Chapter 2: The Mark of Blood

Chapter 2: The Mark of Blood

The headquarters of the Valenfort Hunters’ Order lay deep underground, hidden beneath an abandoned cathedral left to decay since the last century.

Above, the rusted bell tower silently watched over the city a forgotten relic from an age when mankind still believed in God.

Below, their real world thrived built on blood, steel, and vengeance.

Evelyn walked through the massive steel gates, her boots stained with dust and dried blood. No one spoke…Everyone averted their gaze as she passed through the long corridor lit by the cold white glow of fluorescent tubes.

The Council Chamber awaited at the end and within it sat the three most powerful figures of the Order.

At the center was Marcus Hale, Evelyn’s direct superior, a grizzled man with silver hair and a scar running down his left eye.

He looked up as she entered.

“You’re back,” Marcus said, eyes narrowing. “And I assume… you didn’t return empty handed.”

Evelyn set the evidence bag on the table, charred fabric folded inside, a single black rose petal like a small wound.

 “The Devereux murder wasn’t a Turned’s doing not this time. It smelled older, it smelled like a Pureblood.”

Marcus frowned.

“Are you certain? Purebloods vanished nearly half a century ago.”

“I fought him,” Evelyn said, voice low. “He moved faster than any Turned I’ve faced stronger too, and his reflexes… nothing like theirs. Worst of all, he called me by name.”

A rippl of uneasy murmurs spread through the room. Marcus tapped his finger lightly on the table, silencing everyone.

“Did he say anything else?”

"Just one thing…” Evelyn’s voice dropped, barely above a whisper.

“He said Valenfort is about to awaken.”

Silence fell. Even as vague as it sounded, the words hung in the air like a cold hand around their throats.

Marcus rose and crossed to the holographic screen. He tapped it once the image wavered, then sharpened: an ancient sigil, a black teardrop cradled by bat wings.

Evelyn felt the air tighten around her as the symbol bloomed into view.

“Do you know what this is?”

Evelyn nodded faintly.

“The symbol of the Blood Cult.”

Marcus inclined his head.

“The cult that worshiped the ‘Blood King’. We believed they were wiped out. But if a Pureblood has returned and with this mark then perhaps that legend wasn’t just a myth.”

Evelyn remained silent. She had heard that name before, buried in the Order’s classified archives, Lucien Draven, the Blood King. The being who led the Valenfort Massacre two centuries ago and who history claimed had been burned alive in the final battle.

 “I thought the Blood King was dead?” she asked.

Marcus met her eyes, his voice heavy.

 “That’s what we all wanted to believe. But blood never stays dead, Evelyn.”

---

After the meeting, Evelyn left the chamber, her mind weighed down.

She walked through the corridor toward the training sector, where gunfire echoed from the shooting range.

A familiar voice called from behind.

“Well, look who the hero of Devereux.”

Evelyn turned to see Adrian Wolfe, her former partner, skilled, talkative, and infamously reckless.

He raised a brow at the bloodstains on her uniform.

“Pureblood, huh? Lucky you. Most hunters don’t make it back to tell the tale.”

 “I don’t believe in luck.” Evelyn replied flatly.

Adrian smirked, pulling a cigarette from his pocket but not lighting it.

“Heard he knew your name. Strange. You’re not exactly a celebrity among vampires.”

Evelyn’s gaze turned icy.

“Maybe the Order’s hiding something even I don’t know.”

Adrian studied her for a long moment before murmuring,

 “Be careful, Eve. Sometimes the most dangerous monsters aren’t vampires… they’re the ones running this place.”

---

That night, in her small quarters on the third sublevel, Evelyn sat alone before the mirror.

She removed her coat and cleaned the wound on her shoulder.

Under dim light, the dried blood looked wrong... not quite human.

For a fleeting second, her reflection flickered and her eyes glowed crimson.

She blinked hard, drew a deep breath. When she looked again, only her usual cold gray stare remained.

From her coat pocket, she took out the black rose she had kept. Under the light, the petals seemed to be bleeding, giving off the scent of nameless temptations.

 “Valenfort is about to awaken…” she whispered, the words catching in her throat.

Suddenly, the alarm device by her bed flared bright red.

An emergency message blinked across the screen:

“Abnormal energy detected in the Old Industrial Zone, Northern Valenfort. Dispatched unit: Delta-7.”

Evelyn rose to her feet, pulling on her armor and tightening her silver dagger.

But just as she stepped toward the door, a hand stopped her.

Marcus.

He handed her a small sealed file stamped CONFIDENTIAL.

 “Before you go, the Order just decrypted this. It was recovered from seized Blood Cult archives.”

Evelyn opened it. Inside was an old black and white photograph, nearly faded with age.

In the center stood the face of the man she had fought the night before, crimson eyes, a cold smile, silver hair falling past his shoulders.

Below the photo, two words were scrawled:

Lucien Draven.

Evelyn felt her heartbeat falter.

“Impossible… he’s dead.”

Marcus’s expression hardened.

 “If he’s truly returned, everything we know is about to collapse. And you, Evelyn… you’re the one he’s after.”

 “Why me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Marcus didn’t answer at first. Then he spoke, each word sinking like lead.

 “Because within you… runs the blood he once created."

Evelyn’s chest constricted, the room spun for a second, then steadied into a silence that felt far too loud.

Outside, the sky above Valenfort churned crimson.

The wind rose, carrying echoes from the ruined northern districts, whispers of a soul that had slept for two centuries.

And in that darkness, Lucien Draven opened his eyes. The red gleam cut through the night a mark of carved into destiny itself.