The Crimson Awakening
[To unlock full system capacity, host must conduct a Blood Ritual with a high-level vampire female.]
[Friendly Reminder: Bloodline power = System bonus strength.]
[The Blood Ritual is necessary to awaken your sleeping bloodline. The act has to be by mutual consent and done with a compatible vampire female of royal or noble bearing.]
[If not activated, the system could lead to permanent cognitive dissonance, system degradation, and fragmentation of the self.
All went silent.
Alex's breath stuck. His heart flipped a beat as silence thundered in his head.
"…What?" he breathed, barely audible under the pound of blood in his ears. "You want me to… what? Track down a vampire girl and—f*ck her?"
[Yes, Host.]
[First Mission: Find your fated First Empress—your love. Finish the Blood Ritual. Activate the Bloodwing System.]
[Reminder: Power is Lust. Lust is Power. Dominance drives evolution. Pick a mate with high compatibility.]
You've got to be kidding me," Alex spat, anger welling up like flames in his blood. "My mom just passed away. I got f*cking shot in the head. And now you're asking me to go out and get me a wife?!
His throat constricted. He ached to yell, to rip the voice from his head. His mother was dead in his arms. Her blood still clung to his skin, warm and acrid on his lips. How could any system—no matter how good—possibly ask him to forget that and just. find someone to have sex with?
Silence.
No response.
The system gave no answer.
But somehow, the silence sounded louder than any yell.
His fists were clenched. The thick blood covering his body, oozing from the corners of his mouth, did not terrify him. It only heightened his anger. His body shook with rage—not fear, but the mounting pressure inside, as if something ancient dug itself upward.
He didn't think.
He acted.
A beastly roar tore through his throat—raw, muffled, full of rage and confusion.
With every ounce of strength, he punched both fists up, hitting the coffin top above him.
Crack.
The red stone cracked.
Another crack webbed through it.
Then—
BOOM.
The coffin exploded in a thunderous blast, spewing blood and searing steam into the air. Rune-scored slabs of ancient stone flew in all directions as a wave of hot, heavy liquid poured out, flooding the ground around him.
Alex gasped as air ripped through his lungs like flame. He hacked, blood spewing from his lips as he fell across the chilly stone floor, slick from head to heel.
His vision went dark.
A red moon hung over him—gigantic, bloody, godlike. It hung low above serrated peaks and ruins matted with mist, its blood-glow illuminating the landscape in shadows that writhed like living things.
He trembled.
The air was cold. Too cold. And yet it felt oddly familiar, like returning to a forgotten home.
That's when he realized—
He was naked.
"…Seriously?" he muttered, shoulders twitching. "Of course I'm f*cking naked."
Then—he heard it.
Footsteps.
Two pairs. Measured. Calm. Unhurried.
He turned, instincts sharpening. His crimson eyes narrowed, fingers digging into the stone beneath him.
From the haze emerged two women attired in elaborate, crimson-hued armor. Black hair streamed after them like banners of silk. Their faces were arresting—sharp, inhumanly lovely. Eyes burned crimson beneath visors, their gaze fixing on him like predators detecting their missing king.
They wore no weapons. They never needed any.
And when they noticed his look—raging with raw frustration—something changed in their stance.
They bowed.
Both together, as if an ancient reflex had asserted itself.
The first woman stood frozen, her mouth opening in wonder.
"The Prince… he's awake."
The second fell to one knee without hesitation. "By the Empress's blessing… our prince lives."
The first did the same, bowing low in deference.
"Welcome back, my Prince."
Alex remained still, blood flowing from his body, pounding in his head. But for some reason, he didn't attempt to cover himself.
Perhaps it was confusion. Perhaps something deeper—something ancient—was stirring in his blood.
He breathed out slowly, voice rough and heavy with annoyance.
"…What the bloody hell is happening?" he growled. "Who are you?"
The guards winced hard at the depth of his voice. But one of them raised her head, speaking quietly though there was a tremble in her breath.
"We are the Empress's personal guards, Your Highness. We were tasked with guarding your resting place until the day of your return."
That term reverberated in his skull—return.
His breathing was halted.
Vampires. Empress. Guards.
Recollections fluttered on moth wings. A woman's voice, distant and muted, whispering in his dreams… "Her Majesty… the Supreme Empress…"
He squinted.
"My return? Or this body's?" he inquired slowly. "From where?"
The kneeling guard looked at her mate, then replied, voice lowered. "From your Eternal Sleep… my Prince."
He rubbed his temple, attempting to find stability. A tempest raged in the back of his mind, thoughts spinning too quickly to catch.
"I am going mad," he growled.
The first guard carefully stood up, her armor shining under the blood moon's light. "Do I call for Her Majesty?" she asked, her voice measured.
Alex didn't even protest. He nodded once, the movement stiff.
She went to her hip and pulled out a small oval relic—smooth, red, and softly glowing. The instant her skin made contact with it, it glowed.
Alex gazed. The thing was unfamiliar, even to the memories that were developing inside him.
Vampire tech of some sort? Magic? Something even more unusual?
He didn't inquire.
He stood in stunned silence while the guard held it to her mouth and breathed softly, "Your Majesty. the Crown Prince has awakened from his eternal sleep."
And before her words had faded into the ruin, the world. shifted.
Silence descended.
A heavy, false hush rolled down the valley. The earth shuddered slightly, as if some enormous presence had shifted its eye upon him.
The air above the broken coffin shimmered. And then—blood.
A globe of scarlet coalesced midair, hanging like hot glass. It throbbed, contorting into a form both strange and holy.
Tendrils curled, intertwining into the profile of a woman—tall, queenly, otherworldly.
She fell.
Bare feet landed on stone silently. The blood that environed her dissipated into steam.
Alex breathed hard, mouth open.
She wasn't human.
She wasn't mortal.
Her rose-pink hair glowed like moonlight steeped in rosewater. Her eyes, deep crimson and bright, pierced through him like twin dying, birthed stars. Her loveliness was enthralling—divine and frightful.
Her lips opened, barely above a whisper.
"…My son."
His fury—raging mere moments before—flickered out, like water cast upon flame. His mouth opened before he could halt it.
"…Mom?"
Her voice shook—timeless and close, as a song sung at the beginning of time. Her movements, steady as they were, were uncertain. She gazed at him as though she was afraid he would vanish once more.
Alex stood still. Something began within him, something older than memory, deeper than sorrow. It was as though standing in front of Anna again—his mother from his past world—yet somehow. this was different.
Her hand danced above him, shaking.
Then she moved toward him.
In one heartbeat, she wrapped her arms around him—pulling his naked, blood-soaked body against her chest without hesitation.
Alex stood frozen.
Her scent engulfed him—like roses warmed by firelight, ancient and tender. Her touch was sacred, aching, real.
"…It's really you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "My son… my son… you've returned to me."