"You were my greatest works," he said to the empty chamber. "Each component chosen specifically. Each enhancement calibrated to eliminate the weaknesses that plague lesser beings. You were to be eternal."
His fingers traced the places where brass met flesh, where he'd personally overseen the integration of mechanical perfection into organic limitation.
"And he knew exactly how to unmake you. Every strength I gave you, every improvement I grafted into your flesh, he turned into vulnerability. Because he watched. Because I taught him. Because I believed blood meant something beyond mere biological connection."
Steam vented violently from every port on his frame, filling the chamber with metallic-scented fog, the only time his control truly slipped.
When it cleared, Cornelius stood with renewed purpose. He moved to his private armory, inputting sequences that hadn't been used in decades. Most vampires believed these weapons destroyed after the old conflicts, when their kind had chosen mechanical precision over the chaotic ancient magic. But Cornelius had kept them, maintained them, improved them with modern understanding.
The vault opened to reveal instruments that predated their mechanical improvements, blades designed to cut but not kill, keeping wounds open and bleeding without allowing the relief of death. Needles that could trace every nerve pathway, awakening pain receptors that bodies naturally dulled. Devices that turned agony into art, that could keep a vampire conscious and suffering for weeks without permitting the escape of termination.
But there, in the deepest section, lay the true horrors. The implements from before they'd regulated away their capacity for cruelty. When vampire lords had competed to devise new forms of suffering. When creativity in causing pain had been considered high art.
The Nerve Harp—strings of copper so fine they could be threaded through a body's neural pathways, then played like an instrument, each note sending specific agony through targeted systems.
The Memory Box—a crystalline prison that forced its occupant to relive their worst moments infinitely, time dilating until seconds of real-time became years of psychological torment.
The Sensation Crown—a device that amplified every physical feeling until even air against skin became unbearable, until the victim begged for sensory deprivation that never came.
Cornelius selected each piece with deliberate care, his mechanical precision at odds with the primitive purpose these tools served.
A scout appeared at the armory's entrance, clearly sent to deliver a message. "My lord? Lady Elisandra has made initial contact with the houses. They're… concerned."
"Concerned?"
"Lord Ashborne questions how a fully reconditioned vampire could overcome his programming. Lady Ironheart suggests this represents a fundamental flaw in our improvement process. Lord Silvervessel…" The scout paused. "Lord Silvervessel wonders if Sebastian might represent evolution rather than degradation."
"Evolution." Cornelius laughed, the sound emerging like grinding gears failing to mesh. "Choosing to rut with primitives who still worship trees? Selecting creatures that haven'tmastered basic metallurgy over beings who've conquered death itself?"
He turned to face the scout fully. The guard's lenses dilated with something close to terror.
"Sebastian isn't evolution. He's regression. Proof that without constant vigilance, without absolute control, even the most improved among us can fall back into the primitive state we escaped through will and innovation."
"Yes, my lord. Should I inform the houses—"
"Inform them that in seven days, we march. Any house that joins us shares in the spoils, territory, resources, blood. Any house that abstains…" Cornelius let the threat hang. "Well, after we've dealt with Sebastian's contamination, we'll have weapons and momentum to address other obstacles."
The scout bowed and departed quickly. Alone again, Cornelius returned to his preparations. Seven days to gather forces. A week to let Sebastian think he'd escaped. Time for the primitives to believe they'd won some victory by corrupting his son.
And then he would show them all what happened to those who chose regression over progress, who selected base emotion over regulated perfection, who betrayed blood for lesser creatures.
Sebastian would watch it all burn, the settlement, the tree they worshipped, the warchief he'd murdered family to protect. Only when everything he'd chosen lay in ashes would Cornelius begin the true punishment. Not reconditioning. That ship had sailed. But something older, crueler, more fitting for such absolute betrayal.
The accounting would be paid in full.
And Sebastian would learn, in his final hours, that some betrayals carved wounds that even transformed brass couldn'theal. That some sins demanded suffering that transcended mere physical agony.
That choosing beasts over blood was the last choice he'd ever make.
Chapter Nineteen
Dawn broke over the eastern ridge as Boarstaff spotted the village walls through a haze of pain and exhaustion. Beside him, Sebastian stumbled, barely conscious, blood darkening the fine vampire clothing his brothers had dressed him in. Neither of them had spoken for hours, conserving what little strength remained for the journey home.
The horses they'd taken from the citadel stables had carried them through the night, the animals growing increasingly skittish as they approached the orc's outer boundaries, where the Heart Tree's influence permeated the forest. They'd been forced to abandon the exhausted mounts and continue on foot, supporting each other through the final stretch of woodland.
Their escape from the citadel had been a blur of narrow corridors and hidden passages that Sebastian somehow navigated despite his injuries. Guards had pursued them through the lower levels, but Sebastian had known which doors would seal behind them, which hallways would lead to dead ends for their pursuers. Even in his weakened state, years of living in those walls had given him an advantage no amount of mechanical precision could overcome.
The stables had been lightly guarded, the vampires never expecting intruders to reach so deep into their domain. Sebastian had chosen two of the strongest horses, animals bred for endurance rather than speed, creatures that could carry them through the night without rest.
