Vampire Progenitor System

Lucifer rolled his neck with a slow crack.

Then his knuckles.

One after the other.

The noise echoed across the plaza like the bones of a giant shifting in its sleep.

He exhaled through his nose. Quiet. Calm. Unbothered.

”Been a while,” he muttered. ”Guess I’ll stretch a little.”

The commander didn’t move, but his eyes twitched behind the mask. The witch closest to the edge of the rooftop took another step back.

Too late.

Lucifer vanished.

No spell.

No dramatic build-up.

Just gone.

A gust of wind exploded where he stood, and by the time the first soldier blinked, two helmets were already airborne, blood mist trailing behind.

Crack.

Lucifer’s fist met a chestplate from the side, folding it inward like tinfoil. The vampire inside coughed blood through his mask before crashing through the nearby column.

Lucifer didn’t stop.

He moved like a shadow given muscle—tight, precise, brutal.

A guard lunged with a spear. Lucifer slipped inside the strike, ducked low, then drove an uppercut straight into the man’s jaw. His helmet shot upward, spine snapping with it.

The man didn’t scream. He just stopped existing.

Two more tried to flank him.

Lucifer spun low, leg sweeping one off his feet while his elbow shattered the second one’s throat. He caught the falling spear before it hit the ground and drove it backward without turning—straight through a witch charging a spell behind him.

Her body crumpled, stone still glowing at her wrist as her last breath escaped.

Luna didn’t speak.

She just watched.

There was no hesitation. No waste. Lucifer wasn’t using any flashy magic. No system buffs. No blood manipulation.

Just his body.

Just fists.

Just speed.

The next group rushed all at once—twelve, maybe more. Spears. Swords. Blood magic in the air.

Lucifer grinned.

Then blurred again.

One of the guards raised his blade just in time to catch a punch.

His arms shattered. Both of them. At once.

Lucifer grabbed him by the chest and slammed him down with enough force to break the stone underfoot. The impact echoed through the plaza like a drumbeat.

Boom.

Another came from behind. Too slow.

Lucifer didn’t turn. He threw his hand backward, catching the man’s face mid-strike and squeezing. Bone cracked. The man’s skull dented before he was tossed into two more, collapsing all three like broken puppets.

Blood sprayed the air. Not in arcs—bursts. Sudden. Sharp. Like the city itself was coughing.

More witches tried to bind him.

Too late.

Lucifer flicked his fingers. Shadows from his own feet whipped outward, slicing through their ankles and throats with surgical precision. They didn’t even have time to scream.

One fell. Then another. Then five at once.

Lucifer caught one of their falling bodies midair, spun with it, and hurled it into a rooftop where a crossbow unit stood.

The body crashed into them like a comet. Three went flying. One fell to his death. Another screamed as his leg caught fire from a shattered sigil stone.

Lucifer exhaled again, calm as ever.

The commander finally moved. His blade drew with a shriek of enchanted metal. He dashed toward Lucifer, fast—faster than the rest.

Lucifer didn’t dodge.

Their blades met flesh.

Lucifer blocked with his forearm.

A normal man’s bone would have split from the strike. But Lucifer wasn’t normal.

The commander’s blade snapped in half on impact.

Lucifer stared at him flatly.

The commander’s eyes widened just before Lucifer’s knee slammed into his stomach, lifting him off the ground.

Lucifer grabbed his leg, swung him into another guard, and then into another, and another, using his body like a club before tossing him into a wall where he stuck for a moment—then slid down, unconscious or dead.

Didn’t matter.

Lucifer turned to the remaining dozen.

They were frozen. Some backed up. One dropped his weapon and tried to run.

Lucifer shot forward.

He caught the runner by the back of the head and slammed him face-first into the pavement. Didn’t even look.

The rest screamed, finally breaking formation.

Too late.

Lucifer moved through them like smoke with weight. Every punch broke something. Every kick collapsed a ribcage or spine. He caught swords with his bare hands, let them shatter against his skin, then responded with bones.

No wasted movement.

No wasted time.

Luna watched as bodies dropped like dominos. Some twitched. Some didn’t. Some were so disfigured from impact that it was hard to tell what they were before.

And still... no magic.

No blood tricks. No demon side.

Just hands.

And breath.

And eyes that didn’t blink once.

When the final guard swung—desperate, sloppy—Lucifer sidestepped, grabbed his arm, broke it clean, then twisted it back into his throat.

The man dropped.

Lucifer stood straight again, spine clicking slightly as he rolled his shoulders.

He looked around.

Silence.

Blood stained the cobblestones. Steam rose from cracked stone. The crimson-armored guards were no more. Just bodies now. Scattered.

The air was still again.

But heavier.

Valena hadn’t moved the entire time. Her violet and gold banner swayed behind her gently. Her witches looked at each other with quiet horror.

Lucifer met her eyes across the plaza.

”Still want to talk?” he asked calmly.

Valena smiled thinly.

”I do.”

Luna stepped beside him, voice quiet. ”That was...”

Lucifer didn’t look at her.

”Necessary.”

He walked forward again.

Past the bodies. Past the steam and blood.

He paused only once—beside the commander’s broken form. The man was still breathing. Barely.

Lucifer crouched beside him.

The commander turned his head, eyes dazed.

”You are...” he tried to say.

Lucifer leaned closer.

”I am.”

Then stood.

And left him there.

The path to the royal tower was open now. No more guards. No more law.

Just him. Luna. Valena behind. And a city that had finally gone quiet.

Lucifer didn’t smile again.

He just kept walking.

Toward the throne.

Toward the truth.

And whatever waited for him in that ruined palace.

A/N

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!