Chapter 25 The Crimson Guard
By the final years of the First Age, the name Vahsravia no longer inspired hope.
It inspired fear.
The moonlit kingdom that had once stood as a gothic sanctuary between humans and vampires had transformed into something darker during the endless wars against Baalania and the horrors rising beneath the Black Veil.
The castles still stood beneath eternal thunderstorms.
The silver rivers still flowed through the black mountains.
But now
the kingdom resembled a fortress preparing for the end of the world.
Because Dragun Vahsravic had begun gathering his final army.
They were called: The Crimson Guard
Not soldiers.
Not knights.
Executioners of the apocalypse.
The deadliest warriors remaining within Vahsravia.
Every member had survived battles against: inferno legions, eldritch horrors and celestial Wardens and ancient desert beasts.
Some were vampires older than kingdoms.
Others were humans who had willingly embraced forbidden blood rites to continue fighting long after ordinary men would have broken.
And every single one had sworn an oath directly to Dragun himself:
“Until moonlight dies.”
The Crimson Guard did not wear identical armor like ordinary armies.
Each warrior carried their own history.
Their own scars.
Their own nightmares.
Yet together they looked like death marching beneath storm clouds.
Their armor was forged from: black silver, obsidian steel and monster bone with cursed moon iron excavated beneath ancient ruins.
Crimson cloaks flowed behind them like rivers of blood while sacred anti-demon scripture had been carved directly into their armor plating using silver flame rituals.
Many helmets resembled monstrous gothic beasts: wolves, bats and horned executioners.
Others wore no helmets at all.
Because after years of war
they no longer feared death enough to hide from it.
At the center of the Guard stood Dragun himself.
The Blood Sovereign.
The Vampire King.
The Storm Lord of Elyria.
His armor had changed greatly since the beginning of the wars.
Once elegant and regal, it had become darker now.
More brutal.
Black gothic plates layered over crimson-lined war robes while silver engravings resembling shattered wings spread across his chestplate beneath his enormous storm cloak.
His crimson eyes no longer resembled those of a noble ruler.
They resembled lightning trapped inside a corpse.
And beside him stood the most feared warrior in Vahsravia.
Mordecai Blodskygge.
Once human.
Once capable of laughter.
Now something else entirely.
The Executioner towered over even vampire knights.
Massive black executioner armor covered his gigantic frame while chains wrapped around his waist and arms like restraints for something barely contained.
His face remained hidden beneath a monstrous skull-like helmet forged from black steel and silver bone.
Only his glowing crimson eyes were visible within the darkness beneath it.
And strapped across his back
rested Widowmaker.
The gigantic executioner sword looked less like a weapon and more like a slab of sharpened death itself.
Entire battlefields fell silent when Mordecai walked past.
Because soldiers understood instinctively:
if Dragun represented judgment
Mordecai represented the end that followed.
The Crimson Guard gathered within the Cathedral Fortress of Noctis Kyr.
One of the final strongholds remaining in eastern Elyria.
The gigantic fortress-cathedral had been built directly into the cliffs overlooking black oceans constantly consumed by thunderstorms.
Towering stained-glass windows illuminated endless gothic halls while enormous silver chandeliers swung overhead beneath shaking ceilings.
Outside
the apocalypse raged.
Inside
the Guard prepared for war.
Father Lucian walked through the cathedral chambers watching warriors sharpen weapons beside candlelit altars while wounded soldiers prayed beneath silver statues of forgotten saints.
The atmosphere felt heavy.
Final.
Like everyone inside already understood they were witnessing the last age of mankind.
Then the bells began ringing.
Not ceremonial bells.
Warning bells.
The entire cathedral shook violently.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Several guards immediately drew weapons.
Then came the sound.
A roar unlike anything human.
Deep.
Wet.
Ancient.
One Crimson Guard captain turned pale.
“The tunnels…”
Far beneath the cathedral fortress stretched ancient crypt systems connected to ruins older than Vahsravia itself.
For centuries they had remained sealed.
Now
something had broken through.
The first screams erupted from below moments later.
The underground gates exploded inward.
And the eldritch creatures came.
They poured into the lower cathedral like nightmares escaping from beneath reality itself.
Gigantic skeletal creatures covered in pale flesh and black tendrils crawled across walls and ceilings with impossible movement while eyeless humanoid horrors dragged themselves through the darkness shrieking in voices resembling dying children.
Some possessed too many limbs.
Others had none at all.
Several wore fragments of ancient armor fused directly into flesh.
As though dead civilizations had been absorbed into them.
And behind them
came worse things.
Towering abominations forced themselves through the shattered tunnels: creatures made from bone and melted bodies giant mouths opening across their torsosblack eyes blinking beneath transparent skin. The air itself warped around them.
Reality struggled merely allowing them to exist.
The lower cathedral guards died instantly.
One soldier vanished screaming beneath writhing tendrils.
Another exploded apart after looking directly into a creature’s face too long.
Panic spread rapidly through the fortress.
Then Dragun descended into the cathedral halls.
And the storm answered.
Thunder exploded above the fortress while black lightning illuminated the stained-glass windows surrounding the grand cathedral chamber.
The Crimson Guard formed ranks immediately around the descending horrors.
Silver blades ignited.
Runes glowed.
Crimson cloaks whipped violently beneath supernatural winds.
“Hold the cathedral!” Dragun commanded.
His voice echoed like thunder itself.
The battle erupted instantly.
The Crimson Guard crashed into the eldritch horde beneath moonlit stained-glass windows while candles and blood scattered across black marble floors.
Vampire knights moved faster than human sight: severing limbs, decapitating creatures, ripping through monstrous flesh with silver greatswords.
Yet the horrors kept coming. One eldritch beast climbed across the cathedral ceiling before leaping downward toward wounded civilians gathered near the altar.
It never reached them. A black blur crossed the chamber.
Mordecai.
Widowmaker struck once.
The creature split apart instantly from skull to spine while black blood exploded across cathedral pillars.
The Executioner did not stop moving.
He walked directly into the horde itself.
And slaughter followed.
The gigantic vampire tore through eldritch creatures like a living war machine: crushing skulls barehanded, splitting monsters apart with impossible strength and carving entire paths through the darkness with his executioner blade.
Some creatures attempted climbing onto him.
Mordecai simply kept walking while their bodies tore apart against his armor and chains.
No hesitation.
No fear.
No mercy.
Above the battlefield, shadow bats erupted through shattered stained-glass windows by the thousands swirling around the cathedral ceiling beneath roaring thunder.
Dragun raised one armored hand.
The storm obeyed instantly.
Black lightning crashed directly through the cathedral towers vaporizing entire groups of eldritch creatures in blinding explosions while hurricane-force winds swept burning debris through the grand hall.
The Vampire King moved like wrath incarnate.
Every strike of his sword carried stormfire.
Every step left blood across black marble.
Yet even Dragun realized something horrifying.
The creatures were not invading randomly.
They were searching.
Then Father Lucian saw it.
Beneath the shattered cathedral floor
an ancient seal had broken open.
A gigantic black stone door hidden beneath the fortress crypts now stood partially opened revealing endless darkness below.
Ancient scripture covered the doorway.
Warnings older than recorded history.
Tenji appeared silently beside Lucian beneath flickering lightning.
The Fairy’s silver eyes narrowed.
“They found it.”
Lucian’s voice trembled.
“What is it?”
Tenji stared toward the abyss.
His expression darkened.
“A prison.”
Then something massive moved beneath the darkness below the cathedral.
The entire fortress trembled violently.
Even the eldritch creatures suddenly stopped fighting.
As though terrified themselves.
Mordecai slowly turned toward the abyss beneath the cathedral floor.
The crimson glow behind his helmet intensified.
Dragun stepped forward beside him.
Thunder roared overhead.
Then from the darkness beneath the world—
something opened its eyes.
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