Sword of Vengeance (Bjorn and Zyro #2)[COMPLETED]

29: Power and Blood

In the grand, shadowy throne room, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Godfrey sat on the raised dais, his posture regal, as Zyro stormed in with Bjorn, Violet, and Conrad close behind. The room echoed with the sound of their boots against the polished stone floors, and the ancient banners lining the walls seemed to shudder in anticipation.

Zyro's eyes were ablaze with fury as he approached his father. "What do you want from us, Godfrey? What's the real plan?" Zyro's voice was sharp, cutting through the still air.

Godfrey smirked, his pale fingers drumming lazily against the armrest of his throne. "The plan, my son, is survival. For the vampires. For our people. But to do that, we must make sacrifices. You should know this by now." His tone was calm, almost patronizing.

Zyro's fists clenched at his sides, his body shaking with barely contained anger. "Survival? Or domination? You talk about sacrifices, but all you care about is power! You're gonna use Conrad for this war!"

Godfrey rose from the throne, towering over Zyro as he approached. "You think you understand the world, Zyro? You're still a child playing at being a leader. I've lived for centuries, fought wars you can't even imagine. This isn't about power, it's about ensuring our future. Your future."

Zyro stepped closer, refusing to back down. "My future? Or yours? I'm not your bastard pawn, Godfrey. And I won't let you manipulate us any longer."

Bjorn, Violet, and Conrad stood nearby, watching the heated exchange. Conrad, visibly tense, glanced at Violet and Bjorn, as if ready for whatever might come next. Violet's eyes narrowed, her posture tense, while Bjorn kept a hand near the hilt of his sword, ready for any sudden attack.

 Godfrey hissed, now inches from Zyro's face. "You think these friends of yours will protect you? They're nothing but distractions. In the end, you'll realize—"

"No!" Zyro cut him off, his voice firm and unwavering. "I've realized something. I don't need your twisted vision for the future. I have my own family now, and they're worth more than your power plays."

Godfrey's expression darkened, and without warning, he raised his hand. In a swift motion, dark energy rippled through the room, crashing against the group. Bjorn, Violet, Conrad, and Zyro were flung backward, hitting the stone walls with a resounding thud. Before they could recover, the floor beneath them began to crumble, a trapdoor giving way beneath their feet.

They plummeted into the darkness below, landing hard in the cold, damp cellars. The scent of moss and decay filled their noses as they scrambled to their feet, bruised but alive.

"Damn it!" Bjorn cursed, dusting off his jacket. "He threw us into the damn cellars."

Zyro rubbed his shoulder, wincing. "This was his plan all along. He's going to use Conrad."

Violet groaned as she sat up. "Great. Trapped underground with no way out. Again."

Conrad's eyes darted around the dimly lit space. "We need to find a way out of here. Before—"

Before he could finish his sentence, a deafening crash echoed through the cellars, shaking the very foundation of the building. Dust and small rocks rained down from the ceiling as the sound reverberated through the walls.

The group froze, eyes wide, looking up toward the source of the noise.

"What the hell was that?" Bjorn asked, his voice low and tense.

****

The grand throne room erupted in chaos as the heavy doors burst open, splintering into jagged pieces. Luke, flanked by Vanong's ruthless assassins, stormed in, his face twisted with fury. Shadows danced across the walls, and the vampire assassins moved with lethal grace, their eyes gleaming in the dim light of the chamber.

Godfrey, standing before his throne, turned sharply to face the intruders, his own eyes narrowing. "Luke," he spat, his voice cold and dripping with disdain. "I should have known Vanong would send his lapdog to do his dirty work."

Luke sneered, his fangs gleaming under the flickering torchlight. "You always were too proud for your own good, Godfrey. Vanong knew you'd stand in his way. This ends tonight."

The vampire assassins fanned out, their presence menacing as they silently encircled the room. Godfrey straightened, his aura dark and formidable as shadows seemed to ripple around him. "You think you can take me down that easily? I am Godfrey. The First Vampire. After everything I've done for you, for Vanong? You're nothing but a bitch in his game."

Luke's eyes blazed with anger as he stepped forward. "A bitch? No. I'm the one leading this charge. You've hidden behind your power for too long, Godfrey. Vanong is the true leader. He will bring our kind into a new era, and you... you're a relic of the past."

As the two argued, Spike, who had been silently skulking in the shadows of the hallway, caught wind of the conversation. He had slipped into the fortress earlier, intending to keep an eye on Godfrey, but now his attention was piqued. His heart pounded in his chest as he overheard something that made his blood run cold.

"Dracula is on his way," Luke hissed, his voice barely above a whisper, but Spike's heightened senses caught every word. "Vanong has summoned him to bring down this fortress. You think you can hold your ground when that beast arrives?"

Godfrey's eyes flickered with something—an emotion Spike couldn't quite place. Was it fear? "You're a fool, Luke. Dracula is uncontrollable, even for Vanong. Bringing him here could mean the end of us all."

But Luke only grinned. "Then you better prepare yourself, Godfrey. You might be the first vampire but you're nothing against a killing machine."

Spike's stomach churned as he took in the information. Dracula—a creature of myth and nightmare—was heading toward the headquarters. They were all in danger. He needed to warn the others, but sneaking past Vanong's assassins without being detected was no small feat.

With his signature flair, Spike decided to take the risk. Moving like a shadow through the hallway, he ducked behind pillars and statues, avoiding the gazes of Luke's assassins. His mind raced with thoughts of what Dracula's arrival could mean. Vanong was pulling out all the stops, and this would be no ordinary fight.

After what felt like an eternity, Spike finally made his way to the cellar doors. He slipped down the stone steps, leaving the chaos of the throne room behind him. As he descended into the dark, musty cellar, he spotted the familiar faces of Bjorn, Zyro, Violet, and Conrad, who were huddled together, recovering from the earlier attack.

"Hey, guys," Spike called out, his voice startling the group. They spun around, weapons at the ready until they realized it was him. "You won't believe what I just heard."

Bjorn raised an eyebrow. "What now, Spike? Did you overhear another conspiracy in the hallway?"

Spike, breathing heavily, nodded. "Dracula. He's coming here, right now. Vanong sent him to destroy this place, and Godfrey... well, he's up there arguing with Luke and his goons. We don't have much time before all hell breaks loose."

Zyro cursed under his breath, glancing at the others. "We need to get out of here and figure out a plan. Dracula isn't something we're equipped to handle right now."

Conrad looked grim, his mind racing with possibilities. "And if Dracula is coming, that means Vanong's pulling out his biggest weapon. This isn't just a power play—it's a declaration of war."

Violet, still nursing wounds from the earlier fight, stood up slowly, wincing. "We need to regroup. Spike, did you see a way out?"

Spike shook his head. "No, but I know one thing for sure—we can't stay here. Godfrey's too focused on his argument with Luke to care about what's about to happen."

Bjorn stepped forward, his jaw clenched. "Then we fight. We'll take down anyone in our way. We're not going to let this place burn just because Vanong wants to throw a tantrum."

With the weight of Spike's revelation hanging in the air, the group steeled themselves for the coming battle. The walls of the cellar seemed to close in on them, the distant rumble of the looming conflict growing louder with each passing second.