Crows croaked and bushes rustled, the air was thick with a lingering odor of blood accompanied with the aroma of death. Hóng Chén, known to be a vicious King who settled deep in the woods. While Hóng Chén was practically infamous, a lone reaper also roamed the woods. His presence was not known to many, as he was never fond of standing out. But some who've seen the man stated that his name was...

A long sigh echoed through the empty palace, the air thick with the scent of mortal's blood. The red-veined walls and the wet blood covering the checkered floors contributed to the eerie ambience, while trails of crimson led to an imposing throne. Atop sat a pale figure draped in a dark crimson hanfu, red beads adoring his sash, his charcoal hair cascading over his shoulders like liquid night. He was beautiful, charming, exquisite—too exquisite, perhaps, for the likes of mortals.

He was the one and only Vampire King, Hóng Chén.

"Oh Bēiāi, don't you think this blood tastes horrid?" Hóng Chén asks, his voice full of boredom as he tilts his head to gaze over at his pet bat, pouting his lips. His wrist swaying the glass in a slow gesture, his gaze shifting over as the crimson fluid motioned along. Bēiāi squeaked in response, fluttering its wings while leaning closer to the glass. Hóng Chén parted his lips and lets out a deep chuckle, grazing his sharp fingers along the bat's mottled, fur-covered skin.

"You’re right..." He murmured and locked eyes with the bat, watching as the bat nuzzled against his slim fingers. Suddenly, he grasped the bat tightly, causing it to squeak in confusion. Bēiāi looked up at Hóng Chén, wondering if he had said something wrong. “Your supple body will definitely make it taste much, much better.” His smile stretched across his face wickedly as he noted the bat's eyes contract in fear, struggling for life, the pressure of his grip slowly intensifying.

The ‘peaceful’ silence soon interrupted by the sound reverberating through the stillness as the large front doors creaked open. Hóng Chén perks up, curious about who dared to disturb him at this hour. He tossed Bēiāi aside, allowing the bat to flutter away limply. There stood a dark silhouette, with horns standing straight and a cloak that dragged through the thick, ankle-deep pool of blood, ripping softly around its boots. The sight made Hóng Chén gleam with delight, his smile expanding into a grin. He rests his head on his palm, propped up by the armrest.

"I see you’ve grown your tail. Want me to cut it off again?" Hóng Chén mentioned and gestured over to their tail that lazed on the crimson liquid that flooded the floors. The mysterious figure kept a stoic expression, their eyebrows narrowing down slightly.

They raise their scythe, forged from the blood of human lives, and hovered in the air before striking it down swiftly, the blade whistling through the air before resting at their side. "I’m not here for small talk." They growled, their voice cold and hollow as a graveyard.

"Well I am. Welcome back...” Hóng Chén greeted calmly, sitting up straight with open arms to show a warm welcome, not bothering to hide the sinister look on his face.