Vampire Progenitor System-Chapter 122: "I am."

The lecturer stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

Chairs scraped the floor. Conversations sparked to life again, faint and scattered—until Lucifer stood up.

The moment he did, the air dropped. Like the room itself held its breath.

He picked up his bag lazily, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the door with that usual quiet step of his.

But then—

He stopped.

Eyes narrowed.

Right in front of the door stood five students.

Blocking the exit.

Each one holding... something.

Wooden stakes. Carved. Sanded down. Some still had splinters sticking out. Clearly not factory-made.

Lucifer tilted his head slightly. Eyes flicking to the jagged wood in their hands.

He sighed.

Low. Tired.

"...What do you guys think you’re doing?"

No movement.

No answer.

Just the stare of kids who had no idea what they were messing with—but thought they did.

Then one of them, the tallest, stepped forward. His hands were shaking, but he still pointed the stake forward like it would actually protect him.

"You shouldn’t be here."

Lucifer raised a brow.

Another chimed in, a girl this time, voice thin and sharp.

"You’re not human. You’re not one of us. You’re a... a monster."

More joined in, louder now.

"You tricked everyone—"

"You drank blood—"

"Your kind killed people during the Rift War—"

"You just stood at the summit and acted like you owned the world—"

Lucifer didn’t move.

He just looked at them.

Then lowered his eyes to the stakes.

"Where’d you get those?" he asked flatly.

No one answered.

But he saw the signs. The rough carving. The silver nails embedded at the base. Someone had coached them. Helped them.

Resistance.

"Let me guess," he said, brushing white strands from his face. "Some idiot told you this would work."

"They said you would flinch," the tall one said, though his voice cracked halfway. "That vampires are afraid of blessed wood."

Lucifer chuckled.

A low, dry sound.

"Afraid?" he repeated, eyes flicking up.

He took one step forward.

The lead student flinched.

"You think holding a piece of wood in your hand changes anything?" Lucifer asked, voice calm but razor-thin. "You think that word on my desk makes me less than I am?"

No one spoke.

Even the class had gone quiet again.

Dozens of eyes watching.

Waiting.

Lucifer looked at each one of the would-be heroes. Not in anger. Just pity.

"You’re scared. I get it," he said. "But don’t confuse fear with courage."

He walked closer—slowly. The stakes didn’t move.

"You’re not brave," he continued. "You’re desperate. And desperation gets people killed."

One of them tried to hold firm. "You’re dangerous—"

Lucifer stopped just a step away.

And smiled.

Not kindly.

"I am."

The lights flickered.

A wave of pressure rolled through the classroom, subtle but enough to knock the breath out of some of the students in the back. The windows creaked faintly. Pens rolled off desks. A few gasped.

Lucifer leaned in, just slightly.

"I could walk through you like smoke," he whispered. "Snap those sticks in half. Drink you dry. And none of them—" he motioned to the frozen class behind him, "—would do a thing to stop me."

The boy with the stake stepped back.

Lucifer straightened up again.

"But I won’t," he said.

Just like that, the weight in the room lifted. The pressure was gone. The lights steadied. The world resumed.

Lucifer adjusted his bag and stepped forward. The students parted without needing to be told.

He walked through them without looking back.

"Next time," he said over his shoulder, "bring garlic. At least then I’d smell nice while ignoring you."

The door clicked behind him.

Silence stayed behind for a long moment.

Until one of the students exhaled shakily and dropped the stake. It clattered to the floor, loud and hollow.

And just like that... the fear returned.

But this time—it wasn’t for Lucifer.

It was for the people who made them believe they could take him on in the first place.

Outside

Lucifer stepped into the sunlight, his steps slow and steady. The buzz of student chatter echoed behind him, but he tuned it all out. His hand slipped into his coat pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen.

One ring.

Two.

Then the line connected.

Zane’s voice came through, casual as ever. "Yo. Don’t tell me they already pissed you off."

Lucifer didn’t answer right away.

He stared out at the courtyard below, watching the students move like pieces on a board that didn’t belong to them anymore.

Then finally, voice low and cold:

"Look into those resistance bastards."

Zane was quiet.

Lucifer continued. "They’re feeding kids stakes. Turning them into weapons they don’t understand."

A pause. Then he added, sharper now:

"Have them killed. Efficiently. No noise. No mercy."

Zane exhaled through the phone, the humor in his voice fading.

"Copy that."

Lucifer’s grip on the rail tightened slightly.

"I hate when people don’t get their hands dirty themselves. Making others bleed for their hate? That’s worse than monsters."

Zane hummed quietly. "You want a message left?"

Lucifer thought about it.

Then shook his head.

"No. Let the silence speak."

There was a beat.

Then Zane chuckled.

"Damn. You’ve been moody since the summit."

Lucifer ended the call without replying.

He slid the phone back into his coat and leaned over the railing a little, letting the wind touch his face. The white strands of his hair fluttered slightly.

Below, the world kept moving.

But now he had eyes on the rot.

And rot was something he burned.

Lucifer stood there a few more seconds. Then turned and walked away, coat billowing behind him, steps quiet as dusk.

Somewhere far from Moonveil, things were already in motion.

Names would vanish.

Voices would go silent.

And the Resistance?

They’d learn what it meant to make war with the wrong king.

Origin HQ

Zane leaned back against the railing, grin lazy, eyes half-lidded as he pulled away from the kiss. The wind tugged gently at his coat, but his smirk didn’t move.

"You heard the big man," he said, voice low and amused. "Time to go meet our new friends, Anita."

Anita licked her bottom lip, brushing back her curls as her expression turned sharp.

"He’s pissed," she said, tone dropping. "Those resistance rats? They’re about to feel what it means to poke a lion in his own den."

Zane chuckled as he pulled on his gloves, already walking toward the exit.

"Let’s make it quick. And loud enough that the next ones think twice."

Anita followed, heels clicking softly.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

Just business.