_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">The wave rippled outward from Bckthorn's estate like an invisible tsunami, crossing territorial boundaries with unstoppable momentum.

  In the Eastern Financial District, vampire executive Julian Thornfield was negotiating a blood-supply merger when it hit him. One moment, he was standing at the head of a conference table, ser pointer in hand; the next, he colpsed mid-sentence, knees striking marble with a sickening crack. Around him, board members followed suit, their bodies dropping as if strings had been cut. The presentation screen shattered as the tech specialist convulsed against it, leaving gss embedded in his trembling form.

  No one could rise. No one could speak. Primal terror erased centuries of carefully cultivated sophistication, reducing immortal predators to quivering prey.

  Outside, across the sprawling cityscape, chaos erupted.

  A luxury car swerved violently as its vampire driver succumbed, plowing through the gates of a noble estate in a shower of wrought iron and stone. Behind it, multiple vampire-driven vehicles careened into one another as their operators colpsed, creating a tangled mass of twisted metal and shattered gss at the entrance to the aristocratic quarter. Throughout the city, transportation reserved exclusively for vampire use ceased functioning as drivers fell against steering wheels, unable to lift their heads.

  In Archduchess Seraphina's territories, the Eastern Botanical Conference dissolved into pandemonium as renowned scientists colpsed among delicate experimental specimens. Centuries-old hybrid pnts, cultivated with exquisite care, were crushed beneath the weight of falling bodies. In the research greenhouses, irrigation systems ruptured as technicians fell against control panels, flooding boratory floors where vampires y unable to move, water pooling around their immobilized forms.

  A werewolf pack in mid-transformation froze in grotesque tableau—caught between forms, neither fully animal nor fully humanoid. Their bodies contorted at impossible angles, trapped in the excruciating limbo of incomplete change. The alpha, a massive creature who had terrorized three territories in his time, whimpered like a newborn pup, yellow eyes wide with incomprehensible fear.

  Across Archduke Dante's Northern Dominion, advanced technological infrastructure failed catastrophically. In the central power distribution hub, supernatural engineers convulsed against control panels, triggering cascading system failures. Backup generators initiated automatically, only to fail as maintenance teams y incapacitated. Within minutes, bckouts swept across cities that had maintained uninterrupted power for centuries.

  Inside the high-security research boratory, delicate experiments requiring precise vampire control colpsed into ruin. Specialized equipment worth incalcuble resources shattered as technicians fell against containment fields. Warning sirens bred unanswered through empty corridors where every being capable of response y paralyzed by terror.

  At the prestigious Northern University, a vampire professor delivering a lecture on pre-Evolution history crumpled mid-sentence, falling from the raised ptform onto unforgiving stone. His students followed instantly, their bodies contorting in uniform submission. Ancient texts and irrepceable manuscripts scattered across the floor, centuries-old binding cracking as boots involuntarily kicked shelves during the collective colpse.

  In Valerian's militarized Northern Border Territory, even his specialized troops—vampires created using his blood rather than his saliva—found themselves overcome. Elite soldiers who had never known defeat fell in perfect formation, their weapons cttering to the ground with synchronized precision. Training exercises froze mid-execution, combat simutions halted as participants y trembling on practice fields. In the central command center, monitors dispyed tactical maps now irrelevant as every officer knelt before an unseen force, unable to issue orders.

  Valerian himself had managed a single word—"Finally"—before dropping to one knee, his military discipline allowing him that single moment of controlled response before succumbing like all others to his brother's unleashed power.

  The Southern Reaches, former territory of Archduke Orlov, experienced the wave differently. Having reverted to medieval conditions under Orlov's rule, these nds contained fewer technological systems to fail catastrophically. Instead, the terror manifested through ancient vampire tradition—blood chalices shattered in nobles' hands, their contents spttering across expensive tapestries; ceremonial hunts abandoned as aristocratic predators fell to their knees in perfectly maintained gardens; formal blood-tasting competitions ruined as judges colpsed face-first into sampling trays.

  In the mountains between territories, isoted vampire communities experienced the same overwhelming submission as their urban counterparts. A hunting party tracking wereanimal prey suddenly became predators turned to prey themselves, dropping to the forest floor in unison, limbs twitching in submission. Their quarry—a family of bear-strain wereanimals that had evaded capture for decades—suffered the same fate, massive bodies colpsing mid-flight, unable to continue their escape despite the opportunity presented.

  Vampire transportation networks ceased functioning entirely. Luxury cars with supernatural drivers became unguided missiles, crashing into buildings, barriers, and each other. Underground transit systems ground to halt as operators colpsed against controls. Even pedestrians created hazards as they fell without warning, bodies tumbling down stairways or colpsing in doorways, creating impassable obstacles for confused humans who couldn't understand the sudden epidemic of prostration affecting only certain beings.

  Within this supernatural paralysis, the human servants and resources witnessed a world suddenly transformed. In opulent vampire mansions, household staff watched in bewilderment as their masters colpsed without warning, trembling uncontrolbly on marble floors. Confused servants huddled in corners, whispering theories about what could bring immortal beings to their knees, some darting nervous gnces toward windows as if contempting long-forbidden escape.

  In blood farms across all territories, the power dynamic reversed in an instant. Human resources watched in astonishment as their vampire overseers colpsed mid-extraction, silver extraction needles still dangling from veins. Some humans froze in shock, conditioned by years or decades of captivity; others seized the unprecedented opportunity, unlocking fellow resources or gathering supplies with the desperate efficiency of those who know their window of freedom might close at any moment. The more calcutive among them took keys from fallen guards, accessing storage areas normally forbidden to human entry, collecting provisions before attempting escape.

  In the brutal blood farms of the Southern Reaches, where humans were treated with medieval cruelty, the response turned violent in pces. Resources who had endured years of torture broke restraints with bloodied wrists, taking up abandoned tools against fallen overseers. Others simply fled, not wasting precious moments on revenge when freedom beckoned after lifetimes of captivity.

  These uprisings remained disorganized and isoted—centuries of systematic control had eliminated leaders who might coordinate rger rebellions. Without communication between farms, each facility experienced its own miniature revolution, disconnected from simir occurrences throughout vampire territories.

  A reformed blood farm in Count Dominic's Eastern Blood Valleys experienced a different response—human volunteers helped fallen vampire staff into recovery positions, their consensual retionship creating concern rather than opportunistic flight. This anomaly repeated throughout progressive territories where humans had been treated humanely, the bond between species manifesting as mutual aid rather than rebellion.

  Throughout it all, the connection between every affected supernatural being remained constant—they experienced not just physical submission but a profound psychological transformation. Creatures who had defined themselves as apex predators for centuries suddenly understood what true predation felt like from the victim's perspective. Every vampire who had ever fed on a terrified human, every wereanimal who had ever hunted with the confidence of superior strength—all now experienced that same helpless terror from the receiving end.

  Most disturbing was the primal nature of their terror. This wasn't fear born of rational thought—it was something deeper, more instinctive, as if their very cells were responding to a command they couldn't comprehend or resist. They felt a presence in their blood, in the fundamental structure of what made them vampires or wereanimals, without understanding its source. The overwhelming sensation left no capacity for rational thought, no ability to connect this inexplicable submission to their distant king. There was only blind, instinctive terror, the recognition at a cellur level that they were in the presence of something so far beyond them that resistance was inconceivable.

  And through this connection came not knowledge but pure animal response—a blind, overwhelming submission that bypassed conscious thought entirely. Their bodies recognized something their minds could not yet comprehend: that they had always existed at the pleasure of a power beyond their understanding. The hierarchy they had constructed, the territories they had cimed, the authority they had wielded—all of it rendered meaningless in an instant by a force they couldn't even identify in their terror-stricken state.

  From his position at the center of this supernatural storm, Lucius stood unmoving beside Nova, his expression serene despite the chaos emanating from him in ever-expanding waves. The walls of Bckthorn's training facility had cracked and partially colpsed, leaving them exposed to the night air. Above, storm clouds gathered unnaturally, drawn by the energy radiating from the unleashed progenitor.

  Lord Bckthorn remained prostrate at Lucius's feet, his body contorted in submission so complete it appeared his bones might break from the strain. Yet unlike the vampires affected worldwide, who experienced only the distant echo of Lucius's power, Bckthorn bore the full weight of his focused attention. The noble's eyes had rolled back, showing only whites, while blood trickled from his nose, ears, and eyes—the physical manifestation of psychological terror beyond what immortal minds were designed to endure.

  Through it all, Nova stood unaffected, watching with fascination as the being who had appeared as merely a composed king transformed into something beyond comprehension. The crimson glow from Lucius's eyes cast Nova's features in blood-red illumination, yet he showed no fear—only intense curiosity as the supernatural world trembled before power he alone could witness without breaking.

  Around them, the storm intensified, lightning striking in perfect rings around Bckthorn's estate, marking the epicenter of a power that had remained hidden for two millennia but now stood fully revealed—the true nature of the being who had created vampire kind.