One Hundred Years Later

Time changed the Vampire Realm.

Not slowly.

Violently.

The fractured kingdom of starving nobles, rotting castles, and blood wars hidden behind fake smiles was gone.

In its place stood an empire.

Black cities stretched beneath crimson moons. Bridges of obsidian connected floating districts above silver rivers. Giant mana reactors pulsed beneath the capital, feeding power into every corner of the realm. Trains carved through the night skies. Blood-forges burned beneath the mountains. Ancient magic mixed with modern technology until the entire realm felt alive.

And at the center of it all—

Lucifer sat on the throne.

The Hall of Origin was silent except for the distant hum of the realm itself.

Enormous now. Pillars carved from black crystal reached into darkness overhead. Red banners bearing the mark of Origin hung beside the symbols of the united vampire clans. Windows taller than castles overlooked the endless capital beyond.

Below the throne stood hundreds of figures.

Clan heads. Generals. Scientists. Witches. Even demons.

No humans.

Not anymore.

They’d left decades ago, when Dera accepted the Human Authority and led the survivors back to New Earth. The split had been peaceful. Necessary. Humanity needed its own path, and Lucifer had never been one to cage what couldn’t be caged.

Now the vampire realm was exactly that—vampire. Pure. Unified. Terrifying.

No one fought anymore. Not openly. Lucifer made sure of that.

He sat with one leg crossed over the other, chin resting against his knuckles. His hair had grown longer over the century, silver-white falling past his shoulders. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark hall.

Calm. Cold. Heavy.

The weight of a hundred years sat on him quietly.

Dracula stood at the foot of the stairs below the throne.

Older now. Not weaker. Just calmer. The legendary vampire who once ruled through fear now wore black ceremonial robes marked with the crest of Origin over his chest.

He bowed his head slightly.

"The eastern districts are complete. The final expansion was integrated this morning."

Lucifer nodded once.

"And the clans?"

"Settled. The old noble families have finally stopped complaining about the new power distribution. Most have adapted."

Zane leaned against one of the pillars nearby, arms crossed.

"Still getting whispers," he muttered. "Some of them miss the old ways."

Lucifer finally looked at him.

"And?"

Zane smirked.

"And now they whisper quietly."

A few low chuckles spread through the room.

Even after a hundred years, some things never changed.

Near the left side of the hall, Ella stood beside the representatives of House Dracula.

No. Not beside them. At the front of them.

Her grandfather had long stepped away from leadership. These days Dracula spent most of his time serving directly under Lucifer, helping maintain the realm itself.

Ella became the head of her clan decades ago.

And she ruled it brutally well.

She noticed Lucifer looking toward her and gave him a small smile.

The kind only he ever saw.

Lucifer looked away first.

Near the far balcony, Luna stood speaking with a group of vampire diplomats. She still carried herself like a reporter sometimes, always listening more than talking. But now? Entire factions listened when she spoke.

Vina and Rey stood nearby, side by side.

The throne room doors opened.

A figure entered slowly.

Tall. Silver-haired. Wearing black royal robes.

Damaris.

Alive again. Or close enough.

Lucifer’s eyes lingered on him quietly.

Rebuilding Damaris took years. Treasures buried beneath the Vampire Realm. Ancient soul-binding flowers. Fragments trapped inside the System itself. Lucifer gathered every piece slowly, patiently. Then created a body strong enough to hold him again.

But Damaris still wasn’t fully awake. Not truly. Most days he existed in a strange half-state—a soul in stasis trapped between sleep and life.

But today—

His eyes looked clearer.

Damaris walked toward the throne slowly while the hall bowed.

Lucifer remained seated.

Not out of disrespect.

Because Damaris hated formalities.

He stopped near the stairs and looked up at his son.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Damaris sighed.

"You rebuilt the realm."

Lucifer answered quietly.

"Someone had to."

Damaris looked around the throne room.

The banners. The united clans. The modernized capital glowing outside the giant windows.

Then he laughed softly under his breath.

"You did better than I did."

Lucifer didn’t answer.

Because maybe it was true.

Damaris’s eyes softened slightly.

"You still haven’t let her go."

The room grew quieter.

Lucifer’s expression didn’t change.

"No."

A long silence followed.

Damaris stepped closer to the throne.

"You’ve searched for a century."

"I know."

"You’ve torn through realms."

"I know."

"You almost started another war with Heaven twenty years ago."

Lucifer finally looked irritated.

"They insulted her."

"They were angels."

"They still insulted her."

Damaris rubbed his forehead tiredly.

Some things really never changed.

Then Lucifer leaned forward slightly. His voice lowered.

"You told me once... there are things older than resurrection."

Damaris’s eyes narrowed.

"I did."

"You also said the First Bloodline knew secrets even the gods feared."

The throne room became still.

Even Dracula slowly looked toward Damaris now.

Lucifer stood from the throne.

The pressure in the room shifted instantly. Heavy.

"I need you to tell me everything."

Damaris stared at him quietly.

Then finally—

"You won’t like the answer."

"I don’t care anymore."

The old vampire exhaled slowly.

"You think death is the problem," Damaris said. "It isn’t."

Lucifer’s eyes sharpened.

"Then what is?"

Damaris looked toward the massive windows overlooking the endless realm.

"The soul."

Silence.

"The soul doesn’t disappear after death," Damaris continued quietly. "Not immediately. It passes through layers. Realms. Concepts. Memory streams."

Lucifer listened carefully.

"But Francisca..." Damaris muttered. "Her soul didn’t pass through the normal cycle."

Lucifer felt something tighten in his chest.

"What does that mean?"

Damaris looked directly at him now.

"It means something took her."

The room went cold.

Even Zane straightened slightly.

Ella’s smile vanished.

Lucifer stepped down from the throne slowly.

"What."

Damaris didn’t move.

"There are places older than Heaven. Older than Hell. Places where lost souls, forgotten concepts, and broken laws drift."

The Crimson Grimoire suddenly pulsed at Lucifer’s side.

Once.

Damaris noticed immediately.

"So it knows too," he murmured.

Lucifer’s voice deepened.

"You’re telling me she still exists."

"I’m telling you," Damaris said carefully, "that I don’t think she’s dead anymore."

That hit harder than any battle Lucifer fought in a hundred years.

Not dead. Not alive. Something else.

The throne room stayed silent.

Then slowly—

Lucifer smiled.

Not warmly. Not kindly.

The kind of smile people saw before entire kingdoms burned.

Around the hall, people felt it immediately. That dangerous feeling. The one that meant Lucifer had found a direction again.

A purpose.

Dracula closed his eyes briefly.

"Oh no."

Zane sighed heavily.

"There it is."

Ella smiled faintly under her breath.

Lucifer stepped back toward the throne and picked up the Crimson Grimoire resting beside it.

The ancient book trembled slightly in his hand.

Almost excited.

He looked toward Damaris.

"Tell me where to start."