Ohwofasa_Emonena

They spilled his blood to protect their crown. Now he’ll drown their kingdom in it.

Once a devoted knight of the Silver Court, Kael Morvain was betrayed by the royals he served—offered as a living sacrifice to seal a cursed blood pact. But death was only the beginning. Reborn as a vampire in the ruins of forgotten gods, Kael awakens with no soul, no mercy, and one burning purpose: vengeance.

The kingdom of Solrath flourishes on lies, its golden heir worshiped like a savior. But Kael knows the truth: the blood on their throne belongs to him.

When he kidnaps the last surviving princess, a fierce woman marked by prophecy and hiding her own monstrous bloodline, Kael’s revenge spirals into a war between old gods, cursed blood, and forbidden desire.

In a land where power is written in veins and vengeance never dies, only one truth remains:

The dead don’t forgive.
They return.

veins of vengeance

They moved like living cathedrals.

Ten Forgebound warriors descended the ridge above Cael Thalor, each towering over the landscape—golems of war fueled by blood runes and ancient grief. Steam hissed from their joints. Their faces were featureless, save for the single burning eye at their center.

At their head: The Hammer-General, a relic from the first Gate War, reborn in iron and fury.

Ashren and Seris watched from the shattered arch of the ruined citadel.

"We can't outrun them," Seris said.

"I'm not going to," Ashren replied.

He stepped forward, soulfire already coursing through his veins. His newly branded Mark of the Unbound pulsed, reacting violently to the presence of the Forgebound. The earth beneath his feet scorched as he walked.

The first Forgebound warrior raised its hand and unleashed a wall of kinetic force, collapsing part of the ancient ruins.

Not wild, but precise. Controlled. A beam of concentrated soulfire split the battlefield in two, forcing the Forgebound to divide.

Seris followed close behind, casting protective sigils midair, weaving barriers between their path and the falling ruin.

"You still think you're a man?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Ashren didn't answer. But part of him wondered if she was right to ask.

The ground quaked beneath its steps. When it spoke, the voice vibrated through Ashren's bones.

"Gateborn. You are a threat to the Crown. A threat to balance. Surrender, and be reforged."

Ashren bared his teeth. "You speak of balance. But all you know is control."

The Forgebound launched forward, slamming a warhammer the size of a wagon into the stone floor where Ashren had stood.

Ashren reappeared above, wings of fire unfolding from his back—not real wings, but arcs of flame, sharp as blades.

He drove down with all the wrath of his bloodline.

She fought her own war—casting deflections, drawing the attention of two Forgebound warriors by unleashing shadow traps that cracked open the ground. Each spell she cast cost her—runes along her arms glowed and bled in equal measure.

Because Ashren needed time. And time was the one thing she could still give him.

Ashren slammed into the Hammer-General with enough force to crater the land. Their weapons clashed—steel versus soulfire—until the ancient titan cracked, its eye dimming.

Ashren roared, the fire inside him burning brighter than ever.

He drove his fist into the heart of the giant. A chain snapped within.

The others began to retreat, the bond broken. One by one, they powered down, their purpose lost without the Hammer-General's control.

Ashren fell to one knee, trembling.

"You stopped them," she whispered.

"No," he said, voice hoarse. "I just delayed them."

He looked to the horizon—where a black fortress rose in the far distance.

Ash and Iron