Fiendhunter

**"Bai Lang's chrysopoeic irises pierced the gloom.** A night's vigil had stiffened his joints like rusted clockwork. The derelict chamber exhaled secrets—wilted peonies slumped in tarnished vases, fruit bowls petrified into amber sculptures. 

A corroded windchime surrendered its final note, copper petals clattering at his boots. Blood-tinged patina guided him to the wall's concealed keyhole. The mechanism turned with oiled precision—too oiled for disuse. 

The crypt unveiled its macabre tableau: braziers oozing unguents of bear tallow and drowners' cerebrospinal fluid. A figure rattled its silver-barred cage, eyes burning with ancestral arrogance. 

**"Homo sapiens nocturnae,"** Bai Lang breathed. **"Higher Vampire."** 

**"Let's barter, Wolf Cub."** The sanguine aristocrat's smile revealed filed canines. **"Free me, and I'll lead you to the curse's architect."** 

Mourngrim's edge kissed the vampire's throat. **"Your clan's reputation precedes you, Count Dracul Béthune. Blood-oaths won't cleanse your lineage."** 

The noble's laughter echoed through ossuary walls. **"We both reek of others' prejudices. Now extract this thrice-damned stake from my spine."** 

As Béthune dissolved into a bat-cloud, Bai Lang's medallion throbbed toward an ebony jewelry box. Within glowed vials of gnome-marrow—essence of subterranean immortality. 

**"Rot delayed is not life preserved,"** he mused, emerging into the masquerade's cacophony. 

Prince Adern's drunken embrace concealed a parchment scrap: *"Foltest's carriage departs at moon zenith."* 

**"The fifth element,"** Foltest purred by the rose maze, tossing a coin-purse reeking of grave-myrrh. **"Use it wisely, mutant."** 

The queen materialized like funeral lace. **"Her weakness lies where spine meets sacrum,"** she whispered, lips stained with poisoned chardonnay. 

When Roper Hanke approached, Bai Lang's gaze tracked ravens circling the northwest tower. **"The viper's nest has three heads,"** he warned. **"King. Queen. And the crow-feeder between."** 

Dawn's first rays found him atop the belltower, Mourngrim singing a silent aria. Somewhere beneath the moat, Béthune's laughter seeped through ancient catacombs—a requiem for kings yet to fall.