The Extra's Rise

The Vatican Sanctum of the Red Chalice Cult was everything I'd expected from a vampire organization trying to project divine authority—and nothing like I'd prepared myself for emotionally.

Gothic spires stretched impossibly high, their black stone surfaces carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when viewed peripherally. Stained glass windows depicted scenes of mortals kneeling before winged figures, but the light filtering through cast everything in shades of crimson rather than the traditional blues and golds of normal churches. The air itself felt thick with concentrated mana, so dense it was almost oppressive.

Reika's hand squeezed mine as we followed our escort—a silent figure in elaborate robes whose face remained hidden beneath a hood. The corridors we walked through were wide enough for a dozen people to walk abreast, lined with portraits of previous Popes and Cardinals. Each painting seemed to track our movement with eyes that held too much intelligence for mere artwork.

"The architecture is impressive," Reika murmured, her voice barely audible. She was maintaining perfect composure, but I could feel the tension in her grip. "Though the aesthetic choices are... distinctive."

Distinctive was one way to put it. The entire place screamed of supernatural power barely contained by mortal constructs. Every surface was inscribed with symbols that made my eyes water if I looked too long, and the very walls seemed to pulse with a rhythm that didn't quite match my heartbeat.

We passed through three separate security checkpoints, each one more elaborate than the last. Magical scanners that felt like icy fingers probing through my soul, guard chambers where hooded figures tracked our every step, and finally a massive set of double doors that required our escort to present multiple keys and speak passwords in languages that predated civilization.

"Her Holiness will see you now," the escort finally announced, his voice carrying an odd echo that suggested his throat had been modified in some supernatural way. "However..." He paused, turning to address me directly. "She has requested a private audience with you first, Mr. Matthias. Your companion will be escorted to the waiting chambers."

My blood turned to ice. 'Of course she wants to see me alone.'

"That's perfectly acceptable," I managed, keeping my voice steady despite the way my heart rate had just doubled. "Reika, I'll—"

"I understand," she said softly, though I caught the flash of concern in her eyes. She leaned up to press a quick kiss to my cheek, the gesture both affectionate and reassuring. "Don't keep Her Holiness waiting."

Our escort gestured for Reika to follow him down a side corridor, leaving me standing alone before the most imposing set of doors I'd ever seen. They were easily twenty feet tall, crafted from what appeared to be a single piece of black wood that reflected no light whatsoever. Silver inlays formed patterns that hurt to look at directly, and handles shaped like grasping hands seemed to flex as I approached.

'One year.' It had been exactly one year since I'd last seen Alyssara. One year since I'd watched her transform from the woman I'd loved in my previous life into something that defied easy categorization. Someone who had developed an obsession with me that bordered on pathological.

And now I was walking willingly into her domain.

I placed my hand on the door handle, feeling the cold metal respond to my touch. The massive doors swung open without a sound, revealing a chamber that took my breath away.

The Pope's private audience room was a study in contradictions. Vaulted ceilings disappeared into darkness above, while the floor was covered in thick carpets that muffled every footstep. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes that radiated their own soft light, and a massive fireplace cast dancing shadows that seemed to move independently of the flames.

But none of that registered after the first moment.

Because sitting behind an ornate desk at the far end of the room was Emma.

Not Alyssara. Not the pink-haired vampire Pope I'd been expecting. Emma—exactly as she'd appeared in my previous life, down to the smallest detail. Auburn hair that caught the firelight and threw back highlights of gold and copper. Amber eyes that had always reminded me of warm honey, now fixed on me with an expression of delighted surprise. The same heart-shaped face, the same elegant neck, the same smile that had once made me believe in happily ever after.

'Arthur,' Luna's voice echoed in my mind, sharp with warning. 'That's not real. Whatever you're seeing, it's an illusion or construct. Be careful.'

But even knowing it was fake, seeing Emma's face again hit me like a physical blow.

"Hello, Arthur," she said, and even her voice was perfect. The same slight huskiness that had always made my name sound like music when she spoke it. "It's been far too long."

I forced myself to step fully into the room, letting the doors close behind me with a soft click that sounded oddly final. "You're not her," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I'd intended. "You're not Emma."

Her smile widened, becoming something mischievous and knowing. "Of course I'm not. Did you really think Alyssara would make this easy for you?" She rose from her chair with fluid grace, every movement exactly as I remembered. "Consider this present number one from your devoted admirer. Though I have to say, this form isn't nearly as attractive as Alyssara's actual body. She wanted me to be sure to mention that."

The casual way she spoke about being a construct sent chills down my spine. "What are you, exactly?"

"A temporary vessel. A message. A test." She walked around the desk, moving closer with that same confident stride Emma had always possessed. "I'm what happens when someone with Alyssara's power and obsession decides to give you exactly what you think you want, while making sure you understand it's only a pale shadow of what she can offer."

'This is twisted by all standards,' I thought. The psychological warfare implicit in this move was staggering. Create a perfect replica of my lost love, just to drive home how much power Alyssara wielded. How completely she understood my weaknesses.

"Why?" I asked. "Why go to these lengths?"

The Emma-construct tilted her head, studying me with those achingly familiar eyes. "Because she loves you, Arthur. Because she's spent every day of the past year thinking about you, planning for you, reshaping herself to be worthy of you." Her expression softened, becoming almost sympathetic. "And because she knows you're here to infiltrate her organization and steal the clone.."

The admission hit me like cold water. 'She knows. Of course she knows.'

"If she knows, then why—"

"Because she doesn't care," the construct interrupted, laughing with Emma's voice in a way that made my chest ache. "Did you really think you could fool someone who's been obsessing over you for a year? Someone who's had access to every piece of intelligence the Red Chalice Cult has gathered about your activities?"

She was standing close enough now that I could smell the perfume Emma had always worn—jasmine and vanilla, a scent I'd thought I'd never encounter again. It was such a perfect reproduction that part of me wanted to reach out and touch her, just to confirm she wasn't real.

"Then why let me in at all?"

"Because, my dear Arthur," she said, reaching up to trace a finger along my cheek in a gesture that was pure Emma, "she knows exactly what you want to do. And she's going to help you do it."