Chapter 4: Crimson Cathedral

Three days after the incident in the northern industrial district, Valenfort was shrouded in an unnaturally thick fog. The sun no longer rose, only faint streaks of light struggled through the crimson haze. Panic spread among the people as new disappearances mounted.

Blood-drained corpses were found across the city.

The Hunters’ Headquarters had become a fortress. Every patrol unit was mobilized, yet no one dared speak the truth that the Blood King had returned.

Inside the strategy room, Evelyn Cross stood before a holographic map of Valenfort. Red markers spread like an infection from the industrial sector toward the north, clustering densely around Crimson Cathedral, the ancient church sealed after the Great Massacre two centuries ago.

Beside her, Adrian Wolfe crossed his arms, hesitation flickering in his gaze.

“You really plan to go alone? Marcus will never approve of this.”

Evelyn’s voice was hoarse but resolute.

“I don’t need permission. Lucien left a clear trail and I’ll end this before Valenfort falls.”

Adrian let out a dry laugh, though concern shadowed his face.

“End it? Or start another war?”

Evelyn didn’t respond. She only holstered her silver gun, tightening the strap of her cloak. The moonlight reflected in her steel-gray eyes cold, unyielding.

“If you’re scared, don’t come.”

Adrian shrugged, stepping toward the door with a faint smirk.

“I’m not afraid of vampires, Cross. Only you.”

---

That night, two figures slipped out of Valenfort through an abandoned tunnel leading to the outskirts. The air was cold, heavy with rust and damp decay. The tunnel had once been part of the Hunters’ synthetic blood transport network long abandoned after the “Black Blood Purge.”

When they emerged into the open, moonlight spilled over the Hollow Vein Valley, where Crimson Cathedral lay buried among the dead gray woods. The church resembled the corpse of a titan consumed by time, collapsed walls, shattered domes, moss covered pillars, and at its heart, a massive steel door engraved with ancient blood symbols.

Adrian whistled softly.

“You sure this is a church? Looks more like the devil’s tomb.”

Evelyn stepped closer, resting her palm against the cold metal. She drew her silver dagger, slicing her fingertip and a drop of blood fell into a tear-shaped carving.

Instantly, the symbol ignited crimson.

Adrian flinched.

"Wait what the hell are you doing?”

The door groaned and began to open, metal shrieking as centuries of rust gave way. A blast of icy air rushed out thick with the metallic scent of blood that had slept for ages.

Evelyn turned to him.

“Seems like it recognizes me.”

“I really hate when you say that, Eve.” He muttered, yet followed her in anyway.

---

Inside Crimson Cathedral, silence pressed like a physical weight. The beam of their flashlights swept across weathered walls etched with ancient prayers. The floor was littered with hundreds of human bones arranged in a circle around a sacrificial altar.

Evelyn knelt, touching the carvings on the altar. A symbol flickered beneath her fingers, glowing like veins of blood spreading outward. From the walls, whispers rose thousands of voices murmuring in forgotten tongues.

“You have returned… bearer of the old blood…”

Evelyn stepped back, heart hammering. Adrian swung his gun, scanning the shadows.

“What the hell is going on here?”

At the far end of the cathedral, a faint red light appeared. A narrow door slid open by itself, revealing a staircase descending into darkness. Evelyn stared at it something unseen tugged at her soul.

“Where the blood first began to flow…” she murmured, remembering Lucien’s words.

Before Adrian could protest, she descended the spiral stairs, dagger drawn. The air grew colder, thick with the copper tang of ancient blood.

At the bottom lay a vast underground chamber at its center stood a coffin of black glass. Inside it rested a woman.

Her skin was pale as snow, her hair silver-white… and her face identical to Evelyn’s.

Adrian’s voice cracked.

“Holy hell… she looks exactly like you.”

Evelyn froze. Beside the coffin was an engraved sigil, a drop of blood within a circle, identical to the faint scar on her chest she had never understood.

She knelt, trembling, and laid a hand upon the coffin’s surface.

At once, visions flooded her mind memories not her own:

Fire. Blood. A battlefield drenched in screams. Humans and vampires slaughtering each other.

And in the center, a man in a black cloak cradling a dying woman in his arms.

“Forgive me, Lilith…”

She saw Lucien Draven and the woman inside this coffin. She heard his broken whisper as he sealed her soul with his own blood, a forbidden ritual of Blood Genesis.

Evelyn gasped, collapsing backward. Adrian caught her, panicked.

“Eve! What happened? Talk to me!”

She looked up at him, eyes wide with terror and heartbreak.

“The woman in that coffin… she’s Lilith Draven the first vampire… and Lucien’s lover.”

“And you?”

Her voice trembled.

“I’m… a replica. Created from her blood.”

---

The cathedral trembled violently. Their flashlights flickered. From above, that familiar voice echoed low, sorrowful, and commanding.

“I told you, Evelyn… your blood does not belong to humans.”

Lucien Draven emerged from the red mist, eyes burning with both pain and tenderness.

“I never wanted you to learn this way.”

Evelyn rose, gun shaking in her grasp.

“What did you do to me?”

“Saved you. When the Hunters tried to resurrect Lilith as a weapon, I altered the ritual. You were born half human, half my blood. I gave you a life.”

“A life? Or another tool in your game?” she screamed, fury breaking through her shock.

Lucien stepped closer, his voice low, the weight of centuries behind it.

“If you were just a tool, I would’ve let them kill you that first night. But you’re not Lilith. You are Evelyn Cross and your choices are yours alone.”

For a heartbeat, the world stood still.

In his crimson eyes, Evelyn saw not a monster but a soul shackled by endless guilt.

Behind her, Adrian lowered his gun, torn between anger and disbelief.

Lucien turned away, his voice heavy.

“Our time is running out. The Hunters know this place. When they come… blood will flow again. And this time, it will be yours, Evelyn.”

Then he vanished into the swirling crimson haze.

---

Through the shattered cathedral windows, the wind howled like a lament. Evelyn tightened her grip on the dagger, staring at the pulsing red sigil beside the coffin beating like a living heart.

Her whisper was cold and distant, the voice of fate itself.

“If Valenfort truly drowns in blood… I’ll be the one to decide how it ends.”