The wooden box jolted to life. With a sudden, jerking motion, the "lid" snapped open — not on hinges, but as a monstrous maw. Jagged teeth, glistening with slick saliva, lined the interior like a carnivore’s grin. A thick, purplish tongue uncoiled and lashed out like a whip, dripping with hunger of something that had waited too long to eat.

  From the sides of the chest, bloodshot eyes blinked open, rolling with unnatural focus. Two tentacle-like legs sprung from beneath it, lifting the creature off the floor with unsettling ease. It skittered forward — jerky, unnatural — the clatter of wood masking the wet slap of its limbs.

  It wasn’t the treasure. It was the trap.

  Its tongue snagged the ghoul’s arm and yanked it back. The creature shrieked, struggling — until the mimic’s jaws slammed shut, biting clean through flesh and bone. Blood sprayed across the walls and carpet as it chewed noisily, wet slurps and crunches echoing down the corridor.

  Then, like a glutton licking its plate, its tongue slithered out to lap the floor clean, dragging the rest of the still-squirming ghoul into its maw.

  Bones didn’t move. Couldn’t. He stared, transfixed.

  What is that...? The thought barely formed before it dissolved.

  An object had come to life. And it was feeding.

  “Fascinating,” he whispered — too loud.

  The mimic froze. One eye snapped toward him. It let out a gurgling screech and vomited bits of chewed flesh onto the carpet, trembling with excitement.

  “Don’t tell me…” Bones muttered, eyes wide.

  The mimic bounced toward him with gleeful abandon, its tentacle legs thudding against the floor, tongue trailing behind like a leash.

  That’s no loot,” he said, backing up fast. “That’s lunch!

  “I’ve seen enough.” He spun on his heel.

  “Nope. Not doing this.”

  And bolted around the bend.

  The metallic jingling of coins followed the monstrous chest as it bounced after Bones — a sound both tempting and terrifying. Even after turning corners, picking a new path at an intersection, and putting a fair stretch of hallway between them, he could still hear it — that unmistakable clink-clink-clink of treasure rolling inside the mimic’s bloated belly. When it finally reappeared at the far end of the corridor, Bones didn’t hesitate. He marked it with In Pursuit of Vengeance, locking onto its movements like a hunter tagging prey.

  Without pause, he pressed on, ascending the castle one staircase at a time. But no matter how fast or far he moved, the gluttonous chest was never far behind.

  Then he felt it.

  The mark he’d placed on it pulsed faintly… and in that moment, Bones realized it wasn’t just one-way. The mimic had marked him, too — tethered him in the same way, tracking his every move with unerring instinct.

  It chased him across the castle, up winding stairs and through long-forgotten halls — until, somewhere near the top floor, a strange sound cut through the darkness and stopped him in his tracks.

  Not the mimic. Not coins.

  Music.

  A violin.

  At first, it was barely audible — soft, almost delicate — like a whisper beneath the castle’s breath. But it quickly grew stranger, sharper. Notes jittered and danced, erratic and off-kilter, as if the musician wasn’t playing a tune but unraveling a spell. It surged into a wild crescendo before dropping into a single drawn-out note that hovered in the air like a warning.

  Bones froze.

  His mind struggled to match the sound with the setting. This was supposed to be an abandoned castle. Empty. Dead.

  “What...?” he mouthed, uncertain if the sound was real or another trick of the cursed place.

  The familiar clink of coins behind him yanked him back to reality. The mimic was close again.

  He took off up the stairs without another thought. As he climbed, the violin’s melody grew louder, more defined — winding through the corridors ahead like a phantom beckoning him forward. He reached the landing and was nearly knocked back by a sudden swarm of bats. They spiraled past him, shrieking as they dove down the stairwell, as though fleeing something unseen.

  Bones turned his head, watching them vanish — but the violin tugged at his attention again, dragging his focus back to the corridor ahead. He crept forward, drawn to the sound.

  The music was clearer now — not just a tune, but a performance. It danced with madness, climbing toward something unspoken. Around the bend, the corridor ended at a pair of grand double doors, slightly ajar. Moonlight spilled through the crack, casting a pale path on the floor.

  Just as he stepped toward them, the jingling returned — louder, sharper. The mimic had reached the top of the stairs.

  “It’s still following me,” Bones growled, exasperated. “It’s relentless!”

  But then — silence.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  The coins stopped clinking. The mimic had paused just out of sight.

  A beat passed.

  Then Bones heard the chest turn away. The jingling resumed, this time growing fainter, echoing down the halls like fading footsteps. It was leaving.

  He remained motionless, eyes locked on the shadowy hallway, waiting for the grotesque tongue or glinting teeth to reappear. But nothing came.

  “It really stopped chasing me,” he whispered in disbelief.

  He turned — not toward the music, but toward the stairwell. As he reached the landing, he heard it again: the mimic, jingling faintly in the distance, continuing its hunt through the castle, guarding its halls like some cursed, coin-stuffed sentinel.

  Confusion flickered across Bones’ face. Relief followed.

  One threat had lost interest.

  But the other, waiting in that moonlit room, felt far less forgiving.

  He returned to the bend just as the violin faded, and a voice — smooth and beckoning — whispered from beyond the doors, inviting him in.

  Bones crept forward cautiously until he reached the entrance proper, one foot hovering just past the doorway, where moonlight bled in from the open balcony. There, with his back turned, stood a figure leaning against the stone balustrade — one hand resting lazily on the railing, the other cradling a crystal chalice.

  His posture was relaxed, almost disarmingly so — legs crossed at the ankles, shoulders angled in calm poise. The moon cast silver across his pale features. He wore a fine white silk shirt with an embroidered collar and trimmed edges, paired with sleek dark leather pants and matching shoes. Bones’ gaze flicked to the violin he'd heard moments ago, now resting gently against the railing beside the figure.

  Then the figure turned to face him.

  “You’ve finally come,” he said, his voice velvet-smooth and welcoming.

  Now that Bones could see him clearly, unease crept up his spine. A splash of red stained the collar of his shirt. His face was cruelly beautiful — sharp features carved into smooth, unblemished skin, with eyes that glowed crimson like coals beneath ash. His smile was calm, even warm, but Bones' instincts screamed danger.

  Not the kind he was used to.

  The kind that coils in the dark, old and patient.

  "You’ve been expecting me?" Bones asked cautiously, his hand slipping behind his back. Two golem soul cores flickered into existence in his palms.

  Earlier, he’d felt it — the creeping sense that something worse than vampire spawn lurked within this place. Now that he stood before it, every fiber of his being urged him to flee. His plan was simple: unleash his golems, have them stall for time, and run — slam the door behind him and keep running until he found a way out.

  But the moment he made that decision, something unseen seized his limbs.

  A compulsion.

  Bones’ body locked up, resisting his command. He felt himself drawn inward, as if pulled by invisible threads, his mind clouded with the subtle pressure to enter... to sit... to stay.

  “Stop...” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

  The force tugging at him began to fade. Across the room, the vampire watched him with mild interest, unbothered by Bones’ defiance — as if it had been a test.

  “I was expecting you, yes,” he said, swirling the wine — or what Bones hoped was wine — in his chalice. “Ever since you entered the fog, I’ve been guiding you here.”

  Bones’ expression darkened. While the vampire wasn’t looking, he swiftly flung the soul cores to either side.

  “If I hadn’t,” the vampire continued, “your pursuer would have reached you by now. I only led you as far as the castle walls. I wanted to see if you could get inside on your own.” He tilted his head slightly. “So, tell me — how did you get in? The gates were sealed.”

  Before the vampire could say more, Bones made his move.

  From the right, Skully surged forward. From the left, Harmony fired a volley of silver-tipped arrows. And from the front, Bones hurled the last core. In a flash of bone and mana, Murdok emerged mid-leap, brandishing a heavy steel great-axe overhead.

  All three attacked in unison.

  And all three were brushed aside with effortless grace.

  From the lion’s den into the dragon’s lair…

  The phrase drifted through Bones’ mind as he watched the vampire effortlessly dismantle his golems — sidestepping Skully, deflecting arrows mid-air, and halting Murdok’s swing with just a glance. There was no struggle. No tension. Just an almost bored elegance to the way he moved.

  It was foolish to think brute force would work.

  But there hadn’t been another choice.

  There was no mistaking it now. It was the same allure he’d felt from Alucard — the poise, the power, the presence — that same spine-tingling, brows-curling sensation. This wasn’t just any vampire.

  An Ascendant.

  The vampire dusted off his cuff. “Nice try,” he said with a bemused smile. “A for effort.”

  He studied Bones with a curious tilt of his head. “What brings you to my castle? Riches? Or were you hoping to claim my head? And those of my kin?” His smile widened slightly. “Haven’t you heard? Curiosity killed the adventurer.”

  “I-I have not... That doesn’t sound right,” Bones replied, confused.

  “I assure you, it’s true. Curiosity has killed many adventurers,” the vampire said with a chuckle.

  Bones slowly recalled the vampire’s earlier words. “You said it yourself... You guided me here.”

  “That’s true,” the figure nodded. “But only to the outer wall. You chose to enter. So, tell me — why did you step into the fog in the first place?” His tone shifted now — no longer casual. There was a deliberate weight to his words. “And how did you get inside?”

  “It wasn’t my intention to intrude on your...” Bones paused, grimacing. “...Majesty?”

  The vampire recoiled as if the word itself left a bitter taste.

  “Good grief. Don’t ever call me that again.”

  “Then... what should I call you?” Bones asked, trying not to provoke further offense. “And for your question — I was being chased. I had no choice but to enter the fog. It came out of nowhere.”

  The vampire locked eyes with him — intense and unreadable — then softened into the same charming, disarming poise as before. He gave a slight nod.

  “I see,” he said, voice smooth once more. “Then allow me to properly introduce myself — I am Prince Caspian Navis. My family lived in this castle for thousands of years, and the fog was a protective measure we deployed long ago. It was meant to shroud the castle and keep others away… Alas, you entered — and the one chasing you followed.”

  I see. So this is the spawn — I mean, the son — of Gawain Navis, the one Hugo once mentioned.

  “It is a pleasure to meet a noble such as yourself. As for how I entered the castle…” Bones paused before confessing, “My golem made a hole in the castle wall. Breached it.”

  “You did what now?”

  Caspian’s playful expression flattened. His lips drew into a thin line, and his eyebrows rose slightly. The hand holding his chalice tilted until the crimson liquid spilled out onto the balcony floor, splattering the grey stone red. After a pause, Caspian exhaled sharply, then clapped a hand to his forehead, covering his eyes.

  “Didn’t you encounter the vampire spawn?”

  Bones hesitated, then answered carefully — knowing the prince wouldn’t like the truth. He said he had encountered some of them, omitting the part where he killed dozens, and quickly added that he was attacked on sight and had no choice but to fight back.

  “I—I didn’t know they were under your command. I really had no choice.”

  “You encountered… some?” Caspian repeated while reclining into a chair nearby, as if already nursing a headache. “They weren’t mine. Creating such lowly creatures is beneath me. I simply took them in as pest control.”

  “Pest control?” Bones echoed, gears turning. What did that mean?

  “Yes, pest control. They feed on rats and other small critters. They keep the infestation outside my walls.” Caspian elaborated, then went silent.

  The awkward silence lingered, heavy and uncomfortable. When it became clear the prince wouldn’t speak further, Bones casually shifted the topic.

  “What about that monstrous treasure chest?”