Title: The Vampire King of Britannia

Lorien's Apartment – Front Room

Lorien tossed a worn-out shirt toward Ivins.

The newly turned Corpse Thrall hesitated.

"I... I can't possibly wear your clothing, my lord! That would be blasphemous!"

Lorien rolled his eyes.

"Just put it on."

Seeing the cold impatience in his master's eyes, Ivins reluctantly slipped the oversized garment over his frame, shrinking into it like a scolded mutt.

Lorien gestured for him to speak.

"You said your memories are coming back. Talk."

Ivins swallowed, nodding as fragments of the past pieced themselves together.

Winston Manor – Deep Night

The silver glow of the moon filtered through the window, casting pale arcs of light onto the wooden floor.

Inside Room 111 of the servant's quarters, Ivins tossed and turned, his sleep restless.

A heavy knock echoed in the silence.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Ivins stirred. Half-awake, he blinked toward the door, shaking off the grogginess.

"Who is it?"

A voice, low and aged, drifted from the other side.

"It's me."

Ivins froze.

The voice was unmistakable.

Oliver Winston.

The master of the estate.

Why was he here? At this hour?

Ivins scrambled to throw on a coat before opening the door.

Outside, Oliver Winston sat in a wheelchair, alone.

His hair was silver, his gaunt features illuminated by the dim hall lights. He wore an expensive gray silk shirt, his half-lidded eyes making him look perpetually drowsy.

"Good evening, Ivins." The old man's voice was almost a whispered lullaby.

"Mr. Winston, is something wrong?"

"No, no..." Winston murmured, his dark eyes glinting as they opened fully. "I just came to see you... my servant."

Ivins hesitated.

See me?

His thoughts barely had time to settle before Winston lifted a silver pocket watch, letting it dangle in the air.

The intricate engravings gleamed in the moonlight—

A hanged man, suspended upside down, surrounded by a crowd of outstretched hands.

It swung.

Back and forth.

"Ivins." Winston's voice dulled, dreamlike.

"You should listen to me. You should listen to your master's words…"

The engraved figure seemed to shift, its cold beauty sinking into Ivins' pupils—

His thoughts slowed.

His jaw slackened.

His vision blurred as something tightened around his mind, twisting and coiling into place.

Step.

Step.

Unconsciously, Ivins shuffled forward, drawn closer to the old man in the wheelchair.

Only a breath's distance remained between them.

"Jack Arnold…"

Winston's soft-spoken words slithered into his ears.

"That wretched Plymouth dog… You've always despised him, haven't you? He took what was rightfully yours.*

"Power. Position. Wealth. Prestige. He stood above you, reveling in what should have been yours."

The watch slowed.

The voice deepened.

"Your weakness holds you back, Ivins. Cast it aside. Weak men accomplish nothing."

His mind began unraveling, rational thought buried beneath swelling resentment.

His breathing grew uneven.

Winston leaned closer, his aged lips curling into a knowing smile.

"You should have more."

"Oliver Winston."

Lorien spoke the name softly, eyes darkening.

He had suspected something was off—

But not this.

His first paying client turned out to be anything but ordinary.

Hypnotizing a man to kill, then hiring a detective to investigate it?

What kind of mental gymnastics was this old bastard playing?

His fingers tapped against his knee, thoughts racing.

"Why?" Lorien muttered aloud.

If Winston wanted Jack dead, he could have fired him. Dismissed him outright.

There was no need for something this elaborate.

"What are your thoughts, Jack?"

Jack Arnold stood silent for a long moment.

His jaw clenched.

"I…"

His voice wavered.

The realization weighed on him.

He had served faithfully for years.

He had always believed Oliver Winston was a fair, just master.

A man above petty cruelty.

But now—

"I never suspected…" Jack swallowed. "That he was the one behind it all."

He fell into deep thought, trying to piece together what had been right in front of him all along.

Then—

A memory surfaced.

"Oliver Winston is nearly seventy. He can't live alone anymore. He requires constant assistance."

His gaze sharpened.

"I was his personal attendant. I spent more time with him than anyone else in the estate. Which means… I may have noticed something I wasn't meant to see."

Lorien narrowed his eyes.

"Such as?"

Jack hesitated.

Then—he spoke carefully.

"I once saw Winston… talking to himself."

Lorien tilted his head.

"Go on."

"I assumed it was senility. Maybe he was just a lonely old man rambling to himself. But now—I'm not so sure."

Jack's expression darkened.

"He stopped the moment I approached. I couldn't hear what he was saying. But I told the butler, Rudolph Hill, about it. After that, I didn't give it much thought."

"When was this?"

"Last week."

Lorien tapped his fingers against his armrest.

"An old man. Talking to something unseen."

"Could have been a curse," Jack muttered.

"Or," Lorien countered, "someone else was in the room with him. Someone you couldn't see."

Silence settled between them.

Lorien exhaled.

"One thing's certain—this guy's not just some doddering aristocrat."

"He's capable of mind control. He has no moral restraint. And most importantly—we know next to nothing about him."

Jack's fingers twitched, eager, restless.

"Then we strike first."

Lorien snorted.

"And do what? You think just because you're a vampire now, you can waltz in there and kill him?"

Jack flinched.

"He could wipe your mind like he did to Ivins. Or worse."

Jack exhaled through his nose, suppressing his anger.

"So what do we do?"

Lorien smiled.

"We wait."

Jack tensed.

Ivins shifted uneasily, eyes darting between them.

"We wait?" Jack asked. "You mean to just—"

"No."

Lorien's brass-colored irises gleamed.

"You'll get your revenge, Jack. But not yet."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower.

"You are the first of my kind. My first true 'offspring.' A creature of the night, whose name will be whispered in fear."

He smirked.

"And as the saying goes—no one crosses the Devil and walks away unscathed."

Jack stilled, then slowly nodded.

Lorien turned toward the window.

Beyond the glass, London was cloaked in fog, the silver moon hanging high in the night sky.

"Before we make our move…"

His voice turned silky, predatory.

"Let's introduce ourselves to the world, shall we?"