"Phantom Rebirth: The Last White Raven’s Path to the Ultimate Assassin"

The air inside the ruined chapel was thick with the scent of blood and death. The remnants of Countess Isolde Veyne lay sprawled across the cold stone floor, her severed head resting at an unnatural angle, violet eyes forever frozen in shock.

Seraphis remained still, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. The battle had drained her, but she had little time to rest. Something called to her.

Her fingers twitched, an unfamiliar sensation washing over her like a creeping tide. It was magic, but not like before. This was deeper, instinctual.

She reached out and placed her palm on Isolde’s cooling corpse.

The moment her skin made contact, the world shifted.

A flood of images surged through her mind—fragments of another life, stolen whispers of the past.

A dark chamber, lined with obsidian pillars. The flickering glow of candles illuminated a tall figure standing before a throne of bones. His presence was commanding, draped in a velvet cloak as he gazed down at Isolde with piercing silver eyes.

"You have failed me, Countess," his voice echoed.

Isolde knelt before him, her head bowed, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress. "Forgive me, Lord Alistair. I will make it right."

The man—Alistair Von Croft—tilted his head, his lips curling into an amused smirk. "Will you?"

Seraphis’ pulse quickened. So this was him.

The vision flickered.

Another memory.

A grand estate. Blood-red banners hanging from marble columns. A hall filled with noble vampires, feasting, scheming, whispering.

Alistair raised a glass of deep crimson liquid, his silver eyes scanning the room. "Our time is soon. The shadows will consume the light, and the world will kneel."

Seraphis felt her stomach twist.

She pulled back from the memories, her breath sharp as she returned to the present.

A whole family of vampires. A greater plot. And Alistair was at the center of it.

She had killed Isolde.

Now, it was his turn.

The transition was seamless.

Seraphis morphed, her body shrinking, bones twisting, feathers sprouting where skin had been.

In seconds, she had taken the form of a raven, her beady black eyes scanning the darkened sky.

With a single flap of her wings, she was airborne.

The cold wind rushed past her as she soared above the treetops, heading towards the estate she had seen in the vision. Alistair Von Croft’s mansion.

It loomed in the distance—a massive gothic structure, draped in shadows, its towers piercing the night sky.

She landed just outside the main gate, her talons pressing into the soft grass. Then, she changed again.

Her form stretched, shifting back into human shape, but not her own.

This time, she took on the appearance of Isolde.

Her hair darkened to raven black, her violet eyes gleamed, and her dress became an elegant black gown. Every detail was flawless.

The two vampire guards at the entrance stiffened when they saw her.

One stepped forward, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Countess Isolde… we thought you were still away."

Seraphis smirked. "Plans changed. I need to see Lord Alistair. Now."

The guards exchanged glances before nodding. "Of course, my Lady. Right this way."

The inside of the mansion was just as extravagant as she had seen in the vision—tall pillars, crimson carpets, chandeliers dripping with jewels.

The guards escorted her through the halls, their heavy boots echoing with each step.

She counted every possible exit. Every weakness. Every weapon within reach.

Finally, they reached a grand wooden door.

One of the guards knocked twice. "Lord Alistair, the Countess has arrived."

A voice, smooth and commanding, answered from within. "Send her in."

The guards stepped aside.

Seraphis pushed the doors open and walked inside.

Alistair Von Croft stood behind an ornate desk, his silver eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Isolde," he murmured, swirling a goblet of blood in his fingers. "How unexpected. I assume your task is complete?"

Seraphis tilted her head, masking her pulse beneath the illusion.

She needed him to lower his guard.

"Not quite," she answered, her voice mimicking Isolde’s perfectly. "There were… complications."

Alistair chuckled. "Oh? Tell me, Countess. Did our little assassin prove more difficult than expected?"

Seraphis took a slow step forward, her fingers twitching beneath her gown. "You could say that."

Alistair leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his hand. "No matter. I already have contingencies in place. The girl won’t get far."

Seraphis smiled.

"Is that so?"

Alistair’s eyes flickered with suspicion.

But by the time he realized the truth—it was too late.

Seraphis’ hand moved like lightning.

A single playing card slipped between her fingers—sharpened to a blade’s edge.

With a flick of her wrist, she threw it.

It cut through the air, a silver blur—

And sliced straight through Alistair’s throat.

Blood sprayed across the desk.

His eyes widened in shock as his head tilted, his mouth opening in a silent scream. Then—his head rolled from his shoulders.

His body collapsed onto the desk, blood pooling around him.

Seraphis let the illusion drop.

She stood over his corpse, her white hair glowing under the dim candlelight.

The guards outside would notice soon.

But it didn’t matter.

She had one more task.

The estate burned.

Flames roared through the halls, consuming everything in their path. The screams of vampires echoed in the night as the fire devoured them, turning the mansion into a blazing inferno.

Seraphis stood at a distance, watching as the shadows of the Von Croft family vanished into ashes.

She had thought this was over.

But from what she had seen in Alistair’s mind before his death—there were more.

The Von Croft family was not just a noble house. It was an empire.

And she had just declared war.