Adam’s crimson eyes snapped toward Isolde, his expression caught between surprise and a sudden, sharp wariness. "Eh? Father? That’s your father?!"

Ignis’s flames flickered wildly, her golden eyes narrowing as she studied the tall, pale figure with the ancient crimson gaze. Her voice was tight, coiled with the instinct to fight. "Seems like your father wants to fight us."

Isolde’s voice came out hollow, barely a whisper, each word forced through a throat tight with disbelief. "He should have been dead a long time ago." Her pale fingers trembled at her sides. "Was this... was this born from my fear?"

Lilith’s crimson eyes stayed fixed on the figure, her threads stirring slowly around her fingers like serpents waking from a long sleep. "That does seem to be the case." Her voice was calm, measured, but there was an edge beneath it. "The trial manifested your greatest fear, Isolde. If we want to move forward, we have to destroy him."

Adam’s expression hardened. He stepped closer to Isolde, his hand closing gently but firmly around her shoulder, grounding her.

"Sorry if this is harsh, but can you give us any information about your father’s abilities? What kind of attacks does he have?"

Isolde’s breath shuddered, but she forced herself to focus. Her voice was still shaky, but she pushed the words out.

"His name is Vladislav Draven. They called him the Lord of Crimson Night." She swallowed hard, her pale eyes fixed on the figure who had not yet moved, content to simply watch them with that ancient, hungry gaze. "He’s a pureblood vampire, like me, but far older and far more powerful. His aura alone can weaken those who stand before him, it drains willpower, feeds on fear, makes his enemies hesitate."

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

"His speed is beyond anything I can match. He can move through shadows as if they were doorways. And his blood magic..." She shuddered. "He can control the blood of others, not just his own. If you’re wounded, he can weaponize your own life force against you."

Lilith’s eyes narrowed. "So any injury we sustain becomes a weapon in his hands."

Isolde nodded tightly. "He’s also nearly impossible to kill. His regeneration is faster than anything I’ve ever seen. In the old days, the only way to truly destroy one of our kind was to expose them to concentrated light magic or high-intensity holy spell."

Ignis’s fire fluttered wildly. "We don’t have any holy magic!"

Adam’s crimson eyes narrowed, his thoughts clicking into place like pieces on a battlefield.

’No holy magic. But maybe we don’t need it. This is a manifestation, not the real thing. The trial created him from Isolde’s fear, which means he has limits the real vampire might not.’

He leaned in slightly, ensuring his voice wouldn’t carry beyond the group.

"Listen. He’s not the real vampire lord." His crimson eyes swept over Lilith, Ignis, and Isolde. "That means he has weaknesses the real one might not. We just have to find them."

Isolde’s voice cracked. "What if there are no weaknesses? What if he kills us all?"

Adam’s crimson eyes caught hers, steady as a heartbeat, unshaken by the weight of her fear.

"Then we make one."

Adam straightened, rolling his shoulders as he positioned himself at the front of the group. His crimson eyes never left the pale figure standing motionless at the far end of the passage.

"Ignis, you’re on the right. Hit him hard and fast, don’t give him time to counter. Lilith, you’re on the left. Use your threads to bind him, slow him down, keep him from phasing through shadows. Isolde..." He glanced back at her, his voice dropping to something quieter, almost gentle. "Stay behind me. Watch his movements. If he does something I don’t expect, call it out."

Isolde’s jaw tightened. Her pale fingers curled into fists, then relaxed. "I can fight."

"I know you can." Adam’s voice softened, though the words themselves left no room for argument. "But right now, I need your eyes more than your fangs. This thing is wearing your father’s face. That’s not going to make you fight better, it’s going to make you hesitate." He held her gaze. "And hesitation gets people killed."

Isolde’s throat bobbed. She nodded slowly, stepping back, positioning herself behind Adam’s broad shoulders. "Fine. But if I see an opening—"

"Take it."

Ignis had already circled to the right, her flames building, her golden eyes locked on the vampire lord with fierce anticipation. "He’s just standing there. Isn’t he going to attack?"

Lilith’s threads spread outward, silver strands slithering across the stone floor, curling up the walls, weaving a net of silk and shadow around the chamber. "Perhaps he’s waiting for us to make the first move."

Adam’s lips curved into a cold, sharp smile.

"Then let’s not keep him waiting."

[Tempest Sovereign].

The vortex of cutting wind and crackling lightning exploded from his palm, tearing through the chamber, aimed directly at the vampire lord’s chest.

The figure didn’t move.

The storm struck him, tearing through his black coat, shredding the fabric, carving shallow grooves across his pale chest. Black ichor sprayed from the wounds, sizzling where it touched the stone. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. Didn’t even blink.

Adam’s eyes narrowed. "He’s not reacting."

Ignis didn’t wait. She launched herself from the right, her fist wreathed in solar fire, aimed at the vampire’s skull. "Then let’s make him react!"

Her punch connected.

The impact slammed the vampire’s head to the side, his neck twisting at an angle that should have snapped. But he didn’t fall. His head slowly turned back, his crimson eyes fixing on Ignis with that same hungry gaze.

And then he moved.

His hand shot out, faster than anything Adam had seen from him, his fingers closing around Ignis’s throat. He lifted her off the ground, her flames sputtering, her claws raking uselessly against his forearm.

"LILITH!"

Threads shot forward, wrapping around the vampire’s arm, his wrist, his fingers, pulling, tightening, trying to force him to release his grip. The vampire’s head turned toward Lilith, and for the first time, his lips parted.

"You rely on threads."

His voice was soft, almost gentle, and utterly without emotion.

"How fragile."

The threads snapped.