"Vampiric Ritual"

The rain fell like needles against the cracked stones of the old cathedral. Within its shadowed nave, Ezra knelt, trembling, the echo of his heartbeat loud enough to fill the empty hall.

They’d found him two nights ago — alone, desperate, and reckless enough to hunt one of them. Instead, they hunted him.

Now, he knelt before the one they called Lady Seraphine, the Matriarch of the Crimson Covenant. Her eyes glowed faintly red, not like fire — but like wine reflecting moonlight.

“You came to kill us,” she said, her voice soft as silk drawn across a blade. “Yet here you are, begging to live.”

Ezra didn’t answer. His throat burned with fear and defiance.

Seraphine descended the altar steps. “You have a will that won’t break. That is rare. And it is why you have been chosen.”

Two of her acolytes approached, cloaked in black, carrying a silver chalice that steamed in the cold air. The scent of iron filled the cathedral.

Ezra flinched. “What—what are you doing?”

Seraphine smiled — too calm, too ancient. “You will not die tonight, Ezra. You will awaken. You will become what hunts in the dark.”

He tried to pull away, but they held him fast. The chalice pressed against his lips, and he tasted eternity — sharp, cold, and burning. The world vanished in pain and light.

When he opened his eyes again, the world smelled different. He could hear the beating hearts of everyone in the room, the whisper of the rain miles away, the rhythm of the night itself.

Seraphine lifted his chin. “You belong to us now. The Covenant is your blood, your breath, your purpose. You have no choice but to serve, and no death but the one we grant you.”

Ezra met her gaze, his once-human eyes now glowing faintly crimson. Somewhere inside, a scream tried to claw its way out — but only a cold smile escaped his lips.

“Then let the night begin.”