Vampire Progenitor System-Chapter 56: Alessia’s Fights

The clash was chaos—fangs, claws, and steel lit under the red glow of Lucifer’s aura—but Alessia didn’t move right away. She stood still, chains slithering around her arms like living serpents, the shadows curling at her feet.

Then she tilted her head.

Click.

Her tongue tapped against her teeth.

A werewolf came at her from the side—fast, bulked up, snarling. Alessia didn’t even blink.

CLANG.

Her chain snapped forward like a whip, coiling around the wolf’s throat mid-leap, pulling taut with a screech of metal. He gurgled mid-air, paws flailing.

She yanked.

His body slammed into the concrete like a ragdoll. Hard enough to crack the ground.

Another one came from the left. She pivoted, chain hissing as it sliced through the air—this time, it wrapped around the werewolf’s arm. Before he could yank back—

SHHHK.

A shadow blade rose from the ground and stabbed straight through his chest.

The beast choked, then went limp, falling back with a wet thud.

Alessia smiled.

Her face was already splashed with blood, streaking down her cheek, one eye half-lidded like this was a game she was just starting to enjoy.

"Come on," she said softly, almost a purr. "Don’t die so quick. Make it fun."

A vampire lunged at her next—a lean one, fast, cloaked in shadow. Trying to catch her by surprise.

Wrong move.

The second his hand got close, her chain reacted like it knew he was there. It lashed back around her, forming a loose ring—and then tightened around his wrist with a snapping twist.

Crack.

Bone shattered.

He screamed—but she stepped into his space, palm pressed against his chest. Her shadows surged up his body.

"Shhh," she whispered, like to a child.

And then BOOM—the vampire exploded in a burst of black tendrils. Blood sprayed across her face. She didn’t flinch. She grinned.

All around her, the fight raged.

Anita moved like a dancer in the air, daggers gleaming as they carved open a werewolf’s spine. Ruka’s blade left silvery arcs through the night, felling anything that came too close. Lucifer? Still laughing. Still walking like it was a stroll through the park.

But Alessia?

She was art.

Deadly, elegant, drenched in blood.

A werewolf tried to get smart—he came low, crawling through the shadows. Alessia noticed.

Her heel rose. She stomped.

The shadow below cracked like glass.

The crawling wolf screamed as spikes of pure darkness erupted beneath him, piercing his limbs, his chest, his face. He twitched for a moment, impaled.

She dragged her chain back.

A low, feral chuckle escaped her throat.

"You guys were so noisy earlier," she murmured. "What happened? Losing your bark?"

Three vampires tried to rush her at once—smart, maybe. Or desperate.

Too late.

She spun.

Chains out.

SHING.

One of the chains coiled mid-air, caught a vampire’s neck and twisted. His head came clean off.

Another chain stabbed forward like a spear, impaling the second vampire straight through the gut. He tried to phase into mist—

"Denied," she whispered.

Her shadow snapped up like a bear trap, locking the mist in place—and the chain exploded from inside him. His scream cut off halfway.

Third vampire?

He hesitated.

Bad idea.

From below, Alessia’s shadow surged up like a tidal wave. It took the shape of a monstrous claw and dragged him down screaming into the ground—like the earth swallowed him whole.

Gone.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

More blood.

She licked it off, smiling lazily.

Behind her, a werewolf let out a cry and charged with both hands extended, claws glowing with spirit fire.

She didn’t dodge.

Instead, her chain wrapped around her waist, anchored her in place. She raised one arm—and a dome of shadows bloomed outward, a swirling vortex of obsidian tendrils. The werewolf hit the dome, then froze mid-strike.

The shadows devoured his limbs, tore through skin and muscle with soft, wet pops.

He didn’t even get to scream.

She stepped forward and out of the dome as it collapsed into mist. The only thing left of the werewolf was a broken jawbone and a smear of meat.

Alessia cracked her neck, then rolled her shoulders.

The blood dripped down her arms, slicking her gloves. Her chains pulsed faintly, thirsty. Her eyes flicked around the battlefield.

Another vampire.

Young. Nervous. Fangs still sharp, still white.

He pointed at her with a shaky blade.

"I—I know who you are. You’re the Abyss Warden. You were locked away. You shouldn’t be here."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Don’t know who that is."

He lunged.

She didn’t stop him.

Let him get close.

Let him hope.

And then she breathed in.

Her body flickered.

And when it flickered back, she was behind him—chain coiled around his midsection like a snake, tip hovering just above his heart.

"You hesitated," she said quietly. "Too slow."

She yanked.

The chain dug in—and the boy split in half from the waist up, his torso flopping to the side while his legs stumbled and fell.

More blood. More heat in the air.

She exhaled, steam rising from her lips in the moonlight.

Across the lot, Lucifer was bodying two wolves at once—one by the throat, the other crushed under his boot. Anita was laughing in the air again, throwing one of her daggers into the skull of a retreating vampire. Ruka was breathing heavy, but steady, his blade humming with soul force.

Alessia stood still for a second.

Then she sank into the ground—completely.

Gone.

Silence.

The moment lasted five seconds.

Then a werewolf screamed—one of the big ones, scarred, fast. But he was being dragged back by nothing.

"No—what the hell—"

He was yanked into the shadow of a broken lamppost. His voice cut out.

Alessia rose from it a moment later, coated in fresh gore, one of her chains now glowing purple from the inside.

She didn’t say a word.

A vampire tried to stab her from behind—she twisted mid-spin, grabbed his arm, and bit him.

Not a dainty vampire bite either. No seduction. Just teeth.

CRUNCH.

She tore off a chunk of his shoulder, spat it out, and whispered, "Taste like dirt."

Then she broke his spine with her chain.

The shadows crawled around her now—hissing, muttering, whispering things only she could understand.

She didn’t mind.

She loved it.

Her eyes gleamed red, reflecting the chaos. She looked up at the moon and whispered, "Let’s paint the night red."

More came.

She welcomed them.

And the killing began again.