Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 325: A Legacy of Darkness

One of the vampires in the group collapsed, dropping to his knees. His fingers tangled in his hair as he slammed his forehead against the ground, a tortured groan escaping his lips. He had been the first to suffer from the headache—the first to clutch his skull in agony, the first to vomit, and the one most crippled by his nightmare.

The scream didn’t stop.

The others rushed to his side, murmuring frantic questions, but the citizens of Asvaldur—their lifeless husks—continued their aimless wandering, oblivious to the commotion.

"Are you alright? What’s wrong? What happened?" Lady Maris crouched beside him, placing a steadying hand on his back.

He lashed out. With unnatural strength, he shoved her away, sending her skidding several feet.

"Mother!" Lisbeth gasped, hurrying to help her mother back to her feet.

Madam Silvia stepped forward, studying the afflicted vampire. When she moved too close, he swung wildly—an attack that had sent Lady Maris flying—but Madam Silvia was not so easily dismissed. She flicked open her fan, intercepting his strike with effortless grace.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and unearthly, like a wolf howling at the moon—an ironic sound for a vampire. Then, with a sudden, jerky motion, he sprang to his feet. His movements were erratic, violent, forcing Madam Silvia to take a cautious step back.

He hunched forward, baring his fangs, his glare locking onto the elder.

Madam Silvia stiffened. His eyes had turned a chilling, milky white. Black veins pulsed across his skin, bulging and writhing as though they had a heartbeat of their own.

The vampire lunged at her, but Madam Silvia was quicker. She sidestepped effortlessly, her coat swaying with the motion. Gasps erupted from the elders watching nearby.

"Hey! What do you think you’re doing?" one of them shouted.

But Madam Silvia already knew. The moment their eyes met, she understood—this vampire was no longer the man he once was.

With a flick of her wrist, she snapped her fan shut and struck him sharply at the neck. Before he could recoil, she unfurled the fan and slashed his cheek with its sharp edge.

Dark blood welled from the wound. But what truly shocked the onlookers was the way it sizzled upon contact with the air, curling into tendrils of black smoke before vanishing.

As more of the strange blood seeped out, the eerie white fog clouding his eyes began to thin. He wavered between lucidity and something far more sinister.

His face twisted with pain and recognition. "Forgive me," he whispered, his brow furrowed in anguish as he bowed his head.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the veil of fog returned, swallowing his irises whole. His expression contorted into rage. A guttural growl rumbled from his throat as he bared his fangs at Madam Silvia, a wild beast once more.

She hadn’t even finished dealing with this one when fresh screams tore through the crowd. Panic rippled through the group as more vampires collapsed, clutching their heads, writhing in agony. Their screams were raw—like something was ripping them apart from the inside.

Riona spun around, eyes darting from one suffering vampire to another, trying to make sense of the chaos. But it was Puck who put the pieces together first.

"Look at their eyes!" he shouted. "They’re the same as Asvaldur’s vampires!"

He was right. Riona’s gaze snapped to the citizens of Asvaldur—vampires who should have been powerful, independent, and alive. Instead, they walked aimlessly like empty husks, their eyes veiled in that eerie, unnatural white mist.

"They’re trapped in nightmares," came a sharp voice. The Fallen One. His usual indifference was gone, replaced by something rare—urgency.

"Ol’gaz is already on the move," he warned. "This is his doing."

Riona shouted the Fallen One’s warning, her voice barely cutting through the chaos. She grabbed the nearest elder, breathless, and relayed everything she had heard, her words tumbling out in a rush.

Above them, the sky split open. A thick, roiling cloud spilled downward, swallowing the heavens in darkness. Thunder howled, and jagged flashes of lightning became the only source of light over Asvaldur.

The vampires screamed.

Not just those in Riona’s group, but also the ones who had stood still moments ago—the vacant, mindless citizens of Asvaldur. Their cries grew shrill, their bodies trembling as though something inside them was fighting to break free. Their eyes remained veiled in that ghostly white fog.

The vampire Madam Silvia had wounded convulsed violently, flickering between two states—lucidity and madness.

Elijah’s eyes darted from one writhing figure to another, his mind racing. "It’s in their blood," he muttered, realization dawning. "The fog—it’s seeped into their veins, corrupting them from the inside."

He gestured toward the wounded vampire. "Look—when he bleeds, he starts coming back. But it’s not enough. He’s losing too little to purge it completely!"

Griswold scowled, crossing his arms. "So, what?" His tone was edged with impatience. "You’re saying we have to bleed them all just to bring them back to their senses?"

If that was true, then they were in serious trouble.

How much blood had to be shed before the fog’s influence disappeared completely? And even if they managed to purge it, would these weakened bodies still be capable of fighting—against the Asvaldur army, the emperor, and the demon?

There was no time to dwell on it.

The afflicted vampires, consumed by Ol’gaz’s black fog, turned on them with terrifying fury. Their eyes—veiled in white mist—burned with hatred, as if Riona and her comrades had become the villains of their nightmares.

Then, all at once, they attacked.

Chaos erupted. The few still unaffected by the fog were vastly outnumbered. The corrupted vampires swarmed them, relentless, mindless—like starving beasts drawn to flesh.

Like ants to sugar.

But the possessed vampires weren’t the greatest threat.

The fog had begun to seep into nearly everyone who had ever tasted blood. Lisbeth felt her limbs growing numb. Lady Maris had already collapsed, clutching her head as if trying to hold her skull together.

Sir Kai gritted his teeth, white-knuckling his sword as he fought the overwhelming urge to claw at his own skin. Sir Dusan had abandoned all pretense of composure, slamming his forehead against the ground in a desperate attempt to shift the agony elsewhere.

The elders held their ground, their strength keeping them upright—but they were far from unaffected. The pain, the pressure, the unbearable sensation of something writhing inside their bodies gnawed at them. Perseus glanced down at his arm, watching in horror as his veins darkened, the corruption creeping through him like ink spilled in water.

Only three remained untouched.

Riona. Puck. Thorin.