My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

In stark contrast to the devastated landscape on the border, the interior of the military palace remained immersed in an almost artificial calm, as if the outside world had no right to cross those walls.

The soft light filtering through the stained-glass windows tinged the room with cool, elegant tones, reflecting on the impeccable floor and the long table where neatly arranged stacks of documents awaited their final destination.

Seated at the head of the table, Serafall maintained a perfectly aligned posture, her pen gliding precisely across the paper as her signature was repeated in firm, flawless lines.

There was no hesitation in her movements, no unnecessary haste... only efficiency refined over years of command.

Each document was read, absorbed, and resolved in seconds, as if her mind operated on multiple levels simultaneously, separating the essential from the disposable with an almost frightening ease.

In front of her, Gaia stood, organizing the next papers with a discipline bordering on obsession. Her gestures were clean, economical, without any wasted movement.

Each sheet was positioned with millimeter precision, aligned with the others as if even the aesthetics of the organization were an extension of her responsibility. Her eyes quickly scanned the reports before passing them on, ensuring that nothing irrelevant reached Serafall’s hands.

"Squad Six has already arrived at the designated area," Gaia informed, sliding another set of documents forward. Her voice was clear, controlled, without unnecessary inflections.

Serafall didn’t immediately look up. She finished signing, closed the document, and moved it aside before finally answering.

"And?" she asked simply.

Gaia slightly adjusted the next stack before continuing.

"They confirmed total destruction of the region. No survivors. Attack patterns... inconsistent with common werewolves." There was a brief pause as she selected the next report. "Possible interference from a group more problematic than just any old gang..."

"...I understand," she murmured, resuming her movement immediately afterward. "So it’s not just a territorial incursion."

"It doesn’t seem to be," Gaia confirmed. "Captain Natasha has already begun field analysis."

The name hung in the air for a second longer than the others.

Serafall let out a low, almost imperceptible sigh before signing another document.

"And how is the study of her condition going?" she asked, finally raising her gaze, fixing it on Gaia with more direct attention.

Gaia didn’t hesitate.

But she didn’t soften her answer either.

"Still no significant progress," she said directly. "Because it’s a completely new condition, our researchers are facing difficulties in advancing at the necessary speed."

The silence that followed was brief.

But heavy.

Serafall lightly rested her pen on the table, her fingers lingering on the still unsigned paper.

"Three years..." she murmured, more to herself than to Gaia. "It’s been three years since she started dying."

Her gaze drifted for a moment into the void, as if organizing thoughts that didn’t belong to that moment.

"The research should have progressed at least enough to stabilize her," she added, her voice still calm, but with a slight tension now perceptible.

Gaia tilted her head slightly.

"I agree," she said, with her usual objectivity. "But even with attempts using compounds derived from the Primordial’s blood... there was no positive response."

She paused briefly, choosing her next words carefully.

"If even that wasn’t able to produce any effect... then we’re dealing with something outside the known parameters."

Serafall closed her eyes for a brief moment.

"Or someone created something specifically for this," she said, picking up her pen and signing the next document with a little more pressure than before.

Gaia didn’t respond immediately.

Because it wasn’t necessary.

They both knew.

This wasn’t just an illness.

It was a problem.

"In any case, tell them to keep an eye on her. Her lungs won’t hold up, and that mask won’t purify the air enough if her lung regeneration doesn’t return," Serafall ordered, picking up her pen and signing the next document as if she were just dealing with another technical detail within a much larger machine.

"Yes, as you wish," Gaia replied, with her usual precision. However, as she arranged the next stack, there was a slight pause in her movements. It was subtle, but not enough to go unnoticed.

She pulled out an envelope that wasn’t part of the official reports and carefully placed it on the table in front of Serafall.

"This arrived for you," she said, maintaining a neutral tone, though her choice of words betrayed a slight delay. "The messenger was late. I read the contents to ensure it wasn’t irrelevant."

Serafall didn’t respond immediately. Her pen continued to move for a few more seconds, completing the signing of yet another document with the same impeccable precision as before. Only then did she put the paper down and finally look at the envelope.

The name on the sender’s address was enough.

She showed no surprise.

But neither did she show indifference.

She simply reached out and opened the already violated envelope, removing the letter with a controlled movement, almost too methodical for someone who, deep down, had already understood exactly what she would find inside.

Her eyes scanned the lines quickly.

Once.

Twice.

Enough.

The silence in the room changed.

Not abruptly, but perceptibly to those who knew how to observe. The artificial lightness that had previously supported the office began to give way, as if something invisible were pressing down on the surrounding space.

Serafall’s fingers, which had been gripping the paper firmly, began to tighten slightly.

First almost imperceptibly.

Then—

With real force.

The edges of the letter began to crumple under the increasing pressure, the dry sound of the paper being deformed breaking the stillness of the room. Gaia remained motionless, but her attention was completely focused on it. There was no need to ask. She had already read the contents.

And she knew exactly what it meant.

Serafall’s fingernails pierced the paper.

Effortlessly.

As if it simply didn’t have enough resistance to contain them.

But it didn’t stop there.

The pressure continued.

And then—

The skin gave way.

A thin cut opened in the palm of her hand, almost invisible at first, but enough for blood to begin to flow. It slowly trickled between her fingers, warm, contrasting with the controlled coldness she tried to maintain.

A drop fell onto the table.

Then another.

Staining the impeccable white of the documents below.

Only then did she speak.

"That tramp..." she murmured, her voice low, but laden with an intensity that didn’t match the controlled atmosphere of seconds before.

Her eyes were still on the letter.

But no longer reading.

Just... fixed.

"...dared to speak privately with my son?"

There was no raising of her voice.

There was no explosion.

And yet—

The impact was greater than any scream.

The aura that escaped her wasn’t released all at once. It leaked out slowly, like something that had been forcibly contained, but no longer fit within the limits she herself had imposed. The air in the room seemed denser, heavier, as if the room itself had become too small to contain it.

Gaia didn’t move.

But she felt it.

The change wasn’t just emotional.

It was instinctive.

This wasn’t the commander.

Nor the ruler.

It was something much simpler.

And, for that very reason—

Much more dangerous.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

Love.

A love that didn’t accept interference.

Serafall’s fingers tightened even more, and the paper finally gave way completely, tearing under the pressure. The fragments fell onto the table, stained red, mingling with the official documents as if it were just another record—when, in fact, it was anything but.

She remained silent for a few seconds.

Breathing.

Composing herself.

Forcing control back to where it should be. When she finally spoke again, her voice had returned to its usual tone.

Almost.

"I’m going back home..." she said, without looking at Gaia. "Prepare everything for Squad Six when they return. Then come back."

...

The carriage’s interior moved silently through the night, its wheels cutting through the path with a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm, while the world outside dissolved into elongated shadows and distant lights.

Victor leaned back, one hand supporting his chin as he watched Carmilla ahead, his eyes attentive, curious, still processing everything that had happened in the last few hours.

Carmilla, on the other hand, didn’t seem interested in contemplative silence. There was something different about her now. Her fingers moved slightly in the air, as if testing something invisible, and then her eyes narrowed with a subtle glint of satisfaction.

"Pay attention," she said, her voice low but laden with quiet confidence.

Victor didn’t answer, but his gaze immediately fixed on her.

Without warning—she moved.

But not in the way he expected.

There was no visible preparation, nor that progressive acceleration that betrayed a technique of movement. In one instant, Carmilla was there, sitting in front of him, perfectly visible... and in the next—

She simply wasn’t there.

Victor frowned slightly.

There was no sound.

There was no trace.

But there was... distortion.

For a fraction of a second, the space in front of him seemed to subtly bend, as if the air had been violently pulled by something moving too fast to follow. It wasn’t like the speed clones he already knew—those left residual images, visual echoes that confused the enemy by multiplying presences.

This was different.

This didn’t create multiple Carmillas.

This made it seem like none existed.

And then—

She reappeared.

But she didn’t return to her original spot.

She was now beside him.

So close that her hair lightly brushed Victor’s shoulder, the gentle movement contrasting completely with the invisible brutality of the speed she had just demonstrated.

"See?" she murmured, tilting her head slightly, her lips curving into a subtle, satisfied smile.

Victor didn’t answer immediately.

His eyes moved slowly, analyzing the space where she had been before, then returning to where she was now. His mind clearly reconstructed the movement, trying to find logic, pattern... anything that could be understood.

"It doesn’t seem as easy as what my mother taught me..." he said finally, his voice low, thoughtful.

Carmilla nodded.

"No," she confirmed, crossing one leg with carefree elegance.

"The technique your mother taught you creates speed-based illusions—multiple short displacements that leave visual traces. It’s effective against ordinary perception... and even against experienced users." She raised a finger, as if giving a small lesson.

"But this here..." her eyes gleamed slightly, "...is something else."

She disappeared again.

This time, Victor tried to follow.

His gaze narrowed, his perception expanded, searching for every slightest variation in the environment.

And he did.

Not the movement.

But its effect.

The air compressed.

The space vibrated.

And for an instant, it was as if reality had failed to keep up with something passing through it.

When Carmilla reappeared, she was now behind him, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder, as if it were just a game.

"Pure speed," she whispered close to his ear. "No tricks. No duplications. No distractions." Her breathing was calm, controlled, completely opposite to the violence of the technique. "You move so fast... that the opponent’s brain simply can’t process it."

Victor let out a soft "hm" through his nose.

Interested.

Very.

"Leaves no trace," he commented, turning his face slightly to look at her. "But it distorts space..."

"Exactly," Carmilla confirmed, stepping back slightly to return to his field of vision. "It’s not that you disappear... it’s that you leave the field of perception." She made a small gesture with her hand, as if cutting the air. "To someone watching, it seems like you simply... aren’t there anymore."

Victor tilted his head slightly, absorbing every detail.

"And the cost?" he asked directly.

Carmilla smiled slightly.

"High," she replied bluntly. "Much more than the clone technique. It demands extreme body control, absolute mastery of energy flow... and stamina." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "If used carelessly, you destroy your own body before reaching the technique’s limit."

Victor chuckled softly.

"Of course..."

She watched him for a moment.

Then shrugged.

"But you don’t seem like the type to worry about that," she commented.

He looked forward again, his smile slowly returning.

"It depends on what I get in return," he replied.

Carmilla crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the backrest, clearly satisfied.

"I’ve memorized the basics," she said. "Not everything... but enough." Her eyes met his again, now more serious. "I can teach you."

Victor didn’t answer immediately.

His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, a slow, thoughtful rhythm, as he organized the possibilities in his mind. This wasn’t just another technique.

It was exactly the kind of thing he wanted.

Absurd speed.

Direct efficiency.

No illusions.

No distractions.

Just... superiority.

"And the name?" he finally asked.

Carmilla smiled.

"Pass of the Bloody Demon," she replied, with a slight hint of pride. "Or, at least... that’s how it was described in one of the manuals."

Victor repeated the name mentally.

He liked it.

"It fits," he murmured.

There was a brief silence after that, but it wasn’t empty. It was charged with intention, with plans forming, with paths beginning to align.

And, for the first time since leaving that castle—

Victor seemed genuinely... excited.