Lahat ng Kabanata ng Born of Blood, Bound by Hate : Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

Midnight in the modern metropolis carried with it a chill that no streetlamp or neon glow could dispel. Beyond the polished sidewalks and glass towers, hidden beneath layers of ancient stone, stood a sprawling Gothic palace: its spires carved with gargoyles that scowled into the darkness, its walls veined with moss and lit only by flickering torchlight. Inside this secret stronghold—the council hall of the vampire clans—the air was heavy with incense smoke and the slow, persistent drip of water from unseen fountains. Crimson draperies, brocaded with silver thread in patterns older than any human chronicle, framed tall, narrow windows that stared out like watchful eyes onto the sleeping city.At the far end of the hall, rising behind a dais of shadow and carved onyx, sat Lord Ryker Delacroix. His robe of midnight silk pooled around the throne-like chair, and his long, pale fingers drummed against the surface of the obsidian table—a table whose intricate gothic relief seemed to twist an

The modern city rose around him like a cathedral of steel and glass, its towers catching the first trickle of moonlight and scattering it in glittering shards across the night sky. Beneath the polished façades and the constant hum of hovercars, a labyrinth of secrets pulsed like a hidden heartbeat. It was in this dual world—where wealth and decay intertwined, where the elite swaggered past slums teetering on ruin—that Maverick Delacroix moved with practiced grace. Son of one of the oldest vampire houses, he had inherited ancient power coursing through his veins, yet he wore it as casually as the tailored suit hugging his shoulders. His smartphone lay snug in his jacket pocket, alive with encrypted alerts that reminded him he was as much a product of the twenty-second century as he was a relic of a bygone era. His calm façade, flawless coiffure, and effortless charm masked the eddies of doubt gathering just beneath the surface.Earlier that evening, Maverick’s polished shoes had clicke

The underground meeting place lay swathed in shadow and secrecy—a once-open courtyard now repurposed beneath the hulking shell of an abandoned industrial complex. Rusted girders arched overhead like the ribs of some fallen leviathan, while cracked concrete walls bore layer upon layer of graffiti tags—cryptic symbols, names scrawled in faded spray paint, the silent residue of a thousand covert gatherings. Dampness seeped from fractured pipes, pooling in puddles that reflected the sickly glow of distant streetlamps. Every drip of water, every scuff of shoe against moss-spotted stone seemed to whisper of clandestine pacts and ancient vendettas buried beneath decades of dust.A tense expectancy charged the atmosphere. Word had spread that emissaries of the vampire council and representatives of the Kingsleigh neko family must come, summoned by invisible design. Figures flitted in the periphery—long coats brushing echoing corridors, the soft padding of feline claws trailing down shadowed a

Dawn broke reluctantly over the city, its pale, uncertain light seeping between the spires of steel and stone as though fearful of what it might reveal. The night clung stubbornly to the streets below, pooling in shadowed alleys and behind tinted windows, carrying with it the residue of secrets better left unspoken. Sirens faded into memory, neon signs dimmed, and the city exhaled a shallow breath. From the upper reaches of the Delacroix estate, the metropolis appeared deceptively calm—a living organism holding its breath after a convulsion of unrest, pretending at normalcy while fractures widened beneath its surface.Within a private chamber tucked high above the city’s pulse, Maverick stood alone.The silence pressed against him, heavy and expectant.The room itself was a paradox, much like the man occupying it. Ancient tapestries depicting forgotten wars—battles whose names no longer survived human language—hung beside translucent holo-screens that hummed softly with real-time data

The day of reckoning arrived beneath a sky thick with unrest, as though the city itself sensed the fracture racing through its foundations. Streets trembled with unrest not yet ignited, and every flickering light and distant siren felt like a warning. The clandestine plans for the vampire uprising—once confined to encrypted messages and shadowed councils—had reached their zenith. Forces were in motion, alliances drawn, weapons prepared. Imminent clashes loomed just beyond the fragile boundary between restraint and chaos.Yet amid the tightening grip of inevitability, something unexpected stirred.Across both vampire and neko communities, individuals stepped forward who refused to accept the inevitability of perpetual enmity. Some were elders weary of cycles that never ended. Others were younger, shaped by a world that demanded adaptation rather than dominance. Quiet defiance spread—not as rebellion, but as resistance to annihilation masquerading as tradition.It was in this volatile m