The Vampire Prince's Toxic Consort (BL)

Lucius was legitimately starving when the slot on the metal door slid open, and two trays were pushed in. One had a bowl of blood on it, and the other held a hunk of a sizzling steak.

Lucius didn’t even care about the detail that there was no cutlery and forgot about all manners. He grabbed the steak and took a big bite, and the savory juice trickled down his chin.

Dorian had finished his portion of blood. It was bear blood, not as tasty and potent as human blood, but now was not the time to be fastidious. He gulped it down, feeling the increasing thirst slightly quenched. He then amusingly noticed how avariciously and wildly Lucius was devouring that dear steak as if it was the best thing he ever had.

He heard that humans could taste more sophisticated flavors of regular food than vampires, but for a born vampire, he could never comprehend what else they could taste other than the basic salty, sweet, bitter, sour, and spicy flavors.

“You eat like a werewolf.” The vampire remarked.

Lucius glanced at him huffishly, “what?! I’m hungry!”

“Don’t you worry it is drugged or poisoned?”

“It would be stupid to try to poison a vampire since you are all immune to those kinds of things, and they have no reason to harm me yet since they still need me for that miracle.”

Dorian had to admit Lucius was rather nimble for a spoiled privileged brat.

“So...” Lucius licked the sauce on his finger and asked, “what’s our plan? Are you going to try to talk us out of here?”

“He must talk to me soon. My absence must have already been noticed. Soon Eternia will begin to search for us. Volke will have to decide how to deal with us before they find where we are. Otherwise, The Guardians will be in much greater trouble than werewolf rabies.”

“Are they against the negotiation?”

“Not necessarily. The Guardians’ attitude on this has been ambivalent. Both the queen of Nocturne and the Chieftain of Shadow Bane were trying to win him to their side, with the queen inclining to make peace through negotiation and the Shadow Bane wanting more war and conflicts.”

“And you want peace, too?” Lucius tilted his head curiously.

Dorian put down the empty bowl and wiped his lips with his thumb, “all these wars are meaningless and stupid. We’ve wasted so many lives, time and resources on petty disagreements about beliefs, power, and politics that only a few people care and ignore the greater looming threats.”

“Greater threats?”

The vampire paused, deciding not to divulge more, “that’s not important for our current situation.”

Lucius studied the prince’s countenance with a bit of fascination and remarked, “you are quite different from what I heard. The media in Anthor always depict you as a devil who corrupts people’s minds.”

“Maybe I am. “Dorian scoffed, “my mother’s Elder is ‘the Serpent’ Asmodian. I don’t seem to inherit any gift from her line, but I do have the blood.”

“The Serpent? Like the Devil who seduced God’s first son with lust and turned him against his creator?”

“Yes. The very one.”

“He is real? So am I supposed to believe God is real too?” Lucius tittered, “I gotta say, maybe one day you will achieve what all the Sunday schools and the Archpriests failed to do— making me a believer.”

The latch on the door clanged and put a pause to their conversation. As the door was opened, several werewolves were waiting outside, and one guard who was twice Dorian’s size came in and said, “the Chieftain invites you both to the Arena.”

“What Arena?” misgiving overcast Lucius’s voice.

Dorian explained, “It’s where some werewolf warriors fight beasts, monsters, or each other to death. Consider it a werewolf traditional sport.”

“Of course...”

The Arena was an impact crater created by a small meteor many centuries ago. Myriads of people were clustered around it, cheering and yelling. Vendors shuttled among the eager crowds, peddling dry meat strips and raw ale.

Dorian and Lucius were brought directly to the grandstand, all the way to the private royal balcony. Other than Chieftain Volke, several other remarkably good-looking werewolves were reclining in the seats around, both males and females. They looked rather different from most of the werewolves Lucius had seen. They were smaller, slimmer and only a bit taller than him, much less intimidating.

Lucius had heard about the peculiar six different sexes among the werewolves. Other than the basic distinction between male and female, there were secondary sexes such as alpha, beta and omega, with alpha as the most dominant, aggressive and powerful sex, beta as the meticulous, calm, and down-to-earth middle sex, and the omegas who were able to bear cubs (regardless if they were male or female, though male omegas were capable of impregnating female omegas as well) and deemed more fragile and delicate.

For a heavily masculinity-driven culture, omegas were often seen as the alpha’s trophy or property and were less respected, though well-protected. A high-status alpha warrior usually takes many omegas as their mates to symbolize her or his superiority over other alphas. So it wasn’t strange that Volke had multiple consorts.

Volke beckoned them to sit next to him. The marchings had already started, and Lucius could see gory body parts like arms, legs, crushing intestines and guts scattering at the bottom of the crater. The very sight made Lucius’s stomach turn.

A transformed werewolf warrior was down there. He was at least two meters high with bulging muscles. And the opponent he was facing was a...monster. He was twice the size of the other werewolf, yet his speed was still shockingly fast. The other werewolf tried to attack him from behind, yet he didn’t even turn his head, but only side turned his body, and the next moment he had the other worrier’s whole wolf head in his gigantic palm.

An earsplitting shrill followed by a horrifying cracking sound muffed all other noise, and the monster crushed the other warrior’s head with his bare monstrous hand. Brain pieces and cerebral fluids splashed all over his white fur-covered arm and stained his smiling face, and he even licked a piece of the brain into his mouth.

The crowd let out a loud boo. Some even cursed at the winner. But the monster just kept smiling in disdain.

Lucius retched. The omegas all snickered at him, but he couldn’t care less.

Volke relined comfortably in his chair and said nonchalantly, “This one here is a nefarious criminal called Hallec. He stalked, raped and killed 14 omegas before he was finally caught. But according to our law, all our death roll criminals are granted a chance to fight for their lives. They can walk free if they can win three rounds without being killed. And now, he has won two.”

Lucius couldn’t believe it, “so if he wins one more round, you are just going to let a serial killer run free?”

“Not necessarily free, but he won’t be executed, and in some years, he maybe even eligible for parole.”

“What if he kills again?” Dorian asked.

“Criminals like this rarely change, and he will kill again. Sadly, that is the law. Unless the next one can get the job done.” A hint of a smile appeared on Volke’s lips, “would you be up to the task, Prince Dorian?”

Lucius widened his eyes, “what?! No!”

Dorian didn’t say anything, only raised one side of his brow.

Volke grinned at the vampire, “if you kill him, I will support the negotiation with all my heart and power.”

And that ignited a light of interest in Dorian’s eyes.

Lucius bored at Dorian, “you can’t be serious. You’ve just healed from the assassination. That thing is literally a monster! Didn’t you see his hands?! He will tear you into pieces, and even you will die!”

“You should have more faith in your husband.” Volke laughed sonorously, “people didn’t give him the nickname ‘the devil’ for no reason. You should see how he mutilated those human soldiers on the battlefield.”

Lucius had heard the nickname many times in his life, but recently he often forgot how deadly and dangerous the vampire prince was in people’s mouths.

Dorian ruminated on it for a short while. Ere long, he peered at Volke, “I need something written before I agree.”

“Of course.” Volke signaled a servant, and a clerk was brought onto the balcony with a well-drafted agreement. Volke signed it first and then passed it to Dorian. Dorian carefully read it through. As he took the pen, Lucius grabbed his wrist.

“It’s not worth it!” Lucius whispered under his breath.

Dorian looked into his careworn hazel eyes and said, “if I’m killed or fall into a hibernation in the process, will you escort my consort safely back to Anthor, Chieftain Volke?”

Volke nodded, “I will. You have my word.”

“Dorian! That’s not what I’m worried about!” Anger reddened Lucius’s cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not that easy to kill.” Dorian flashed a quick smile at his fake consort and signed his name.

As the vampire prince walked into the Arena, the crowd fell into an astonishing silence and then erupted into an excited clamor. They hadn’t seen a vampire noble fight in the Arena for at least a century.

Lucius’s heart jumped to his throat as he saw the huge difference in size between Hallec and Dorian. The vampire looked like a child compared to the behemoth.

“If he dies here, your people will suffer the wrath of Eternia. You know that, right?” Lucius warned the Chieftain coldly.

“If he, a vampire, wants allegiance from The Guardians, he needs to convince my people.” Volke replied solemnly, “my people admire courage and power. If he wins, he will gain their respect. This is the only way.”

Lucius couldn’t argue with that. All he could do was watch.

Hallec let out a ground-shaking roar and pounced over Dorian. He was so fast that people could only see a blast of white wind. But as the dust settled, there was no sight of Dorian. A sound of wings flapping brought people’s attention to the other side of the Arena, where Dorian had just landed. He extended his hand toward the monster, and his irises glowed red.

Instantly dozens of Dorian appeared around the beast. Each looked identical to the original one. And they all swooped down to Hallec. The crowd gasped in astonishment.

“The famous Illusory art. But Hallec has a much stronger and more defensive mind than regular people, and his senses are extremely acute and perceptive. He may not be so easy to be fooled.” Volke commented as he picked up a horn of ale.

As if corresponding to the comment, Hallec ignored all the attacks and went directly to one of the Dorians. Surprise flashed across Dorian’s face as the giant grabbed one of his wings and smashed him to the ground, creating a small crater and multiple cracks.

Dorian grunted in pain but reacted fast and rolled to the side before Hallec could smash his face into a puddle of mess.

This werewolf had an unusually strong mind. Dorian suspected Hallec was trained to resist magics from his bloodline sometime in his life. The invisible tendrils extending from Dorian’s mind couldn’t penetrate the blocking wall.

“Couldn’t play your tricks anymore, could you, puny prince?“Hallec taunted, snarled, and attacked again. Dorian jumped into the air to evade the onslaught, but Hallec was faster and left a gushing laceration on his right arm. His sleeve was almost fully torn off, and the wound was so deep that you could see the bone.

Lucius bit his tongue hard to try to calm his frantically beating heart with the pain. His knuckles turned white as he clutched at the railing too hard.

How should Dorian kill that thing if he couldn’t use one of his arms?

Anger ignited in Dorian’s eyes, and his body commenced to transform. He grew taller, his limbs extended, and his muscle bulged, busting his shirt. His elegant features transmuted into more menacing and devilish shapes, his irises were completely red, his dark hair grew longer, flowing like a dark flame, and his ears became larger and pointy.

Such a form was often triggered when a vampire’s mind was overtaken by fury or an instinct to survive. It releases stronger power within them and usually consumes a large portion of energy. If they fight in the form for too long, they will risk falling into hibernation.

Dorian growled. The red in his eyes burned like molten lava. Hallec leaped at him once more with his fangs bare and claws ready for more blood, but as he was about to clash with the vampire, Dorian turned into a gush of black mist. As Hallec’s eyes widened in surprise, he heard a deep, hellish voice whisper into his ear, “too slow.”

And then the people of The Guardian watched in amazement as Hallec was throwing around like a rag doll with the cloud of black mist, coagulating and disbursed at such a speed that no one’s eyes could catch him.

The mist was still an illusion, but it was a higher level of illusion that was not achieved by manipulating a lesser mind or sensations, but by twisting the universe’s rules in a small bubble of space, often around the caster themselves. Only a few vampires from the same bloodline could use such art, and only a handful of masters of such art could extend the bubble much bigger than themselves. The most legendary one was able to cover a whole kingdom with it.

In this bubble, time could slow down or even freeze, and what was solid could be as intangible as air. Which meant Dorian could move at the speed of sound, and to the outer world, he looked as if he had turned into a mist and appeared in another place simultaneously.

Hallec’s rib cracked, and blood gushed out of his mouth. With one last hit, the giant hit the ground and groaned in pain, and Dorian appeared not far from him.

Hallec struggled to get back to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth. He was no longer as confident as before, and the wall of his mind was also shaken by intimidation.

This time Dorian was the one smiling, showing sharp, venomous fangs. And his smile was not savage nor contemptuous but rather charming, and very, very dark.

“Not so sure about yourself anymore, are you?” Dorian strutted toward him, his giant bat-like wings swaying behind him like the ensigns of victory.

Hallec growled like a trapped animal, “you can’t last long in this form!”

“Maybe I can’t, but you will last shorter.”

“I will not be defeated by a fucking vampire!” Hallec spat and jumped up in the air, and it was astonishing how fast and high he could still go with broken ribs.

But then a strange thing happened.

The giant werewolf fell to the ground in front of Dorian, his face contorted in fear and panic, looking around as if seeing something other people were not seeing.

“No no no, you are dead! You are all dead!”

Dorian’s eyes burned so brightly that the light spread toward his face, neck, and body like glowing spider webs. The moment he found the crack of Hallec’s mental defense, his mind tendrils dived in and seized it. Those tendrils quickly dug into the intricate mind and commenced injecting false images, sounds, and memories into each part, further weakening it to allow deeper access.

The vampire’s relentless mind tendrils went as far as where the soul resided. As he touched the soul, his essence spread like a deadly virus to every cell and molecule.

The crowd began to gasp when the criminal shrieked in excruciating pain, and his body exploded and bloomed into a similar blood flower that Dorian made from those orges. It was a cruel, painful, but eerily beautiful scene, though it was worse than death, as the inner organs were still somehow living and squirming. And people could still see one eyeball hanging on one end of the tendrils, turning around frantically in horror and panic.

Dorian glanced at the silent crowd and announced loudly, “those who have lost your child, family, or lover to this criminal, now you can have your revenge on him.”

At first, no one moved. But then a woman stood up, quickly transformed, leaped into the crater, and lunged at the “flower of evil.”

More people stood up from the crowd and joined her at once. They roared in rage and let out all their grief, swarming the culprit and tearing it apart piece by piece in mere minutes.

The crowd let out a thunderous acclimation, so loud that it could be heard through the whole city. And in the whoop, Dorian gradually returned to his regular form. His sweat-covered, hairless gold skin glistened like crystal shards under the moonlight.

And yet there was no joy on his face, only solemnity.