Thank you so much for 200 collections! To celebrate, I'm dropping 2 chapters today — and for those of you on Patreon, there's 1 extra early chapter waiting for you. Once we hit the next goal on Patreon, I'll start releasing combo drops too. If you're interested, check it out: patreon.com/HenrikMDuskraven
[General POV]
The Tarhazi Camp was a renowned training ground within the old Hittite dominion. Nestled in a ravine surrounded by towering, jagged mountains, it was notoriously hard to access, naturally fortified by steep cliffs that made it a stronghold against invasions.
In short, the area was defined by narrow trails winding through the rocks, hidden caves that served as weapon caches and shelters, and a small stream that flowed through the valley, providing fresh water to the soldiers. Despite its remoteness from other parts of the kingdom, the camp remained in use thanks to its rich rocky terrain and its strategically privileged location — ideal for mid- to long-term military operations.
It became a destination for young warriors from all across the realm, sent there to train and grow as fighters. Each one developed in their own way, honing personal techniques and forging a unique combat style. The routine was grueling — mock battles at dawn, climbing and endurance drills during the day, and tactical planning sessions at dusk. It was all designed to forge not just soldiers, but future leaders ready to defend the kingdom.
Due to the high turnover of recruits being rotated in and out to join other squads, the camp was always packed. And because it was filled with young people, it had a vibrant, energetic atmosphere — something many other camps sorely lacked.
But that once-vibrant place — known for its life and constant movement — had fallen into a torturous silence. That morning, the only thing that remained was quiet. A bizarre, unnatural quiet. The camp had never known stillness like this.
The very heart of the army's future, the camp now felt far colder than it ever should have — an eerie contradiction, considering the southern region of the Hittite Empire was known for its scorching summers and oppressive heat. But now, the camp was gripped by a cold so deep it would leave any passerby stunned.
What would truly steal the breath from anyone, though, were the horrifying ice sculptures scattered throughout the entire camp. As you drew closer to them, their expressions came into view — each one frozen in a mask of fear and desperation.
Over two hundred of them were spread across the grounds. Some stood mid-combat, others looked as though they were fleeing from some unspeakable terror. And yet, amid the frozen chaos, something — or rather, someone — stood out: a small group of eleven figures, walking silently among the statues.
[Main POV]
Now I stand in the middle of a Hittite camp, flanked by my guards, reflecting on how the war has unfolded. I glance to the side — the cracked, uneven sandstone beneath me releases a cold mist that creeps along the ground like a silent veil. It's a direct effect of my powers, freezing the earth wherever I step. And still, I keep thinking.
It's only been a few days since our official entry into the war — swift, decisive — and we've been sweeping through enemy troops one by one. At this moment, I find myself in one of the camps we've overtaken, and all I can say is: the power gap is staggering. Alone, with the help of a vampire guard or two, I can wipe out an entire battalion.
The landscape around me bears the scars of conflict — torn tents, scattered weapons, dried bloodstains across the soil. The wooden watchtowers still burn slowly, crackling in the cold wind I myself have brought upon this place.
But all this destruction has been affecting me. From the first kills I carried out on missions Aro assigned me, to this very moment, much has changed. I've become stronger, deadlier, colder — but killing is still killing. The fading breath, the frozen look in that final instant, the story of joy, pain, and tears that vanishes in that moment... it still haunts me. Still weighs on me.
I try to avoid thinking about the families of those men. After all, if a hunter hesitates, picturing the fawn at the moment he pulls the trigger, he'll never fire.
In the same way, I avoid unnecessary deaths as much as I can. But some are always inevitable — and that saddens me. I can't be like Superman, who, by sparing men like the Joker, ends up allowing more pain, more suffering... and, ultimately, more death.
That's why I eliminate every enemy on the battlefield. Only those who surrender are shown mercy. Even those who run — I don't forgive. Because the man who flees today may return tomorrow stronger, crueler, more dangerous.
Fighting off a detachment of two or five hundred soldiers is one thing. Facing a battle with thousands — that's something else entirely. Even I don't feel confident imagining myself against a sea of armed men. Collective strength is truly dangerous — and terrifying.
That's why, in my old life, there was that saying: "A united people will never be defeated." I think of that last part with a faint smile, remembering a song I must've heard a thousand times: "El pueblo unido jamás será vencido."
And with that thought, I find myself slipping into a memory — one of the strangest I had during my time with Aro. It was the day he sent me on my first mission: to kill an ancient vampire known for raping and murdering women.
After completing the mission, I remember it as if it were today — and I'm certain I would even if I didn't have an eidetic memory. The way Aro approached and spoke to me… it was different. Strangely enough, it felt meaningful.
I was pensive, visibly shaken, even after eliminating someone who, by all accounts, didn't deserve to live. And yet, it affected me deeply. That's when Aro stepped in.
I remember him walking toward me in silence, his feet almost gliding across the black marble. The torchlight reflected in his eyes like glowing embers, but when he finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft:
"Morpheus… there's an art to killing, you know?" he said, like someone casually discussing wine. "But an even greater art is knowing when it's necessary… and when it's just impulse."
I stopped before a tapestry in our home — one that depicted the fall of Troy. Fire, chaos, swords. I looked at him, searching for answers he might never have truly given me.
"And what about when killing is necessary… but still hurts?" I asked, afraid of the countless executions that would eventually fall to me. "When you know you must… but don't want to?"
Aro smiled. And that smile was a mask from ancient times — part wisdom, part cruelty.
"Then you're on the right path. The day killing becomes easy, Morpheus… is the day you lose the last piece of your soul. That's what sets you apart from the monster you just destroyed."
Both are monsters. But if you're going to be a monster… be a civilized one."
A noise beside me snaps me out of the memory.
It's Abnadiel.
Abnadiel, who stood beside me, spoke in a low but steady voice, his gaze fixed on the dusty horizon:
"My lord, Seti's troops have reported that Akhmans from the enemy forces are on the move. They're only a few miles out, heading north — and advancing with unusual speed."
I turned my eyes in the direction Abnadiel indicated, my sharpened senses picking up the tremors in the earth before my eyes could confirm. The air carried a change in scent. Ancient blood. Vampires.
"How many?" I asked, already preparing my powers. A bluish sheen shimmered across my skin — the surface frost from the ice boiling beneath my flesh.
Abnadiel answered with his usual precision:
"Twenty in total. War vampires. Trained and ready for combat. They're fast, disciplined… but they're not prepared for you."
"They're not prepared for us," I corrected, casting him a brief look. "Align the guards. Instruct Seti's troops to dispatch archers to the eastern flank. I want them to serve as a distraction once the fighting begins."
He listened closely and nodded, a flicker of concern in his eyes at the numbers. But there was no fear — only purpose. The quiet anticipation of battle gleamed behind his calm expression.
Within moments, we were moving toward the point of contact. Every step in their direction built tension among my guards. This would be their first real battle against vampires. Until now, they'd only fought humans — if that could even be called fighting.
Eventually, dark figures appeared over the sand dunes, moving in formation like living shadows. They were prepared. What they didn't know… was that so were we.
As our forces approached theirs, we stared across the divide for a brief moment. Judging by their features, they seemed to hail from Eastern Europe — or somewhere similar. Definitely not native Hittites, which only confirmed my suspicion: they were receiving foreign support.
Then, with no warning, a spear sliced through the air — the signal that the battle had begun.
With a single motion, I froze the ground beneath their feet. Their vanguard slipped, crashing into one another, losing formation in an instant.
Abnadiel — towering and imposing — surged forward through the icy mist with such speed that even the enemy vampires flinched. Massive already, his form seemed even larger now, his leg muscles bulging with supernatural strength. He roared as he launched a devastating kick at one of them:
"For Morpheus!" he bellowed.
The sound of the impact was deafening. His leg collided with the vampire's chest, obliterating the ribcage and tearing open a grotesque hole through his torso.
Typically, the only sure way to kill a vampire is by decapitation. But Abnadiel had just rewritten the rules. He'd crushed one with sheer, amplified physical force — a display of raw brutality and power that even took me by surprise. How strong could a single kick become when powered by his gift of muscle augmentation?
I pondered the thought briefly — but didn't fall behind.
I advanced, hands raised, unleashing a spiraling frost ray that froze three of the enemies on contact. Their hardened expressions still held hatred — but it was fear that had paralyzed them in those final seconds.
As our assault continued, Seti's archers rained arrows from above, drawing the enemy's attention and forcing gaps in their lines. Screams pierced the battlefield. They scrambled to regroup — but retreat was not an option.
Between Abnadiel and me, we had already taken down ten of the twenty war vampires that had charged in. They were fast, skilled… but the biting cold of my powers crept through their limbs with terrifying speed. Their attacks shattered against my walls of ice. Their cries died in their throats.
And so the battle raged for minutes that felt like hours — brutal, unrelenting, and soaked in blood.
They had come to exterminate us. But the truth… was the opposite.
We were the ones doing the exterminating.
And so the dance of death went on.
It was our first encounter against so many war vampires. But there, amid the dust, the blood, and the ice, we came to understand — truly — the extent of our strength… and the full measure of our potential.
To be continued…
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[N/A] If you've read this far, thank you! And since I'm terrible at handling compliments, please, insult me instead!