Chapter 34 The Glass Ultimatum

Chapter 34 The Glass Ultimatum

_\[SYSTEM\]_
⚠️ VITALITY: 4% (IMMINENT SYNCOPE).
⚠️ ENVIRONMENT: Faculty of Literature – Neutral Zone (Theoretical).
⚠️ DETECTION: Presence of Royal Blood (Draven) & Civilian Blood (Human).

Eric’s world had collapsed into a tunnel of blurred pixels and a heartbeat so loud it drowned out thought. He knelt on the cold asphalt, body wracked with violent tremors. In front of him, Alexis—his last tether to the life of Brentley Carter, orphan, nobody—was backing away. One hand clamped over her mouth to smother a scream.

“Eric… what’s happening to you? Your eyes… they’re like the…”

She couldn’t finish. She saw it now. The monster Noctaria whispered about in the dark. It wasn’t in stories anymore. It was kneeling in front of her, breathing through gritted teeth, blood drying black on his jaw.

“Don’t look at her, Eric,” Catherine Draven hissed from the roof.

She descended without sound. No step, no whisper of cloth. One moment she was above, the next she was in the alley, heels touching stone without a sound. Her presence crushed the space, a weight of old blood and older power that made the air feel thin.

“A simple human can’t understand the beauty of your agony,” Catherine said.

_\[SYSTEM: BLOOD RESONANCE\]_
Possession Link (Catherine): Strong.
Eric Vance is now marked as “Property of the Draven Crown.”

Catherine ignored Alexis like she was a fly. She crouched in front of Eric and lifted his chin with a finger gloved in black lace. Her nails were painted blood-red.

“My father was very impressed by your little magic trick in the tunnel,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, almost tender. It made it worse. “Saving a Black Fang Alpha with Diabolus blood… that’s a declaration of war, my squire. The Council decided to move the sentence forward.”

Eric tried to speak. Only a thin line of blood escaped his lips. His throat felt like it was lined with broken glass.

Catherine smiled. It didn’t reach her violet eyes.

“Listen well, because this is the only warning you’ll get. Naya is in the university dungeons, under the ballroom. Nelson Lane was ordered to execute her publicly at the Meeting. Right after the midnight toast.”

Alexis choked out a sob.

Catherine turned her head slowly, eyes flashing with lethal intent. “Go, little mouse. If you’re still here in ten seconds, I’ll drain you dry in front of him.”

Alexis looked at Eric. One last look. Terror. Pity. Grief for a boy who was already gone. Then she ran. Her footsteps echoed down the faculty corridor and vanished.

\### The Preparation of Sacrifice

A cold hand settled on Eric’s neck. Catherine. She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“I’m going to give you what you need to make it to tomorrow, Eric. But understand this: if you walk into that ballroom, you’ll never be Brentley Carter again. You’ll be the Anomaly. And the whole world will want your head.”

Without warning, she bit into her own wrist. Blood welled, black and violet in the alley’s sick light. She pressed the wound to Eric’s lips.

_\[SYSTEM: ROYAL BLOOD CONSUMPTION\]_
Vitality: +40% (Temporary).
Draven Awakening: Stabilized.
⚠️ SIDE EFFECT: Blood Dependence on Catherine Draven increased.

Strength slammed back into Eric’s limbs like a jolt from a defibrillator. But it was poisoned strength. It burned through his veins, scorching, making him feel alive and wrong at the same time. He shoved her back, staggering to his feet, fury burning clean and hot again.

“Why help me?” he spat. “You’re a Draven. Your father runs the Council.”

“Because I’d rather watch you burn this world down,” Catherine said, fading back into the shadows of the alley, “than watch you belong to someone else.”

She paused, half-swallowed by darkness.

“Dress well tomorrow, Eric. Nelson planned a reception… bloody.”

Then she was gone. No movement. Just absence. Like she’d never been there.

\### The Dawn of Wolves

Eric stood alone.

Ahead, the main entrance to the university was coming alive. Workers were hanging banners for the Meeting. Velvet. Gold thread. The colors of old power. They moved with the casual efficiency of people who’d never seen blood that didn’t come from a paper cut.

He saw his mother’s name on the urn Gilbert carried. He saw Naya’s face in his memory, laughing once, months ago, before everything went to hell. He saw the corpse of his humanity at his feet, and he didn’t mourn it.

He pulled out his phone. One notification glowed on the cracked screen.

A message from Nelson Lane, sent to every elite student.

“Tomorrow night. Midnight. The end of a lineage. Don’t be late.”

Eric’s fist closed around the phone. Glass shattered. Blood welled in his palm, but he didn’t feel it. The pain was distant, secondary.

There was only one thing left to do.

If he was dying tomorrow, he wouldn’t die alone.

He turned to the darkness where the alley bent toward the old service tunnels. Toward the Báthory safehouse. Toward John.

“John,” Eric said. His voice was low, but it carried. “Get your wolves ready. Tomorrow, we’re not coming to dance.”

\---

Báthory Safehouse – 20 minutes later

The safehouse smelled of dust and old magic. Tapestries lined the walls—wolf and rose, entwined, bleeding. Candles guttered, throwing shadows that moved like they had minds of their own.

John was there. Standing over Gilbert, who lay on a stone slab, breathing shallow. The disease was winning. You could see it in the gray of his skin, the way his chest barely moved.

Eric stepped through the door and every wolf in the room tensed. There were six of them. Survivors from B3. Young, lean, eyes feral with grief and rage. They smelled the Draven on him instantly.

One stepped forward. Rook. Barely twenty, scar across his throat. “That’s not Eric Vance,” he said. “That’s a Draven mutt.”

John moved faster than thought. One hand around Rook’s throat, lifting him off the ground. “That’s my Alpha’s son,” John said. His voice was quiet. That made it worse. “You want to die tonight, say it again.”

Rook didn’t apologize. But he shut up.

John let him drop. Then he looked at Eric. Really looked. At the scarlet behind his eyes, at the way his blood moved under his skin like it had its own will.

“You look like hell,” John said.

“Feel worse,” Eric replied.

He walked to Gilbert. Knelt. The old man’s eyes fluttered open. For a second, they were clear.

“You came back,” Gilbert whispered.

“Had to,” Eric said. “Naya’s in the dungeons. Under the ballroom.”

Gilbert nodded. Not surprised. Just tired. “Nelson wants a show. Council wants blood. They think if they break you in front of everyone, the bloodlines will fall into line.”

“Then they’re wrong,” Eric said.

Gilbert’s hand found his. Cold. Papery. “The Báthory Jamming Zone… it won’t hold forever. They’ll adapt. You have hours. Maybe less.”

“What do we have?” Eric asked.

John answered. “Forty wolves. Half injured. All angry. We can hit the service entrance under the cathedral. Draw them out. But we can’t hold them.”

“Then we don’t hold them,” Eric said. “We hit fast. In. Out. Naya lives.”

“And Nelson?” John asked.

Eric’s Draven eyes flared. “Nelson dies.”

Gilbert coughed. Blood on his lips. “Clifford’s bolt-hole… it’s under the cathedral too. Older than the dungeons. If you need a weapon, it’s there. If you need answers, it’s there. But it’s locked. Only Báthory or Lane blood can open it.”

Eric looked at his hands. Silver and crimson still lingered under his nails.

“Then I’ll open it.”

\---

University of Maurice – 18 hours until the Meeting

The campus was changing. Security doubled. Black cars with tinted windows rolled through the gates. Students in expensive suits and dresses moved like they were walking to a funeral, not a gala.

Eric moved through it like a ghost. Catherine’s blood kept him upright, kept the tremors at bay, but it came with a cost. Every few minutes, a craving hit him. Not for food. For her. For the taste of that poisoned, perfect blood. He shoved it down.

He found the service entrance John mentioned. Old. Rusted. Sealed with a chain and a lock that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades.

John arrived with five wolves. They were quiet. Professional. This wasn’t a pack anymore. It was a strike team.

“You sure about this?” John asked.

“No,” Eric said. “But I’m sure about her.”

He placed his palm on the lock. Diabolus blood and Draven blood mixed on his skin. The metal groaned. The lock didn’t break. It unraveled, like the metal remembered being ore and decided to go back.

The door swung open on silent hinges.

Inside, the air was colder. Older. It smelled of earth and stone and something that had been sealed away for a long time.

“Checkpoints,” John said. “Two minutes apart. Enforcers don’t sleep.”

“Then we don’t give them time,” Eric said.

They moved. Fast. Silent. The wolves fanned out, senses sharp. Eric led, Draven reflexes and Diabolus senses a lethal combination. They bypassed patrols. Slit throats when they couldn’t. No hesitation. No mercy.

An hour in, they found the first checkpoint. Three Enforcers. Porcelain masks. Silent.

Eric didn’t wait for John’s signal.

He hit them first.

The fight was short. Brutal. Enforcers didn’t bleed. They didn’t scream. But they broke. Bones shattered under Eric’s claws. Obsidian blades shattered against his skin. The Draven reflexes were too fast. The Diabolus rage was too strong.

When it was over, three piles of porcelain lay on the floor. Cracked. Empty.

“Keep moving,” Eric said. His voice didn’t shake.

\---

Dungeons – Under the Ballroom – 2 hours until Midnight

The air changed. It got heavier. Colder. It smelled of fear and old pain.

They found the cells.

Naya was in the third one. Chained to the wall. Her wrists were raw, her face bruised, but her eyes were still furious. When she saw John, she didn’t cry. She smiled.

“You’re late,” she said.

John unlocked the cell with a claw. “Always am.”

Nelson Lane stood outside the cell block. He wasn’t alone. Ten Council guards. And behind them, a door of wrought iron and runes.

Nelson smiled when he saw Eric.

“Ah. The Anomaly. Right on time.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:58 PM.

“Two minutes,” Nelson said. “Then we begin. And you, Eric Vance, will watch your little wolf die. Then you’ll show us what you really are.”

Eric stepped forward.

Nelson didn’t flinch. “Go ahead. Hit me. The Council’s watching. Every clan’s watching. Kill me now, and you prove them right.”

Eric stopped.

“Not here,” he said. “Not like this.”

Nelson’s smile widened. “Smart. But it won’t matter. Tomorrow, you’ll have no choice.”

Eric looked past him, at the iron door. At the runes. Báthory runes.

He placed his hand on them.

The metal burned cold. Then it recognized him.

The door clicked.

Nelson’s smile vanished.

“Stop him!” he shouted.

Too late.

The door swung open. Darkness poured out. And with it, a whisper.

_Clifford._

Eric stepped inside.

The last thing he heard before the door closed was Nelson’s voice, sharp with panic.

“Seal the ballroom! Now!”