Time Stands Still
To vampires, humans had always been nothing more than livestock—weak, disposable, walking bags of blood.
And for Haidenr Ustair, a Vampire Prince of immeasurable power and status, lowering himself to negotiate with a human was unthinkable.
He only did it to avoid provoking unknown forces.
But Fanmuir didn't just ignore him—he outright insulted him, dismissing the mighty Vampire Prince as trash.
Haidenr's fury boiled over.
A thousand years of patience shattered in an instant.
A twisted, maniacal laugh burst from his lips, echoing through the battlefield like a sonic blade, sharp and chilling.
"You wretched two-legged sheep! DIE!"
With a shriek, Haidenr's claws shot out like daggers.
His fangs gleamed under the moonlight, and with a single powerful flap of his golden-violet wings, he launched himself toward Fanmuir at blinding speed.
André moved in an instant.
His golden sword flashed as he took to the skies, intercepting the Vampire Prince mid-flight.
A Martial Sovereign of unparalleled might, André's protective energy surged outward in a brilliant blue glow, wrapping him in an aura of sheer dominance.
Like a towering war machine, he clashed with the oncoming storm.
But Haidenr was faster, stronger, and ruthless.
His feral agility and brute force collided against André like thunder striking steel.
The two warriors clashed in midair, a battle of technique against raw fury.
André fought slow against fast, patience against aggression, moving with the mastery of his clan's most sacred combat arts.
But—
Haidenr only grew angrier.
His frustration boiled over into a violent frenzy, and his attacks surged like an unrelenting tidal wave.
Watching from below, Haiman and Haer exchanged glances.
They had seen enough.
With a flash of movement, they joined the fray, their combined power rushing in like a landslide.
Three legendary warriors versus one.
André was instantly overwhelmed.
The onslaught left him struggling to defend himself, his once flawless technique cracking under immense pressure.
Within moments, he was outmatched, cornered, and losing ground fast.
Watching the battle unfold, Fanmuir sighed.
André was outnumbered—if this continued, he would suffer severe injuries.
Without hesitation, Fanmuir raised a single hand.
With a mere flick of his fingers, a titanic force erupted into the battlefield.
André vanished.
A surge of invisible energy ripped him from the deadly skirmish, shielding him in an impenetrable barrier before safely pulling him back to Fanmuir's side.
André was humiliated.
Shame burned through him as he bowed his head, his voice thick with remorse:
"Forgive me, My Lord."
It all happened in a blink.
One second, the Three Demons had André trapped in their claws.
The next—he was gone.
As they snapped their heads around, their gazes locked onto Fanmuir.
And beside him—stood André, completely unharmed.
Fanmuir didn't even spare André Alexandros a glance. He was thoroughly displeased. His usual composure vanished, replaced by an icy, razor-sharp glare and an aura so oppressive that it was impossible to ignore. Though his features were unremarkable, at this moment, his presence was nothing short of royal authority incarnate.
Sweeping his cold, piercing gaze over his enemies, he spoke slowly, deliberately—each word carrying the weight of unshakable dominance:
"This is my final warning. Leave now—or face the consequences."
Had anyone else dared to speak this way, the arrogant vampires, werewolves, and mages would have roared with laughter. But after witnessing Fanmuir's godlike display of power—and seeing André Alexandros, a renowned warrior, kneeling before him in submission—not a single soul dared to mock him.
Fear crept into their hearts.
The three great families had launched a full-scale invasion, yet their forces lay in shambles, while the Fairchilds had not suffered a single casualty. How could they possibly accept such humiliation? They had gathered their might to crush the Fairchilds—how could they falter just because of one man's words?
Haiman forced himself to stand tall, his voice dripping with venomous bravado:
"Hah! Bold words, boy. Be smart—hand over the demon ancestor Bertram's treasure, and we might let you live. Refuse, and we will erase you from existence."
The three so-called legendary warriors ignored every warning Fanmuir had given. Their greed and hunger for power blinded them.
Fanmuir's face grew dark with fury.
"Fine. You refuse to leave? Then none of you will leave."
His calm yet thunderous declaration sent a shockwave of terror through the battlefield.
"You enjoyed outnumbering André, didn't you? Then allow me to return the favor."
Lifting a single finger, he spoke a single command:
"Dark Night Apollo—STOP!"
The three demons barely had time to react.
Before they even processed the words, the sky erupted.
A massive six-pointed mandala, shimmering with kaleidoscopic radiance, manifested above their heads.
A colossal beam of prismatic light descended from its core, locking them within a sacred boundary.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
Time ceased to move.
Haidener Ustair and the others found themselves paralyzed, trapped in an eternal abyss. A force more terrifying than death itself crashed down upon them, heavier than mountains, sealing them in absolute stillness.
This passage delivers a powerful shift in tone—from raw intimidation to absolute domination. The direct translation remains faithful to the original, while the naturalized translation enhances the drama and intensity for an English-speaking audience. Let me know if you'd like any adjustments!
Fanmuir didn't even spare André Alexandros a glance. He was thoroughly displeased. His usual composure vanished, replaced by an icy, razor-sharp glare and an aura so oppressive that it was impossible to ignore. Though his features were unremarkable, at this moment, his presence was nothing short of royal authority incarnate.
Sweeping his cold, piercing gaze over his enemies, he spoke slowly, deliberately—each word carrying the weight of unshakable dominance:
"This is my final warning. Leave now—or face the consequences."
Had anyone else dared to speak this way, the arrogant vampires, werewolves, and mages would have roared with laughter. But after witnessing Fanmuir's godlike display of power—and seeing André Alexandros, a renowned warrior, kneeling before him in submission—not a single soul dared to mock him.
Fear crept into their hearts.
The three great families had launched a full-scale invasion, yet their forces lay in shambles, while the Fairchilds had not suffered a single casualty. How could they possibly accept such humiliation? They had gathered their might to crush the Fairchilds—how could they falter just because of one man's words?
Haiman forced himself to stand tall, his voice dripping with venomous bravado:
"Hah! Bold words, boy. Be smart—hand over the demon ancestor Bertram's treasure, and we might let you live. Refuse, and we will erase you from existence."
The three so-called legendary warriors ignored every warning Fanmuir had given. Their greed and hunger for power blinded them.
Fanmuir's face grew dark with fury.
"Fine. You refuse to leave? Then none of you will leave."
His calm yet thunderous declaration sent a shockwave of terror through the battlefield.
"You enjoyed outnumbering André, didn't you? Then allow me to return the favor."
Lifting a single finger, he spoke a single command:
"Dark Night Apollo—STOP!"
The three demons barely had time to react.
Before they even processed the words, the sky erupted.
A massive six-pointed mandala, shimmering with kaleidoscopic radiance, manifested above their heads.
A colossal beam of prismatic light descended from its core, locking them within a sacred boundary.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
Time ceased to move.
Haidener Ustair and the others found themselves paralyzed, trapped in an eternal abyss. A force more terrifying than death itself crashed down upon them, heavier than mountains, sealing them in absolute stillness.
This passage delivers a powerful shift in tone—from raw intimidation to absolute domination. The direct translation remains faithful to the original, while the naturalized translation enhances the drama and intensity for an English-speaking audience. Let me know if you'd like any adjustments!
Haiden and the others struggled desperately, trying to break free from the six-pointed mandala's grasp. But it was already too late. Once the Blood Clan's Apollo lineage unleashed their innate ability—"Time Stop"—time itself had frozen, making escape impossible. The three demons thrashed wildly, slamming into the invisible walls, but no amount of strength could break the seal. Their faces twisted in panic, eyes filled with terror—at this moment, Fan Mu'er had become nothing short of a nightmare incarnate.
To the Felchiershi family, the overwhelming power radiating from the six-pointed mandala was beyond anything they had ever witnessed or even imagined. Calling it "powerful" didn't do it justice. Not even the mighty Demon Patriarch, whom they had long revered, possessed such terrifying strength. The only explanation that made sense was that Fan Mu'er was a god descended to the mortal realm.
Trapped within the mandala's confines, Haiden and his comrades finally understood—Andre Alexander wasn't insane after all. This mysterious young man truly had the power to make even a legendary warrior bow before him. Compared to Fan Mu'er, they were nothing more than insignificant specks of dust, utterly powerless. If he wanted to erase them from existence, he could do so with the flick of a finger.
No one, not even a thousand-year-old Blood Clan prince like Haiden, was immune to the fear of death. At this moment, survival was the only thing that mattered. Dignity, pride, and status—all had been discarded without a second thought.
In silent desperation, the three demons, trapped in the timeless void of the mandala, pleaded in their hearts: "Spare us!" They prayed for a chance to live. But cruelly, the seal prevented them from even speaking their pleas aloud.
"Life or death—make your choice! Swear eternal loyalty to Andre Alexander, never to betray him, and I will let you live." Fan Mu'er's voice was cold and unwavering.
A spark of hope ignited in the demons' eyes. Could it be that they still had a chance? Their expressions shifted from despair to relief. Meanwhile, the Felchiershi family members, witnessing Fan Mu'er's ruthless decisiveness, couldn't help but be in awe of his leadership and power.
Andre Alexander, standing beside Fan Mu'er, was even more overwhelmed with admiration. His lord's foresight was beyond measure! This arrangement would greatly bolster the Alexander lineage's influence in the Western world. His devotion to Fan Mu'er deepened even further.
"Go! Capture them!" Fan Mu'er commanded, lightly tapping Andre Alexander on the back. In that instant, an immense surge of power coursed through Andre's body, though he was unaware of it. With a single touch, Fan Mu'er had temporarily elevated his strength to the peak of the Legendary Martial Sovereign level.
Andre Alexander launched himself into the six-pointed mandala without hesitation. The arcane structure erupted in dazzling light, shifting and reforming into the Nine-Rays Apollo Formation. "Time Stop" was undone, and the three demons gasped in relief. Though still trapped, they could finally move again, their bodies trembling with the realization of how close they had come to absolute annihilation.
The Three Demons had ruled the world for centuries—how could they ever bow to another and become mere servants? Without a second thought, they charged at André Alexandrov like starving wolves, desperate to end him swiftly and break free from the nightmarish formation that had frozen time itself.
A true legendary warrior is forged through endless trials of blood and fire. Mistakes happen once—but never twice. And André Alexandrov, now gripping his golden sword, was no longer the same warrior who had struggled moments before. Surrounded, outnumbered, with no escape, he had achieved perfect composure—free of fear, free of desire, in absolute harmony with his blade. The man who had barely survived mere moments ago now fought as if he had been reborn. Even under relentless attack from the Three Demons, he moved effortlessly, countering every strike with precision.
The Fairchild family could only watch in stunned disbelief. His transformation was beyond anything they had ever imagined. How could someone ascend to such a level of mastery in the blink of an eye?
Slowly, all eyes turned toward Fanmuir. Just how powerful was this young man? He had elevated a warrior's skill to an entirely new level in an instant. Awe and admiration flickered in the eyes of every Fairchild family member—alongside an undeniable glimmer of greed.
The Fairchild family's sudden shift in attitude left Fanmuir momentarily stunned. Though unrivaled in martial arts and bloodline inheritance, he was far less adept at handling human relationships. For the first time, the fearless Fanmuir felt a bit uneasy, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
When direct flattery failed with Fanmuir, they quickly turned their efforts toward Olivia. If Fanmuir had traveled all this way for her, then surely she meant something special to him. Olivia, who had spent years being overlooked by her own family, had now become the center of attention—the Fairchilds' newfound treasure.
A battle of such legendary scale, the kind that might only be witnessed once in centuries, had somehow gone completely unwatched. The Three Demons had fought with all their might inside the Nine-Point Apollo Formation, yet no one had paid the slightest attention. By the time the crowd finally turned their eyes back to the battlefield, it was already over.
Though André Alexandrov's hair was a little disheveled, his breath uneven, and he bore a few scratches, he had achieved the unthinkable—he had subdued his formidable enemies.
Fanmuir was satisfied. He raised a hand and tapped the air lightly. The Nine-Point Apollo Formation shimmered, bursting into countless twinkling lights before fading away.
Victorious, André Alexandrov stood tall, having crushed the Three Demons. Fanmuir nodded approvingly and retrieved a fragrant pill from his pocket, tossing it toward André. Overcome with gratitude, André ignored everyone around him and immediately fell to his knees, bowing in worship.
They had been raised with one unshakable belief: victory was absolute, and defeat was final. The vampire princes, wolf kings, and grand archmages who had fallen in battle understood this well. Without hesitation or a single word, they all knelt before Fanmuir in perfect synchrony. Then, as if rehearsed, they rose, stepped forward to André Alexandrov, bowed, and respectfully greeted him: "Lord."
André Alexandrov had lived a long life as a legendary figure in the Western world, facing countless challenges. But this? This was beyond anything he had ever experienced. Having so many legendary powerhouses swear allegiance to him left him utterly dazed. He instinctively turned his gaze to Fanmuir for direction.
"Expanding your influence has never been easy—unexpected challenges are part of the journey. But now, with the vampire princes, the wolf kings, and the grand archmages from the three great families under your command, you finally have the foundation to establish a true legacy in the Western world. Let's show the British what Italians are truly capable of," Fanmuir said, smiling.
Hearing these words, André Alexandrov, a battle-hardened warrior who had endured a century of struggle, suddenly broke down, sobbing like a child.
Long ago, he had refused a quiet life of seclusion, unwilling to spend his years endlessly refining the martial arts of the Huxleyville clan. Instead, he had struck out on his own, leading a handful of loyal followers, determined to carve out a place for the Alexandrov family. Though he had made progress, his limited forces had left him constantly fighting uphill battles, teetering between victory and annihilation. Even as a Martial Lord, he had often felt powerless.
But now? Now, with three entire legendary families under his command, he finally had something real—something worthy to bring back to his cousin, Caesar Alexandrov.