ACT I THE BLOOD COFFIN GUILD
Chapter 4 Grandfather Awakens
The battle was over. Or so everyone believed. The surviving Baalanian raiders had disappeared into the forests surrounding Kisfenyő. The wounded were being treated beside the old stone church while villagers and members of the Crimson Covenant worked together to extinguish the remaining fires. Night slowly settled across the village. The last rays of the sun disappeared behind the towering pines. An uneasy silence followed. Too quiet. Even the birds had stopped singing. Ōrök the guardin-class automaton stood in the center of the square like an ancient monument. Several children still sat upon his broad shoulders, laughing as he carefully carried buckets of water toward burning homes. Zoltán smiled as he helped an elderly carpenter lift fallen timber. Bálint quietly walked through the streets, ensuring every surviving villager had been accounted for. Everything seemed peaceful. Until... A scream echoed from the church. Not fear. Agony. Everyone turned.
A young guard stumbled from the church doorway, clutching his bleeding chest.
"Something..."
His voice shook.
"...Something is alive!"
Behind him...
A low metallic sound echoed beneath the stone floor.
CLANG...
CLANG...
Like iron striking iron. Again. And again. The village priest rushed outside.
"We found it!"
His face had gone pale.
"There was a hidden chamber beneath the altar."
"We thought it was another cellar..."
He couldn't finish. The stone floor beneath the church exploded upward. Ancient masonry burst into the air. A black iron chest erupted from beneath the earth. It landed heavily in the center of the square. The box stood nearly two meters tall. Every surface was covered in rust-black metal engraved with twisted symbols that seemed to move whenever someone looked away. Its seams leaked thick crimson light. The surrounding air grew cold. Painfully cold. The fires nearby flickered blue.
One of the older villagers whispered with trembling lips,
"...A Black Box."
Another immediately grabbed his grandchildren.
"Run."
No one moved. It was too late. A crack spread across the lid. Then another. The metal groaned.Something inside... Was knocking.
BOOM.
Another impact.
The lid bent outward.
BOOM.
The ground shook. The villagers backed away. Even Bálint narrowed his eyes.
"Everyone behind Ōrök."
The automaton stepped forward immediately.
"Civilian protection acknowledged."
His enormous frame shielded dozens of villagers. The children who had laughed only moments before now buried their faces against his brass armor. The lid burst open. Darkness poured out. Not smoke. Not shadow. Something thicker. Something alive. It flowed across the ground like spilled ink before rising into the shape of a towering figure. Nearly four meters tall. Its body resembled a starving giant wrapped in black flesh stretched tightly across exposed ribs. Six elongated arms dragged across the ground behind it. Its head possessed no eyes. Only a massive mouth splitting vertically down its face. Rows upon rows of jagged teeth slowly unfolded. Then... It screamed. The sound did not enter their ears. It entered their minds. Several villagers collapsed instantly, clutching their heads. Blood trickled from noses and ears. One Baalanian survivor hiding among the trees tried to flee. The creature's arm extended impossibly far. It seized him. The man had time for only one scream. Then he disappeared into the monster's mouth. Bones cracked.
Silence.
Even Bálint took a step backward.
"...A demon."
The creature inhaled deeply. The darkness surrounding it expanded. The moon itself disappeared behind unnatural clouds. Night arrived all at once. Not ordinary darkness. Living darkness. The torches extinguished. The stars vanished. Even sound seemed muffled. The demon slowly turned toward the villagers. Its enormous mouth widened. Hunger. Only hunger.
Then...
A soft metallic click echoed behind everyone. The sound came from Ōrök's back. The ancient black coffin. Its silver clasps unlocked one by one.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The runes engraved across its surface awakened, glowing with pale silver light. A cold wind swept across the square. The children instinctively climbed down from Ōrök's shoulders. No one spoke. Even the demon stopped moving. As though... It recognized something. The coffin lid slowly opened. Darkness flowed outward. Not the chaotic darkness of the demon. This darkness moved with purpose. With dignity. With authority. Hundreds... Then thousands... Of black bats poured from the coffin. The sky vanished beneath beating wings. Their screeches echoed across the ruined village. The swarm circled overhead like a living storm.
The villagers fell to their knees.
Someone whispered,
"...Ancient Vampire..."
A polished black boot touched the ground. Then another. A young man stepped out from the coffin. He appeared no older than twenty-five. His skin was almost impossibly pale, untouched by sunlight for centuries. Soft brown hair fell neatly to his shoulders, framing a handsome face that seemed carved from marble. His crimson eyes reflected the moonlight like polished rubies. He wore elegant black noble attire from another age. A long velvet coat embroidered with silver dragons. High leather boots. White gloves. A crimson cravat fastened by an ancient silver brooch. Everything about him radiated quiet nobility. Not arrogance. Authority. The kind possessed only by someone who had watched kingdoms rise... And fall. He calmly adjusted one white glove. Looked toward the terrified villagers. Then toward the demon.
Finally...
He sighed.
"I had hoped..."
His voice was gentle.
"...to wake under happier circumstances."
Zoltán smiled despite the terror.
"Good evening, Grandfather."
The ancient vampire nodded warmly.
"Good evening, Zoltán."
Bálint bowed his head respectfully.
"Grandfather."
"I trust you've behaved yourselves?"
"...Mostly."
"I expected as much."
The villagers stared. The terrifying being before them... Was their grandfather?
The demon roared. The entire village shook. It lunged. Moving faster than any living creature should. The ancient vampire never moved. The demon's claws stopped inches from his face. Invisible darkness had wrapped itself around the creature's arm. Black tendrils. Elegant. Silent. Unbreakable.
Győző looked almost disappointed.
"So impatient."
He gently closed his hand.
The tendrils tightened. The demon's arm shattered. Not flesh. Reality itself seemed to crack. The creature screamed. The swarm descended. Millions of bats engulfed the battlefield. The villagers could see nothing. Only endless wings. Only darkness. Only screams. The demon lashed wildly. Each strike disappeared into the swarm. The bats became spears. Then chains. Then enormous jaws formed entirely from living shadow. Darkness itself obeyed him. Buildings vanished behind black mist. The battlefield disappeared.
Only the vampire's calm voice remained.
"You were never meant to exist in this world."
The darkness suddenly erupted. The bats scattered. Moonlight returned. The demon stood motionless. Its enormous body trembled. A thin black line appeared from head to waist. Then another. Without a sound... The creature separated into dozens of pieces. Instead of blood... Black smoke escaped its remains. Within seconds... Nothing remained. Not even ashes. Only silence. The bats returned. Thousands merged together into flowing shadows before disappearing beneath Győző's feet. The ancient vampire straightened his sleeves as though finishing an evening stroll.
The villagers remained frozen. Unable to breathe. Unable to comprehend what they had witnessed.
One elderly woman whispered,
"That..."
"...wasn't magic."
The village priest swallowed hard.
"No."
"...That was something older."
Győző looked toward the shattered Black Box. His expression, calm until now, grew serious. He knelt beside its broken remains. Ancient symbols lined its interior. He recognized them immediately. His crimson eyes narrowed.
"So..."
He spoke almost to himself.
"They've begun opening them again."
Bálint stepped beside him.
"Who?"
Győző slowly looked toward the southern horizon. Beyond the forests. Beyond the mountains. Toward the distant deserts of Baalania.
"The fools..."
His voice had lost all warmth.
"...are trying to awaken Hell."
The cold wind returned. No one spoke. For the first time that night, the villagers finally understood why stories were told in frightened whispers whenever travelers described the Crimson Covenant. Not because they rode with a giant made of steel. Nor because two young nobles possessed impossible strength. But because, when the black coffin opened... Night itself answered to the man within.
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