Control. Competency. Care. The three C’s at the heart of Night.
One year since Sentinel Dawn went on her mission to retrieve Commander Julius.
It was the Summer Solstice once again, and one of the oldest beings in creation observed the Sentinels and Commanders marching in perfect formation down the aisle, preparing to kick off this year’s Ranger Convocation.
He was in a hidden alcove, shaded from the sun. Anyone attempting to kill him at this time, in this place, thinking he was vulnerable due to the proximity of the deadly light would find themselves running into multiple nasty surprises. Like the fact that Night’s alcove was reinforced, and the entirety of the Rangers and a majority of the Sentinels were present.
The shimagu had been a reminder that the world was not static. That it was ever-shifting, ever evolving. He had gotten his third class, and so had others. Gone were the days when reaching level 200 was an accomplishment, a once in a lifetime achievement. His security was also being updated, the ancient vampire knowing the truth of the world.
Adapt or die.
He idly played with a gem in his pocket, the new acquisition not yet having a proper spot on his close-woven garment of protective gems filled with skills.
He did not put it past Emperor Augustus to make an attempt on his life. The man was far too loving of his power, and like all despots, feared those who could threaten him. Night had ensured that his base of power did not move against the general-turned-emperor when he made his bid for the throne, but that alone was not enough to appease the man.
There would be a day of reckoning.
Night did not want there to be a day of reckoning. Humans fighting each other, humans hunting vampires, vampires slaying humans - it would be a disaster. It undid everything Night stood for, believed in, worked towards. Night was a staunch guardian of Remus, yes, but he considered his role to be one further than that. A guardian of humanity. A civil war between all the humans he knew to exist, with new threats on the border?
Unacceptable. Gracefully withdrawing to the shadows for a decade or two - a century or two, after Sentinel Dawn’s unfortunate meddling - might be the proper decision, as much as it galled him. However, he hadn’t lasted so long by allowing his pride to dictate his actions. He would see.
Night did not intend to lose to some upstart who had lived for less than a blink of his eye. He tried his best not to be taken unaware, and nearly every single person with enough potential power to be a threat had been gathered under the banner of his Sentinels.
They would not turn on him. They believed far too strongly in the institution, and Night had ensured that he and the banner of the Sentinels were one and the same in their mind. A slow, careful guidance of the centuries, bearing fruit on this day. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time the countless hours spent working as a Sentinel would pay off.
That was the more cynical view. On a deeper level, Night was a true believer in the Sentinels. Guardians of humanity, simply one way that his endless debt of gratitude could be repaid. It was impossible to fully pay it off, but Night would try, even if it took him an Immortal’s lifetime.
“They will announce an initiative they believe to be new today.” Night conversationally told Jaclyn. As foolish as the girl could be at times, she was demonstrably more competent than the majority of his other spawn, and as such, was being groomed to take on more responsibilities.
Misha was also present, although Night was not entirely thrilled with the man. He had shown some early promise, and while his initiatives were solid, if slightly uninspired, the man lacked grace, decorum, manners, and foresight. The best he could reach for was to be a useful pawn, although Night had use for any number of those.
Naturally, as time passed, the total number of things that Night needed to manage would increase, and a new set of vampires would have to be raised, trained, carefully groomed and managed for the new role he envisioned for them. Some could rise, like Jaclyn. Others would not succeed as greatly as he had hoped, and would become yet another pawn. One day, even the creation and training of such pawns would be out of Night’s hands, although he would be careful to ensure that the vampires never grew too large. Never became a threat large enough for others to band against them. Such was the price of eternity.
“Which is what?” She asked.
“Healers, attached to Ranger teams. This will be the fourth time it has been tried.”
Such was the reason Misha had been invited to watch. The man had taken a clumsy interest in the healing arts, to see if there was potential to replace their reliance on blood. An interesting enough task to set him on, and one unlikely to cause problems with catastrophic failure.
Night was unable to manage every aspect of life. Unable to dig into every arena. Vampires like Misha were excellent for that sort of thing, to see if there was something to be discovered, to see how they could adapt to new changes.
The benefits far outweighed the risks.
Jacyln tilted her head a fraction. Small enough that most mortals would miss it, a screaming question to Night’s senses. She knew her role in today’s proceedings. Watch. Ask questions. Learn. She was a student, and she would play her part competently.
“Why do you not simply stop them? It would prevent waste. Lost resources. The war to the north isn’t going well, correct? The healers could be put to better use?”
Night gave Jaclyn an indulgent smile. Misha glowered in the background, but didn’t say anything. He knew Night wouldn’t be nearly so indulgent with him, his too many failures like a permanent albatross around his neck.
Succeeding with the healing question would catapult him to fame - at least internally - and his star would be on the rise once more. It would take decades of study to learn everything, but he had time. Oh, he had all the time in the world.
“Once upon a time, I, too, thought the same way. That I knew all the answers. That I could, and should, prevent problems and issues. Direct us away from poor ways of thinking. Then, shields happened.”
Jaclyn was young, as vampires went. She’d been born mortal a century ago. She was aware that Night was ancient, almost literally as old as time itself, and had seen the dawn of civilization.
Night predating the creation of shields hammered home exactly how old Night was, to refer to them as some great, new invention. Shields had been figured out before agriculture, before the first seeds and ideas of civilization beyond tribes had been planted.
She remained silent, allowing Night to speak as the Ranger Commanders began their speeches.
“The first attempt at shields went poorly. Large amounts of premium wood and quality leather were invested in the earliest attempts. It did not help. It simply slowed the warriors down, and the dinosaurs we were battling simply went through the implement. It was a colossal waste of both time, high level people, and precious material. We had none to spare.”
Night gave one of his customary pauses, giving enough time for his protege to learn, understand, absorb, and properly place the information in her mind. Such pauses were critical for good learning.
There was little purpose to spewing thousands of words at once, if they simply splashed over a listener like water against a rock. Better for a few words to hit the mark, and to miss some measure of nuance, than for no information to be communicated at all.
Jaclyn gave a tiny nod of understanding.
“At first I tried to help it along. Point out the failures of previous models. Help iterate and improve, a living, walking archive. It did not help, shields seemed doomed to failure. The second, third, and fourth time went much like the previous attempts. At this point, was it not foolish of me to permit the practice and attempts to continue? After all, each try weakened us. Made us more vulnerable. I saw it as my duty to intervene. Every two decades or so, when all those who had remembered the last attempt had died, and a new generation was finding their feet, the shield idea returned. I changed track. I made it my mission to stamp out such foolishness. In spite of that, people did not always listen. A fifth time. A sixth time. A seventh time. Shields were tried, and failed.”
Jaclyn gave a quick noise of understanding. Night allowed the smallest smile to appear. It was good that she communicated when she understood, not allowing the silence to stretch for the sake of appearance, nor cutting it off too short to simply keep the conversation flowing. Competence, that’s what it was.
“The eighth time, it worked, and warfare was never the same.” Night concluded, letting Jaclyn read as much or as little into that simple sentence as she would.
Oh, he could lecture for a year and a day on the impact of shields in fights, duels, wars and more. He could describe the earliest skills, the evolution, improvement, and refinement of the tool. An oral history, a first person account.
What would the purpose be? What point would it serve?
“What changed?” Jaclyn asked.
“Skills. Techniques. Teamwork. Knowledge. Sheer, blind luck. A critical mass of factors were reached, and the practice came into favor. I could believe a similar confluence of events could make them obsolete once again. It is difficult to say.”
Jaclyn’s eyebrows rose, the sheer concept of warfare fought without shields entirely alien to her.
“The healers?” Jaclyn asked, not quite seeing how it connected. The corner of Night’s lip twitched in displeasure. Jaclyn was acceptably competent, but not as brilliant as others. Elaine, Sentinel Dawn, to cite a recent example, had consistently picked things up quickly, as long as they did not pertain to social engagements.
Jaclyn, to her credit, did learn the lessons he wanted to teach and rarely made the same mistake twice. That was the important part. Brilliance wasn’t as important. Given the timescale Night worked on, a slow but thoroughly competent individual was preferable to a brilliant but inconsistent body. He needed to be able to rely on those he trusted.
That, and competent people could be predicted. Predictable people could be controlled.
“Much like shields, we do not know if sending healers along will work this time, or not. Perhaps it will. Perhaps it will be a waste. Ranger Command has asked for my feedback this time, and I granted it. Pointed out the mistakes and issues of prior iterations. We are blessed to no longer live on the knife’s edge of extinction. A few frivolous wastes here and there are acceptable, for the ones that succeed change the world beyond our reckoning. Healers have a chance at succeeding this time around. Sentinel Dawn has brought a number of changes with her manuscripts. I believe this push is also doomed to fail, though. It is too early for her knowledge to have properly trickled down through society and make significant enough changes that healers will work this time around. However, that is secondary.”
“Secondary?”
“Secondary to the constant reminder that we are not infallible. No matter how much I have seen, I can and have continued to be wrong on matters. It is something you would do well to remember as well. No matter how much you believe you are right, no matter how deep in your bones you know the actions being taken will result in disaster, remember shields. Remember that a madman’s ideas can change the world, and it is better to be on the neutral side, than the incorrect side. Watch ideas come and go. Take note of their failure. Observe what went right, and what went wrong. If you believe an idea is worthy? Remember. We are Immortal. We will outlast every single mortal being in this plaza. We have a duty to use our Immortality to benefit humanity, for they benefit us in return.”
Night had a few more quiet thoughts on why they should help humanity along, but they were not along an axis of thought that Jaclyn or Misha would understand. Those were lessons and ways of thinking for another day, and attempting too many lessons, too much information at once would be like trying to pour into a full cup.
“I will study this attempt.” Misha correctly interpreted this moment as the reason he was brought along. “I will understand how it fails. Why it fails. And I will make sure that next time, it works.”
Night gave him a small nod, while Jaclyn continued thinking.
“Is that why you let Augustus become Emperor?” Jaclyn asked.
Night snorted.
“I always knew the man was ambitious. No man without the drive to conquer all he sees could possibly rise to the highest echelons of [General]. At a given point, endless contingencies become futile, a waste of time, money, and effort. The Formorian assault took me by surprise.” Night admitted. “Toxic was far more effective than my wildest dreams, and if I spent all my time plotting to remove anyone who could potentially seize upon a specific catastrophic event to gain massive power, we either would get nothing done, or we might as well openly seize the throne ourselves, and declare one of you dictator for life.”
Jaclyn gave a cruel smile at the joke inside Night’s words.
“Society used to run off of warlords.” Night switched track briefly. “I have learned over the years that one who gains power via force of arms is rarely suited toward leadership. The traits and qualities that lend oneself to strength in battle do not translate to leadership in the slightest. However, it would be a lie to say that those with strength of arms do not dictate who the leader is. Augustus took control via the army, but that has always been the cold truth underlying civilization. A close look would reveal that he gained control of the army with tactics and strategies that resemble excellent leadership that does directly translate into good governance. The man alone has more advisors assisting him than the entire old Senate combined.”
Night paused a moment, gathering his own thoughts.
“I did not believe at the end of the Formorian war that I would be able to properly remove Augustus and his influence in such a way that the army would not dissolve into massive infighting. Yes, I could have killed him, and his fellow conspirators. What then? The army was in clear factions, and the leaders that bound them all together were removed. They’d draw back in fear, regain their own groups. They would see that the potential for a supreme leader was there, and the army has always been rife with petty ambition. The result would have been the bloodiest civil war I could imagine, all while the last traces of the Formorians were still rampaging through our lands. This could have entirely collapsed Remus, then Hunting returned with word of civilizations on the other side of the Formorians. No, permitting Augustus to do what he will was the safest course for all of us. Indeed, time passes; civilizations evolve. Augustus may simply be the first in a long line of new political succession, where instead of selecting those members of society best able to accrue the acclaim and votes of their fellow citizens, it is the one able to rise up through the ranks of the army, and bend their will to his means. Arguably, it is a better test of qualities. Who knows? One day in the future, we may find a better method of selecting our leaders.”
“It feels more like the leaders select themselves.” Jaclyn softly commended.
Night gave a small nod.
“An issue. But thrusting one who does not wish to lead into a position of power does not automatically make them good or qualified. I tried that once. It was a disaster.”
Jaclyn digested the thoughts as a new Ranger Commander was announced. Night gave a slow, but unhappy, smile.
The loss of Commander Julius still stung, and he was pleased that Sentinel Bulwark had made the excellent case not to send more Sentinels after Dawn. He would’ve been inclined to, another excellent example of listening to what other competent individuals had to say. That loss stung a second time, a Sentinel right after a more replaceable Commander, and what an interesting Sentinel Dawn was.
He’d managed to push through a replacement Commander, and the balance of Ranger Command was now back in his hands. Night was a mass of contradictions, both wanting to allow those under him to make their own decisions and mistakes, for when they paid off they paid off well, and needing control over his underlings and organizations.
He needed control, so he could let them be free. It was part of why Augustus was such an itch in his mind, a thorn in his side.
If Night needed to, he had enough Senators, power, money, and sway, to force through any changes through the Senate that he believed were absolutely critical to humanity’s survival. He’d only exercised the power three times since managing to secure it some 2,000 years ago, when the first primitive assembly of tribes had each selected a representative to discuss a grand alliance.
He chuckled acerbically. His complaint was rooted in the fact that someone had the same sort of power he worked hard to get and maintain. The great pendulum swung, and it had swung away from him. He’d seen too many chase after it, only to be destroyed by doing so. No, he would wait. The pendulum would return to him one day.
It would swing away from him again in the future. Such was life. It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.
“The tides come, and the tides go. Come. Let us discuss those new proposed plans for cross-sea travel.”
“Are they much different from the last time they got proposed?” Jaclyn asked.
Night barked a bitter laugh.
“No, and I do not believe they will succeed this time. The design is nearly identical to the last one, and the plant in the deep has only gotten larger. One day it may be of significant concern to us. For now, it is a learning opportunity.”
Night turned and walked away as the festivities started, Jaclyn in his wake.
Misha remained, taking notes. Making a list of the announced healers that would be joining the Ranger’s patrols.
10 years to the day of Sentinel Dawn’s disappearance, Night stood in front of the Indomitable Wall, personally carving her name onto the list of the fallen. A single finger of his molded the stone like putty.
Her family was there, quietly crying.
Night approved. There weren’t many families who’d still grieve, love, and hold on hope for a member gone for an entire decade. A brief thought flitted through his head, an ancient reminder.
There was a time when Night used the strength of a family’s bonds with each other to determine who was worthy to turn, and who was not. An idea that a strong sense of family would translate to strong bonds between vampires. That love would conquer all.
It had been one of his better criteria, but it had inevitably fallen apart. The mortal bonds formed stayed, but were not so easily recreated or formed into the new family of vampires. Additionally, those who felt strongly tended to go their own ways, and when conflict inevitably erupted between the vampires, that round had been extra potent.
Night was still rebuilding from that implosion. No, Sentinel Dawn’s family had missed their opportunity twice. Once when they were born in the wrong era, and a second time when Dawn had left before accepting his proposed gift, before turning her family personally.
They were mortal, and they would stay mortal unless one of them managed to grasp time away from the Black Crow//White Dove.
He finished writing her name down, mentally marking her as the first female Sentinel, the first healing Sentinel. A trailblazer, burning as quickly and as brightly.
He made a small, subtle mark on the wall near her name. A mark six others had, although all of the rest were Rangers. Dawn was the only Sentinel with the mark.
It was a reminder to himself that they had vanished under such unusual circumstances that in spite of his policy of treating people missing for 10 years as dead, she might show up again one day.
One of the others with the mark, after all, had returned after nearly a century. Quite mad, yes, but returned in body, if not in mind. It was worthy of a note. [Archive of the Eons] had a memo placed in it, the skill nearly perfect for the type of organization and recollection Night needed for his millennia of memories. The only downside to the skill was it took time to retrieve memories, a deliberate feature that occasionally hindered him. If the memories were too easy to recall? He would get washed away in recollection, with few willing to disturb him. He’d once spent six years traveling down memory lane on a prior version of the skill, only disturbed when one of his progeny was brave enough to disturb him for a nearby fire.
He had modified the skill after that incident. Worked tirelessly to evolve it into a more suitable form.
After an appropriate amount of time with the family – not too short, else one might take offense, nor too long, for Night had better things to do than mingle aimlessly – Night was off to his next appointment.
A remarkably competent woman, only given a chance through Dawn’s foolishly executed but brilliant idea. A shame her name was now on the wall; he would have liked to pick her brain for more ideas. A reminder that no matter how careful he was, others did not guard their lives in the same way. To carefully seize opportunities when they arose, else their lives flee like the moons turning in the sky. A small mistake, one he would no doubt repeat in the future. The scale he operated on practically demanded it.
“Guardswoman Athena.” He greeted the woman, mentally reminding himself that she was not in the know.
“Sentinel Night. It’s an honor to meet you.” She saluted, staying ramrod straight.
“The Rangers have constructed a training outpost. However, we are not getting enough use out of it, and it has been decided that we will turn it over to the local guard.” Night gave the quick background. Athena slowly nodded, having heard all this.
“I’m in command, last I heard. Or has that changed?”
Night shook his head.
“Command is yours, but the outpost contains a secret that you must be informed of.”
Athena groaned.
“I knew it was too good to be true. Alright. Hit me. Secret weapons facility? Magic testing range? Some bottled plague? A secret Formorian queen’s egg? What manner of horrors am I going to be dealing with?”
Night gave her his discomfiting smile three, designed to look like he was reassuring her while having an undercurrent of discomfort. A careful ploy, to better have Athena listen to him in the future. To increase his control.
“Nothing quite so serious. The outpost is built on top of a fairy ring. You will notice a portion of the outpost has forest floor still. Do not touch or block it, do not use it for storage or formations. Simply wait to see if people come through; a Sentinel was lost.”
Athena looked like she wanted to spit, but didn’t dare in front of the Sentinel.
“The fae. That’s going to be a fun one. Going to have those devious buggers running all over the place, driving everyone nuts.”
“I recommend cold iron.” Night suggested, knowing full well the guards already had it, and that his suggestion would be taken as law.
Athena’s eyes widened.
“Oh! Is that where Dawn vanished? She was my favorite. Whole reason I became a guard. Thought I could become a Ranger, then a Sentinel.” She shook her head, remembering her old dream.
Night smiled, a real one.
He did so love working with competent individuals. Guardswoman Athena would do just fine.
A hundred years after Elaine vanished, Night was releasing a raccoon. The animal looked at the shadow that Night was hiding under, and Night bared his fangs at the animal, designed to frighten and terrify. The raccoon recognized when an apex predator had him in his sights.
The critter fled, and Night followed right behind it, driving it forward, hiding in its shadow.
The dragoneye moons weren’t out and clouds hid the stars, making it the night to strike. The crackling of lightning over his head, whistling of high speed rocks and metal, jagged spears of brilliance, balls of inferno, and thousands of other skills raining through the sky, a perpetual siege that made true darkness an impossible dream.
The shimagu had a few types of wards. Those that detected movement, light, sound, or motion? They were trivial for Night to bypass.
Those that spoke to themselves, and yelled if they could not hear themselves? Those were problematic. A fine Light or Radiance beam, that if interrupted would raise the alarm. Cursedly, branches and leaves did not trigger the wards.
Small animals did. Night had been softening this portion of the camp up for days. The conditions tonight were not perfect, but they never were. They fell within an acceptable boundary.
If Night always waited for perfect conditions, nothing would ever get done.
The raccoon breached three wards that Night could easily avoid, causing a ruckus. It then crossed the problem ward in question, Night quickly stepping through in the brief window it took the raccoon to pass the ward. He then hid in the shadow of a barrel against a tent, all too aware of the nearby sentries, descending on the area to handle the intruder.
He watched as they found and killed the raccoon. They spent a few moments discussing in their tongue - Night wanted to learn the language of the shimagu, but more pressing matters kept seizing his attention.
Still, they were people, and like all people, quickly determined that the intruder had been a wild beast, and their job for the moment was done. After all. Night had spent the last few nights carefully training the sentries that wild animals liked this section.
Night slipped deeper and deeper into the camp. Poison was particularly effective against the shimagu, their lack of healers giving them no easy answer. Fascinatingly, crippling the shimagu hosts was dramatically more effective than outright murdering them. Weakened hosts needed resources. Shimagu in sick hosts weren’t reassigned, and they were sent to the army, where they’d create weak spots. The coalition army didn’t know where they’d be, but the [Generals], [Tacticians], and [Strategists] were all good enough to exploit weaknesses when squads were rapidly overrun during the fighting.
Happily for Night, groups of soldiers holding their stomach and moaning around a tainted cook pot made for islands of relative safety deep in the shimagu camp, areas that the patrols quickly stepped past and where the inhabitants were in no position to notice the shadows moving around them.
Night had taken Dark for his third class’s element.
The patrols got thicker, the torches brighter, and actual standing guards were present around the tent Night was targeting.
It was almost child’s play to bypass them all. At best, they had a few decades of experience.
Night had been doing this since literally the dawn of time.
He slid not into a general’s or leader’s tent, but into a target of opportunity’s. One of the high level cooperative shimagu, one they called “twins”. Body and mind working together, six classes in a single body. The shimagu powerhouses, who could take on hundreds of soldiers single-handedly, and expect to win.
Like Night could.
The coalition army had their own classers who could keep the twins in check, and it had devolved into a stalemate at the highest levels. The shimagu had a half-dozen twins, and the coalition had fifteen powerful Classers at their tier.
Night wanted to lambast them all for being cowards. Over level 1000, but the elves wouldn’t take the risks needed to eliminate the shimagu twins. By the same token, the twins weren’t able to go on the offensive. It would leave them ‘too vulnerable’.
Night aimed to break that stalemate and rub the elves’ snobbish noses in his success. Going from six to five should be enough to allow some of the Classers to safely go on the offensive against the bulk of the armies present, and that would cause attrition on the lower levels large enough to end the battle favorably.
He slipped into a tent on the fringe, practically blurring into motion as he was spotted.
The twin hadn’t gone to bed alone. The companions were silenced, the notification of the low level camp followers silently echoing in Night’s mind.
He’d killed them all, shimagu and host, in complete silence and stillness.
It took him no time at all deciding how to kill the twin. He’d had plenty of experience with it. Nearly every creature, great and small, needed to sleep, and of those, virtually every single one was vulnerable to a knife in the dark. It was a great equalizer, one that Night made frequent use of.
He was glad that he had continued the habit in Remus for centuries, even when his level allowed him to simply overpower anyone he needed to. It had kept his skills sharp and honed, expecting that one day he would be out-leveled and out-classed once again.
The day had come, and found Night waiting in the shadows, fangs bared.
Setting it up took but a moment. Blades of blood surrounded his head from every direction, as Night prepared his Roc-claw knives above the twin’s neck.
Necks were both an excellent and a terrible place to strike when aiming to end one’s life. If Night overpowered his victim, if the target was not a [Mage], they were good for a silent, clean kill.
Otherwise, they were a poor choice. A powerful Classer with their throat slit had enough time and a bounty of motivation to perform one final strike, using all their mana and skills, to attempt to kill Night. It was simply not worth it.
However, with the shimagu, it looped back around. Men and women who were competent in their domain claimed that most shimagu resided in the area of the neck where the spine was located. Night’s experience assassinating them agreed.
Night’s primary attack was aimed at ending the host’s life, but this shimagu was a powerful mage in its own right, one that wouldn’t hesitate to blindly lash out in all directions to slay its friend’s killer.
Given the level of the twins, Night was aiming to minimize risks, while accomplishing something, unlike the blasted elves.
Night coated the edge of his blades in Dark, then moved. With a flurry of blending slices, he obliterated the twin’s neck as his hovering spikes of blood simultaneously rammed themselves into the twin’s head from every angle, all while Night also activated a number of his other skills. Blood flew under the savage assault, and Night was quickly rewarded with a pair of notifications.
[Slain: Ogre - 968]
[Slain: Shimagu - 968]
[Level: The Shadow in the Darkness - 88 -> 90]
[Level: The Bloodline Progenitor - 548 -> 549]
[Level: The First - 550 -> 551]
Levels were difficult for vampires to obtain. A release from the tyranny of the Low Experience Zone had helped Night level once again, and worthy, difficult foes of a higher level than he was also contributed.
Some decades, he didn’t level at all.
Short, sweet, to the point, Night fled before he could be discovered.
He was much less circumspect on the way out, taking out targets of opportunity when he saw them. It would cause chaos and panic, and prevent the shimagu from getting a restful sleep.
After the target he’d eliminated, the battle should be joined in earnest. The elves should be able to move in, and the great shimagu army smashed once and for all.
Which meant Night had more work to do.
Crossing over the battlefield was a challenge in and of itself, numerous crippled soldiers from both sides having simply been left where they fell. Some were crawling out. Others had given up, letting the carrion birds feast upon them. Scavengers, foul opportunists were grabbing what they could off the bodies, not particularly caring if a wounded soldier protested that their boots were being looted off of them.
Night reminded himself to look for the small good, and not simply focus on the larger, greater good he was working towards. He applied a few careful knives where he believed some minor good would be accomplished.
Then he was back on the grand coalition’s side of things, but he did not return to his section. No, a second killing was needed. A particularly charismatic dwarf had been gathering cities to his banner, and there was talk of making him the King Under the Mountains.
A powerful, unified nation at Remus’s borders, with an entire army that needed something to do after the defeat of a common enemy? Night had seen that story played out before.
No, best that they remained numerous city-states, squabbling and arguing.
He found Sentinel Silence in the prearranged location. Night clasped his shoulder, the Sentinel tilting his head inquisitively.
“I believe it’s best that I handle this one personally.”
The man flashed a series of hand-signs, asking a question.
“The offer is appreciated, but no. There is no need for you to take the fall for me if all should go wrong. I believe I will be able to escape, and it is best if you disclaim all knowledge of me. Two of us? Ah, they will know. Perhaps if I fail, you can make a second strike behind me. I trust your judgment. ”
Sentinel Silence nodded, and Night was off.
It took the better part of the evening to kill the almost-King Under the Mountains, made extra difficult because Night had to do it in a particular way. First, he had to kill them in a manner that was difficult to detect. A pair of long, thin knives driven through the ear canal was Night’s current preferred method. Then, he drained his victim of all their blood, making it look like a Water, Decay, Erosion, or some other similar Classer had gotten their hands on him.
Nothing like Night’s current style, nor was it one he had used in quite some time. Nearly impossible to trace back to him.
Popular theory had it as a lethal, hidden shimagu twin. One that struck oddly, without rhyme or reason. Perhaps a peerless illusionist, maybe an infected member of the coalition, who could defeat the anti-infiltration measures put in place.
Night didn’t bother correcting their misconception. Indeed, he was smart enough to know he wasn’t the smartest person around and took no interest in the subject. Discussed it only with great reluctance. Avoided meetings on the subject.
After all, what was there to say?
He was the assassin.
One thousand years after Sentinel Dawn’s disappearance. The Remus Empire was stagnating. Decaying. Rapid expansion and external enemies had kept the Empire together, but without land to expand into, and no safe enemies to make - there was no fighting the elves, or the demon empire, nor anyone else - the plotting, armies, and machinations of the Empire was starting to turn on itself.
The lines were drawn. Public sentiment was at an all-time low.
Night was one of three progenitors, three vampires that had survived from creation until now. As the Remus Empire expanded, slowly annexing and taking over vast portions of the continent, a mixing pot of sorts emerged.
After all. The dwarves had been loyal citizens for 800 years - 40 of their generations. The centaurs had been the mounted forces of Remus for nearly as long. The dullahans, dragonlings, naga, and a dozen other races had properly integrated into the empire, along with the newest children of the world: the beastkin, coming in as many different flavors as there were creatures of the world. All were welcome under Remus’s proud eagle banner, as her legions marched across the continent on the best roads in the world.
Humans had not given up their majority gently, but Night had… hastened the process. There was no room for the belief that one race was superior to another, not if Remus was to flourish. Not if humans were to prosper. That sort of thinking was poison, and the swifter it was excised, the better.
Sadly, humans had not been the only ones with that flavor of thinking. Similar measures had needed to be taken against a myriad of races that had been conquered by Remus, then made into honored citizens through the relentless march of time.
Night couldn’t claim perfect success, but broadly speaking, he thought he had succeeded.
One of Night’s fellow progenitors, Crimson, believed that it was time for vampires to reveal themselves. After all, Remus was well represented with a number of races! The announcement would be lost in the furor that the Divine Decrees had caused. They had worked diligently to ensure everyone had been integrated and accepted. What was one more set of creatures under Remus’s banner, one who had been there since the start?
Night had objected, but the three of them were… equals wasn’t quite the right word. There had been thousands of years since they were created, since they had met each other and walked the planet. They had taken paths so different, pursued so many different avenues that equal wasn’t nearly good enough a word.
There was mutual respect between them. They belonged to a small, intimate club of those without a mother or father, those who had seen the gods in all their petty mindedness create the world.
They had ancient agreements with each other. Namely, to stay out of each other’s way, and when that inevitably failed, as it always did, strict rules of engagement. Methods of fighting and warfare to resolve disputes, without annihilating each other in fruitless wars over minor matters.
Of the three great clans, the third clan, the one not privy to the dispute, would referee the issue. The closest thing to an impartial observer, one who knew that if they were unfair today, it would come back to haunt them when the tables were turned.
One day the rules would fail, and the results would be catastrophic.
For now? They worked, and Night lost the dispute. He took it with good grace.
Night simply fumed quietly, insisting that his vampires remain quiet and hidden. Unobtrusive model citizens of society. Crimson would be a good test case of how things went when they revealed themselves.
Night didn’t offer to help though. To do so would be an insult.
Crimson bungled it.
The details didn’t matter, but the public was out for blood. The irony wasn’t lost on Night, who’d been rapidly identified as a vampire. After all, he was a public enough figure, and it didn’t take long for people to realize he’d been around for thousands of years.
Which brought Night to the meeting. Him sitting at the head of a long table. Him, and 150 of his closest vampires. A dozen promising individuals - not all of them formerly human - were selected every twenty years, and out of those one rose to the top. Repeat the process long enough, and even after accident, war, and assassination thinned the ranks, their numbers swelled.
Discussion flew fast and furious, each vampire supernaturally fast to begin with, before the System blessed them all. Night sat listening carefully, sipping a fine vintage of giant. One of the last of the titans, the size of a mountain, it was a rare treat. Most excellent for clarity of the mind, more potent than any potion.
There were benefits to being an empire.
The drink helped him focus on the going ons, hearing every argument made. Every discussion, every point. Every pro and con the best and most brilliant minds Night could find and bring under his banner over the millenia could think of.
He carefully examined their arguments. Their reason, logic, and rhetoric. Letting himself be swayed one way, then another, pulling on his own personal well of knowledge and experience to see how he thought various scenarios would play out.
Once the conversations started to loop on themselves, Night stood up.
“Enough discussion. I have a number of questions that I would like debated, discussed, and answered. First. There is the issue of…”
Night continued to guide the conversation. Often, in a given scenario, he believed a certain course of events would transpire, while other, intelligent vampires that he trusted, believed a second thing would occur.
Their knowledge and experience was compared, dissected, and analyzed, allowing them to arrive at a proper conclusion.
At last, the council arrived at a decision, their patterns and lines of thinking all arriving at the same place. Night, as the head of the clan, the leader, the one who found and brought them all into the fold, was naturally tasked with the decree.
“We move.” He said. “To the border of the Empire. We shall continue to enjoy the benefits of the Empire. We will take responsibility for the branch of the Sentinels that are deployed from that region. The elves are nearby, and if anti-Immortal sentiment rises too much further, we should be able to seek shelter with them. It will be easier to learn from them, and develop ties. The narrow land bridge gives us a defensible choke point if the worst should happen. Prepare yourselves. I wish to leave in two years’ time.”
There was no more arguing. No more debate. There were a few unhappy holdouts, but the majority were onboard.
Night had issued his decree.
After the meeting ended, Night stepped out, under the moons.
The dragoneye moons, and he briefly remembered the sparkling young woman who’d brought him that interesting piece of information.
He then dismissed her from his mind.
She was gone.
Ten thousand years after the Healer’s disappearance.
The Remus Empire had crumbled thousands of years ago, collapsing under its own weight. A dozen squabbling kingdoms had emerged, each claiming the mantle of succession. Those kingdoms had fought, rose, collapsed, merged, and generally speaking, there were no clear lines of succession. No obvious nation that one could point to and say “They are the shade of Remus.” Too many [Kings] had risen, too many [Empresses] had made their mark.
The Immortal Wars raged, sometimes once in a thousand years, sometimes thrice in a hundred. Each one would unleash huge swaths of devastation across the globe, setting civilization back. Cities would burn and seas would boil, plagues were unleashed and the very earth itself was poisoned for decades. Fungal infestations spread unchecked, once even hijacking the bodies of the dead to further spread itself.
The scars of the Immortal Wars occasionally remained permanent, like the Vorlers, vicious bioweapons designed to consume, adapt, grow, and spread, all while having amazing vitality and ability to procreate. The Divine Decrees hadn’t stopped them being created, and every being attempted to stamp them out and crush their eggs wherever they were found.
Night never followed the same plan, tactics, or strategy twice, adapting and evolving to survive. Some wars he sat out the best he could, hunkering down in a fortress so well protected that it wasn’t worth the effort to crack. Other times he went on the offensive. Occasionally, he led his clan on an exodus to the Below Levels, a place less touched by the calamities on the surface.
At times, calamities came from the Below Levels.
Now and then, after an Immortal War had passed, an ambitious group of survivors, leveled high by merely participating in the fringe of the war, would raise their banners. They’d storm across the continent, bringing all under their grasp, and raising the next great empire.
That, too, would either collapse under its own weight, or become collateral damage the next time the Immortals went to war.
The elves had built an empire themselves at one point, and that particular country shattering had nearly been the end of Night himself.
It had killed the other two progenitors, leaving Night as the undisputed eldest.
Leading to the current situation.
“Midnight! My favorite bloodsucker! Come here, come here!” King Straton beckoned Night over.
With a repressed grimace of distaste, Night approached the fat king. He’d never held a blade in his hand, never governed a city, simply acquired the title through virtue of his great-great-great-grandmother being canny, strong, clever enough to hold a fort in this place when the last great collapse had occurred, then ridden out and conquered a dozen neighbors.
Warlords.
“King Straton. What do you need?”
“Need? Everything! The whole world! I’ll rule like the [Emperors] of old, just you wait and see!” He waved a drumstick around like it was a wand. Night leaned back in disgust, not wanting any of the fat to land on him.
“Do you have a more pressing issue?”
“Oh yes, that. First step, we’re going to invade the Tympestshard Council. The elves are a bunch of pansies, they’ll just roll over, and we’ll grab their magic. Press-gang their Classers into making wonders for us. From there, we’re going after those hot foxes next. Have you ever seen one? Like…” King Straton shaped an hourglass figure in front of him, his eyes glazing over as his wildest imagination took over.
“This is a decision most unwise.” Night calmly stated, although he was seething inside.
“Bah! You’re almost as bad as the rest of them. Half-fossilized, you’ve lived too long.” King Straton dismissively waved at Night.
Enough was enough. There was no competency here. Night had no control. There was no slow, careful planning.
Night had seen tens of thousands of rulers in his years. Had seen methods of governance of a dozen types. Knew what worked, and what didn’t work.
He knew that only death, doom, and disaster would follow in King Straton’s wake, and he’d drag Night’s vampires down with him. His heir wasn’t much better.
Being a warlord wasn’t a good qualification to lead a nation.
However, as qualifications went, it was slightly better than inheritance.
Night thought about it. Gave the actions he was about to commit the consideration they were due, ignoring Straton’s ramblings in the background.
Night prized competency. Had slowly found, turned, trained, and raised competent men and women throughout the ages to fill critical roles in the bureaucracy. Vampires ran the tax department, the agriculture department, trained the men at arms and reviewed fortifications. All answering to Night himself, usually via one of his proxies.
He had done it to ensure that things were run competently, that corruption would not seep in and sap efficiency or cause the thousands of issues that occurred when a firm hand was not taken.
In some senses, he already did run the nation.
“In the end, I see I must do it myself.” Night muttered, and with a quick flick of his wrist, a quick blade of blood relieved King Straton of his head.
It was going to be an ugly mess. Night’s first thought was on how to properly identify, select, and train a proper ruler to run things. It was an evolution, a new thought. One he would struggle with.
He needed a ruler to properly and competently run the country, while also being someone who answered to Night, without Night ending up running things in the end.
Tricky, tricky. It would mean giving up a large measure of control, and the last time he had done it, the Immortal Company had been formed, a thousand vampires running around performing mercenary work, besmirching their good name.
Yet, just because it had failed in the past, didn’t mean it would fail this time. Sometimes, the only thing for a problem was to keep trying, until one day it succeeded.
Until then, Night would have to rule. He had done it exactly once before, during the Great Flood - renamed to the First Great Flood after the second one - when the vampires had all needed to hole up in their emergency bunkers for a decade when the land was flooded.
Ugly business, that.
Night gave a sharp whistle, and dozens of vampires throughout the palace responded to his call. He waited a moment, manipulating the body off the throne with magic.
It was tacky, and it would have to go, but for now, it would do.
When enough vampires were present, Night addressed them. He kept it short and sweet. No more words were needed.
“Here begins the reign of Emperor Night, First and only of his Name, sovereign of the Exterreri Empire.” He declared, sitting on the throne and fashioning himself a laurel wreath of blood.
Control. Competency. Care. The three C’s at the heart of Night.
One year since Sentinel Dawn went on her mission to retrieve Commander Julius.
It was the Summer Solstice once again, and one of the oldest beings in creation observed the Sentinels and Commanders marching in perfect formation down the aisle, preparing to kick off this year’s Ranger Convocation.
He was in a hidden alcove, shaded from the sun. Anyone attempting to kill him at this time, in this place, thinking he was vulnerable due to the proximity of the deadly light would find themselves running into multiple nasty surprises. Like the fact that Night’s alcove was reinforced, and the entirety of the Rangers and a majority of the Sentinels were present.
The shimagu had been a reminder that the world was not static. That it was ever-shifting, ever evolving. He had gotten his third class, and so had others. Gone were the days when reaching level 200 was an accomplishment, a once in a lifetime achievement. His security was also being updated, the ancient vampire knowing the truth of the world.
Adapt or die.
He idly played with a gem in his pocket, the new acquisition not yet having a proper spot on his close-woven garment of protective gems filled with skills.
He did not put it past Emperor Augustus to make an attempt on his life. The man was far too loving of his power, and like all despots, feared those who could threaten him. Night had ensured that his base of power did not move against the general-turned-emperor when he made his bid for the throne, but that alone was not enough to appease the man.
There would be a day of reckoning.
Night did not want there to be a day of reckoning. Humans fighting each other, humans hunting vampires, vampires slaying humans - it would be a disaster. It undid everything Night stood for, believed in, worked towards. Night was a staunch guardian of Remus, yes, but he considered his role to be one further than that. A guardian of humanity. A civil war between all the humans he knew to exist, with new threats on the border?
Unacceptable. Gracefully withdrawing to the shadows for a decade or two - a century or two, after Sentinel Dawn’s unfortunate meddling - might be the proper decision, as much as it galled him. However, he hadn’t lasted so long by allowing his pride to dictate his actions. He would see.
Night did not intend to lose to some upstart who had lived for less than a blink of his eye. He tried his best not to be taken unaware, and nearly every single person with enough potential power to be a threat had been gathered under the banner of his Sentinels.
They would not turn on him. They believed far too strongly in the institution, and Night had ensured that he and the banner of the Sentinels were one and the same in their mind. A slow, careful guidance of the centuries, bearing fruit on this day. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time the countless hours spent working as a Sentinel would pay off.
That was the more cynical view. On a deeper level, Night was a true believer in the Sentinels. Guardians of humanity, simply one way that his endless debt of gratitude could be repaid. It was impossible to fully pay it off, but Night would try, even if it took him an Immortal’s lifetime.
“They will announce an initiative they believe to be new today.” Night conversationally told Jaclyn. As foolish as the girl could be at times, she was demonstrably more competent than the majority of his other spawn, and as such, was being groomed to take on more responsibilities.
Misha was also present, although Night was not entirely thrilled with the man. He had shown some early promise, and while his initiatives were solid, if slightly uninspired, the man lacked grace, decorum, manners, and foresight. The best he could reach for was to be a useful pawn, although Night had use for any number of those.
Naturally, as time passed, the total number of things that Night needed to manage would increase, and a new set of vampires would have to be raised, trained, carefully groomed and managed for the new role he envisioned for them. Some could rise, like Jaclyn. Others would not succeed as greatly as he had hoped, and would become yet another pawn. One day, even the creation and training of such pawns would be out of Night’s hands, although he would be careful to ensure that the vampires never grew too large. Never became a threat large enough for others to band against them. Such was the price of eternity.
“Which is what?” She asked.
“Healers, attached to Ranger teams. This will be the fourth time it has been tried.”
Such was the reason Misha had been invited to watch. The man had taken a clumsy interest in the healing arts, to see if there was potential to replace their reliance on blood. An interesting enough task to set him on, and one unlikely to cause problems with catastrophic failure.
Night was unable to manage every aspect of life. Unable to dig into every arena. Vampires like Misha were excellent for that sort of thing, to see if there was something to be discovered, to see how they could adapt to new changes.
The benefits far outweighed the risks.
Jacyln tilted her head a fraction. Small enough that most mortals would miss it, a screaming question to Night’s senses. She knew her role in today’s proceedings. Watch. Ask questions. Learn. She was a student, and she would play her part competently.
“Why do you not simply stop them? It would prevent waste. Lost resources. The war to the north isn’t going well, correct? The healers could be put to better use?”
Night gave Jaclyn an indulgent smile. Misha glowered in the background, but didn’t say anything. He knew Night wouldn’t be nearly so indulgent with him, his too many failures like a permanent albatross around his neck.
Succeeding with the healing question would catapult him to fame - at least internally - and his star would be on the rise once more. It would take decades of study to learn everything, but he had time. Oh, he had all the time in the world.
“Once upon a time, I, too, thought the same way. That I knew all the answers. That I could, and should, prevent problems and issues. Direct us away from poor ways of thinking. Then, shields happened.”
Jaclyn was young, as vampires went. She’d been born mortal a century ago. She was aware that Night was ancient, almost literally as old as time itself, and had seen the dawn of civilization.
Night predating the creation of shields hammered home exactly how old Night was, to refer to them as some great, new invention. Shields had been figured out before agriculture, before the first seeds and ideas of civilization beyond tribes had been planted.
She remained silent, allowing Night to speak as the Ranger Commanders began their speeches.
“The first attempt at shields went poorly. Large amounts of premium wood and quality leather were invested in the earliest attempts. It did not help. It simply slowed the warriors down, and the dinosaurs we were battling simply went through the implement. It was a colossal waste of both time, high level people, and precious material. We had none to spare.”
Night gave one of his customary pauses, giving enough time for his protege to learn, understand, absorb, and properly place the information in her mind. Such pauses were critical for good learning.
There was little purpose to spewing thousands of words at once, if they simply splashed over a listener like water against a rock. Better for a few words to hit the mark, and to miss some measure of nuance, than for no information to be communicated at all.
Jaclyn gave a tiny nod of understanding.
“At first I tried to help it along. Point out the failures of previous models. Help iterate and improve, a living, walking archive. It did not help, shields seemed doomed to failure. The second, third, and fourth time went much like the previous attempts. At this point, was it not foolish of me to permit the practice and attempts to continue? After all, each try weakened us. Made us more vulnerable. I saw it as my duty to intervene. Every two decades or so, when all those who had remembered the last attempt had died, and a new generation was finding their feet, the shield idea returned. I changed track. I made it my mission to stamp out such foolishness. In spite of that, people did not always listen. A fifth time. A sixth time. A seventh time. Shields were tried, and failed.”
Jaclyn gave a quick noise of understanding. Night allowed the smallest smile to appear. It was good that she communicated when she understood, not allowing the silence to stretch for the sake of appearance, nor cutting it off too short to simply keep the conversation flowing. Competence, that’s what it was.
“The eighth time, it worked, and warfare was never the same.” Night concluded, letting Jaclyn read as much or as little into that simple sentence as she would.
Oh, he could lecture for a year and a day on the impact of shields in fights, duels, wars and more. He could describe the earliest skills, the evolution, improvement, and refinement of the tool. An oral history, a first person account.
What would the purpose be? What point would it serve?
“What changed?” Jaclyn asked.
“Skills. Techniques. Teamwork. Knowledge. Sheer, blind luck. A critical mass of factors were reached, and the practice came into favor. I could believe a similar confluence of events could make them obsolete once again. It is difficult to say.”
Jaclyn’s eyebrows rose, the sheer concept of warfare fought without shields entirely alien to her.
“The healers?” Jaclyn asked, not quite seeing how it connected. The corner of Night’s lip twitched in displeasure. Jaclyn was acceptably competent, but not as brilliant as others. Elaine, Sentinel Dawn, to cite a recent example, had consistently picked things up quickly, as long as they did not pertain to social engagements.
Jaclyn, to her credit, did learn the lessons he wanted to teach and rarely made the same mistake twice. That was the important part. Brilliance wasn’t as important. Given the timescale Night worked on, a slow but thoroughly competent individual was preferable to a brilliant but inconsistent body. He needed to be able to rely on those he trusted.
That, and competent people could be predicted. Predictable people could be controlled.
“Much like shields, we do not know if sending healers along will work this time, or not. Perhaps it will. Perhaps it will be a waste. Ranger Command has asked for my feedback this time, and I granted it. Pointed out the mistakes and issues of prior iterations. We are blessed to no longer live on the knife’s edge of extinction. A few frivolous wastes here and there are acceptable, for the ones that succeed change the world beyond our reckoning. Healers have a chance at succeeding this time around. Sentinel Dawn has brought a number of changes with her manuscripts. I believe this push is also doomed to fail, though. It is too early for her knowledge to have properly trickled down through society and make significant enough changes that healers will work this time around. However, that is secondary.”
“Secondary?”
“Secondary to the constant reminder that we are not infallible. No matter how much I have seen, I can and have continued to be wrong on matters. It is something you would do well to remember as well. No matter how much you believe you are right, no matter how deep in your bones you know the actions being taken will result in disaster, remember shields. Remember that a madman’s ideas can change the world, and it is better to be on the neutral side, than the incorrect side. Watch ideas come and go. Take note of their failure. Observe what went right, and what went wrong. If you believe an idea is worthy? Remember. We are Immortal. We will outlast every single mortal being in this plaza. We have a duty to use our Immortality to benefit humanity, for they benefit us in return.”
Night had a few more quiet thoughts on why they should help humanity along, but they were not along an axis of thought that Jaclyn or Misha would understand. Those were lessons and ways of thinking for another day, and attempting too many lessons, too much information at once would be like trying to pour into a full cup.
“I will study this attempt.” Misha correctly interpreted this moment as the reason he was brought along. “I will understand how it fails. Why it fails. And I will make sure that next time, it works.”
Night gave him a small nod, while Jaclyn continued thinking.
“Is that why you let Augustus become Emperor?” Jaclyn asked.
Night snorted.
“I always knew the man was ambitious. No man without the drive to conquer all he sees could possibly rise to the highest echelons of [General]. At a given point, endless contingencies become futile, a waste of time, money, and effort. The Formorian assault took me by surprise.” Night admitted. “Toxic was far more effective than my wildest dreams, and if I spent all my time plotting to remove anyone who could potentially seize upon a specific catastrophic event to gain massive power, we either would get nothing done, or we might as well openly seize the throne ourselves, and declare one of you dictator for life.”
Jaclyn gave a cruel smile at the joke inside Night’s words.
“Society used to run off of warlords.” Night switched track briefly. “I have learned over the years that one who gains power via force of arms is rarely suited toward leadership. The traits and qualities that lend oneself to strength in battle do not translate to leadership in the slightest. However, it would be a lie to say that those with strength of arms do not dictate who the leader is. Augustus took control via the army, but that has always been the cold truth underlying civilization. A close look would reveal that he gained control of the army with tactics and strategies that resemble excellent leadership that does directly translate into good governance. The man alone has more advisors assisting him than the entire old Senate combined.”
Night paused a moment, gathering his own thoughts.
“I did not believe at the end of the Formorian war that I would be able to properly remove Augustus and his influence in such a way that the army would not dissolve into massive infighting. Yes, I could have killed him, and his fellow conspirators. What then? The army was in clear factions, and the leaders that bound them all together were removed. They’d draw back in fear, regain their own groups. They would see that the potential for a supreme leader was there, and the army has always been rife with petty ambition. The result would have been the bloodiest civil war I could imagine, all while the last traces of the Formorians were still rampaging through our lands. This could have entirely collapsed Remus, then Hunting returned with word of civilizations on the other side of the Formorians. No, permitting Augustus to do what he will was the safest course for all of us. Indeed, time passes; civilizations evolve. Augustus may simply be the first in a long line of new political succession, where instead of selecting those members of society best able to accrue the acclaim and votes of their fellow citizens, it is the one able to rise up through the ranks of the army, and bend their will to his means. Arguably, it is a better test of qualities. Who knows? One day in the future, we may find a better method of selecting our leaders.”
“It feels more like the leaders select themselves.” Jaclyn softly commended.
Night gave a small nod.
“An issue. But thrusting one who does not wish to lead into a position of power does not automatically make them good or qualified. I tried that once. It was a disaster.”
Jaclyn digested the thoughts as a new Ranger Commander was announced. Night gave a slow, but unhappy, smile.
The loss of Commander Julius still stung, and he was pleased that Sentinel Bulwark had made the excellent case not to send more Sentinels after Dawn. He would’ve been inclined to, another excellent example of listening to what other competent individuals had to say. That loss stung a second time, a Sentinel right after a more replaceable Commander, and what an interesting Sentinel Dawn was.
He’d managed to push through a replacement Commander, and the balance of Ranger Command was now back in his hands. Night was a mass of contradictions, both wanting to allow those under him to make their own decisions and mistakes, for when they paid off they paid off well, and needing control over his underlings and organizations.
He needed control, so he could let them be free. It was part of why Augustus was such an itch in his mind, a thorn in his side.
If Night needed to, he had enough Senators, power, money, and sway, to force through any changes through the Senate that he believed were absolutely critical to humanity’s survival. He’d only exercised the power three times since managing to secure it some 2,000 years ago, when the first primitive assembly of tribes had each selected a representative to discuss a grand alliance.
He chuckled acerbically. His complaint was rooted in the fact that someone had the same sort of power he worked hard to get and maintain. The great pendulum swung, and it had swung away from him. He’d seen too many chase after it, only to be destroyed by doing so. No, he would wait. The pendulum would return to him one day.
It would swing away from him again in the future. Such was life. It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.
“The tides come, and the tides go. Come. Let us discuss those new proposed plans for cross-sea travel.”
“Are they much different from the last time they got proposed?” Jaclyn asked.
Night barked a bitter laugh.
“No, and I do not believe they will succeed this time. The design is nearly identical to the last one, and the plant in the deep has only gotten larger. One day it may be of significant concern to us. For now, it is a learning opportunity.”
Night turned and walked away as the festivities started, Jaclyn in his wake.
Misha remained, taking notes. Making a list of the announced healers that would be joining the Ranger’s patrols.
10 years to the day of Sentinel Dawn’s disappearance, Night stood in front of the Indomitable Wall, personally carving her name onto the list of the fallen. A single finger of his molded the stone like putty.
Her family was there, quietly crying.
Night approved. There weren’t many families who’d still grieve, love, and hold on hope for a member gone for an entire decade. A brief thought flitted through his head, an ancient reminder.
There was a time when Night used the strength of a family’s bonds with each other to determine who was worthy to turn, and who was not. An idea that a strong sense of family would translate to strong bonds between vampires. That love would conquer all.
It had been one of his better criteria, but it had inevitably fallen apart. The mortal bonds formed stayed, but were not so easily recreated or formed into the new family of vampires. Additionally, those who felt strongly tended to go their own ways, and when conflict inevitably erupted between the vampires, that round had been extra potent.
Night was still rebuilding from that implosion. No, Sentinel Dawn’s family had missed their opportunity twice. Once when they were born in the wrong era, and a second time when Dawn had left before accepting his proposed gift, before turning her family personally.
They were mortal, and they would stay mortal unless one of them managed to grasp time away from the Black Crow//White Dove.
He finished writing her name down, mentally marking her as the first female Sentinel, the first healing Sentinel. A trailblazer, burning as quickly and as brightly.
He made a small, subtle mark on the wall near her name. A mark six others had, although all of the rest were Rangers. Dawn was the only Sentinel with the mark.
It was a reminder to himself that they had vanished under such unusual circumstances that in spite of his policy of treating people missing for 10 years as dead, she might show up again one day.
One of the others with the mark, after all, had returned after nearly a century. Quite mad, yes, but returned in body, if not in mind. It was worthy of a note. [Archive of the Eons] had a memo placed in it, the skill nearly perfect for the type of organization and recollection Night needed for his millennia of memories. The only downside to the skill was it took time to retrieve memories, a deliberate feature that occasionally hindered him. If the memories were too easy to recall? He would get washed away in recollection, with few willing to disturb him. He’d once spent six years traveling down memory lane on a prior version of the skill, only disturbed when one of his progeny was brave enough to disturb him for a nearby fire.
He had modified the skill after that incident. Worked tirelessly to evolve it into a more suitable form.
After an appropriate amount of time with the family – not too short, else one might take offense, nor too long, for Night had better things to do than mingle aimlessly – Night was off to his next appointment.
A remarkably competent woman, only given a chance through Dawn’s foolishly executed but brilliant idea. A shame her name was now on the wall; he would have liked to pick her brain for more ideas. A reminder that no matter how careful he was, others did not guard their lives in the same way. To carefully seize opportunities when they arose, else their lives flee like the moons turning in the sky. A small mistake, one he would no doubt repeat in the future. The scale he operated on practically demanded it.
“Guardswoman Athena.” He greeted the woman, mentally reminding himself that she was not in the know.
“Sentinel Night. It’s an honor to meet you.” She saluted, staying ramrod straight.
“The Rangers have constructed a training outpost. However, we are not getting enough use out of it, and it has been decided that we will turn it over to the local guard.” Night gave the quick background. Athena slowly nodded, having heard all this.
“I’m in command, last I heard. Or has that changed?”
Night shook his head.
“Command is yours, but the outpost contains a secret that you must be informed of.”
Athena groaned.
“I knew it was too good to be true. Alright. Hit me. Secret weapons facility? Magic testing range? Some bottled plague? A secret Formorian queen’s egg? What manner of horrors am I going to be dealing with?”
Night gave her his discomfiting smile three, designed to look like he was reassuring her while having an undercurrent of discomfort. A careful ploy, to better have Athena listen to him in the future. To increase his control.
“Nothing quite so serious. The outpost is built on top of a fairy ring. You will notice a portion of the outpost has forest floor still. Do not touch or block it, do not use it for storage or formations. Simply wait to see if people come through; a Sentinel was lost.”
Athena looked like she wanted to spit, but didn’t dare in front of the Sentinel.
“The fae. That’s going to be a fun one. Going to have those devious buggers running all over the place, driving everyone nuts.”
“I recommend cold iron.” Night suggested, knowing full well the guards already had it, and that his suggestion would be taken as law.
Athena’s eyes widened.
“Oh! Is that where Dawn vanished? She was my favorite. Whole reason I became a guard. Thought I could become a Ranger, then a Sentinel.” She shook her head, remembering her old dream.
Night smiled, a real one.
He did so love working with competent individuals. Guardswoman Athena would do just fine.
A hundred years after Elaine vanished, Night was releasing a raccoon. The animal looked at the shadow that Night was hiding under, and Night bared his fangs at the animal, designed to frighten and terrify. The raccoon recognized when an apex predator had him in his sights.
The critter fled, and Night followed right behind it, driving it forward, hiding in its shadow.
The dragoneye moons weren’t out and clouds hid the stars, making it the night to strike. The crackling of lightning over his head, whistling of high speed rocks and metal, jagged spears of brilliance, balls of inferno, and thousands of other skills raining through the sky, a perpetual siege that made true darkness an impossible dream.
The shimagu had a few types of wards. Those that detected movement, light, sound, or motion? They were trivial for Night to bypass.
Those that spoke to themselves, and yelled if they could not hear themselves? Those were problematic. A fine Light or Radiance beam, that if interrupted would raise the alarm. Cursedly, branches and leaves did not trigger the wards.
Small animals did. Night had been softening this portion of the camp up for days. The conditions tonight were not perfect, but they never were. They fell within an acceptable boundary.
If Night always waited for perfect conditions, nothing would ever get done.
The raccoon breached three wards that Night could easily avoid, causing a ruckus. It then crossed the problem ward in question, Night quickly stepping through in the brief window it took the raccoon to pass the ward. He then hid in the shadow of a barrel against a tent, all too aware of the nearby sentries, descending on the area to handle the intruder.
He watched as they found and killed the raccoon. They spent a few moments discussing in their tongue - Night wanted to learn the language of the shimagu, but more pressing matters kept seizing his attention.
Still, they were people, and like all people, quickly determined that the intruder had been a wild beast, and their job for the moment was done. After all. Night had spent the last few nights carefully training the sentries that wild animals liked this section.
Night slipped deeper and deeper into the camp. Poison was particularly effective against the shimagu, their lack of healers giving them no easy answer. Fascinatingly, crippling the shimagu hosts was dramatically more effective than outright murdering them. Weakened hosts needed resources. Shimagu in sick hosts weren’t reassigned, and they were sent to the army, where they’d create weak spots. The coalition army didn’t know where they’d be, but the [Generals], [Tacticians], and [Strategists] were all good enough to exploit weaknesses when squads were rapidly overrun during the fighting.
Happily for Night, groups of soldiers holding their stomach and moaning around a tainted cook pot made for islands of relative safety deep in the shimagu camp, areas that the patrols quickly stepped past and where the inhabitants were in no position to notice the shadows moving around them.
Night had taken Dark for his third class’s element.
The patrols got thicker, the torches brighter, and actual standing guards were present around the tent Night was targeting.
It was almost child’s play to bypass them all. At best, they had a few decades of experience.
Night had been doing this since literally the dawn of time.
He slid not into a general’s or leader’s tent, but into a target of opportunity’s. One of the high level cooperative shimagu, one they called “twins”. Body and mind working together, six classes in a single body. The shimagu powerhouses, who could take on hundreds of soldiers single-handedly, and expect to win.
Like Night could.
The coalition army had their own classers who could keep the twins in check, and it had devolved into a stalemate at the highest levels. The shimagu had a half-dozen twins, and the coalition had fifteen powerful Classers at their tier.
Night wanted to lambast them all for being cowards. Over level 1000, but the elves wouldn’t take the risks needed to eliminate the shimagu twins. By the same token, the twins weren’t able to go on the offensive. It would leave them ‘too vulnerable’.
Night aimed to break that stalemate and rub the elves’ snobbish noses in his success. Going from six to five should be enough to allow some of the Classers to safely go on the offensive against the bulk of the armies present, and that would cause attrition on the lower levels large enough to end the battle favorably.
He slipped into a tent on the fringe, practically blurring into motion as he was spotted.
The twin hadn’t gone to bed alone. The companions were silenced, the notification of the low level camp followers silently echoing in Night’s mind.
He’d killed them all, shimagu and host, in complete silence and stillness.
It took him no time at all deciding how to kill the twin. He’d had plenty of experience with it. Nearly every creature, great and small, needed to sleep, and of those, virtually every single one was vulnerable to a knife in the dark. It was a great equalizer, one that Night made frequent use of.
He was glad that he had continued the habit in Remus for centuries, even when his level allowed him to simply overpower anyone he needed to. It had kept his skills sharp and honed, expecting that one day he would be out-leveled and out-classed once again.
The day had come, and found Night waiting in the shadows, fangs bared.
Setting it up took but a moment. Blades of blood surrounded his head from every direction, as Night prepared his Roc-claw knives above the twin’s neck.
Necks were both an excellent and a terrible place to strike when aiming to end one’s life. If Night overpowered his victim, if the target was not a [Mage], they were good for a silent, clean kill.
Otherwise, they were a poor choice. A powerful Classer with their throat slit had enough time and a bounty of motivation to perform one final strike, using all their mana and skills, to attempt to kill Night. It was simply not worth it.
However, with the shimagu, it looped back around. Men and women who were competent in their domain claimed that most shimagu resided in the area of the neck where the spine was located. Night’s experience assassinating them agreed.
Night’s primary attack was aimed at ending the host’s life, but this shimagu was a powerful mage in its own right, one that wouldn’t hesitate to blindly lash out in all directions to slay its friend’s killer.
Given the level of the twins, Night was aiming to minimize risks, while accomplishing something, unlike the blasted elves.
Night coated the edge of his blades in Dark, then moved. With a flurry of blending slices, he obliterated the twin’s neck as his hovering spikes of blood simultaneously rammed themselves into the twin’s head from every angle, all while Night also activated a number of his other skills. Blood flew under the savage assault, and Night was quickly rewarded with a pair of notifications.
[Slain: Ogre - 968]
[Slain: Shimagu - 968]
[Level: The Shadow in the Darkness - 88 -> 90]
[Level: The Bloodline Progenitor - 548 -> 549]
[Level: The First - 550 -> 551]
Levels were difficult for vampires to obtain. A release from the tyranny of the Low Experience Zone had helped Night level once again, and worthy, difficult foes of a higher level than he was also contributed.
Some decades, he didn’t level at all.
Short, sweet, to the point, Night fled before he could be discovered.
He was much less circumspect on the way out, taking out targets of opportunity when he saw them. It would cause chaos and panic, and prevent the shimagu from getting a restful sleep.
After the target he’d eliminated, the battle should be joined in earnest. The elves should be able to move in, and the great shimagu army smashed once and for all.
Which meant Night had more work to do.
Crossing over the battlefield was a challenge in and of itself, numerous crippled soldiers from both sides having simply been left where they fell. Some were crawling out. Others had given up, letting the carrion birds feast upon them. Scavengers, foul opportunists were grabbing what they could off the bodies, not particularly caring if a wounded soldier protested that their boots were being looted off of them.
Night reminded himself to look for the small good, and not simply focus on the larger, greater good he was working towards. He applied a few careful knives where he believed some minor good would be accomplished.
Then he was back on the grand coalition’s side of things, but he did not return to his section. No, a second killing was needed. A particularly charismatic dwarf had been gathering cities to his banner, and there was talk of making him the King Under the Mountains.
A powerful, unified nation at Remus’s borders, with an entire army that needed something to do after the defeat of a common enemy? Night had seen that story played out before.
No, best that they remained numerous city-states, squabbling and arguing.
He found Sentinel Silence in the prearranged location. Night clasped his shoulder, the Sentinel tilting his head inquisitively.
“I believe it’s best that I handle this one personally.”
The man flashed a series of hand-signs, asking a question.
“The offer is appreciated, but no. There is no need for you to take the fall for me if all should go wrong. I believe I will be able to escape, and it is best if you disclaim all knowledge of me. Two of us? Ah, they will know. Perhaps if I fail, you can make a second strike behind me. I trust your judgment. ”
Sentinel Silence nodded, and Night was off.
It took the better part of the evening to kill the almost-King Under the Mountains, made extra difficult because Night had to do it in a particular way. First, he had to kill them in a manner that was difficult to detect. A pair of long, thin knives driven through the ear canal was Night’s current preferred method. Then, he drained his victim of all their blood, making it look like a Water, Decay, Erosion, or some other similar Classer had gotten their hands on him.
Nothing like Night’s current style, nor was it one he had used in quite some time. Nearly impossible to trace back to him.
Popular theory had it as a lethal, hidden shimagu twin. One that struck oddly, without rhyme or reason. Perhaps a peerless illusionist, maybe an infected member of the coalition, who could defeat the anti-infiltration measures put in place.
Night didn’t bother correcting their misconception. Indeed, he was smart enough to know he wasn’t the smartest person around and took no interest in the subject. Discussed it only with great reluctance. Avoided meetings on the subject.
After all, what was there to say?
He was the assassin.
One thousand years after Sentinel Dawn’s disappearance. The Remus Empire was stagnating. Decaying. Rapid expansion and external enemies had kept the Empire together, but without land to expand into, and no safe enemies to make - there was no fighting the elves, or the demon empire, nor anyone else - the plotting, armies, and machinations of the Empire was starting to turn on itself.
The lines were drawn. Public sentiment was at an all-time low.
Night was one of three progenitors, three vampires that had survived from creation until now. As the Remus Empire expanded, slowly annexing and taking over vast portions of the continent, a mixing pot of sorts emerged.
After all. The dwarves had been loyal citizens for 800 years - 40 of their generations. The centaurs had been the mounted forces of Remus for nearly as long. The dullahans, dragonlings, naga, and a dozen other races had properly integrated into the empire, along with the newest children of the world: the beastkin, coming in as many different flavors as there were creatures of the world. All were welcome under Remus’s proud eagle banner, as her legions marched across the continent on the best roads in the world.
Humans had not given up their majority gently, but Night had… hastened the process. There was no room for the belief that one race was superior to another, not if Remus was to flourish. Not if humans were to prosper. That sort of thinking was poison, and the swifter it was excised, the better.
Sadly, humans had not been the only ones with that flavor of thinking. Similar measures had needed to be taken against a myriad of races that had been conquered by Remus, then made into honored citizens through the relentless march of time.
Night couldn’t claim perfect success, but broadly speaking, he thought he had succeeded.
One of Night’s fellow progenitors, Crimson, believed that it was time for vampires to reveal themselves. After all, Remus was well represented with a number of races! The announcement would be lost in the furor that the Divine Decrees had caused. They had worked diligently to ensure everyone had been integrated and accepted. What was one more set of creatures under Remus’s banner, one who had been there since the start?
Night had objected, but the three of them were… equals wasn’t quite the right word. There had been thousands of years since they were created, since they had met each other and walked the planet. They had taken paths so different, pursued so many different avenues that equal wasn’t nearly good enough a word.
There was mutual respect between them. They belonged to a small, intimate club of those without a mother or father, those who had seen the gods in all their petty mindedness create the world.
They had ancient agreements with each other. Namely, to stay out of each other’s way, and when that inevitably failed, as it always did, strict rules of engagement. Methods of fighting and warfare to resolve disputes, without annihilating each other in fruitless wars over minor matters.
Of the three great clans, the third clan, the one not privy to the dispute, would referee the issue. The closest thing to an impartial observer, one who knew that if they were unfair today, it would come back to haunt them when the tables were turned.
One day the rules would fail, and the results would be catastrophic.
For now? They worked, and Night lost the dispute. He took it with good grace.
Night simply fumed quietly, insisting that his vampires remain quiet and hidden. Unobtrusive model citizens of society. Crimson would be a good test case of how things went when they revealed themselves.
Night didn’t offer to help though. To do so would be an insult.
Crimson bungled it.
The details didn’t matter, but the public was out for blood. The irony wasn’t lost on Night, who’d been rapidly identified as a vampire. After all, he was a public enough figure, and it didn’t take long for people to realize he’d been around for thousands of years.
Which brought Night to the meeting. Him sitting at the head of a long table. Him, and 150 of his closest vampires. A dozen promising individuals - not all of them formerly human - were selected every twenty years, and out of those one rose to the top. Repeat the process long enough, and even after accident, war, and assassination thinned the ranks, their numbers swelled.
Discussion flew fast and furious, each vampire supernaturally fast to begin with, before the System blessed them all. Night sat listening carefully, sipping a fine vintage of giant. One of the last of the titans, the size of a mountain, it was a rare treat. Most excellent for clarity of the mind, more potent than any potion.
There were benefits to being an empire.
The drink helped him focus on the going ons, hearing every argument made. Every discussion, every point. Every pro and con the best and most brilliant minds Night could find and bring under his banner over the millenia could think of.
He carefully examined their arguments. Their reason, logic, and rhetoric. Letting himself be swayed one way, then another, pulling on his own personal well of knowledge and experience to see how he thought various scenarios would play out.
Once the conversations started to loop on themselves, Night stood up.
“Enough discussion. I have a number of questions that I would like debated, discussed, and answered. First. There is the issue of…”
Night continued to guide the conversation. Often, in a given scenario, he believed a certain course of events would transpire, while other, intelligent vampires that he trusted, believed a second thing would occur.
Their knowledge and experience was compared, dissected, and analyzed, allowing them to arrive at a proper conclusion.
At last, the council arrived at a decision, their patterns and lines of thinking all arriving at the same place. Night, as the head of the clan, the leader, the one who found and brought them all into the fold, was naturally tasked with the decree.
“We move.” He said. “To the border of the Empire. We shall continue to enjoy the benefits of the Empire. We will take responsibility for the branch of the Sentinels that are deployed from that region. The elves are nearby, and if anti-Immortal sentiment rises too much further, we should be able to seek shelter with them. It will be easier to learn from them, and develop ties. The narrow land bridge gives us a defensible choke point if the worst should happen. Prepare yourselves. I wish to leave in two years’ time.”
There was no more arguing. No more debate. There were a few unhappy holdouts, but the majority were onboard.
Night had issued his decree.
After the meeting ended, Night stepped out, under the moons.
The dragoneye moons, and he briefly remembered the sparkling young woman who’d brought him that interesting piece of information.
He then dismissed her from his mind.
She was gone.
Ten thousand years after the Healer’s disappearance.
The Remus Empire had crumbled thousands of years ago, collapsing under its own weight. A dozen squabbling kingdoms had emerged, each claiming the mantle of succession. Those kingdoms had fought, rose, collapsed, merged, and generally speaking, there were no clear lines of succession. No obvious nation that one could point to and say “They are the shade of Remus.” Too many [Kings] had risen, too many [Empresses] had made their mark.
The Immortal Wars raged, sometimes once in a thousand years, sometimes thrice in a hundred. Each one would unleash huge swaths of devastation across the globe, setting civilization back. Cities would burn and seas would boil, plagues were unleashed and the very earth itself was poisoned for decades. Fungal infestations spread unchecked, once even hijacking the bodies of the dead to further spread itself.
The scars of the Immortal Wars occasionally remained permanent, like the Vorlers, vicious bioweapons designed to consume, adapt, grow, and spread, all while having amazing vitality and ability to procreate. The Divine Decrees hadn’t stopped them being created, and every being attempted to stamp them out and crush their eggs wherever they were found.
Night never followed the same plan, tactics, or strategy twice, adapting and evolving to survive. Some wars he sat out the best he could, hunkering down in a fortress so well protected that it wasn’t worth the effort to crack. Other times he went on the offensive. Occasionally, he led his clan on an exodus to the Below Levels, a place less touched by the calamities on the surface.
At times, calamities came from the Below Levels.
Now and then, after an Immortal War had passed, an ambitious group of survivors, leveled high by merely participating in the fringe of the war, would raise their banners. They’d storm across the continent, bringing all under their grasp, and raising the next great empire.
That, too, would either collapse under its own weight, or become collateral damage the next time the Immortals went to war.
The elves had built an empire themselves at one point, and that particular country shattering had nearly been the end of Night himself.
It had killed the other two progenitors, leaving Night as the undisputed eldest.
Leading to the current situation.
“Midnight! My favorite bloodsucker! Come here, come here!” King Straton beckoned Night over.
With a repressed grimace of distaste, Night approached the fat king. He’d never held a blade in his hand, never governed a city, simply acquired the title through virtue of his great-great-great-grandmother being canny, strong, clever enough to hold a fort in this place when the last great collapse had occurred, then ridden out and conquered a dozen neighbors.
Warlords.
“King Straton. What do you need?”
“Need? Everything! The whole world! I’ll rule like the [Emperors] of old, just you wait and see!” He waved a drumstick around like it was a wand. Night leaned back in disgust, not wanting any of the fat to land on him.
“Do you have a more pressing issue?”
“Oh yes, that. First step, we’re going to invade the Tympestshard Council. The elves are a bunch of pansies, they’ll just roll over, and we’ll grab their magic. Press-gang their Classers into making wonders for us. From there, we’re going after those hot foxes next. Have you ever seen one? Like…” King Straton shaped an hourglass figure in front of him, his eyes glazing over as his wildest imagination took over.
“This is a decision most unwise.” Night calmly stated, although he was seething inside.
“Bah! You’re almost as bad as the rest of them. Half-fossilized, you’ve lived too long.” King Straton dismissively waved at Night.
Enough was enough. There was no competency here. Night had no control. There was no slow, careful planning.
Night had seen tens of thousands of rulers in his years. Had seen methods of governance of a dozen types. Knew what worked, and what didn’t work.
He knew that only death, doom, and disaster would follow in King Straton’s wake, and he’d drag Night’s vampires down with him. His heir wasn’t much better.
Being a warlord wasn’t a good qualification to lead a nation.
However, as qualifications went, it was slightly better than inheritance.
Night thought about it. Gave the actions he was about to commit the consideration they were due, ignoring Straton’s ramblings in the background.
Night prized competency. Had slowly found, turned, trained, and raised competent men and women throughout the ages to fill critical roles in the bureaucracy. Vampires ran the tax department, the agriculture department, trained the men at arms and reviewed fortifications. All answering to Night himself, usually via one of his proxies.
He had done it to ensure that things were run competently, that corruption would not seep in and sap efficiency or cause the thousands of issues that occurred when a firm hand was not taken.
In some senses, he already did run the nation.
“In the end, I see I must do it myself.” Night muttered, and with a quick flick of his wrist, a quick blade of blood relieved King Straton of his head.
It was going to be an ugly mess. Night’s first thought was on how to properly identify, select, and train a proper ruler to run things. It was an evolution, a new thought. One he would struggle with.
He needed a ruler to properly and competently run the country, while also being someone who answered to Night, without Night ending up running things in the end.
Tricky, tricky. It would mean giving up a large measure of control, and the last time he had done it, the Immortal Company had been formed, a thousand vampires running around performing mercenary work, besmirching their good name.
Yet, just because it had failed in the past, didn’t mean it would fail this time. Sometimes, the only thing for a problem was to keep trying, until one day it succeeded.
Until then, Night would have to rule. He had done it exactly once before, during the Great Flood - renamed to the First Great Flood after the second one - when the vampires had all needed to hole up in their emergency bunkers for a decade when the land was flooded.
Ugly business, that.
Night gave a sharp whistle, and dozens of vampires throughout the palace responded to his call. He waited a moment, manipulating the body off the throne with magic.
It was tacky, and it would have to go, but for now, it would do.
When enough vampires were present, Night addressed them. He kept it short and sweet. No more words were needed.
“Here begins the reign of Emperor Night, First and only of his Name, sovereign of the Exterreri Empire.” He declared, sitting on the throne and fashioning himself a laurel wreath of blood.
