Chapter 5: The Firstborn of Blood

The manor had quieted, yet Detective Lorian's mind was anything but. He stood alone in Room 104, the air thick with the fading scent of blood and death.

He had just closed a case, earned a small fortune, and received the praise of two law enforcement officers. On paper, it was a clean win.

But what lay on the floor wasn't just a corpse—it was something more.

Jack Arnold.

A man who, according to all logic and procedure, should have been just another body in a police report. But to Lorian, he was different.

The corpse still whispered.

Not through a haunting voice or ghostly apparition, but through that distinct, eerie pulse Lorian now felt in his bones.

The mark on his wrist—the crimson sigil shaped like a weeping eye—throbbed with heat as he knelt beside Arnold's body.

"Still here," he muttered. "You just won't let go, will you?"

He reached forward again, his gloved fingers brushing against cold flesh.

The voice returned immediately.

"Pain... so much pain... the head... can't see... can't breathe..."

Lorian didn't flinch this time.

He stayed there, frozen in silence, letting the sensations flow. They weren't words, not exactly. More like fragmented memories—raw and confused. Faint imprints of consciousness still tangled in rotting nerves.

And then it hit him.

This wasn't just a ghost of pain. It was a flicker of something else.

Something that could still be called life.

The sigil on his wrist pulsed again, brighter this time, pushing heat through his veins. It wasn't random. It wanted something.

It was calling him to choose.

He rose to his feet slowly, staring down at the motionless body.

As a vampire—a true vampire—he had powers that went beyond hunger. He had dominion. Dominion over lesser beings, even over the threshold between life and death.

He had fed ants his blood. They had changed. They'd grown stronger. They had returned fragments of his power to him—gifts like enhanced senses and reflexes.

But Jack Arnold wasn't an insect. He was a man.

Could the same blood… elevate him?

Lorian didn't know. But every cell in his body was urging him to try.

If successful, Jack wouldn't just be a reanimated puppet. He would be the first of a new bloodline—the first true descendant of Lorian's blood.

An heir.

A monster.

He looked at his wrist. The eye was now wide open, its center glistening with fresh, crimson liquid. The blood glowed faintly, pulsing with dark energy.

He lowered his wrist to the corpse's lips.

"You can die here," Lorian whispered. "Forgotten and voiceless. Or you can rise again… as something far more powerful."

The blood dripped.

One drop. Two.

Then, silence.

Lorian leaned in, watching closely.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then—the corpse twitched.

A spasm ran through Jack Arnold's limbs, sharp enough to make Lorian step back. His jaw locked, his fingers curled into claws. His back arched unnaturally. His eyes burst open, pitch-black and blind, staring into nothingness.

Then came the scream.

Raw. Inhuman. A sound dragged from the depths of a soul being reborn through fire and agony.

Lorian didn't move. He simply stood, letting the process unfold.

He had no instructions for this. No ancient vampire tome, no guiding hand from a master. He was the first. This was new territory—wild, sacred, terrifying.

The man spasmed again and again. Then, just as suddenly, went still.

Lorian stepped closer.

"Jack?"

The man—no longer truly a man—opened his eyes again.

But this time, they had changed.

Gone was the human dullness. In its place was something sharper, deeper, almost reflective—like looking into a pool of midnight water.

Jack's breath came in slow, ragged gasps.

"I..." he croaked. "Where... am I?"

"You're back," Lorian said. "But not as before."

Jack tried to sit up, but collapsed. His limbs trembled with residual spasms.

Lorian crouched beside him.

"You're not dead. Not truly. But you're not alive, either. You're in between. And from now on, you'll stay that way."

Jack stared at him, confusion blooming across his face. "I remember... the knife... I died..."

"Yes. And now you don't."

He paused, then asked quietly, "Do you remember what killed you?"

Jack's brow furrowed. "It was... Evan. He came at me from behind. I heard the door, then... the cold."

"Good. That means your memory's intact."

Jack was still breathing, but differently. His chest barely moved. His heartbeat, Lorian could barely detect.

He wasn't alive in the normal sense.

He was undead.

A vampire.

A Firstborn.

Lorian stood, brushing off his coat.

"You need rest. Real rest. Your body will be unstable for a while. Cravings, changes in thought, perception shifts. All normal."

Jack blinked slowly. "What am I?"

"Something new," Lorian replied. "Something I created."

Outside, the night had grown even darker. Clouds blanketed the moon. A raven perched atop the manor's gate let out a low, rasping cry, as if announcing the arrival of something long awaited.

A bloodline had begun.

Lorian looked up at the sky and whispered,

"One down. Many more to come."