Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Isobel's mind spun, her brother's face flashing in her thoughts. "So you're saying my brother's strength is limited too?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, fear creeping into her heart.

Lyrith nodded, her expression unreadable. "Yes, though he's shown more promise than your father. Awakening before twenty, like you, is no small feat. But don't mistake potential for freedom. The universe still holds his leash." Her words were blunt, cutting through Isobel's defenses like a blade.

A memory surged in Isobel's mind—her transformation into a vampire, not through awakening as Lyrith described, but through her brother's bite. Her stomach twisted. "What if… what if I didn't awaken my bloodline naturally? What if another vampire turned me?" she asked, her voice hesitant, her eyes flicking away from Lyrith's piercing gaze.

Lyrith's laughter was sharp, dismissive. "Impossible. A pureblood like you can't be turned—not even by a primogenitor. The universe would never allow such a glitch. All a primogenitor can do is share their strength until their offspring awakens naturally." She shook her head, her silver hair swaying, utterly convinced of her words.

Isobel bit her lip, her heart racing. She knew the truth—her brother had turned her, defying everything Lyrith claimed. But fear for her brother's safety sealed her lips. If Lyrith, or worse, her demonic allies, learned of this anomaly, what would become of him? She vowed to uncover the truth behind her transformation and break the corrosive blood curse that plagued her, no matter the cost.

The weight of Lyrith's revelations pressed down on her, each piece of information a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. Her father, her brother, the curses, the clans—it was too much, yet not enough. She needed more answers, more clarity. "What's your angle, Lyrith?" she asked, her voice low, her aura flaring subconsciously, filling the room with a faint, oppressive pressure. "You're a demon. Your king wants Dracula's descendants dead. That includes me and my brother. Did you… did you have a hand in my parents' deaths?"

Lyrith's expression darkened, her crimson eyes narrowing. "If I wanted you and your brother dead, you'd be dust by now, Isobel. Don't test me." Her voice was cold, but then it softened, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "Not everyone despises Dracula. Some of us—crazies, as you might call us—dream of his resurrection. I serve Asmodeus, and he shares that dream. I've been your guardian in the shadows, sabotaging my colleagues' plans to deliver you to Baal. Every setback, every delay—it was me, working to keep you alive."

Isobel's breath hitched, her mind struggling to process the revelation. "So you're saying… you're protecting us? For Dracula's resurrection?"

"Exactly," Lyrith said, her voice firm, her eyes blazing with purpose. "You and your brother are the key to bringing him back. But time's running out. Baal's suspicions are growing, and I can't keep up the charade forever. You need to grow stronger, fast, if you want to survive the enemies you don't even know you have." She slid off the desk, her movements fluid, and began to pace, her boots echoing in the quiet room.

Isobel's mind raced. "But from what you've said, we'd need—"

"The Infinite Blood Pool, Dracula's heart, and his body," Lyrith interrupted, her tone grim. "None of which we have. The Sanctuary, where they might be hidden, hasn't been found in centuries—some say it's no longer in this universe. The Blood Pool? Lost to time. You've got a near-impossible task ahead, Isobel." She paused, her gaze locking onto Isobel's. "And you don't have much time."

Isobel's heart sank, the enormity of the challenge crushing her resolve. Before she could respond, Lyrith's voice cut through again, sharp and urgent. "One last thing. Beware the Blesseds. They're the universe's puppets, whether they know it or not. The universe can bend their will, and given how much it despises you and your bloodline, the day will come when they'll hunt you down." With that, Lyrith stepped toward a swirling portal that materialized behind her, its edges crackling with dark energy.

"Wait—" Isobel started, but Lyrith was already gone, the portal collapsing with a faint hum. The room fell silent, the weight of her words lingering like a storm cloud. Isobel sank back into her chair, her mind a whirlwind of fear, determination, and unanswered questions. She would uncover the truth about her transformation, break the curse, and protect her brother—no matter what it took.

The air in the shadowed chamber was thick with tension, the faint hum of arcane energy crackling in the dim light. The masked man stood poised, his dark cloak billowing slightly as he fixed his piercing gaze on Lyrith. "You're back," he said, his voice calm but laced with a subtle edge, as if testing the waters. "Must've had one hell of a conversation."

Lyrith's lips curved into a sly smile, her crimson eyes glinting with mischief under the flickering glow of the room's enchanted sconces. "Oh, I am," she purred, tossing her silver hair with a casual flick. Her tone was light, but her posture—relaxed yet coiled, like a predator at rest—betrayed her awareness of the game being played.

The masked man tilted his head, his expression hidden but his voice carrying a faint smirk. "I reckon your little chat with Dracula's descendant went smoothly, then." He extended a gloved hand, and from Lyrith's shoulder, a tiny creature—no larger than a fly—buzzed toward him, its wings shimmering with an eerie, otherworldly light. It landed on his palm, whispering secrets only he could hear.

Lyrith's smile didn't falter, though her eyes narrowed slightly. "Tch, it's rude to spy on a lady, you know," she teased, her voice dripping with mock indignation. She'd been caught, and she knew it, but her confidence remained unshaken, a spark of defiance dancing in her gaze.

The masked man's tone grew colder, though his calm demeanor held. "Just confirming my suspicions. And frankly, Lyrith, I'm a bit disappointed." His words carried a weight that made the air feel heavier, the faint hum of magic in the room dimming as if in response.

Lyrith laughed, a melodic sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Oh, please, spare me the lecture," she said, collapsing onto a plush velvet couch with reckless abandon, her lithe form sprawling as if she owned the room. "I'm just doing what's good for business. Besides, you can't exactly run to Baal and tattle. No contact with the higher-ups until this world is conquered, and Asmodeus made damn sure no other demons are dispatched." Her smile widened, a glint of triumph in her eyes as she played her card.

The masked man's posture stiffened, his cloak rustling as he took a step forward. "I see," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "But when I conquer this pathetic planet, and Baal learns of your traitorous schemes, your life ends. I've already made arrangements. Dracula's descendants won't live long—starting with the male. And you, Lyrith, won't interfere anymore. Plans are accelerating as we speak." He turned, his cloak sweeping dramatically as he strode toward the exit, his steps deliberate. There was no need for a fight—both knew it would end in a stalemate, a waste of time better spent elsewhere.

Lyrith's smile faded slightly, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the couch. The game was shifting, and the board was no longer hers to control.