SHADOWS OF LUNAR BLOODLUST

Within the sinister chamber’s depths, a malevolent executioner wielded a gleaming silver sword, extracting it from Jacob’s abdomen. Agony seized Jacob’s frame, his anguished cry echoing within the walls that bore witness to his torment. “Ah!” The sound, a symphony of suffering, resonated through the air, a haunting reminder of the relentless agony reigning within those accursed confines.

Dangling from the lofty ceiling of the building, held captive by chains of glinting silver, was Jacob, a youthful vampire. His pursuit of a blood meal in the Moonolits woods, realm of the lycanthropic kingdom, had led him into the clutches of a relentless pack of werewolves. Tasked with this formidable challenge, the pack struggled to subdue him, for vampires were renowned for their swiftness, agility, and fierce prowess. It was only when a silver-hued dagger found its mark, sinking into the edge of his stomach, that Jacob’s defiance waned, yielding him to the tendrils of excruciating pain. As he surrendered, he ensured that one of the werewolves met an untimely demise, a testament to his unyielding spirit even in captivity.

News of Jacob’s capture reached the ears of King Stephen, ruler of the Moonolits, a sovereign unswayed by sentiment. His heart harbored no quarter for vampires who dared trespass upon his territory. The callous demeanor he projected was forged by a traumatic event: the demise of his father, Matthew, at the hands of a vampire.

From the earliest days of his existence, Stephen had been a relentless vampire hunter, a fierce avenger of his kin. While he refrained from venturing beyond the Moonolits borders, he ensured that any vampire who dared venture within met a fate befitting their malevolence — a swift descent into the abyss.

“I told you before, I wasn’t sent by anyone,” Jacob cried.

“That would be decided by the king himself,” the executioner clarified.

Jacob’s anguished groans and the glistening trails of his tears fell on deaf ears, their significance seemingly lost on the unfeeling executioner. His body’s cruel suspension from the ceiling inflicted a torment that was impossible to ignore, a bitter reminder of his mother’s guidance to never stray beyond the borders of Bloodfist. Amidst his suffering, he found himself retracing the footsteps of his past, envisioning a reality where he had adhered to his mother’s wisdom, nestled in the comfort of his own bed. Yet, the tendrils of his curiosity, which had led him astray, now threatened to snuff out his very existence.

A sudden intrusion into his ruminations came in the form of resolute footfalls, echoing with purpose. It was none other than the fearless ruler, King Stephen himself. Clad in resplendent robes crafted from the most exquisite crimson silk, the king advanced with the company of two formidable guards. The rich velvet of his cape flowed regally down his shoulders, pooling gracefully at his feet. A diadem adorned with shimmering jewels graced his raven-dark tresses, an emblem of his sovereignty and an extension of his dignified presence. In his hand, a golden staff, ornate and refined, lent an air of majesty to his every step. His loyal guards, shadows in their own right, stood by his side, an imposing duo within the dimly lit chamber.

The cadence of the king’s footsteps ceased as his intent gaze settled upon Jacob. “Child,” he intoned with a mix of curiosity and authority. “What wind carried you to the shores of The Moonolits?”

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I was merely hunting,” Jacob answered.

“Did you know it’s forbidden for vampires to set foot here?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I only ignored my mother’s instructions due to my foolish curiosity. Please forgive me.”

“No vampire aware of the rules would tread on this ground. You were clearly sent to spy on us.”

“No!” Jacob yelled. “I’m only seventeen years old; my king would never conscript me into the army or as a spy. I arrived here with no hidden motives.”

“First, you trespassed across my borders. Second, you harmed one of my skilled soldiers. And now, you’re seeking emancipation?” Stephen questioned. “You vampires are all the same—immortal liars who consistently pass down falsehoods to their progeny. No seventeen-year-old could accomplish what you did, not in a thousand years. You deserve to die.”

“What? No! I’m my mother’s only child. Please show mercy,” Jacob cried. “It will never happen again.”

“Forgive you? That’s not possible. However, I’ll grant your final wish—this won’t recur,” Stephen assured. “Executioner, take care of him.”

“No! Please! I beg of you!” Jacob pleaded.

Stephen, impervious to the echoes of Jacob’s fate, strode regally back to the palace in the company of his steadfast guards. Obediently, the executioner, a mere instrument of authority, brought an end to the young seventeen-year-old’s life, the sound of silver sealing his tragic demise. A reverberating thud marked the finality as Jacob’s head met the cold ground, an unsettling punctuation to the night’s grim proceedings. Around them, the symphony of the nocturnal world unfolded: the wolves’ mournful howls intertwining with the rhythmic cadence of crickets.

Within the domain of Moonolits, a realm teeming with the world’s most formidable of creatures, the werewolves thrived. Streets were vigilantly patrolled by tightly-knit packs of lupine sentinels, their dedication to their tasks unwavering. Nestled at the kingdom’s distant end stood the palace, the regal abode of the Nightbane royal lineage. Guarding the perimeter were ravenous werewolves, a bulwark against any intruders.

Moonolits harbored a unique breed of werewolves, the happiest in the west. These shape-shifters, who often maintained a human semblance, could seamlessly transition between their human and lupine forms at will, or sometimes involuntarily, during the full moon’s luminous reign. As their transformations occurred, they morphed into towering canines, their stature surpassing that of ordinary wolves by several feet. Their ferocious attributes were manifest in the form of razor-sharp fangs and claws, capable of rending flesh with uncanny ease. Renowned for their unparalleled speed and their fur-covered hides, these werewolves epitomized both beauty and savagery within the embrace of the Moonolits’ enigmatic veil.

As the matured werewolves reached their prime, their capacity to rein in their fiery dispositions during full moons became more evident, a stark contrast to the younger ones who often required the guidance of their elder counterparts, a task not without its challenges.

Haunted by the reverberating echoes of her son’s screams within the realm of her nightmares, Samantha, Jacob’s mother, was abruptly torn from the clutches of slumber. Her heart racing, she catapulted from her bed and raced to her son’s chamber, anxiety propelling her every step.

Arriving at the threshold of her son’s sanctuary, she was met with an unsettling emptiness where his bed should have been. The ajar door ushered in a chill that cut to the bone, a sensation mirroring the unease that gripped her. An instinctive understanding blossomed within her, the certainty that something was amiss settling like a leaden weight in her chest.

Aware that Jacob held a penchant for nocturnal hunts, Samantha grappled with a disquiet that transcended her usual maternal concerns. Never, however, had he remained absent for such an extended duration.

Enveloped in the clutches of despair, she lunged towards the building’s exit, her frenzied motion abruptly intercepted by one of the city’s vigilant guards.

Clad in a black cloak, the night guard Sebastian began, “Madam, why are you coming out of the apartment this late?”

“My son, I can’t find him. I saw him yesterday evening, but I just checked his room, it’s empty. He usually goes hunting at night, but he has never stayed out this late before,” Samantha explained, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“What is his name?”

“Jacob, he’s my only son.”

“Do you know where he usually goes hunting?”

“He has never gone beyond the boundaries of Bloodfist.”

“Any other information that will help me in my search for him?”

“He’s five feet tall, and he’s seventeen years old. He was wearing a white shirt and black trousers when I last saw him. His favorite jacket, a brown one, was also with him.”

“Ma’am, you’ll have to calm down. I’ll inform the others, and we will find him. For now, you need to go inside and get some rest. It’s not safe for someone like you to be walking at night.”

“Thank you so much.”

Sebastian swiftly informed the others about Samantha’s missing son.

Samantha returned to her apartment, her demeanor shrouded in a veil of gloom and weariness. The sole source of companionship following her husband’s tragic demise, her son, was now conspicuously absent. The cavernous ache of new-found loneliness yawned before her, a daunting chasm she was forced to confront. Her gaze swept over the room that once held Jacob’s presence, memories of their shared moments weaving a bittersweet tapestry within her mind.

Even in the face of Jacob’s unyielding demeanor following his father’s murder, Samantha remained unwavering in her attempts to bridge the gap between them. From packing his school breakfast to being there when the school bell tolled the end of the day, she persistently endeavored to initiate conversations and shower him with tokens of affection. Despite his seemingly impassive exterior, Samantha harbored a steadfast belief that her son was destined for greatness.

Yet, amid her ceaseless contemplations, an undercurrent of anxiety began to swell, robbing her of the solace of sleep. The hands of the clock pointed to 2am, but the absence of her son felt like an eternity.

In the realm of vampires, the emotional tether between parent and child was profound. A supernatural connection enabled them to perceive their offspring’s heartbeat and even sense their movements. In cases where this connection was severed, it was a grim indicator that the child’s life had been extinguished.

The morning sun rose to the piercing wails that emanated from the Bloodfist royal palace. The steadfast regal guards found themselves helpless in the face of Samantha’s heart-wrenching grief, as she defied all restraint and sought to breach the sacrosanct threshold of the royal gate. Amidst the turmoil, King Robert Godric, resolute in his response to her anguish, issued an audience within the palace’s disheveled confines.

Clad in a nightgown woven from the depths of velvety blue silk, Robert allowed the fabric to drape loosely around his shoulders. Struggling against the grasp of slumber, he settled onto his throne, poised to address his subordinate’s concerns.

The throne room, a sanctum where decisions of utmost import to the realm of Bloodfist were forged, bore a regal ambiance. Its heavy curtains, cast in red linen, lent an air of authority to the surroundings. Ancient pillars, weathered by a thousand years’ passage, stood adorned with gilded embellishments and intricate carvings that traced the rich history of vampires. The dim expanse was punctuated by numerous nightstands strategically placed in every nook, each housing a flickering candlestick that cast a gentle glow. Nestled at the room’s farthest extremity, the grand throne rose magnificently, its imposing stature accessible by a modest staircase. Arrayed at both ends of the room, guards stood sentinel, their unwavering presence a testament to their dedication to the king’s safety.

Fashioned from the most exquisite mahogany, the throne bore an impressive high back, evoking the aura of a guardian. Its surface was adorned with intricate designs that narrated the tales of ancient warriors who had valiantly defended their clan. Armrests curved gracefully, capped with gilded finials that twinkled like distant stars. At their extremities, fangs were etched into the wood, symbolizing the fierce might of the vampires. Crowning the throne’s backrest, a majestic crest of jagged fangs extended, further enhancing the regal aura. A red carpet flowed elegantly from the base of the throne, adding a touch of luxury to the space.

Samantha fell onto the red carpet and cried, “My God! My son has been killed.”

“That cannot be, not in Bloodfist. How certain are you of this information?” Robert asked.

“I can’t feel his presence anymore; he’s gone.”

The king turned towards Sebastian, who stood beside Samantha, and asked, “Have you conducted a thorough search?”

“My guards and I have scoured every inch of the kingdom, but we couldn’t find him,” Sebastian answered.

“Hmm. This is serious,” Robert stroked his beard.

The king’s meeting with Samantha was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a guard. The guard fell to his knees and began, “My king, we found the lifeless body of a child around the borders. He was decapitated, and claw marks were found on his body.”

Samantha took a deep breath and swiftly exited the palace.

Robert, rubbing his right palm across his face, questioned, “What has Stephen done now?”

Amaya walked into the throne room and asked, “Father, what’s going on?”

“Go to your room, now! The entire kingdom is under siege!” Robert yelled, rushing to his room to get dressed.

Amaya was puzzled, having no knowledge of the kingdom’s turmoil. Overhearing her father and his subordinate, Samantha, discussing Jacob’s death, she couldn’t quite comprehend why this event posed a significant threat to the nation.

Clad in ebony robes that cascaded like liquid darkness, Robert dashed out of his room with his staff in his kings. His piercing gaze held both the weight of command and a hint of enigma, as if the shadows obeyed his every whim. He faced his chief of guard, stood beside his room, and said, “Seal the whole city, we’re in a state of emergency. There shall be no movement till I properly confirm that state of things.” He swooshed to the scene where Jacob’s body was.

Robert was met with a gruesome sight: a headless body of a seventeen-year-old, cradled by Samantha. The young boy’s blood stained his mother’s dark attire. As he examined the body, Robert discerned the telltale signs of prior torture, a macabre familiarity to the methods of the werewolves. His gaze shifted to the torn clothing, evidence of the encounter with razor-sharp claws. The weight of loss gripped him, and he clutched his golden staff, a symbol of authority, as the pain of a citizen’s death enveloped him.

Within Bloodfist, a realm of peace for creatures whose sustenance hinged on blood, sunlight was shunned due to its perilous effects on vampires’ health. An age-old spell cast centuries ago had banished the sun’s presence, leaving what appeared to be a perpetual moonlit atmosphere as the source of illumination.

Bloodfist, a well-guarded haven, boasted an almost non-existent crime rate. Tranquility reigned in the kingdom’s depths, an oasis of serenity unparalleled in the world. Its borders were patrolled by formidable vampires draped in ebony cloaks, permitting passage only to those who could decode their tactics. The cityscape, much like its inhabitants, bore the markings of time, with ancient buildings and structures scattered throughout. The realm left nothing to be desired — a natural abundance of sustenance akin to evergreen trees, clean water flowing like fountains, and vigilant soldiers akin to fish in the sea. Here, hunting was a leisurely pursuit.

The denizens of Bloodfist, vampires, bore a human-like appearance and retained their looks even in their alternate form. Their immortality scarcely altered their visage, and their extraordinary agility and speed rendered them nearly invulnerable, save for the fatal touch of sunlight. With fangs as sharp as swords, they sated their thirst with the blood of other creatures. When angered, their eyes would blaze a fiery blood-red, a manifestation of their cruelty. The true nature of their species remained concealed until sunlight’s reflection touched their skin, revealing the telltale signs.

Since time immemorial, Bloodfist and Moonolits had been bitter rivals. Ancient kings of Bloodfist engaged in prolonged conflicts with the inhabitants of Moonolits, resulting in wars that spanned centuries. Despite their skirmishes, neither entity succumbed to obliteration; instead, their ranks multiplied. These wars claimed countless lives, including members of the royal families from both realms. Seeking an end to the cycle, Robert brokered a truce with Stephen, the ruler of Moonolits, aimed at halting the perpetual warfare. The truce hinged on the stipulation that any trespass leading to harm against a kingdom’s citizens would be considered a breach of this fragile peace.

Samantha cried at the king’s feet, wailing, “My king, they’ve taken my only child. He was all I had. Please, help me! Avenge my son.”

The royal guards at the scene tried to restrain Samantha, but her furious spirit gave her the strength to push towards the king’s feet.

Robert took a deep exasperated breath, bowed his head, and said, “Unless they provide me with a reasonable explanation for this, there will be war.” He hurriedly went to Stephen’s palace.

Robert’s quick stride was abruptly halted within the throne room by streams of sunlight that penetrated Stephen’s verdant curtains. Draperies of deep green framed Stephen’s regal presence, the robe flowing elegantly from the throne, an embodiment of grandeur. Clasping his golden staff, he advanced towards Robert with measured steps. “What has brought you to my palace at this early hour, King Robert?”

“You scoundrel, what did you do to that child? He was only seventeen, are you truly that heartless?” Robert questioned.

“Need I remind you that your father killed my people of even younger age without remorse?”

“Unless you provide me with a reasonable explanation for why you took a child’s life, this palace will be in flames today.”

“If I wished to see you begging on your knees right now, all I would need to do is open the curtains.”

“Dare you not! Even if I were to fall, you would fall with me.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Robert? You sent a seventeen-year-old to spy on my people. Now, his blood is on your hands.”

“Spy?” Robert questioned with curiosity. “Have you lost your mind? What makes you believe I would deploy a seventeen-year-old when I have thousands of formidable warriors?”

“Well, that boy sent one of my soldiers to the grave. I merely returned the favor.”

“Nonsense! A seventeen-year-old is not capable of such heinous deeds.”

“Guards!” Stephen called. “Bring forth the body.”

The Moonolits royal guard dropped the lifeless body of a werewolf before Robert. Blood stained the green royal carpet.

Robert took a step back and asked, “How can this be?”

“I did not kill intentionally, Robert. I merely followed the truce we had,” Stephen defended.

“You should have at least called for attention before leaving a woman childless.”

“And do you not think this soldier also had a mother?”

“Stephen, I will not hesitate to reciprocate this ‘favor’ when I find your people in my kingdom!” Robert affirmed, departing with his guards.

Stephen returned to his throne and commanded, “Remove this body from here.”