The King of Vampires (Isekai)

The flames along the walls burned higher now, casting the chamber in deep blue and purple hues, their light rippling like silk across the polished obsidian floor. The room smelled of blood, old stone, and something sweeter beneath—the subtle perfume of immortal rebirth.

Arthur stood at the center, motionless, his silhouette towering beneath the vaulted arches carved with forgotten languages. His presence devoured the space, though his feet never touched the ground. His steps were silent as shadows. Not even the eldest Ancients, those buried in centuries of deceit, could trace his movements.

Behind him, Evelyne and Isolde reclined, their bodies reborn into sinful perfection—breasts heavy, hips curved like serpentine trails, lips full, faces radiant with unnatural beauty. Their eyes glinted with molten silver, their loyalty sealed by blood.

But the ritual was far from over.

Arthur's gaze drifted across the remaining daughters, each trembling, each calculating. Fear simmered in their veins, but so did ambition.

The next to step forward wore crimson silk that clung to her body like liquid fire. Her hair cascaded in black waves, eyes sharp as emerald blades.

"Lady Katarina of House Dragović," James announced, his voice echoing across the chamber with eerie poise. "Noble of the Balkan Dominion, daughter of warlords… and betrayal."

A faint smirk curved Arthur's lips. He remembered her house well—their ancestors had tried to overthrow him centuries ago. Now their brightest flower stood here, willingly offering herself to the shadow she once feared.

"You kneel?" Arthur asked, voice low, curling with cruel amusement.

"I submit to eternity," Katarina replied, her accent thick, dripping with defiance disguised as reverence.

Arthur's form glided closer, no sound betraying his approach. The moment his fangs sank into her throat, her body arched, her gasp echoing like a prayer mixed with agony. Blood blossomed upon her skin, reshaping muscle, bone, flesh. Her figure contorted, perfected, until she lay panting—a goddess of curves and lust, her breasts fuller, her waist impossibly narrow, her thighs strong, hips wide, every line crafted to seduce kings and queens alike.

Her eyes opened—silver, burning, consumed by Arthur's will.

The next name was spoken before the silence settled.

"Lady Mireille Dubois," James declared. "Heiress of the French Imperial Court. Bloodline traced to the Sun King's forgotten mistresses."

A vision in ivory lace stepped forward, her skin pale as moonlight, blonde curls cascading down her shoulders. Her expression was proud, but her hands trembled.

Arthur hovered above her, expression unreadable. "You choose this fate?"

Her voice cracked, yet she nodded. "I… I choose you."

The bite was swift, merciless. Her body writhed, lace tearing as her form transformed—her breasts blossomed beneath the shredded gown, hips curved like marble sculpture, thighs thick, legs graceful. Her face sharpened, lips full, cheeks high, the epitome of French beauty sharpened into something otherworldly.

She collapsed, reborn, eyes molten silver, her mortal frailty erased.

More approached.

"Lady Keiko Nakamura," James announced. "Daughter of Japan's Eternal Dynasty. Trained in shadow arts, bearer of ancient honor."

A petite figure in flowing black silk moved forward, her almond-shaped eyes narrowed with disciplined calm. She bowed low, a warrior's respect beneath regal poise.

Arthur admired her restraint—how still her body remained even as fear pulsed beneath the surface.

The transformation was more delicate with her. Yet the outcome was the same—perfection, curves hidden beneath silk, legs long, waist cinched, her beauty lethal, refined, sharpened like the blade she carried beneath her gown. Her eyes burned silver, her loyalty sealed.

The chamber's walls whispered, the ritual nearing completion.

"Lady Zaria Okonkwo," James spoke next, "Heiress of the Nigerian Ivory Tribes, sworn protector of forbidden relics."

A tall, statuesque beauty strode forward, her dark skin glowing like polished obsidian, her hair braided with golden threads, her gaze fierce. Muscles rippled beneath her ceremonial garb, strength woven into every line.

Arthur's fangs found her throat, the transformation immediate—her figure now adorned with impossible curves, breasts proud, hips broad, thighs strong enough to break mortals in half. Her beauty was raw, untamed, divine. Her eyes, molten silver, burned with hunger.

The final name echoed in the silent chamber.

"Princess Anya Petrovna," James declared, "Crown of the Rus' Bloodline, descendant of frost and empire."

A tall, raven-haired woman stepped forward, draped in furs and sapphires, her breath misting in the cold seeping from her veins. Her expression was stoic, proud.

Arthur admired her resilience—so few mortals held their poise beneath his gaze.

The bite stole her pride in seconds. Her body reshaped, breasts swelling beneath velvet, hips widening, curves sinuous as rivers. Her face flushed with life immortal, eyes now silver, her royal lineage eclipsed by the blood of shadows.

The chamber fell into eerie stillness.

The concubines stood reborn, lined beside Evelyne, Isolde, Amara. Their bodies sculpted to Arthur's hidden desires—breasts full, hips dangerous, legs endless, skin flawless, beauty terrifying.

Their names, titles, origins whispered like prayers upon the marble floor.

Katarina Dragović of the Balkans—fire and rebellion.Mireille Dubois of France—vanity and legacy.Keiko Nakamura of Japan—discipline and silence.Zaria Okonkwo of Nigeria—strength and defiance.Anya Petrovna of Rus'—cold and empire.

And at their feet, the dust of the Anciões, their ancient forms devoured by Arthur's wrath, no trace of their power or pride remaining.

Selena watched, jealousy coiled like a serpent in her chest.

Arthur's eyes found her, the edges of his smirk returning.

"You still wish to carry my child?" he teased, voice curling with dangerous promise.

Selena's chin lifted. "I will be your woman… not your shadow."

A hum rippled through the walls—a warning, a prophecy. But that fate awaited another night.

Tonight, the ritual was done.

Arthur's concubines stood eternal, beautiful beyond comprehension, his reign sealed.

And outside, beneath the bleeding moon, the world trembled… waiting for what came next.