Bloody Wedding - Part I

DeathBreeze Mayfair returned to her underground lair with the weight of duty still wrapped tightly around her. Some would believe the uniform might have been slightly too thight on her, but in reality there was something about wearing the uniform that channeled her mindset into a particular headspace. The tunnels greeted her in their usual way, stretching endlessly beneath the sleeping city above. To most, such a place would have felt suffocating, resembling a bit too much of a forgotten grave carved into the earth. She would see it differently, in her mind, it was something far more intimate. Something that felt like safety. It was a world untouched by sunlight, where shadows obeyed and secrets could exist without consequence.

Her service as a Knight of the Shielded Blood had begun to shape her in ways she had not anticipated. Once a Squire, now elevated through discipline and endurance, she found herself tethered once more to the greater vampiric realm. It grounded her. The rigid structure, the expectations, the quiet enforcement of laws are things that kept her from drifting into the kind of madness that claimed so many of their kind over time. Tharos, one of the divine beings she was devoted to, had placed her on that path, she was certain of it. His lessons were never gentle, never obvious, but always deliberate. He definitely had a plan and she would blindly navigate toward it. He did not guide, he forced evolution and perfection of his kin... and she had learned so much from these blessings.

That night, however, she allowed herself a rare moment of stillness. Seated within her private chamber, illuminated by the soft flicker of an electric light, she immersed herself in human literature. “Surviving Death” by Leslie Kean. The title alone had drawn her curiosity, but it was the content that held her captive. Mortals at time fascinated her. It was definitely not for their strength, but for their persistence and their desperate attempts to understand what they were never meant to grasp. The section that rose her interest was detailing the use of hypothermic cardiac arrest in case of aneurysm. The calculated slowing of life, the deliberate lowering of the body’s temperature to a fragile threshold where existence itself hovered between presence and absence. Sixteen degrees Celsius, that was the magic number to put a human to a suspended state. Neither alive nor gone. She traced the passage slowly, comparing it to vampiric state- how interesting was it that her body temperature had a link with some sort of resurrection. She wondered if somewhere, long ago, a whisper of such knowledge had slipped from immortal lips into mortal ears. Humans always believed they were discovering truths.

The quiet shattered when her tablet vibrated beside her, its glow cutting through the dimness of the room. The message was brief, uncertain, carrying a tension that needed no explanation. Death… I’m sorry to bother you. Are you aware? The images that followed were enough to answer the question before she could even form it. A wedding. A gathering of vampires, captured in still frames. So many faces she recognized. Some were figures of influence, and among them, something far more dangerous: the presence of one of the Devils. Yet it was not the gathering itself that unsettled her or their guests. It was where the images had been posted that was troubling: Human servers. For a moment, DeathBreeze remained perfectly still, her gaze fixed, calculating. Humans were creatures of illusion. They dressed as monsters at times, told stories of immortality, built fantasies around things they could never truly comprehend. This could be dismissed as fiction. It could pass unnoticed. But “could” was never enough for the protection of the vampiric heritage. Certainty was the only thing that mattered. Thank you. I will contact them, she replied without hesitation.

Ramzy answered her summons quickly, as she expected he would. He entered with his usual composed elegance, though tonight there was a rougher edge to him than usual. A faint shadow of a three-day beard darkened his jaw, softening none of the danger in his features and only adding to the striking presence he carried so effortlessly. His Moroccan origins lent him that unmistakable North African allure, something warm, exotic, and quietly hypnotic to his prey. His tailored suit, his controlled posture, the quiet confidence that marked him as both refined and dangerous, if he wished it so. Yet tonight, shackled his normal behaviors.

“I am pissed,” he said as he crossed the threshold, his voice low-pitched and edged with restrained anger, the depth of it making the words land heavier than if he had shouted. “Are they all insane?”

DeathBreeze did not react immediately. Instead, she studied him, allowing the silence to stretch just long enough to strip away the edge of his outburst. When she finally spoke, her tone was calm, measured, unwavering. “You posted their image on a human network, claiming it was a vampire wedding.” The shift in him was immediate. Confusion gave way to realization, and realization to something heavier. “No, that was for a friend...he wanted to...” “Look,” she interrupted softly, turning the tablet toward him.

If silence could break something, it could have split the tunnels they lived in in half.

“…Fuck.” The word came lower this time, stripped of its earlier aggression, replaced by understanding. “I sent it to the wrong place.”

DeathBreeze inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the truth without softening its impact. “This is a Masquerade breach,” she said, her voice even, controlled. “But humans are blind when it suits them. They will call it a theme, a game, a story... Isn’t there a table game called Mystery Murder : Bloodline? They always confuse truths for fictions.” Her gaze remained on him, steady and unyielding. “Still, we will review the laws properly. It seems your last Sire neglected that responsibility.” It was not punishment, she understood that some Sires weren’t the most accurate with teachings and let their progeny figure the world as they lived in it - even if that meant risking their immortal lives. In this case, explanations were in order and that is what Lady DeathBreeze did, to sort this situation ... and make sure it doesn’t happen another time.

When Ramzy finally withdrew, the tension lingered behind him like a fading echo, but the night itself seemed to settle once more. In their private chamber, Nommz remained beside her, his presence steady, grounding in a way few things were. His fingers moved slowly through her hair, absent-minded yet deliberate, a quiet gesture that spoke of familiarity rather than need. For a brief moment, the world beyond their walls ceased to matter. There were no politics, no threats, no obligations...only the fragile illusion of peace between two beings who had long since learned how rare such moments were. She cherished the moment she had with Nommz. They were a bit rarer these last months, so many things were fracturing and changing at a rapid pace.

This was no exception, as the silence and peace did not last. The tablet lit once more. Lady DeathBreeze’s eyes moved quickly across the screen, her expression tightening ever so slightly as she read. A file was being built against Ramzy, compiling his presences, his words, everything that was related to him.

“Love…” she murmured, her voice lower now, edged with something colder. “This is becoming something else.” She responded swiftly, efficiently, then rested her hand lightly against Nommz’s leg, grounding herself as much as informing him. “Ironic,” she continued, her tone sharpening with quiet disdain. “I was once accused of building cases files, based on lies… and now the Enfant d’Hathors are doing what they once blamed me doing ..."

The name itself carried a certain weight: Les Enfants of Hathor.

A clan wrapped in contradictions in her mind. French tongues preaching Egyptian divinities, faiths borrowed and reshaped into something that suited their ambition. DeathBreeze had dealt with them before, always with courtesy, always with a certain restraint. But she had seen enough with time to recognize the patterns. Flattery, influence and control disguised as reverence. Signs of manipulation that failed to grasp her attention. She had once respected their leader, briefly, before the illusion fractured. How can one believe friendship can last when they work so hard to carefully attempt to frame one a family member, based on lies, rumors and assumptions? How can one keep being respectful when asked to let one of her own to be offered as prey, for the pleasure of their will? That was the moment respect died. And once it dies, it does not return.

Another short message came not long after. Delivered not as a threat, but as information from an anonymous source. Ramzy Mayfair had been officially declared Kill-on-Sight from the Hathors on the 3rd of March, Year of the Source 2026.

For a moment, DeathBreeze said nothing. Then, slowly, a smile curved across her lips. She did not see this as a mere amusement, nor of disbelief, but something far more dangerous. This was an invitation.

She suddenly rose from her seat, slipping from Nommz’s touch as though drawn by something inevitable. She quickly moved to face him and winked. She had something brewing in her mind. Each step toward the doorway was measured, as she was calculating what would happen in the next few days. She leaned to the wall and pressed a finger against the intercom. Her voice carried through every corridor as it was making it’s way to her Coven’s vampires.

“Let it be known…” A pause, just long enough for the silence to listen.“A Kill-on-Sight order has been issued against one of our own. Prepare yourselves.” as he pause to look at Nommz who was still seated on the sofa, yet curious of what she would say next ...

“…the hunt begins now.”