109. Vladimir

CHAPTER 109

Vladimir

As I stand in the tallest tower of the castle, the air carries a chill that seeps through the stone walls, sending shivers down my spine. Despite the cold, my senses are heightened, attuned to every sound and movement in the surrounding area.

With each passing moment, the tension in the air grows palpable, a tangible presence that hangs heavy in the stillness of the tower. I can hear the faint rustle of papers as I slide my hands over the map on my desk, the soft scratch of quill against parchment as I jot down notes.

The map beneath my fingertips is worn and weathered, its surface marked with countless lines and symbols that tell the story of battles fought and victories won. I know every hill and stone for miles around, my mind mapping out potential strategies and defenses with meticulous precision.

But as I switch to a different map, my focus shifts to the courtyard below, where the tombs of the Strigoi lie in silent repose. The weight of their presence hangs heavy in the air, a reminder of the countless lives lost in centuries past.

Lost in thought, I barely register the sound of battling dragons buzzing the tower, their roars echoing off the stone walls. But even as chaos reigns outside, I remain steadfast, my gaze fixed on the maps before me, ready to face whatever challenges may come my way.

"Vladimir?" Tomas says as he leans in the doorframe looking at me.

"Spit it out, leech." I'm so over having these vermin in my castle—look at it, it's in ruins.

"The water is being disturbed in the lower chambers as we speak," Tomas says slowly, stepping into my space.

"Either handle it or ignore it. Don't you see I have a war to win?" I say, practically growling.

Tomas-

I roll my eyes, make my way out of the office, and start down the spiraling stone stairs. I stand at the opening to the stone wall of the castle. My black eyes scan the forest, looking at all the gathered species battling. Hundreds of my people will die this day, and Vladimir in his ivory tower doesn't care. Hell, several hundred or so Lycans will die today also. Again, the head honcho still doesn't care as long as the usurpers are killed off. I head back inside and down the stairs into the bowels of the tower. I gather some of my people's oldest and leave through a tunnel that we made for ourselves.

Vladimir-

I stand at the window, looking out over the carnage around me. My visage gives nothing away, my deepest thoughts a mystery to those around me.

"M'Lord? The Elder Dame has fallen," the young Lycan male says as he lowers his head.

"Really now? Who was strong enough to kill my sister?" I narrow my eyes as I stare at the young man before me.

The young man breathes in deeply and lets his breath out slowly. "It smelled like a bear, a dragon, and a wolf, M'Lord."

"All the Great Bears are dead!! I saw to their extinction myself!" I roar as I flip the nearby table over.

The young male throws himself back against the closest wall, then points out the window. "There, M'Lord... I believe that's the type of bear I scented."

I move quickly to the window and look out. Suddenly the anger fades from me as I stand there in shock. "How? I slaughtered hundreds of them…" I look back to the young Lycan then back out the window. I feel as though I have seen a ghost.

Calmly, the young male Lycan addresses me. "M'lord, what are your orders?"

As I pace the confines of my office, the weight of my delusions bears down upon me like a suffocating cloak. My fingers rake through my hair with frantic desperation, strands tangling beneath my trembling touch. The air hangs heavy with the scent of sweat and fear, my own frenzied breaths echoing in the suffocating silence of the room.

Turning my gaze to the young man before me, I unleash a torrent of madness, each word dripping with venomous fervor. "Everything must die. Send more Wyvern, tell them to burn them to ash. I am king! No one will take that from me!" The sound of my own voice rings in my ears, distorted by the twisted depths of my fractured mind. The young Lycan's eyes widen in horrified realization, his body recoiling instinctively from the palpable aura of insanity that envelops me.

As he retreats from my presence, the weight of my madness follows in his wake, casting a shadow of dread over the castle courtyard. The young Lycan hurries to relay my deranged commands to the waiting Wyvern, his movements quick and furtive, driven by a sense of urgency and dread.

Above, the sky darkens as the Wyvern take flight, their mighty roars echoing through the air as they heed the call to arms. With each beat of their wings, the promise of destruction looms ever closer, a harbinger of chaos descending upon the unsuspecting invaders below.

Meanwhile, the young Lycan slips away into the depths of the castle, disappearing into the shadows as swiftly as he had emerged. Left in his wake is a palpable sense of unease, a lingering reminder of the madness that lurks within the heart of the castle walls.

As I sit at my desk, the scent of ink and parchment fills the air, mingling with the acrid tang of anger that coils within me like a serpent. My fingers trace the lines on the maps before me, their surfaces worn and faded from countless hours of scrutiny. Each contour, each landmark, is etched into my memory, a testament to the land that was once mine to command.

But now, that land lies ravaged and desolate, a mere shadow of its former glory. Rage simmers beneath my skin, a relentless fire fueled by betrayal and loss. I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth together in a futile attempt to contain the torrent of emotions raging within me.

In my hand, I hold a small braided piece of cloth, a relic of a time long past. Once, it held the sweet scent of Aurora, a reminder of the daughter I had longed for with every fiber of my being. But now, that scent is but a distant memory, a cruel reminder of the dreams that were shattered by deceit and treachery.

Grief washes over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me in its depths. The loss of my daughter, my blood, fills me with a profound sense of emptiness and despair. But beneath the grief lies a simmering fury, a primal instinct to seek vengeance against those who have wronged me.

With a growl of frustration, I push aside the maps and rise from my seat, my movements tense and coiled with barely contained rage. The weight of centuries of betrayal bears down upon me, a burden too heavy to bear alone. And in that moment, I can't help but wonder if my ally, Lucian, relished the opportunity to rid the world of Nicodeamus, just as he claimed.

But for now, vengeance will have to wait. There are battles yet to be fought, enemies yet to be vanquished. And as I stand on the precipice of war, I vow to reclaim what is rightfully mine, no matter the cost.

As I sit at my desk, the smooth surface cool beneath my fingertips, I retrieve the white scales sent to me as proof of my enemy's demise. They feel weighty and substantial in my hands, each one a testament to my victory. I run my fingers over their surface, tracing the intricate patterns etched into the scales, my senses heightened as I immerse myself in the moment.

The scales emit a faint scent, reminiscent of earth and blood, a lingering reminder of the battle that was waged. I bring them closer to my face, studying them closely, the faint aroma stirring memories of triumph and vindication.

With a sense of satisfaction, I flip the scales end over end, the movement fluid and rhythmic. They catch the light, glinting softly in the dim glow of my chamber, their pearlescent hue a stark contrast against the darkness that surrounds me.

As I reflect on my accomplishment, a wave of adrenaline courses through my veins, mingling with a heady sense of satisfaction. The taste of victory is bittersweet, tempered by the knowledge of the sacrifices made along the way.

Lost in thought, I can't help but wonder if perhaps I've crossed a line, if my thirst for vengeance has driven me to madness. But in this moment, as I hold the evidence of my enemy's downfall in my hands, all doubts fade away, replaced by a steely resolve to continue on my path no matter the cost.

As I raise my hand, the faint sound of nails shifting to claws fills the air, a subtle reminder of my innate strength and ferocity. The sensation of my nails transforming, becoming deadly and razor-sharp, sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

With a satisfied nod, I turn away from the window and return to my desk, the cool surface beneath my fingertips a grounding presence amidst the turmoil of thoughts swirling in my mind. The scent of parchment and ink lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried blood, a testament to the battles waged and victories won.

Lost in contemplation, I ponder my next move in the ongoing war, the weight of responsibility pressing down on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. Despite the invaders' relentless attacks, I remain steadfast in my resolve, confident in the strength of my pack and our ability to prevail against all odds.

Tomorrow, I decide, will mark my return to the battlefield. The thought of joining my pack in combat stirs a primal excitement within me, igniting the flames of determination that burn deep within my soul.

With a sense of purpose renewed, I lean back in my chair, the creak of wood echoing softly in the silence of the room. Tomorrow, I vow, victory will be ours once again, and the invaders will know the full extent of our fury.