Chapter 1:The Shadow King

Elliot's POV

Power. Obedience. Fear.

These are the pillars of my existence. They define who I am, what I rule, and what I destroy.

I open my eyes to the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through my towering windows. The mansion is silent, yet I can feel the pulse of 150,000 souls beyond these walls. They wake before me. They wait for me. They exist because of me.

A King does not need permission to rule. He takes what is his and destroys what dares to stand in his way.

The heavy gold-engraved doors to my chamber swing open. My maids enter in synchronized steps, their heads bowed, their hands folded in front of them. Their breaths are steady, practiced. Not a single one of them meets my gaze. They know better.

Your Majesty, your bath is prepared,one of them whispers, her voice careful. Measured.

Without a word, I rise from my bed. The silk sheets slide off my body as I step onto the cool marble floor. Ten maids rush to their stations, one draping a robe over my shoulders, another kneeling to tie the laces of my slippers, while the rest wait for my next command.

The scent of blood lingers in the air. Fresh. Warm.

As I walk toward my private bath, two maids step aside, revealing a golden tub filled with dark crimson liquid.

Blood.

Drink, my Lord,another voice murmurs as a crystal goblet is presented to me.

I take it, swirling the thick, intoxicating liquid before bringing it to my lips. Perfection. The warmth spreads through me, fueling the strength that sets me apart from every other creature that walks this earth.

I step into the bath, letting the blood coat my skin. It seeps into my pores, rejuvenating me in a way no mortal could ever understand. This is not just luxury. It is power.

As I soak in the blood of my enemies, I think of only one thing, control.

By the time I dress, the world outside is already moving. My world.

I walk through the halls of my mansion, ancient and vast, built from the bones of my ancestors. Torches burn against the stone walls, casting shadows that dance as I pass.

The moment I step outside, silence falls.

Tens of thousands of my kind bow before me in the Grand Courtyard, a massive open space where the strongest warriors of my pack train under the watchful eyes of my general's.

150,000 Vampires bound by my rule.

None dare to raise their heads. None dare to breathe too loudly.

I stop at the top of the stone stairs, looking down at my kingdom. My presence alone commands their submission. I don't need to shout. I don't need to demand their loyalty. They already know who I am.

These are not just men and women. They are weapons. My empire is built on fear and obedience, and as long as I stand, no force in this world can challenge me.

But power is not given. It is earned in blood.

"Bring in the traitors", I command.

The crowd parts as six prisoners are dragged forward, their arms bound in silver chains. They tremble, their bodies covered in bruises, their faces pale from blood loss.

"Mercy, Your Majesty"! one of them cries, falling to his knees.

I tilt my head, watching him struggle. Pathetic.

Mercy? I echo, stepping forward. The moment my polished black shoes touch the ground, the tension thickens. They know what is coming.

I squat down, gripping his chin between my fingers, forcing him to look at me. His heartbeat is erratic. His pulse"weak".

Tell me, I murmur, my voice deadly soft. "Did you show mercy when you betrayed me"?

His lips tremble. He has no answer.

"No"? smile, then in one swift motion, I sink my fangs into his throat.

He screams, but it is short-lived. Within seconds, I drain him dry, his body collapsing into nothingness.

I rise, licking the last drop of blood from my lips as his corpse crumbles to the ground. The others shake, waiting for their fate.

Let this be a lesson, announce, turning to my warriors. My voice carries like thunder. Loyalty is not an option. It is a duty. Betray me, and you will beg for a death that will never come.

The crowd bows again, lower this time. Fear is a powerful thing.

I glance at the remaining traitors, uninterested. Kill the rest, I say, flicking my wrist before walking away.

Their screams follow me, but I do not turn back.

A King does not mourn the weak.

The Throne & The Weight of Power

Back inside, my mansion hums with quiet activity. My generals wait for me in the Throne Room, standing in stiff postures as I take my seat.

My throne is ancient, carved from obsidian, embedded with bloodstones. It is as cold and unforgiving as I am.

Report, I say, resting my elbow against the armrest.

The Blood Syndicates have requested an audience, one of my generals begins. They seek a new agreement for the blood trade.

Decline.

The Werewolf Clans have sent a message, requesting a treaty.

Decline.

There have been rumors of rogue vampires challenging your rule in the Northern Borders.

I tilt my head, my eyes gleaming. "Kill them".

My general hesitates.

All of them? he asks.

I lean forward slightly, my voice a whisper of deadly amusement. "Did I stutter"?

His throat bobs as he nods. "It will be done" my Lord.

"Good".

The room remains silent as my presence settles over them like a dark shadow. My word is law. My power is absolute.

I am Elliot King.

The most feared ruler in the world.

And I will never fall.