Luther's gaze narrowed, fangs peeking slightly between his lips. "A living weapon…" he muttered under his breath.

The figure didn't answer. Instead, with one fluid motion, he tilted the hilt and the weapon began to move.

The blade stretched, links forming in seamless segments until it was no longer a sword but a serpent of steel, coiling and thrashing in his grip.

The sound it made was like a predator's hiss.

Then came the strike.

The whip lashed out in a blur—an arc of gleaming light snapping through the air toward Luther's chest. It sliced through pillars and armor stands like paper, cutting through stone without losing speed.

But when it reached him, Luther was gone.

A gust of displaced air followed, and he reappeared a few meters away, dust curling around his boots. A single lock of his white hair drifted to the ground, cleanly sliced in half.

He looked down at it, then up at the intruder. His lips curled into something between amusement and annoyance.

"Well now," he said, voice low. "That's a weapon I didn't think I'd ever see again."

He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with recognition. "Serpent's Fang. Forged from living alloy, tempered in the blood of beasts. Stolen from the Red vault decades ago."

His expression hardened, the crimson of his eyes flaring brighter. "So tell me—who are you, to walk into my castle wielding a stolen relic and wearing a mask like a thief? Are you an assassin?"

The figure said nothing. He reached up, unhooking the clasp of his mask with deliberate calm. The sound of metal sliding free echoed faintly in the corridor.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the mask to the ground. It hit the marble with a dull clink and rolled once before stopping.

Luther's expression froze.

Xavier stood before him—unbothered, relaxed, almost casual despite the carnage around them. His jacket was half-burned, a smear of soot across his jaw, but his eyes carried that same sharp confidence—the kind that didn't waver before kings or monsters.

He dusted his hands, as if this whole infiltration had been an errand rather than a suicide mission.

"Who am I?" Xavier echoed, tone dry, almost playful.

He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "Let's just say… I'm the guy your daughter calls mine."

Luther blinked once. Almost confused.

Xavier stepped closer, Serpent's Fang coiling lazily around his arm, its runes glinting like scales under blood-red light. "So yeah," he said, grin widening just enough to be disrespectful. "I'm your daughter's lover. Thought I'd drop by to introduce myself."

For a moment, nothing moved—no sound, no breath. Then, the corner of Luther's mouth lifted into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Well," he murmured, his aura bleeding into the room like smoke. "In that case… welcome to the family."

The floor cracked beneath his feet as he vanished.

The instant Luther vanished, Xavier swung Serpent's Fang up in reflex—steel clashed with air, and the world broke open.

Luther's strike came from above, not with any dramatic explosion of aura or vampire power, but pure, physical speed—so fast that Xavier barely saw the movement. The impact shattered the floor beneath him, sending cracks racing through the marble. Xavier blocked it, but the shockwave flung him backward through a pillar.

He caught himself mid-fall, flipping and landing on the wall instead of the ground, his boots digging into the stone. He pushed off, whipping the blade in midair.

The Serpent's Fang came alive.

It split into dozens of segments, a blur of silver slashing and coiling through the air, twisting toward Luther from every direction.

But Luther didn't even draw a weapon.

He simply moved.

A tilt of his shoulder and the first strike missed.

A sidestep, a lean, a simple flick of his wrist—and the next six lashes cut nothing but air.

Each dodge was fluid, effortless—like his body already knew where the whip would go before Xavier even swung it.

When one of the metal links snapped toward his throat, Luther caught it between two fingers.

The Serpent's Fang screeched as it tried to pull free.

"Beautiful craftsmanship," Luther murmured, eyes gleaming. "But power without control is just noise."

And then he yanked—hard.

Xavier was dragged forward, his boots scraping sparks across the floor. He used the pull to his advantage, lunging with a kick, but Luther ducked low, twisting Xavier's own weapon around his arm and forcing it back toward him.

The blade's segmented edge hovered just above Xavier's neck—his own weapon turned against him.

Xavier smirked through the strain. "Didn't think you'd babysit me this quick, father-in-law."

Luther's brows rose slightly, amused. "Bold tongue for a man seconds from losing his head."

Xavier released the hilt. The blade fell apart instantly—dissolving into metallic mist before reforming in midair, slicing at Luther from behind.

Luther turned slightly. Not fast—just in time. He raised his hand and the blade met his palm. And sparks burst.

The Serpent's Fang vibrated violently, but Luther held it there, his skin uncut.

"You're interesting," he said evenly. "But you're not vampire. You're human."

Xavier's smirk deepened. "Yeah? Keep guessing."

Then—boom.

Invisible pressure crushed the space between them as Xavier's telekinesis slammed into Luther from every angle.

The floor caved in around Luther's feet. The tiles bent upward like rippling fabric, the castle itself groaning. Pieces of the broken pillars rose into the air—suspended debris whirling like shrapnel around them.

Luther's eyes flickered, just slightly—curiosity, not fear.

"A telekinetic?" he murmured. "Impossible… your kind shouldn't even—"

Xavier didn't let him finish.

He surged forward, Serpent's Fang returning to his hand and morphing again—half sword, half whip. His telekinesis wrapped around the weapon, amplifying each swing with inhuman speed. The blade struck from every direction—front, back, above, below.

Each hit shook the walls. Statues crumbled. The castle trembled from the concussive force of air alone.

Luther blocked with his arms, dodged sideways, let blows graze him—but not one landed cleanly. His coat tore in a few places, but not a drop of blood spilled.

The man wasn't even trying.

"You're fast," Luther said between movements, "but not fast enough."

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