The tension in the lecture hall was thick, as though every breath taken came at the cost of a heartbeat. The students sat upright, their backs straight as boards, trying desperately to appear confident despite the fear that gnawed at them from within. The looming figure of Professor Lance stood at the front of the room, his crimson eyes sweeping across the class with a gaze that could flay egos with a single look.
One mistake. That was all it would take. One misstep, and expulsion would fall like a guillotine.
"Now that we've delved into the history of the vampires," Lance began, his voice cool and authoritative, "we will turn to a more personal subject—one that defines our very existence. The conflict between us, the half-bloods, and the purebloods."
He turned slowly, letting the weight of the words sink in. His tone sharpened. "But before we explore the conflict, let me pose a simple question: how did we come into existence?"
A silence stretched across the room like a suffocating fog.
"I would like one of our fellow half-bloods to answer." He added a hint of warmth to his otherwise frosty tone—a gesture of encouragement laced with challenge.
A moment passed. Then, hesitantly, one student stood.
"Brian O'Connell," Lance said, nodding. "Please, state your answer."
All eyes turned toward Brian, including those of Angel, who watched with quiet interest. Brian's face paled under the gaze of the pureblood students. Their eyes gleamed with a subtle malice, their silent pressure coiling around him like a vice. His legs trembled.
Professor Lance noticed.
He snapped his fingers—a barely audible sound. It triggered a subtle ripple through the air, a low-frequency hypnotic pulse that only those trained in mental magic would detect. Brian's breathing steadied. The tremors subsided.
"T-The half-bloods came into existence when Prince Cain Moriarty heard of the State of Magistry's decree to exterminate the Moriarty Kingdom," Brian said, voice steadier now.
"Correct," Lance acknowledged with a nod. "But through what specific event did our transformation occur?"
"It was... when Prince Cain sought the aid of the unmutated survivors. He asked them to join him in the war," Brian continued.
"Thank you, Brian. You may sit. I will take it from here."
Brian nodded quickly and returned to his seat, his heart still thundering in his chest.
In the corner, Latisha whispered behind a palm. "How did he resist the pressure?"
Noah scowled, irritation plain in his expression. "Tch. Probably Professor Lance's doing."
The professor turned back to the class, unfazed.
"The origin of our kind is both tragic and revolutionary," he began. "In the final months before the State's forces crossed the border, Prince Cain took a desperate measure. He devised a way to transform the remaining humans of the kingdom—those unmutated and uninfected—into something... new."
He paused for effect.
"Using a refined and controlled dosage of the mutagenic vampire virus, he created a variant strain. It granted enhanced strength, speed, blood manipulation—but without the madness, the uncontrollable hunger that plagued the purebloods. Thus, we—half-bloods—were born."
Murmurs spread through the room.
"We inherited many gifts from the virus," he continued, "but not all. Take, for instance, our regenerative abilities."
He gestured to the front. "A descendant of a noble pureblood, please come forward."
With a smug grin, Noah stood. His crimson uniform blazer shimmered faintly with enchantments, a mark of his noble bloodline.
"Thank you, Noah," Lance said, retrieving a blade wrapped in cloth from his coat. "This is a silver knife—once a tool of the Hunter Faction, used during the Purges."
He drew the blade. Its edge shimmered with a faint, sickly light.
Holding his wrist over the desk, Lance drew the blade across his own skin. A line of blood surfaced immediately, hissing as it reacted to the silver. He clenched his jaw, suppressing any outward sign of pain.
The class watched silently as the wound began to heal—agonizingly slow, by vampire standards.
"Twenty seconds," he noted, showing the now-sealed wound. "This is the regeneration rate of a half-blood under the effects of silver."
He turned to Noah. "Now, the pureblood's turn."
Noah's confident facade wavered slightly as the knife approached. Still, he held out his arm.
With the same motion, Lance cut Noah's forearm. The silver hissed again. Noah winced but didn't cry out. Within three seconds, the flesh knit back together, not a single scar in sight.
"Three seconds," Lance said. "The difference is clear."
Noah returned to his seat, pride reinforced.
"Another vital difference," Lance continued, "is lineage. Purebloods possess the direct genetic inheritance of Lord Cain himself. We—half-bloods—do not."
The remainder of the lecture wove through topics ranging from blood affinity to cultural hierarchy, until at last the bell chimed, signaling the transition to their next class.
Biology.
The students filed into the adjoining hall, where a far more eccentric energy awaited.
"Welcome!" chirped a lively voice from the front of the room. "Hmm... which class is this again?"
"Class Five, ma'am," Latisha answered dutifully.
A whimsical smile curved on the woman's face as she spun in place. "Ah! Yes, of course. Class Five."
Angel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Lanny Astrum..." he muttered. "Of the Astrum family? Weren't they cosmic researchers, not biologists?"
The woman overheard.
"My name is Lanny Astrum," she announced, sweeping her arms dramatically. "Of the Luminary Ascendancy—a mage clan devoted to cosmic study, yes. But even we know that to understand the stars, we must first understand ourselves."
As she spoke, glowing spheres of elemental energy—fire, wind, water, arcane—circled her body like satellites. The mage students barely blinked. The rest stared in awe.
Angel's lips parted slightly. "Amazing…"
"Now," Lanny said, her tone taking on a performative rhythm, "this is the biology class. But today, we begin not with the heart, nor the brain—but with the curse... that became a gift."
She snapped her fingers. A magical projection flared to life behind her, casting an enormous three-dimensional image of a twisting, virulent strain—a virus made of red and black tendrils, writhing like a serpent.
"This," she said, with almost villainous glee, "is the virus that struck the Moriarty Kingdom three thousand years ago. The seed of immortality. The architect of blood."
Gasps rang out through the room.
"This pathogen," she continued, "is unlike any other. It rewrites the host's very biology, enhancing every aspect of their physical being. But as you know—it comes at a cost."
The room darkened. The projection showed a human transforming—screaming—as their eyes bled black, and their skin peeled into something monstrous.
"The uncontrolled strain is what created the original vampires. The cannibalistic beasts."
She snapped again. The image shifted to show Cain Moriarty's experimentations—scientific diagrams, formulas, mutated cells.
"But under the genius of Lord Cain, a method was found. A serum—capable of stabilizing the virus. A controlled mutation."
She turned toward the class, eyes gleaming with reverence. "Thus, the half-bloods were created. You. Warriors not of madness, but of purpose."
A silence fell over the room, heavy with meaning.
Angel sat at his desk, gaze fixed on the swirling image of the virus.
And yet... if this is our origin, what comes next?
He didn't know the answer yet. But soon—very soon—he would.