2 Chapter 2

Standing over the remains of his first meal, Atlas met the gaze of his maker, Sophia, with crimson eyes. She approached him, gliding across the chamber floor, her fingers caressing his hair in a gesture that felt both maternal and sinister. Despite the primal urge to rebel against her, Atlas was bound to her by a sire bond, a connection that compelled him to obey her commands.

As Sophia drew closer, her lips found his, and he felt the chill of her tongue as she drank the blood he had spilt. Though a part of him recoiled from her touch with the desire to rip and tear her majestic body apart, he found himself drawn deeper into the kiss, unable to resist her supernatural allure.

Her voice purred in his ear, a haunting melody that sent shivers down his spine. "You have become something far greater than your mortal form, my dear Atlas," she whispered, her grip tightening on his hair as she exposed his neck to her fangs. "Remember, you are but a fawn in a den of lions. You will learn your place."

With slow torturous movements, Sophia's ivory fangs scraped his neck, leaving behind trails of blood as a reminder of his subservience. As the other members of the coven filed out of the chamber, she released him and issued her first command. "Rest. When the sun sets, go to the main hall—your training begins." Freedom was not to his that night.

Alone for the first time in this new existence, Atlas grappled with the weight of his actions. The memory of the young woman he had drained haunted him, her beauty a stark contrast to the brutality of his thirst. But in this world of blood and death, he knew she wouldn't be the last.

For perhaps the first time he registered what he'd done – killed a human being. The woman he had drained was young with a beautiful face that nobles would be jealous of. Too young for her existence to have ended – a waste of potential.

As thoughts swirled in his mind, Atlas faced a choice—embrace the darkness that now coursed through his veins or cling to the remnants of his humanity. But deep down, he knew there was only one path forward. If he wanted to break free from the chains that bound him, he would need to embrace his newfound strength and pursue one thing above all else—power through blood.

Vampires were existences that lived on blood and death. The crossroads of fate before him, where he could pursue a life of peace and remain weak or chase after true power, even if he has to climb a mountain on bones to do so, was no real choice. His blackening soul even snuffed out the small part of him that felt hate and pity for his decision. Atlas, in his newly vampiric form, would do anything, kill anyone to achieve his ambitions.

If he wanted to break the bonds that held him like chains, from his maker, from Nagash, from this very world - he needed to dedicate himself to the pursuit of power. Atlas needed to rise in the ranks from this Warhammer world from being a disposable mob, to legendary lord or perhaps even beyond. 

With resolve hardening in his undead heart, Atlas reached out to his greatest advantage—the AI chip hidden within his mind. In his previous life, he had read countless stories of protagonists using such tools to overcome impossible odds, and now he would do the same.

Initiating the AI chip, Atlas set a task to organize his memories and information, ensuring that he could access them at a moment's notice. Though it would take time, he knew it was necessary to conceal the blurred edges of his past and present.

*Beep!*

*Task Established.*

*Estimated time to completion – 93.7 hours*

It was slightly under four days, however he needed to have that information clearly accessible. The inherited memories were too blurred and he needed to ensure the vampire noticed nothing wrong with him or his new un-life would be considerably shorter.

As he roamed the ancient halls of the castle, Atlas's mind raced with fragments of history he had learnt from his hobby. He needed to piece together the puzzle of this world, to understand the era in which he found himself trapped. Memories from his previous life collided with the fragmented knowledge he possessed now, creating a haze of uncertainty.

He recalled snippets of history, whispered secrets buried within the tomes of forbidden knowledge that was his novel collection in his previous lifetime. The End Times loomed large in his mind, a cataclysmic event that shattered the world and scattered its inhabitants to the mortal realms; if they were lucky enough. But where would he fit into this chaotic tapestry? What role would he play in this grand saga?

His thoughts turned to Vlad, the legendary vampire lord whose name echoed through the annals of history and now adorned his own. Vlad's demise had become a cornerstone of vampire lore, a tale of epic proportions. Atlas remembered the fateful confrontation at Altdorf, where Vlad clashed with Wilhelm III, the Great Theogonist in the conclusion to the first great vampire war.

On the blood-soaked battlements, the two titans clashed, their powers shaking the very foundations of the city. Atlas could almost taste the desperation in the air as Vlad fought for supremacy. And then, the fatal moment—the Great Theogonist's final, desperate gambit. With his dying breath, he hurled himself at Vlad, both tumbling from the walls to meet their fate below.

The prophetic image seared into Atlas's mind—the vampire lord impaled on a wooden stake, trapped beneath the weight of the holy man's corpse. It was a scene of poetic irony, the culmination of centuries of strife and bloodshed.

The upcoming event of Vlad's demise loomed large in his thoughts, a testament to the power struggles that defined this world.

But what came next? Atlas pondered the aftermath of Vlad's death, the power vacuum left in his wake. Five vampires emerged to claim his legacy, each vying for dominance over the remnants of his empire. Fritz, Hans, Pieter, Konrad, and Mannfred von Carstein—their names echoed in the dark recesses of Atlas's mind, each a potential rival or ally in his quest for power.

Mannfred's ascent to power intrigued Atlas, the tale of his journey to the dead lands of Nehekhara resonating with his own thirst for knowledge and strength. The acquisition of necromantic artefacts, the forbidden tomes of dark magic—all tools in Mannfred's arsenal as he solidified his rule over Sylvania.

But amidst the chaos, Atlas saw an opportunity. With Vlad still alive, he had the chance to learn from one of the greatest vampires in history. And as the spectre of war loomed on the horizon, he knew that survival would require more than just strength—it would require cunning and ambition.

With each step, Atlas drew closer to his destiny, his thirst for power driving him forward into the heart of darkness. As he gazed out of a stained-glass window, the gathering hordes of undead served as a grim reminder of the world he now inhabited. But amidst the shadows, Atlas saw the glimmer of opportunity, a chance to carve out his own legacy in this unforgiving realm.

Whether as a god or a king of death, Atlas was determined to rise above the chaos and claim his destiny.

For in the crucible of night, Atlas Von Carstein would rise. And nothing would stand in his way.