Vampire Progenitor System
Chapter 145: Looking At The Crimson Grimoire

Chapter 145: Looking At The Crimson Grimoire

Origin HQ – Midnight, Underground Training Hall

The doors opened with a slow hiss.

Lucifer stepped in, the Crimson Grimoire clutched in his left hand, tucked close like it was part of his body now. The lights above flickered as if the book’s presence alone warped energy. Old power hummed through the floor—quiet, deep, like a pulse from under the earth.

He didn’t say a word as he walked into the vast chamber.

Circular. Reinforced. Carved out of bedrock and old vampire sigils. It was built to contain monsters. Even the ceiling held runes etched in obsidian.

A few members of Origin were already there.

Some leaned against pillars. Others watched from the upper balconies. No one interrupted. They knew better. When Lucifer walked in like this—coated in faint blood mist, eyes low, holding something ancient—something always changed.

Alessia stood near the back, arms crossed, cloaked in shadow. Her eyes never left the book.

Lucifer came to a stop in the center.

He raised the Grimoire.

It didn’t look like much now. Just a cracked, red leather tome, no bigger than a journal. Bound by dried sinew, the kind that whispered when it moved. The sigil on the cover—three fangs forming a crown—still pulsed faintly.

Lucifer’s thumb brushed the corner. The cover peeled open with a sound like wet parchment tearing.

A hush swept the room.

The pages shifted on their own—flipping, fluttering, breathing. The scent of iron filled the chamber. Dust. Bone. Time.

And then—one page stopped.

The ink glowed.

Not written in words, but in shapes. Glyphs, circles, blood-script that moved when stared at.

Lucifer stared at it for a moment.

Then the Grimoire spoke.

Not with a voice.

With memory.

A surge of images slammed into his mind—

A tall figure, cloaked in silver ash, standing atop a mountain of corpses. The First Fang. The Original Vampire. He wasn’t regal. He was brutal. Feral. But intelligent. His eyes burned like Lucifer’s.

In his hand, he held the Grimoire. Alive. Breathing. He didn’t read from it. He fed it. His blood. His soul. His kills.

The voice came not from the book, but from the echo of that memory:

"To my kin who finds this... this is my legacy. A forge for the arcane. A codex of blood and command. Use it... or be used by it."

Lucifer blinked. The vision ended. The hall came back into view.

The Grimoire shimmered. Lines of vampire script bloomed across the page. New ink. New glyphs.

A spell.

He didn’t speak it aloud. He just reached out. His fingertip brushed the page.

The glyphs surged off the surface.

A flash of red light burst from the Grimoire and struck the ground around him, drawing a massive circle made of living blood. Symbols snaked along its edges, dancing in real time. It was forming a spell construct—self-aware, adapting.

Lucifer raised a hand.

"Let’s see what you really are."

He pushed energy into the circle.

BOOM.

A column of red fire erupted skyward.

The vampires around the edge staggered back, shielding their eyes. Alessia didn’t flinch. She watched as the fire twisted into a pillar of sigils, then collapsed down—like blood raining upward in reverse—and slammed into Lucifer’s chest.

He didn’t move.

Then his body lit up.

Crimson patterns burst across his arms, neck, and spine—like glowing veins trying to surface. The Grimoire had merged with his bloodline, syncing to his essence.

Every vampire in the room felt it.

Their instincts recoiled—not in fear, but in recognition. The kind that lived deep in the marrow. That ancient voice telling them: He’s not like us.

Lucifer stood still in the red glow, eyes dim with focus. The marks on his body throbbed—alive—pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Then the Grimoire turned another page.

Not with his hand. On its own.

A new glyph rose from the parchment, spinning in the air like a slow, burning wheel. It hovered beside him, then burst—splintering into a dozen glowing fragments that carved into the floor, the walls, even the air.

"Blood Construct: Ritual Form Alpha," Lucifer read quietly.

And the entire room twisted.

Blood poured from the stone. From the cracks in the ceiling. From the weapons mounted on the far wall. It didn’t leak—it responded. Like it had been waiting.

A shape formed above the circle.

Not a beast. Not a clone.

A throne.

Made of hardened blood and jagged bone, floating two feet off the ground, rotating slowly. The glyphs around it screamed. Not audibly—but mentally. The moment the vampires present looked at it, some flinched. One staggered. Another had to grip the railing.

Even Alessia narrowed her eyes.

Lucifer didn’t climb it.

He just raised a finger.

The throne shattered.

The fragments shot across the room and reassembled in midair into a lance. Sleek. Thin. Crimson and silver, with the spiral of the Grimoire’s symbol at its center. Its edge hummed with cursed precision.

He caught it.

The moment his fingers wrapped around the shaft, the room changed again.

The lights flickered. Shadows deepened. The entire training hall felt like it had dropped in temperature by fifteen degrees. The lance wasn’t just a weapon. It was a focus. A magic channel made from the Grimoire’s will.

"Bring in the drone," he said flatly.

The side wall peeled open. From it, a combat golem walked out—nine feet tall, plated in dark steel, powered by soulstone. Eyes glowing pale green. Strong enough to stop a tank.

Lucifer didn’t move.

The golem charged, massive fists raised.

Lucifer flicked the lance sideways.

One swipe.

Slice.

The golem’s arm dropped. Not clean. Almost melted off—blood magic had passed through the armor like it wasn’t there.

Lucifer moved again.

No wasted motion.

The lance twirled in his hand, bending around the next strike. He ducked, swept the golem’s leg with the butt, spun behind it, and drove the point straight into its back.

It didn’t explode.

It shattered.

Like ice under a hammer.

The crowd above stayed silent.

Lucifer looked at the broken pieces. The Grimoire in his other hand pulsed again. The pages flipped, faster now, responding to his rhythm.

The next spell wasn’t a weapon.

It was a system node.

Bloodline Enhancement: Synaptic Spike – Vampiric Awakening.

Lucifer inhaled.

And then—

A scream.

Not his.

From one of the younger vampires standing near the lower platform. He dropped to one knee, clutching his head, groaning.

Lucifer turned. "You felt that?"

The young one looked up, eyes wide. "Y-Yeah... it—it was like something inside me woke up."

Lucifer nodded once. "The Grimoire doesn’t just grant spells. It amplifies. It drags blood potential to the surface. If your bloodline’s weak, it’ll burn. If it’s strong, it’ll rise."

The vampire shivered. But didn’t collapse.

Another one stepped forward, a scarred woman. "Test me."

Lucifer held the Grimoire toward her. She placed a hand on the surface.

The book recoiled at first. Then accepted. Glyphs crawled up her wrist, glowing.

Her eyes rolled back.

She gasped. Fell to her knees. Her breathing ragged.

When she stood again, her aura had changed. Not stronger. Sharper.

"Everything’s... clear," she whispered.

Lucifer spoke without looking up. "The Grimoire can enhance vampires by rewriting the restrictions of their own blood. We don’t evolve because we don’t know how. This changes that."

Alessia finally stepped forward. She stopped beside him, gaze fixed on the book.

"It’s responding to you like it’s yours," she said.

Lucifer glanced down. "It is."

She nodded once. "Then show it everything."

He turned a page.

The next section was deep magic.

Not combat. Not enhancement.

Blood Invocation: Lineage Unveiling.

Lucifer stared at it. His chest tightened, just a little. This spell didn’t target enemies. It wasn’t meant for battle.

It unlocked memories buried in blood.

He hesitated.

Then placed his palm on the page.

The glyphs expanded, climbing his arm, wrapping around his neck.

Vision blurred.

Sound vanished.

Then—

He was standing in a room not his own. Black stone walls. A throne. Candles burning without fire. Chains dangling from the ceiling. The First Progenitor stood in front of him.

Not a memory.

A projection.

"You’re not complete," The progenitor’s voice said.

Lucifer said nothing.

The Progenitor raised a finger and pointed at Lucifer’s chest.

"There’s a lock in your blood. Placed by the old world. Fear. Control. Break it, and you’ll stop being a vampire. You’ll become what came before us."

Lucifer’s eyes widened.

The progenitor stepped back into the shadow.

"You are not just my heir. You are my replacement."

The world snapped back.

The room was still.

Everyone was watching.

Lucifer lowered his hand.

He didn’t speak. The Grimoire’s pages burned quietly. One of the runes on its cover cracked—and healed.

Accepting him.

Welcoming him.

Alessia exhaled slowly. "That looked like it hurt."

"It didn’t," Lucifer said. "But it’s about to."

The Grimoire lit up again—one final spell for the night.

Blood Brand: Dominion Crest.

He slammed the book to the ground.

The glyph shot out.

Every vampire in the chamber felt it—like a brand appearing in their veins.

Not pain.

Command.

A silent imprint that echoed: Obey. Follow. Protect.

The spell ended. Lucifer stood.

"You all wanted to know what this book could do," he said. "Now you know."

Alessia’s voice came low.

"What’s next?"

Lucifer turned his back on them.

"Next," he said, tucking the Grimoire under his arm again, "we see if it can be used to wipe out Malakov and his forces... in a single night."

And with that, he walked out.

The lights flickered behind him.

The Grimoire pulsed again—its next pages still blank, waiting to be written with blood.

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