Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 364: Sired to Existence: Seraphina Nyxlith Draven

"Go on," Parker said, voice soft, almost casual, but laced with command that rang through the very blood of the throne hall.

The girl—no, not a girl anymore, but something newly remade, something terrifyingly pure—bowed to him. The moment her small head dipped forward, the air twisted.

With a sound like silk tearing through dimensions, black bat-like wings erupted from her back. They weren't the ragged, crude wings of common vampires—no. These were sharp, beautiful, each vein stitched with threads of blood and darkness itself. The edges shimmered like knives dipped in crimson and night.

And then she moved.

One second she was standing there, wings flexing gently.

The next—

Three heads rolled across the marble floor like broken crowns.

The bodies of the traitorous vampires crumpled silently, geysers of blood painting the throne hall in a macabre symphony of justice.

The young Draven hovered midair for a second, landing lightly before Parker, the ends of her wings still dripping thick, black-red blood onto the spotless marble.

She knelt before him once again, like a knight before her sovereign king.

And somewhere, beneath the heavy silence, a deeper, darker realization began to bloom among the gathered bloodlines.

What they had just witnessed wasn't simply a child sired.

No.

It was a rebirth.

A forging.

Because newborn vampires, the ones freshly turned under normal circumstances, were already abominations of raw strength—untamed, wild, and near unstoppable until maturity tempered them.

But this one wasn't born in normalcy.

She wasn't created through feeding or ritual or twisted love affairs in the dark. She was remade by the purest bloodline—by the one whose blood had seeded the first Dravens when the stars were still learning how to burn.

Born of existence itself.

Sired not by hunger, but by a will strong enough to rewrite reality..Her body was still small. Her face still soft. But the air around her—the raw, chaotic weight of it—screamed one truth louder than anything else:

She was no mere child.

Even Noctavine Vaelith Draven, Matriarch of the Vampiric Throne and bearer of the oldest surviving bloodline, had risen to her feet earlier not out of respect—

—but out of instinct.

Because when Seraphina had directly drunk Parker's blood, when she had broken the chains of false siring, a ripple had gone through the Origin Families.

The new pure blood, purer than the Dravens was running through that girl's veins?

It made even the strongest old monsters in the hall feel just a little bit... less.

A little more mortal.

A little closer to prey.

Because while they were descendants of the first creations, their bloodline had survived eons but this girls was so fresh and while they got from their ancestors, she got from the source directly that gave their ancestors!

And somewhere deep in her ancient soul, Lady Noctavine could feel it:

If Parker ever truly wished it—if he ever let that small silver-haired force of nature grow unchecked—not even the purest vampires would be able to stop her.

Not Noctavine.

Not Scarlett.

Not even the so called first vampires who came before the Dravens themselves. Yes! There were other strong pure blood vampires who's existence was before the Dravens were created but they would too, not stand a chance when she matures!

Because she wasn't just a vampire anymore.

She was blood of the Prince.

She was Nyxlith's fanged Daughter.

And tonight wasn't just the birth of a new Draven.

It was the crowning of something terrifying enough to make history flinch.

Parker stood and went to his throne, his dark coat fluttering around him like a second shadow.

Seated upon it, Parker leaned forward slightly, his wine forgotten at the side of his seat. His eyes—dark, ancient, and crackling with a power the world had long forgotten—studied the silver-haired girl standing before him.

She met his gaze without fear.

Without trembling.

A perfect reflection of the blood now burning through her veins.

Parker's lips curved into a slow, lazy smile—one that carried the weight of entire civilizations rising and falling. His voice dropped into the kind of low, rich timbre that made even the air hold its breath.

"Come here, little star," he said.

She moved without hesitation, bat-like wings folding behind her, her blood-dripping fingers leaving crimson footprints on the marble as she approached.

When she stood before him again, Parker crouched, resting one hand against the small of her back, steadying her. His other hand brushed a silver strand of hair from her glowing red eyes.

"You are no longer bound by their filth," he whispered, loud enough for all to hear. "You are born anew."

He tilted his head, as if tasting the very thread of fate that curled around her now.

"You need a name," he said. "A true one. A name worthy of the House you now belong to."

He let the silence stretch until even the chandeliers above seemed to lean closer.

"I name you..."

He let the words fall like meteors:

"Seraphina Nyxlith Draven!"

"Bearer of two names and bloodlines and birth rights!"

A hush rippled through the throne room—a sacred silence, the kind that carved itself into the bones of time.

Seraphina blinked once.

Twice.

And then she smiled—a smile so small, so fierce, it looked almost like a secret. She dropped onto one knee, head bowed low in the ancient way, her voice trembling not from fear, but from solemn joy:

"Thank you, my Lord."

Parker chuckled under his breath, ruffling her hair once again.

"No," he said, grinning in that crooked, damnably charming way that had doomed empires and queens alike. "It's father or daddy, Seraphina. You're family now. My daughter!"

And as he rose back to his throne, wine reclaimed casually in hand, the world shifted ever so slightly again. Because Seraphina Nyxlith Draven wasn't just a child anymore.

She was the Firstborn Vampire Daughter of the Prince.

And existence had better fucking get ready. Parker didn't just pass down to her only the Draven Bloodline but also a Nyxlith Bloodline unlike other Origin Families who only had one bloodline.

She had two!

"Now," he said, glancing between the two little monsters with a faint, wicked smile, "you have a sister to play with."

Nyxavere giggled, her laughter chiming like distant bells as she yanked the silver-haired girl into a hug, both of them clinging to each other like they'd found missing pieces of their souls.

In a heartbeat, the two vanished—blinking out of sight like whispers lost to another plane.

Parker watched them go, his hands sliding casually back into his pockets as he turned and strolled lazily to his throne once more.

He sat down, slow and deliberate, the goblet of wine finding its way back into his hand like the world itself dared not deny him anything.

Silence crushed the room.

No one moved.

No one breathed wrong.

The message was written in blood, clear as daylight:

Mercy was no longer part of the equation.

Not in this era. Not under this Prince.

He hadn't even given the criminals a chance to explain themselves.

They were simply judged.

And erased.

Julian, Scarlett, Annabelle—hell, even some of the older generation—shivered where they stood. Fear coiled tight in their chests because it wasn't just power they'd witnessed.

It was authority.

Pure. Unquestionable. Final.

And the terrifying part?