Supreme Vampire In Black Clover

The forest stretched endlessly ahead, bathed in silver moonlight. The towering trees loomed like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches twisting toward the sky as if trying to grasp something unseen. The only sound was the rustling of leaves and the measured steps of the two figures moving through the shadows.

Derek walked a half-step behind Nymeria, his every sense on high alert. He wasn't restrained, wasn't being dragged forward—but he knew better than to think he was free.

Each step felt heavier, as though something unseen was pressing down on him, coiling around his limbs like invisible chains. Expectation. Judgment. Curiosity. The witches had tested him. They had seen something in him, something they deemed worth watching.

Now, he was following their envoy deeper into their domain.

"What the hell do they really want from me?" Derek muttered under his breath.

Nymeria, if she heard, gave no indication. She moved with effortless grace, each step precise, deliberate. There was no hesitation in her stride, no uncertainty. Unlike the other witches, she didn't need to assert her strength—she simply was strength.

That, more than anything, unsettled him.

What made him even more wary was that she hadn't teleported him through the shadows as she had when she arrived. Was her power limited too? Or was this just another move in a larger game—a chance to let him think, to let the weight of his situation settle in as they walked?

Derek exhaled through his nose, deciding to test the waters. "So, what happens now?"

Nymeria didn't pause. "Now, you see."

He frowned. "See what?"

She didn't answer, merely raised a single hand and gestured ahead.

Derek followed her gaze—and his breath caught.

Beyond the thinning treeline, rising like a black omen against the night sky, stood a castle unlike anything he had ever seen.

It was wrong.

Not in a way he could immediately define—but in a way that sent a deep, primal instinct screaming at him to stop.

Its spires clawed toward the heavens, jagged and sharp, as though forged from the darkness itself. Its walls, impossibly smooth and pitch black, seemed to devour the light, leaving behind nothing but an eerie, suffocating void. It did not reflect the moon's glow—it consumed it.

From the topmost tower, a soft red light pulsed, slow and deliberate. A heartbeat.

Derek's stomach twisted.

He had seen power before—true, undeniable power. But this… this felt different.

This was a statement. A warning. A threshold that, once crossed, could not be undone.

And for the first time since stepping into this world, he began to wonder—

Had he walked into something far beyond his understanding?

Inside the Queen's Chamber

Unbeknownst to Derek, in a candlelit chamber far away, the witches gathered quietly. The soft glow of enchanted torches danced over their features as they absorbed the distant echoes of his footsteps—his approach carried through the Queen's spell, which wove through the very fabric of the castle and forest itself.

Mei Duskbloom was the first to break the silence, a playful glimmer in her violet-tinged eyes. "I have to admit," she said softly, "he's tougher than I expected. Not many can shrug off my best illusions—especially when amplified by the chamber."

Across from her, Elysia Frosmourne, ever the calm observer, spoke in measured tones. Draped in a robe woven from enchanted ice threads, she wore a delicate silver circlet on her forehead, its runes shifting subtly as if tracking the flow of time itself. "The Queen sees something in him—a spark that defies our forecasts. It's… unexpected."

Valeria Stormrune snorted, making her golden enchanted earrings sway. "Unexpected can be dangerous. A wild card isn't exactly what we need on our side."

Selene Thornweave, her gaze distant as if reading invisible signs, chimed in quietly, "Yet his mind did not break. Even when we pressed him to the edge, he held firm. That speaks of strength beyond mere survival."

Nyx Vesperia, eyes shadowed in the dimly lit room, exhaled softly. "Strength, yes—but a mind that refuses to yield is difficult to shape. Control is everything in our world."

A hush fell over them as the Witch Queen finally spoke. Her voice, soft yet laden with authority, cut through the room like a spell of its own.

"We are not here to judge his power. He may very well be the weakest soul in all the kingdoms. What matters is his standpoint—his usefulness to us."

The witches fell silent, listening intently.

"You all saw what became of my weak little daughter. Vanessa was nothing, yet she grew—to the point where I had no choice but to bow. And I will not repeat the same mistake."

Her crimson lips curled slightly, a knowing smirk playing at their edges.

"We will tread carefully… and perhaps carve out a share of whatever destiny holds for him. His presence changes nothing for now. We will see if he can endure what lies ahead."

A ripple of quiet agreement passed among the witches, their eyes flickering with a mix of calculation and intrigue.

Back on the Path

Derek resumed his steps, his pulse steady but heavy. The castle loomed larger with every stride, its dark silhouette swallowing the horizon. The smooth black walls seemed untouched by time, defying nature itself as they stood—unmoving, unyielding, eternal.

Each step carried a growing weight, an unspoken gravity pressing into his chest. The very air shifted, charged with something ancient, something aware. It wasn't just the witches watching him. It was the castle and the whole environment on its own.

Nymeria walked beside him, her presence steady, unreadable. She hadn't spoken much since they left the clearing, but she didn't need to. Her silence carried meaning—an embodiment of confidence itself

A sharp gust of wind howled through the trees, carrying whispers that made Derek's skin prickle. The iron gates loomed ahead, etched with ancient symbols that flickered with a faint, pulsing glow. The castle wasn't just built to house power—it was built to contain it.

He stopped just short of the gates, taking a slow breath.

Nymeria, still facing forward, finally spoke. "The Queen's plans are not for the faint of heart."

Derek's jaw tightened. Plans. The word carried a weight he didn't like.

His mind churned with possibilities, yet he knew one thing for certain—whatever awaited him inside would change everything.

Without another word, he stepped forward.