What in the world is this place?
But Michio Mikami knew he was not in Paris, given how many people there looked like him. He surveyed his surroundings as he followed his masked escort closely, nearly losing his mind at how closely the cityscape mimicked the Parisian cityscape. In the distance, he spotted an astonishing replica of the Eiffel Tower that pierced the sky with unparalleled grace, its iron lattice reaching towards the heavens. His escort, who introduced himself as Meng Jun En, hardly spoke except for the occasional curt instruction to follow closely. The mask that covered his face was lavender with black and gold accents, which curled into a poppy flower on his right cheek.
Jun En had turned up at his house and nearly brought the door down with his knocking. He said nothing except thrusting the letter in his face. Michio had to beg the escort not to drag him out of the house wearing nothing but his underwear.
Michio fished out the letter and hastily re-read the invitation letter written by a certain First Lady Meng Haoran:
“To the esteemed Michio Mikami,
I trust this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. It is with great pleasure that I extend this invitation to you on behalf of the Poppy Manor.
I understand that this mystical missive would come as a great shock to you. Rest assured that this invitation is extended to you with profound respect and gratitude. Your unique position as the sole non-sorcerer with knowledge of our concealed existence has woven an intriguing thread into the scrolls of our community. Not only did you keep such a burdensome secret for over a decade, but you also contributed greatly to the recent arrest of a rogue sorcerer.
Poppy Manor is ensconced in the heart of Tianducheng—a city that you might find perplexing—and it stands as a nexus for history and discourse for all time. Your presence will no doubt bring an enriching perspective to future gatherings within the halls of the manor.
I shall await your arrival.
With warm regards,
Meng Haoran
Lady of the First Rank”
Whoever this First Lady Meng was, her handwriting was so tidy that Michio thought it was printed at first glance, if not for the tiny capillaries of ink branching out from every full-stop in the letter. He was still poring over the letter when a shout made his goosebumps stand.
“Detective Mikami!”
Michio screeched to a halt. He soon realised that they were standing under the replica of the Eiffel Tower. “Do not stand where the paths cross!” Jun En barked with a gravelly voice as he pointed at the floor.
Michio took several steps back to the grassy patch, and Jun En nodded his head in approval.
Wasting no movement, Jun En fished out a jade talisman from his breast pocket and thrust it into Michio’s hands. “Do not drop this,” he said. “You shall be setting foot into the outer grounds of the Poppy Manor, where First Lady Meng awaits.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Jun En tapped the intersection of paths with his foot. The bricked floor gave a sharp ‘click-clack’, one piece shifting after another like falling dominoes. A low rumble followed as the tiles shuddered, cracked, and then collapsed inward in a perfect circle. A flight of stairs that led into the darkness materialised. “Please proceed,” he said, cuing Michio with an outstretched arm.
“Just m-m-me?” Michio stuttered as he stared down.
“Yes.”
“But don’t you need to go back home as well?” Michio asked, sweat oozing from his armpits. Don’t leave me alone here!
“You are not a sorcerer. You cannot use the same entrances as we do.” Jun En’s eyes blinked slowly behind the mask. “This is where we part. The First Lady is at the bottom of this flight of stairs, anticipating your arrival.”
Michio turned to look at the flight of stairs that wound downward into the dark like a serpent swallowing itself. When he turned toward Jun En, he had vanished, as though he had never existed.
Michio stared at the space for a moment, then looked back down at the stairs before taking a huge gulp.
His biggest enemy stared right back at him: a stairwell with no handrails.
He descended one careful step at a time, the blade of his hand scraping against the cold stone wall. The steps were narrow, and he had to suck in his tummy to take a better look before descending another step. His breathing was already laboured before he had made it past the fifth step, and the darkness below showed no sign of ending.
On the tenth step, a torch sputtered to life next to Michio’s head, nearly sending him tumbling down. “Fuck…” Michio thumped his chest, calming his racing heart. “Michio, you old doof… It’s just like automatic lights… Yeah, motion-activated lights…”
Michio descended another ten steps, and another torch lit up just as he had expected. But by then, his heart was not pounding from the fear of falling, but rather from the shortness of breath. His lungs felt like they were being wrung out like a wet cloth. The air down here was strange—heavy with something that was neither dust nor stale air.
For a moment, Michio found himself unable to breathe.
Then the jade talisman he had been clutching like a lifeline began to glow.
It was a quaint thing—half a poppy flower carved from pale green jade. It was obviously cut from a complete piece, and Michio wondered if the other half was waiting for him elsewhere. Warmth radiated from the talisman, spreading across his sternum and up into his throat. He breathed in slowly, then again, and found that the air came easily. It was as though the talisman told something—or someone—that he belonged.
At the bottom of the stairs, another light awaited him.
A lady stood holding a lit torch. Its flame cast long shadows up the walls, and she regarded him with the stillness of someone who had been waiting and had not minded the wait at all.
“Welcome,” she said, her voice full of grace. “Detective Mikami.”
“Just call me Mikami.” Michio straightened. “You are… First Lady Meng Haoran?”
Out of habit, Michio’s eyes dropped instinctively, scanning First Lady Meng from head to toe. She was aged, and the grey robes she wore only accentuated it. Her long, greying hair was tied up into a large, singular braid that nearly touched the ground. There was something about her lips that gave Michio pause—tiny, symmetrical white dots embellished the skin on either side, so faded they might have been missed entirely, had the flames not caught them at just the right angle.
Tattoos, Michio assumed. He had seen white tattoos before, though he could not imagine what First Lady Meng’s meant to signify. But what enraptured him were her eyes. She had a very interesting case of heterochromia, unlike any he had seen before. One eye was purple, the other a glistening gold.
“I am indeed,” First Lady Meng replied as their eyes met. “It is nice to finally see you in the flesh.” Her lips quirked up into a smile. “Mr Mikami.”
Turned into a vampire, so why not be a hero?
Kang Eun-Woo died the way he lived—exhausted, broke, and saving someone else.
The truck should have been the end. Instead, he woke up in a Manhattan penthouse with no heartbeat, perfect skin, and a B+ blood quality that even veteran vampires would kill for.
In a city where immortal creatures wear business suits, Eun-Woo makes a choice: if he's going to be a monster, he'll hunt the wolves, not the sheep.
What to expect:
- ? Urban vampire progression (Weaver System)
- ? Stat-based tracking & Blood Manipulation
- ? Hunter squad with trust issues
- ? Brutal, graphic vampire combat