The afternoon sun hung high over the concrete sprawl of the city, casting long, sharp shadows across the pavement. The year was 2055, yet the quiet streets surrounding the apartment complex looked and felt exactly like a nostalgic snapshot from the mid-2020s.
The heavy, aggressive roar of the black Corvette's V8 engine finally quieted down as Max smoothly steered the vehicle into his designated spot in the private parking lot. He cut the engine, the sudden silence inside the luxurious cabin feeling almost deafening after their high-speed, adrenaline-fueled date.
Max opened his door and stepped out into the warm afternoon air. He walked around the sleek hood of the car and opened the passenger door, offering his large, calloused hand.
Bellatrix, her cheeks still flushed a bright, happy pink from the thrill of the ride, reached out and gripped his hand tightly. She stepped out of the low sports car, her legs slightly trembling—both from the lingering soreness of their intense night together and the sheer, terrifying speed at which he had driven them back home.
Max didn't let go of her hand. He seamlessly intertwined his fingers with hers, offering her a warm, protective smile. Bellatrix beamed back at him, her gray eyes sparkling with genuine affection. It was exactly 1:32 PM. They had spent the morning driving around the city outskirts, eating lunch at a quiet diner, and simply enjoying the rare feeling of being a normal couple.
Hand-in-hand, they walked through the glass doors and entered the cool, air-conditioned lobby of the apartment building.
However, the peaceful atmosphere of their date was instantly broken.
Standing near the front desk of the manager's office, aggressively pacing back and forth, was Lady Irmela. She was holding her smartphone tightly against her ear, her mismatched eyes—one warm brown, one icy blue—narrowed in deep, visible frustration. She was furiously rubbing her forehead with her free hand.
"All right, all right, I'll go there soon. Sigh…" Irmela muttered into the phone, her voice laced with a heavy, exhausting burden. She didn't wait for a reply, simply pressing the end call button and letting her arm drop limply to her side.
Bellatrix immediately stopped walking. Her bright smile vanished, replaced by a look of deep, familial concern. She let go of Max's hand and quickly walked over to her aunt.
"Is there any problem, Auntie?" Bellatrix asked, her voice soft and worried.
Irmela visibly jumped, startled by their sudden appearance. She quickly slipped her smartphone into her pocket and forced a tight, highly unconvincing smile onto her face. She looked at the vintage clock hanging on the lobby wall, her eyebrows raising in surprise.
"Lauren? Max? You guys are far too early to come back here," Irmela pointed out, trying to deflect the attention away from herself. "It's still only 1:32 in the afternoon. You should have enjoyed your date until the night, exactly the same as you did yesterday! After all, you both came back here at 11:45 PM last night. Why cut it so short today?"
Bellatrix opened her mouth to speak, but Max smoothly stepped forward, sliding his hand gently onto the small of Bellatrix's back to support her.
"Ahh, it's entirely my fault, Miss Irmela," Max lied effortlessly, jumping in to cover for Bellatrix. "I told her that I am actually quite busy this afternoon with some personal errands, so we had to cut the drive a little short."
Irmela looked at Max, her mismatched eyes scanning his calm expression. She slowly nodded her head.
"Ohh, alright. I see," Irmela replied, accepting the excuse.
But Bellatrix wasn't going to be distracted that easily. Her sharp, analytical mind had already cataloged her aunt's stressed posture, the heavy sigh, and the frantic pacing.
"Then, can you answer my question now, Auntie?" Bellatrix pressed, stepping closer. "Why does it seem like you just sighed so heavily that you aged ten years in a single minute? What was that phone call about?"
Irmela sighed again, a sound of profound, weary resignation. She reached out and pulled Bellatrix into a tight, brief hug.
"It's nothing you need to worry about, my dear," Irmela reassured her, patting her blonde hair gently before stepping back. "Can you just go upstairs now and let your auntie be alone for a little while? Please?"
Bellatrix frowned, her gray eyes filled with stubborn concern. She reached out and squeezed her aunt's arm.
"Fine," Bellatrix conceded reluctantly. "But you should definitely tell me what the problem is later on. Maybe I can help you, Auntie! Don't shoulder all the problems you have by yourself, alright? I'm the only member of our family here in this state. You can rely on me."
Irmela offered a warmer, more genuine smile this time. "Yes, yes. I will tell you later. Now, go to your room, both of you. Get some rest."
Bellatrix finally nodded. She turned back to Max and securely gripped his right hand again.
They turned away from the manager's office and started walking toward the main stairwell. They climbed the first few steps in companionable silence.
But then, Max suddenly stopped his pace. His heavy boot planted firmly on the third step.
"Huh?" Bellatrix paused, looking back down at him. "Why did you stop, Max?"
Max looked up at her, his expression shifting from the relaxed boyfriend to a look of serious, calculated intent.
"I need to go back down and talk about something with your auntie," Max stated quietly.
Bellatrix tilted her head, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder. "But why? Are you curious about her problems too? Sure, I can go upstairs first, but please tell me alright? Try to find out what her problems are this time so at least I can help her."
Max offered her a warm, reassuring smile. He nodded his head. "Sure. Will do."
He then took a step up, closing the distance between them. He reached out with his free hand, gently cupping the side of her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. He leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers.
—KISS!
It wasn't a rushed peck. It was a slow, deeply affectionate kiss that made Bellatrix's toes curl in her shoes. He poured a silent promise of safety and care into the contact, entirely overwhelming her senses.
As he slowly pulled away, Bellatrix's cheeks were burning a brilliant, vibrant red. Her earlier concern was completely short-circuited by the sudden romantic assault.
"Te—tell me later, alright?" Bellatrix whispered breathlessly, her gray eyes slightly hazy.
Max chuckled softly, giving her hand one last squeeze before letting go. He nodded.
He watched her turn around and quickly ascend the stairs, her steps a little wobbly but determined. He waited until he heard the distant, muffled sound of her apartment door opening and closing on the third floor.
The moment the door clicked shut, the warm, affectionate boyfriend completely vanished.
Max's posture straightened. The muscles in his broad shoulders tensed, coiling with lethal, practiced readiness. The warmth bled entirely out of his amber eyes, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of the Reaper—and the ancient, terrifying presence of the Dark Lord.
He turned around and walked slowly, silently back down the concrete steps toward the lobby.
***
As Max stepped back onto the ground floor, he saw Irmela sitting heavily in a chair near the front desk. She had her elbows resting on her knees, her hands massaging her temples as if trying to push a massive, throbbing headache out of her skull. She truly looked like the weight of the entire world was resting on her shoulders.
Hearing his footsteps, Irmela opened her eyes. She widened them in surprise as she saw Max standing there alone. She quickly dropped her hands and sat up straight, trying to gather her composure.
"Why are you still here, Max?" Irmela asked, her tone shifting into a professional, slightly annoyed landlady voice. "Do you want to ask something from me regarding your room? Is the plumbing acting up again?"
Max didn't reply. He stood perfectly still in the center of the lobby, about ten feet away from her. He simply looked at her. His piercing amber eyes locked onto her mismatched eyes, intensely inspecting her, searching for the subtle, invisible vibrations of the supernatural.
He was looking for the aura of a witch.
Irmela shifted uncomfortably under his intense, unblinking stare. The silence in the lobby stretched on, becoming thick and suffocating.
"Umm, is there any problem, Max?" Irmela asked, her voice faltering slightly. "A—are you alright? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Max took a slow, deep breath. He finally spoke, his voice dropping into a low, commanding timber that carried an unnatural, heavy authority.
"Cast a sound barrier spell."
Irmela froze. Her icy blue eye and warm brown eye widened to an impossible degree. The blood instantly drained from her face.
"W—what?!" Irmela gasped, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair.
Max didn't blink. He just stared her down, his expression completely blank. He repeated his command, adding the final, damning word.
"I said, cast a sound barrier spell—" Max paused, letting the silence hang for a fraction of a second. "—Witch."
Irmela jumped up from her chair, kicking it backward. Pure, unadulterated shock painted her features.
"Ho—how?!" Irmela stammered, her voice trembling. "How did you know I was a witch?!"
Max simply crossed his arms over his broad chest and waited.
Irmela gritted her teeth. She quickly raised her right hand, her fingers tracing a complex, geometric pattern in the empty air. A faint, almost invisible ripple of energy pulsed outward from her hand, washing over the walls of the lobby. The ambient noise of the city traffic outside instantly vanished. The room was now perfectly, magically soundproofed.
"Done," Irmela hissed, her demeanor shifting entirely. The kind, eccentric landlady was gone. Standing before Max was a woman vibrating with ancient, dangerous power.
"Now tell me how did you know I was a witch," Irmela demanded, her voice echoing unnaturally in the silenced room. "Tell me, Max. Or I swear to God, I will make Bellatrix get far away from you, or I will simply kill you right where you stand!"
Max sighed heavily. He didn't look intimidated in the slightest. He looked bored. He just stared at her eyes. He could clearly see it now. The moment she had cast the spell, her icy blue eye had flared with a faint, luminous, magical glow.
"So, you really are a witch, huh," Max stated casually.
Irmela tightly gripped her hands into fists. Suddenly, complex, glowing runic circles materialized directly over her knuckles, humming with raw, destructive thermal energy. The air in the lobby instantly grew hot.
"Tell me!" Irmela shouted, the magical circles flaring brighter. "How did you know I was a witch?! Are you a goddamn witch hunter?!"
Max let out another exhausted sigh. He slowly uncrossed his arms and raised both of his hands in the air, a universal gesture of surrender.
"Calm down," Max instructed, his voice remaining perfectly steady.
"Fuck you mean calm down?!" Irmela spat angrily, taking a step toward him. "I am asking you right now, how did you know?! Answer me!"
"I'm not a witch hunter," Max answered simply, keeping his hands raised. "But rather… I'm a vampire."
Irmela stopped dead in her tracks. The glowing circles on her fists flickered in sheer, absolute disbelief.
"A—a vampire?!" Irmela choked out.
"A quarter-vampire, to be precise," Max clarified smoothly. "My father was a half-vampire, and my mother was a pure-blooded human. And the reason how I found out about you being a witch… is because of your niece, Bell."
Irmela stared at him, her mind struggling to process the massive revelation.
"And please, calm down. I come in peace," Max continued, his amber eyes sincere. "I don't want to harm you. If I wanted to kill you, I would have just sniped you from the rooftop across the street. I just want questions and answers. That's all."
Irmela stood there, her chest heaving. She looked at his raised hands, and then at his calm, completely unthreatened posture. Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her fists. The glowing runic circles dissipated into thin air, and the temperature in the lobby returned to normal.
"Fine," Irmela spat, though the hostility remained in her eyes. "Let's talk. But I swear, if I find out you have ulterior motives for approaching me or my niece, I am going to burn your whole body to ash, you vampire."
Max let out a breath, slowly lowering his hands to his sides. "I just want answers, okay?"
"Just answers?" Irmela repeated suspiciously.
Max nodded his head firmly. "Yes."
Irmela gestured sharply toward a small, plush sofa in the corner of the lobby. She then pointed to a wooden chair sitting opposite it.
"Sit," she commanded.
Max walked over and calmly sat down in the wooden chair.
The moment his weight settled onto the wood, Irmela flicked her wrist.
Suddenly, thick, glowing ropes of magical energy erupted from the floorboards. They lashed upward like striking snakes, wrapping violently around Max's wrists, his torso, and his ankles, binding him tightly to the heavy wooden chair. The magical ropes hummed with a harsh, restrictive power.
Max didn't struggle. He didn't even flinch. He just looked down at the glowing bindings, and then looked back up at Irmela with a deadpan expression.
"What's this for?" Max asked, his tone utterly flat. "As I just said before, I come in peace."
"I don't trust you," Irmela stated coldly, walking over to sit on the sofa across from him. "Including now, especially after you just told me you are a quarter-vampire. I didn't even feel anything strange from your aura. You hide your nature flawlessly. That makes you dangerous."
Max sighed, leaning back against the bindings. "I see. I don't blame you for being paranoid."
"Now talk," Irmela commanded. She raised her right hand, her palm facing upward. A sharp, incredibly lethal-looking blade made entirely of condensed, glowing magical energy materialized in her grasp. She pointed the glowing tip directly at Max's amber eyes.
"What questions and answers do you want?" Irmela demanded.
Max let out a long, highly annoyed mutter. "There's really no need to do all this theatrical stuff, y'know. Sigh."
If he truly wanted to, even without his dark magic from his past lives, his raw, superhuman physical strength as a quarter-vampire and his elite assassin training would allow him to shatter this wooden chair and snap her neck before she could even thrust the magical blade forward. But he held himself back. He was trying to be diplomatic.
Max gathered his thoughts, stared past the glowing blade, and asked his first, most pressing question.
"Is Bellatrix a witch?"
Irmela's eyes widened in genuine surprise. She lowered the tip of the magical blade by an inch.
"What? Ho—how did you even reach the conclusion that she might be a witch?" Irmela asked, taken completely aback by the specific question.
"I felt an aura of a witch yesterday when we were dating at the bakery," Max explained calmly. "It was incredibly faint, buried deep, but I felt it radiating from her."
"I—impossible," Irmela stammered, shaking her head. "Lauren shouldn't be a witch since—"
"Since what?" Max asked, cutting her off, his eyes narrowing.
Irmela frowned, tightening her grip on the magical blade. "Since I am still alive. Witches live for exactly five hundred years, the exact same lifespan as my mother had before she finally settled down with our human father."
Max raised a curious eyebrow. "So, you're saying you can live for five hundred years?"
Irmela nodded her head. "Yes. I can live for five hundred years. But more importantly, before a woman in our bloodline can officially awaken and become a true witch, she must be formally recognized and magically acknowledged by her predecessor, her ancestor, or at least an awakened member of her direct family."
She looked away, a hint of sorrow in her mismatched eyes.
"I didn't even acknowledge her," Irmela confessed quietly. "Since Lauren chose to become a dedicated scientist from a very young age, and she loves the mundane world of chemistry so much, I decided not to force her into this dark life. I don't plan for her to ever become a witch."
Max nodded his head slowly, absorbing the magical lore of this Earth. "I see…"
Irmela snapped her attention back to him, her gaze sharpening.
"Are you absolutely sure you felt the aura of a witch from her?" Irmela interrogated him. "And furthermore, since when can a low-blooded quarter-vampire even feel or recognize a witch's aura? Our magic is designed to be hidden from your kind."
Max's amber eyes grew cold, a dark memory forcing its way to the forefront of his mind.
"Because I met one when I was twenty-five years old," Max answered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
Irmela widened her eyes, leaning forward on the sofa. "What?! You met another witch? Where?!"
"In Los Angeles," Max replied, the memory playing out vividly in his head. The freezing rain, the blood on his combat knife, the dark alleyway. "I met a witch there. As I remember, even though she was wearing a heavy, ragged hood that absorbed the rain, I saw her face clearly. She had long, silver hair. And she had the exact same mismatched heterochromia as you, but with a terrifying variation. Her left eye was icy blue, and her right eye was a glowing, demonic crimson red. And despite her ancient power, she looked incredibly young."
Irmela's breath hitched in her throat. She listened in absolute, stunned silence.
"And she was also the one who uncovered my deepest, darkest secret," Max continued, staring right through Irmela as he recalled the encounter. "She was the one who told me I was a quarter-vampire. And worse, she called me a 'descendant of Dracula'."
Max paused, letting the heavy name settle in the air.
"A fact which I already heavily suspected," Max added, "since I had read it from my murdered father's hidden journal. My father and I are direct descendants of the Dracula bloodline."
Irmela's jaw dropped completely open. The magical blade in her hand flickered and vanished into thin air as her concentration shattered.
"Wait…" Irmela gasped, her voice barely a squeak. "You're a Royal Blood Vampire?!"
Max offered a single, slow nod of his head.
Irmela fell back against the plush cushions of the sofa, her mind reeling.
In the hidden, supernatural underworld of Earth, Royal Blood Vampires were the absolute apex predators. They were higher vampires that carried the pure, ancient blood of Vlad Tepes himself. They possessed terrifying strength, near-immortality, and an innate resistance to most human weaponry.
And as Max remembered from the blood-stained pages of his father's journal, his own grandfather was an Elder Vampire—a ruling member of the ancient Vampire Council, and a direct, terrifying descendant of the Dracula lineage.
"Impossible…" Irmela muttered, rubbing her temples frantically. "Lauren potentially having a dormant witch aura, me meeting a man who met another witch seven years ago, and now… you casually sitting in my lobby, telling me you are a direct descendant of that terrifying, ancient bloodline. By God's name, how can this be happening?!"
"I really don't know why Bell, or you calling her 'Lauren' since her second name is Laurentina, has that aura," Max said smoothly, his voice remaining totally calm despite her panic. "But I know exactly why I am a vampire, and worse, a descendant of that Dracula myth that I originally thought only existed in stupid legends and movies."
Irmela looked at him, still trying to process the danger sitting bound to her chair. She forced herself to focus on the details.
"Then how did you know I was a witch just by looking at me?" Irmela asked, her voice shaking slightly. "Is it purely because of my mismatched eyes?"
Max nodded his head. "Yes. Based directly on my Dad's journal. It contained fragmented details on how to identify true witches. It stated you can identify them by their specific eye colors. Witches with icy blue eyes are pure-blooded. Witches with crimson red eyes are those who have mixed with vampire blood. Witches with purple eyes are direct descendants of their ancient ancestor, Morgana Le Fay."
Max paused, his amber eyes darkening with an ancient, deeply buried knowledge.
"And lastly," Max continued, his voice heavy. "Witches with dark green eyes. Those are the primordial witches who existed thousands of years ago. And as I read, they are the ones who were directly blessed by the Goddess of Night, Nyx. So, you having a mismatched blue and brown eye immediately aroused my suspicion. And when you cast that spell, I was proven right. You're a witch."
"I see…." Irmela nodded slowly. What Max said was entirely accurate. Her own mother had taught her the exact same lore regarding the identification of their sisters.
As Max spoke about the green eyes, a profound, terrifying connection clicked into place inside his highly analytical, 30,000-lifetime-old mind.
'Think about it,' Max inwardly said to himself, a cold chill running down his spine despite his calm exterior. 'The elusive Gild Killer, the serial killer who is currently hunting me in that black van… that bastard has vibrant green eyes.'
His mind violently flashed back to the ruined courtyards, the magical wars, and the thousands of deaths he had suffered.
'Vibrant green eyes… which mirror the exact same eye color as the people I knew before when I was still living my thirty thousand lifetimes as Sylan the Dark Lord. The Saintess Emiliana had vibrant green eyes. The cruel Goddess of Light had vibrant green eyes.'
The sheer magnitude of the impending threat threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced the paranoia down. He was back on Earth. He needed to focus on the interrogation.
Irmela looked at Max, letting out another heavy sigh. She waved her hand, and the glowing magical ropes binding Max to the chair instantly dissolved into harmless, sparkling dust.
"Fine," Irmela said, rubbing her face. "I can uncover the truth later if Lauren truly has a dormant witch aura or not. Ask your next question."
Max rubbed his wrists, grateful for the release, though he had never truly been trapped.
"Did you know that witch I met seven years ago in Los Angeles?" Max asked intently.
Irmela shook her head firmly. "No. The only witch I have ever met in my entire life was my own mother. If I knew who she was, I would have already told you her name. So, I am sorry. I really don't know who warned you."
Max nodded, accepting the dead end. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and asked his next question.
"I know this may sound offensive, but—" Max started cautiously.
"I thought witches would only date vampires? Since most of the witches from the past, and even until now based on the fragmented stories in my dad's journal, they only ever marry or have intimate relationships with vampires."
Irmela instantly rolled her mismatched eyes, letting out a loud, highly dramatic groan of annoyance.
"Ughh, not this ancient, ridiculous stereotype again!" Irmela complained, throwing her hands up in the air. "Listen to me, Max. Me being a witch, or my mother being a witch, doesn't directly mean we are biologically wired to only date or have intimate relationships with blood-sucking vampires! Maybe our ancient ancestors did that for political power, yes! But me and my mom? No! We like human men! So remove that stupid stereotype from your head right now, or I swear I will burn you, you quarter-vampire runt!"
Max nodded his head quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He couldn't help but find her fierce, defensive reaction highly amusing, as it was the exact same way Bellatrix reacted when she was flustered. The family resemblance was uncanny.
"Alright, alright. I apologize for the stereotype," Max said smoothly.
He then shifted his posture, his amber eyes locking onto hers with absolute, unyielding seriousness.
"Then I will ask my final question," Max said, his voice dropping low. "Who was the person on that phone call earlier? And why does it seem like you have a massive, life-threatening problem on your hands?"
Irmela froze. She didn't expect him to circle back to the very reason he had stopped in the lobby in the first place. She looked away, her hands nervously twisting in her lap.
She let out a long, heavy, defeated sigh.
"Fine," Irmela capitulated, her shoulders slumping. "I will tell you the truth, Max. But you have to swear to me... don't you dare tell a single word of this to my niece, alright? I refuse to drag Lauren into this darkness."
Max offered a firm, solemn nod of his head. He knew how to keep a secret better than anyone on Earth.
"Yes," Max promised, his tone absolute. "I won't."