At the portal station, a figure stepped out, flanked by seven elven guards moving in perfect sync. Their auras surged like invisible waves, pressure rolling off them in bursts, thick enough to make the air feel heavier. The portal operator, a sleek, humanoid AI with a featureless face, gestured them forward with a polite nod.
But unlike her guards, the woman leading them didn't flaunt her power. She didn't need to.
The Supre Judge.
Her white hair, silky and flowing, frad a face as flawless as sculpted marble, sharp golden eyes scanning everything with cool precision. Her beauty was impossible to ignore—curves wrapped in a crimson judge's dress that clung just enough to make a statent. Yet, there was no aura, no flex of power. Nothing screaming danger. But that made it worse.
Because she was dangerous.
Her ears, long and delicate, pierced through her pale hair. The white wasn't natural—just a personal touch, a signature look she preferred than the usual golden hair for high elves. Every corner of Argos knew her na. And today, like the others arriving for the event, she was here for one reason: the ga launch.
The guards moved ahead, shielding her in a protective formation as they reached the entrance.
Three figures stood there, silent. Guards, or so they seed. No aura. No presence. Just... there.
The Supre Judge narrowed her golden eyes, scanning them. Strange.
They bowed slightly, showing respect without a single wasted movent. She nodded back, and they led her towards a convoy of sleek black cars, engines purring softly as the doors opened.
What she didn't know... Those three weren't just guards. They were Phantoms. The kind of figures whispered about in myths, not reality.
_____
Elsewhere, in a different portal station, the Beastfolk Empress arrived.
Ambrosia.
She didn't need guards swarming around her unlike the others. Just two figures walked beside her, clad in ancient dark robes, faces hidden behind smooth masks, their energy locked down tight.
But Ambrosia? She wasn't hiding.
Her presence poured out in steady waves—like the hum of a sleeping storm just waiting for a reason to crack the sky open. Her ceremonial robes, flowing and ancient, rippled as she stepped forward, their embroidered patterns shifting like they were alive.
The convoy was already waiting. Sa kind of black cars, sa treatnt of silent Phantoms waiting to escort her. They led her to the Obsidian Hotel without a word, engines growling as they pulled away.
_____
"How generous of Emberly," the witch leader said with a smirk, voice smooth like she was enjoying so private joke as she watched the phantoms gesturing her towards the cars.
They never expected Emberly herself to provide security. This was the first ti although they have been here before for many etings.
She and the Human Emperor walked side by side, both surrounded by their entourages—easily the biggest group so far.
The Emperor's people were impossible to miss.
Continue reading at My Virtual Library Empire
His first princess, the current student council president at the Academy, walked just behind him, posture perfect. On his other side, the first prince, a living powerhouse, practically radiating sunlight—the Champion of Heris, the sun god.
And then there was Alexander, twin brother of Alexandra, stone-faced and silent, like he was watching everything but saying nothing.
The guards trailing them? Dark and gold armor, a seamless blend of modern design and ancient craftsmanship. It didn't just look powerful—it felt like power.
The witch leader, though, was just as intense. Three won. Three n. All walking with her in perfect sync. No wasted movents. No unnecessary words. Just presence.
Both she and the Human Emperor were monsters in their own right—two of the most feared figures in the Human Empire.
Well, except for one.
The leader of the Aether Dominion.
He was already here. Waiting.
_____
The portal didn't just open, it ripped into reality.
A vertical gash in the fabric of space, crimson mist pouring out like blood evaporating into the air. The station's lights dimd—no, fled—as if the sheer presence stepping through was enough to snuff out their glow.
And then, he arrived.
Dracula.
A tall figure erged from the swirling scarlet void, moving like a shadow sculpted into flesh. His cloak—jet black with an inner lining of deep blood-red—billowed despite the still air, rippling with an unnatural grace. Each step echoed louder than it should've, like the world itself was listening.
He didn't just arrive.
He owned the space the second he stepped into it.
The scent of roses and iron clung to him, sharp and overwhelming. His skin was pale, flawless as porcelain, offset by piercing crimson eyes that seed to burn without flas. A smirk curled on his lips—arrogant, practiced.
No aura. No violent surge of power.
But every being in the portal station felt it.
The pressure.
The air thickened, pressing into lungs, twisting stomachs. An ancient, endless weight—the presence of sothing so powerful it didn't need to roar to be heard. The kind of power that didn't beg for attention. It demanded it.
Behind him, his entourage followed. Valarie then... Seven figures cloaked in midnight black. No words. No sound. Their faces were obscured, their energy compressed so tight it was like standing beside a void. Phantoms. Not guards—executioners.
The AI portal operator twitched, glitching slightly as Dracula's presence distorted the nearby energy fields. It managed to bow.
"Welco, Lord Dracu—"
The words died.
Dracula's gaze flicked toward it. Just once.
The machine froze mid-motion.
Corrupted.
A trace of red mist curled around its core, making it glitch, tremble, and drop to its knees in silent submission.
"Ah..." Dracula finally spoke, voice deep, smooth, the kind of voice that curled into your mind and stayed there. "Do stand properly. I prefer not to break things when I've only just arrived."
The AI rebooted instantly, straightening in a jerky motion.
Dracula turned his head slightly, eyes sweeping the gathered crowd, each gaze that t his either dropping instantly or locking in a paralyzing state of fear.
"And here I was expecting... more."
The convoy was ready. But he didn't move toward the cars. No.
Dracula floated.
Feet never touching the ground, his cloak sweeping behind him like a living thing, trailing tendrils of mist.
The crowd didn't part.
They collapsed.
Knees buckling. Eyes averted. Choking on that invisible force pressing on their very souls.
He could've hidden his strength. He just... didn't.
Because he was Dracula. And the world needed to rember and acknowledge his presence.
Reviews
All reviews (0)