataloging their wounds, their fear, their diminishing life signs.
"Disappointing," it said, its voice carrying harmonics that made the building’s steel framework resonate. "I had hoped for more from the legendary Shadow Guard. Your reputation appears to be greatly... exaggerated."
The creature’s gaze shifted to its own surviving subordinates, and the temperature in the factory seemed to drop several degrees.
"As for you," it continued, addressing the vampires arranged behind it, "your performance has been pathetic. All of you against a handful of humans, and you’ve managed to accomplish nothing but getting yourselves killed."
The floating orbs of crystallized blood that had been aimed at the Shadow Guard began to rotate, their trajectories shifting until they pointed at the creature’s own forces.
The lesser vampires had just enough time to look confused before the spikes launched.
The carnage was instant and absolute. Third generation vampires that had survived centuries of conflict were reduced to expanding clouds of black mist and scattered body parts.
The weaker bloodsuckers simply ceased to exist, their forms disintegrating under the impact of weapons forged from their own supernatural nature.
In less than three seconds, the Original was alone among the humans.
"There," it said, brushing imaginary dust from its clothes. "Now we can proceed without distractions."
The blood spikes dissolved back into liquid crimson that flowed across the factory floor like rivers converging toward a single point.
The Original raised one perfect hand, and the accumulated blood began to rise, forming a dome that encompassed the entire area where the surviving Shadow Guard agents lay wounded.
"What the hell—" Richardson started to say, but his words turned into a choking gasp as the dome completed itself.
Gwen recognized it immediately from classified briefings she’d hoped never to experience firsthand. "Domain manifestation," she whispered, struggling to her feet as she felt her strength being siphoned away. "First generations can create localized reality distortions. Hunting grounds where they have absolute control."
The dome pulsed with an evil life, its walls drinking in the life force of everyone trapped within. Agent Richardson collapsed first, his scanner clattering across the concrete as his hands went limp. Then Jenkins, already weakened from his earlier injuries, crumpled to his knees with blood streaming from his nose.
One by one, the remaining Shadow Guard agents fell as the domain leeched away their vitality, converting their life force into power that flowed back to its creator.
Only Gwen and Steele remained standing, though both were visibly struggling against the supernatural drain. Steele’s massive frame wavered as he fought to maintain his footing, while Gwen gripped Nightfall’s handle so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
The Original watched their resistance with something approaching interest.
"Fascinating," it murmured. "Most humans collapse within seconds of entering my domain. Yet you two persist. How... stubborn."
Despite the weakness spreading through her limbs like poison, Gwen raised Nightfall and lunged forward.
The blessed blade sang through the air, trailing streams of blue energy that should have been enough to cleave through supernatural flesh.
The Original didn’t dodge. It simply stood there, allowing the katana to strike its chest, watching with mild curiosity as the blade’s sacred energies played across its skin without leaving so much as a scratch.
"Is that all?" it asked, sounding genuinely disappointed.
"What the..."
Gwen pulled back and attacked again, this time aiming for the creature’s throat. Her movements were already slower, less coordinated, the domain’s influence sapping her strength with every passing moment. The second strike was even less effective than the first.
The Original sighed. "Boring."
Its foot moved in a casual gesture—not quite a kick, more like brushing aside an inconvenience.
But the force behind that seemingly gentle motion launched Gwen through the air and directly into the domain’s wall.
The impact shattered the blood barrier like glass, sending crystalline fragments spinning through the factory air. Gwen hit the concrete beyond the dome’s influence and rolled to a stop against a pile of debris, Nightfall clattering away into the darkness.
With the domain broken, the surviving agents could breathe again, though most remained unconscious from blood loss and supernatural trauma.
Steele used the moment of respite to charge.
The colonel moved faster than Gwen had, his enhanced gauntlets already building power as he closed the distance. But speed meant nothing to something that had been killing humans for three centuries. The Original watched Steele’s approach with the same mild interest it had shown Gwen’s attacks.
Then, without warning, Steele stopped mid-charge. Not slowed down or deflected—simply stopped, as if he’d run into an invisible wall. His feet left the ground, and he hung suspended in the air with nothing visible supporting him.
"Everyone is weak within my domain," the Original explained conversationally. "Though I admit, you show more resilience than most. You must be the leader of this pathetic group."
Steele tried to speak, to curse or threaten or at least maintain some semblance of defiance, but no sound emerged from his throat.
The creature’s power pressed against him like a physical weight, crushing the air from his lungs.
The Original laughed—a sound like breaking crystal mixed with distant thunder. "How wonderfully futile."
It gestured dismissively, and the blood dome collapsed into nothingness. At the same moment, its foot lashed out in another casual kick that sent Steele flying across the factory floor.
The colonel’s massive frame crashed through a stack of wooden crates before slamming into a support pillar with enough force to crack the concrete. Wood and debris cascaded down on him as he struggled to breathe, feeling ribs shift in ways that suggested serious internal damage.
One kick. One casual, effortless kick from a First Generation vampire, and Colonel Steele—veteran of hundreds of supernatural conflicts—was reduced to a broken figure gasping for air in a pile of rubble.
His vision blurred as pain lanced through his chest with every breath.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Gwen groaning as she tried to push herself upright. The other agents weren’t making any sound at all.
’A full tactical unit,’ he thought through waves of agony. ’And this thing just walked through us like we weren’t even here. We’d need every Shadow Guard operative past and present to have a chance against something like this.’
The Original approached with unhurried steps, its shoes clicking against the concrete in a rhythm that sounded almost musical. When it reached Steele’s position, it stopped and looked down at the broken colonel with something that might have been respect.
"You and your companion interest me," it said, glancing toward where Gwen was attempting to retrieve her fallen weapon. "Such determination in the face of absolute futility. Such refusal to surrender even when defeat is inevitable."
The creature knelt down, bringing its perfect face level with Steele’s bloodied features.
"I find myself in need of new servants, having recently disposed of my previous army for their incompetence. Your skills, enhanced by my gift, would make you formidable hunters indeed. Think of it—eternal life, supernatural power, freedom from the weakness that currently defines your existence."
The Original raised one pale hand, and Steele could see something dark gathering around its fingertips. Power that promised transformation, change that would strip away everything human and replace it with something hungry and eternal.
"This will only sting for a moment," the creature whispered.
That’s when the footsteps began.
They were soft at first, barely audible over the groaning of damaged machinery and the distant sounds of the city beyond the factory walls. But they carried a weight that made the Original pause and turn its head toward the source.
Two figures emerged from the shadows near the factory’s main entrance. One moved with fluid grace, carrying a blade that seemed to drink in the available light. The other walked empty-handed but radiated a presence that made even the Original’s supernatural senses take notice.
The footsteps stopped, and a voice cut through the factory’s oppressive atmosphere.
"If you need stronger companions for your army," Kaine said, stepping fully into the light cast by the building’s emergency illumination, "maybe you should try defeating us first. Then you can convert whoever’s left standing."
The Original slowly rose to its feet, its perfect features showing the first expression other than boredom it had displayed since arriving.
Its red eyes focused on Kaine with the intensity of a predator recognizing potential prey that might actually provide a challenge.
The aura radiating from this newcomer was unlike anything the creature had encountered in recent decades.
Not quite vampire, not quite human, but something else entirely—something that carried the scent of death and resurrection, of power gained through methods that even a First Generation found intriguing.
"How interesting," the Original murmured. "And what exactly are you, little death-walker?"
Kaine slightly raised Soulrend, the blade’s dark metal reflecting the factory’s dim lighting.
Beside him, Marcus shifted into a combat stance, pale eyes reflecting the emergency lighting like mirrors.
"Someone who’s been looking forward to meeting you," Kaine replied. "The reports about First Generation vampires have been greatly exaggerated. You don’t look like much."
The Original’s laugh was different this time—not the casual amusement it had shown while dispatching the Shadow Guard, but something with genuine anticipation behind it.
"Bold words from someone who hasn’t experienced my power firsthand. Tell me, do you know what happens to creatures that challenge beings of my age and strength?"
"They usually end up disappointed by the results."
The two forces regarded each other across the factory floor, power recognizing power, predator measuring predator.
The Original’s hands began to glow with that same dark radiance it had used to create the blood dome.
Kaine’s grip shifted on Soulrend’s handle, the weapon’s edge beginning to emit a faint humming sound that spoke of edges sharp enough to cut through reality itself.
Marcus took a single step forward, positioning himself to provide flanking support while his creator faced the ancient vampire head-on.
"Shall we begin?" the Original asked, its voice carrying harmonics that made the factory’s steel framework sing in response.
"By all means... make your last mistake."