"Don't play dumb. Of course there's a heart organ inside you. But does it still beat?" Mr. Isagi asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, his gaze sharp and unwavering, as if waiting for the inevitable answer.
"Why don't you check for yourself?" Masaru replied calmly, stepping closer.
Mr. Isagi, still wary, hesitated for a moment before placing his hand firmly on Masaru's chest. A few tense seconds passed. Then—his eyes widened in disbelief.
Shock washed over his face—not just from what he felt, but from what he saw and sensed, something inexplicable that defied every rule he thought he understood.
"What the hell are you…?" Mr. Isagi murmured, stunned. The faint rhythmic thump beneath his palm contradicted everything he knew about vampires. They were undead—lifeless. They didn't have a heartbeat, not a real one. And yet…but that was not his main problem right now.
Masaru stayed quiet, his expression unreadable.
"Do you know the full name of the person who turned you into a vampire?" Mr. Isagi suddenly asked, grabbing Masaru's shoulders with such force that, had Masaru been an ordinary human, his bones would have snapped like twigs.
"Yes. Akane Mikazuki," Masaru answered firmly.
As soon as the name left his lips, Mr. Isagi's grip loosened. He seemed to relax slightly, the tension in his arms releasing. "The Mikazukis, huh…? Well, at least I won't have to worry about your safety for now," he muttered. "To think, of all people, you'd end up as a subordinate to the one they say is the reincarnation of Selene—the Vampire Queen herself."
He paused, voice lowering. "Still… I wonder. They should've noticed the thing inside you…"
Masaru blinked, frowning in confusion. "Hold on. What do you mean by 'Vampire Queen' and what thing inside me?"
But Mr. Isagi didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on Masaru's chest, lips tightly sealed. It was as if he was trying to piece together a puzzle only he could see.
"Could it be," he muttered to himself, "the reason I detected it… is because I also have something similar inside of me?"
He lifted his hand, staring at it as it pulsated with a subtle warmth, a lingering trace of energy still connecting him to Masaru. A power he hadn't felt in decades—primal, ancient, and unmistakably alive.
"There's something inside you," he said at last, his tone grave. "An artifact… a fragment… something long sought after by many. If it stays in you, not even the Mikazukis can protect you. That thing will draw the eyes of chaos and monsters alike."
Without warning, Mr. Isagi pressed his hand against Masaru's chest. Masaru flinched, instinctively trying to move, but his body refused to respond. His limbs were frozen—locked in place by some invisible force. His mouth moved, but no words escaped. Something had taken control.
Mr. Isagi, too, looked distant—his eyes unfocused, as if he were peering into another world.
And then—
"Where… am I?" Mr. Isagi muttered.
He stood in a vast chamber, alien yet hauntingly majestic. Rivers of blood flowed along ancient, cracked stone floors, and towering pillars made of bones and skulls reached towards a blackened ceiling lost in shadows. The stench of decay lingered, yet the place exuded a strange regality.
At the far end of the chamber sat a throne—ornate and towering—crafted of obsidian and bone, pulsing with crimson light. Upon it rested a lone figure.
The being sat with legs crossed, one hand resting lazily on the armrest, the other supporting his chin. His eyes gleamed like rubies in a sea of darkness—piercing, intelligent, and heavy with power. He wore crimson leather armor that seemed woven from the night itself, its edges trimmed in gold. A regal red cape draped over his shoulders, swaying subtly in an invisible breeze.
Long silver hair cascaded down his back like a river of moonlight. He looked... unassuming at first glance. Average build, calm posture. But everything about him screamed divinity, dread, and something more ancient than time.
"Who are you? And where the hell am I?" Mr. Isagi asked, though his voice wavered, his hands twitching as they began to morph. Veins of black energy coursed through them, dark lines crawling across his skin like a parasite. Runes—etched in gold and black—formed intricate patterns across his arms, glowing faintly.
But the figure did not move.
"Don't waste your time. If I wanted it, you'd be dead by now," the man spoke, voice calm and melodic, but commanding enough to silence a battlefield. "Remain still. You'll find it far less unpleasant than struggling."
Mr. Isagi stood frozen, not because of fear, but because of the realization that the man spoke the truth. Whatever or whoever he was—he could kill Mr. Isagi with a thought. And yet, he hadn't.
"…What do you want?" Mr. Isagi asked, his voice steadying.
The figure smiled faintly, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement.
"I'll introduce myself first. It's only fair," the figure said. "My name is Dracula Bloodfallen. Some call me the King of Vampires. Others… the Father of Undead. And to a few who still remember… the God of Vampires."
Dracula.
The name hit Mr. Isagi like a thunderclap, echoing through his mind and shattering every defense he had left.
No… it can't be…
If the legends were true, then this was the man who, along with his queen, faced an army of millions—supernatural entities from across realms—and emerged victorious. A man whose name had once driven even the highest-ranking officials in the Organization into silence. The man whose power redefined fear.
That Dracula.
Mr. Isagi's knees nearly buckled. Even the strongest hunter he had ever served under—the infamous Cain—was said to be nothing compared to Dracula. If this being stood before him, then…
He was no longer the hunter.
He was the prey.
"I see the recognition in your eyes," Dracula said, his tone calm, almost wistful. "It's been a long time since someone knew who I truly was. Most just think I'm a myth."
"…What do you want from me?" Mr. Isagi asked again, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Dracula stood from the throne, each movement fluid, deliberate. As he walked forward, the rivers of blood seemed to retreat, parting in reverence.