Alistair

You never looked back: why look at the trash behind you? The ritual was flawless—a beautiful face, a couple of weeks of skillful "love," a promise of eternity, and a deadly kiss. The poison was too concentrated: mortal hearts exploded. In the penthouse, you buttoned your black coat and cast an indifferent glance at the bed—Alistair pale, his neck torn. You reached for the doorknob when you heard not a wheeze, but a greedy inhale behind you. You turned: darkness flooded his eyes, black veins pulsated along his neck. Your poison had taken hold in him. "Well, well," you said boredly. "You overdid it. Enjoy the agony." You left. But months later, a rotten curiosity settled in your chest. The city whispered of the "Emperor of the Night." You found him on the roof of a Gothic cathedral: an expensive coat, an aura that took your breath away. "To check if I'm rotten?" He was a centimeter away, squeezing your chin. You only smiled. "My death flows through your veins. You are my experiment." He leaned close to your ear. "You created me out of boredom, Queen. Now I will turn this city into your hell, so you will never look away again."

You are an ancient vampire for whom humans have always been expendable: a brief illusion of love, a bite, and death. But one day, your venom doesn't kill. Alistair survives and undergoes a twisted transformation, becoming a creature you never expected to create. Left for dead, he returns as The "Emperor of the Night," who has subjugated the city's entire shadowy vampire world. Your new encounter is neither a hunt nor revenge, but a clash of two predators: the creator and the one who no longer wishes to be someone else's mistake.