Vampire Progenitor System

Teemah didn't waste time.

The moment Lucifer gave the word, she was gone—her cloak vanishing into the heat haze like a shadow dissolving in firelight. Word moved faster in the Demon Realm than any written summons. By the time the next sun-cycle reached its midpoint, the summons had already crawled through every ring, carried in whispers, threats, and unspoken orders.

They came.

The hall chosen for the meeting wasn't Daniel's throne room. Lucifer didn't want it to be his brother's ground. This was an old place, older than Daniel's reign—built in the First Cycle, when the Demon Realm was still chaos without borders. The walls were carved from black obsidian veined with faint gold, as if someone had trapped lightning inside the stone. No banners. No thrones. Just a long, curved table and enough space for power to breathe.

Lucifer stood at the far end of it, wings partly furled, his demon form casting a jagged shadow along the floor. His eyes burned faintly, not in anger, but in steady presence.

They entered one by one.

The first wave were the lesser lords, armored in bone and steel, their sigils etched into their skin. Behind them came the higher houses—tall, proud, draped in cloaks stitched from rare hides. And finally, the six Demon Kings. Each carried the weight of a sin so strong the air bent slightly around them. Wrath. Greed. Envy. Pride. Sloth. Gluttony. They didn't need to be announced; their auras arrived first.

They took their places, some leaning back in their chairs like this was a formality, others staring at Lucifer like they were already deciding how to dismantle him.

One of the kings—a massive figure whose armor looked like molten iron cooled into jagged plates—spoke first. His voice was a low grind.

"Where's Daniel?"

Lucifer didn't blink. "Not here."

Another, thinner, with green-gold eyes that never seemed to stop moving, tilted his head. "Then why are we?"

Lucifer stepped forward, his claws lightly clicking against the table's edge. "Because you needed to hear this from me. Not from Daniel."

The one with molten armor leaned forward. "And who exactly are you?"

Lucifer's gaze swept the room once, slow enough for each of them to feel it. Then he spoke.

"Lucifer Origin," he said. "First son of the demon progenitor, Lilith Origin. I'm here to make things right—on her word."

The hall stilled.

It wasn't silence like disbelief—it was silence like a blade drawn and held in the air.

Someone laughed. A dry, humorless sound. One of the mid-tier lords leaned back, smirking. "And we're just supposed to take your word for that?"

"You can take whatever you want," Lucifer said evenly. "Your nature won't let you admit it, but you can feel it."

The words sank in like iron. And they could feel it—something in the marrow, the deep pull that came when standing before Daniel… or Lilith. A quiet, instinctive recognition that this was not someone they could dismiss.

Wrath's king shifted in his chair, his fingers tightening on the hilt of the weapon propped beside him. The air thickened, not from magic, but from will.

Envy's king sneered. "Even if you are who you say you are… why now? Why crawl out of whatever hole you've been hiding in to 'make things right'?"

Lucifer took another step forward, the heat from his aura brushing against the front row. "Because Daniel let this realm breathe too long. It's rotting from the inside. Borders bleeding. Houses testing their chains. And if it keeps going, you'll all lose more than power. You'll lose the Realm itself."

A rumble moved through the table as some muttered in agreement and others bristled.

Pride's king, sitting like a carved statue, finally spoke. His voice was sharp enough to slice air. "If the Realm falls, it will be because of weakness in the throne. You insult Daniel, yet stand in his stead."

"I'm not here to defend him," Lucifer said. "I'm here to fix the mess before it swallows all of you. I don't need your permission. I'm giving you notice."

That set the room boiling. Demons didn't like being told what to do—especially not by someone who hadn't stood in their councils before. Chairs scraped. Voices rose. The blackstone walls seemed to hum faintly with the weight of their auras clashing.

Still, none of them stood to leave.

Because even as their mouths denied him, their bodies remembered who stood before them.

Lucifer let them talk. Let the chaos roll for a moment. Then his wings flared fully, casting the entire table in shadow and firelight.

"Enough," he said, the word sharp, carrying the weight of a command they didn't want to obey but did.

Silence dropped like a stone.

"You can argue among yourselves after I leave. But from now on, your borders close. Your banners stay where they are. You send me word before you so much as shift a wall in your rings. If you don't…" His claws tapped once against the table. "I'll take it as an invitation."

Some stared. Some smiled like they wanted him to try.

Then Gluttony's king—a mountain of a demon whose stomach seemed carved from iron plates—grinned. "Big words. But anyone can talk."

Lucifer met his gaze. "Then stop talking."

The grin widened. The chair scraped back, shaking the table. Gluttony rose to his full height, easily a head taller than Lucifer even in demon form. His hand flexed around a weapon like a cleaver forged from black crystal.

"I'll challenge you," Gluttony said. "If you're who you say you are… show us."

Lucifer's expression didn't change. "If I accept, I won't stop halfway."

"Good," the king said, stepping into the open space at the center of the hall. "Neither will I."

The others leaned back, watching. Not one of them moved to intervene.

Lucifer stepped forward, his wings folding close as he entered the circle. The air between them thickened instantly—two predators in the same kill radius.

He tilted his head slightly. "When I'm done, someone send for a new Gluttony or better yet, I will do it myself."

And then the space between them vanished.