The belt was already gone.
No ceremony. No honor. No sendoff.
Just a bell. A roar. And a hand slapping the mat.
Chuluun Bold sat alone in the locker room, spine stiff and cold, arms crossed over his chest like armor. His breathing was steady. Pain lingered in his back from the submission hold, a phantom twist in his vertebrae, but that wasn’t what ached.
He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t bruised. He wasn’t mangled.
And that made it worse.
He tapped. He chose to end it.
The silence pressed in like static. Somewhere down the hallway, the crowd was still reacting, praising the new star, the federation’s golden child, the future.
He wasn’t part of that narrative anymore.
Bold’s eyes fixated on the floor, his metal fangs clenched tight behind pursed lips. No bloodlust. No rage. Just that cold, suffocating truth settling into his chest like ash.
He had submitted. Not to the Yakuza. Not to Lightning Man or Lulu Biggs. Not to Sato, or Oswald. Not to a Yokai. Not to a goddamn monster.
To a boy. Someone with no idea what it meant to carry a curse.
He stood slowly, movements stiff and deliberate. The pain in his spine protested, but he welcomed it. It reminded him he still felt something. That he wasn’t completely hollow yet.
Those metal fangs gleamed faintly beneath his lip. Upgrades. Replacements. Crutches.
He let out a breath through his nose. Not a sigh. A purge.
This wasn’t a loss. It was a warning.
The old predator was starving, fading. He’d been fighting alone, caged by pride and hunger. He knew now. That wasn’t going to work anymore.
They were coming. The Yakuza. Their pawns. Their lies.
But this time, he wouldn’t stand alone. He wouldn’t tap again.
He closes his eyes, resting, trying to ignore the pain of the submission lingering in his spine. eyes closed. His breathing slows… and the world around him fades.
The five familiar figures appear, shadowy as always, each an echo of the bloodline’s power. They surround him in the void, their voices layered, speaking not in words but in pulses of hunger and expectation.
But then, something shifts.
A pressure, heavier than all five combined, grows behind them. A sixth presence looms. Its outline flickers at the edge of vision, never fully seen, only felt. The air tightens, his chest compresses, and Bold realizes this figure doesn’t stand with the others… it commands them.
The true master. The pure lineage.
The five shadows bow their heads toward it. Their whispers hush. For the first time, Bold understands: these weren’t the ones feeding him, driving him, they were only fragments. And the one behind them, cloaked in the unseen, is the root of his curse.
The sixth figure finally stirs. No words, no gestures, only a flood of raw, gnawing hunger that nearly drives him to his knees. Bold feels his fangs ache, his body recoil, but also an undeniable pull. This isn’t temptation. This is ownership.
The Figure: “Chuluun Bold…” The voice cut through the haze like steel against stone. “…you disgrace what you were meant to become.”
Bold’s throat tightened. He wanted to snarl, to rage, to bare the fangs he no longer had. But the hidden figure stepped forward, its aura pressing down on him like a mountain.
The Figure: “You were forged to be more than a servant. Yet you crawl at the feet of mortals, begging for their scraps of Yokai blood.” A pause, heavy and final. “You have forgotten your lineage.”
Chuluun Bold: “I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been denied. Shackled. They took everything from me—the Yakuza, their poison, their leash!”
The shadow leaned closer.
The Figure: “Then why do you remain their dog?”
The question cut deeper than the submission hold that had ended his reign. Bold could not answer. His silence was answer enough. The five ancestors faded back, but the sixth remained, a titan of unseen wrath.
The Figure: “You will never reclaim your throne until you face the hand that feeds you. You know what must be done.”
And with that, the vision shattered. Bold’s eyes shoot open, drenched in sweat. The locker room was cold. The Submission Title was gone. His name would fall down the rankings again. But none of that mattered anymore. Bold sat forward, pulling the tape from his wrists, letting the silence settle. His reflection in the cracked mirror looked emptier than ever. Fangs gone, eyes dulled. But he whispered to it anyway.
Chuluun Bold: “No more leashes.”
The thought lingered, sharp and dangerous. If he could not feed on Yokai blood, then he would sow chaos and bleed the source dry. Not one servant at a time. The whole empire.
But he couldn’t do it alone. He was smart enough to know that. His body was failing him. His hunger was crippling him. He needed allies who hated the Yakuza as much as he did. And to get one last surge of Yokai Blood to finish it off.
But who would aid the vampire in his time of need? He didn’t make any allies through his discourse, but perhaps there were few whom he could turn to. The card had been posted, an alliance of sorts to face AAPW. Perhaps these temporary allies could be coerced into aiding Bold break the chains and crumple the Yakuza empire.
Lulu Biggs was always a force of chaos, a man who has seen his fair share of battles fighting battles with Hammer Industries. His supply chains run deep, and his ability to obtain reinforcements could be strategic for dealing with the underbelly of Tokyo. However, they were not on good terms, the last time they interacted was in the ring for the submission title and both bled prior to the end of the bout. What could Bold offer the man with the connections? There is likely nothing that Lulu Biggs could need or want from a weakened vampire, so that was a dead end.
Drake Nygma, or the Sphinx. Powerful, with powerful allies, but is all consumed to obtain the World Title that Bold had lost. The Sphinx had one desire to re-obtain the orb for their pharaoh emperor. That and there is obviously bad blood between the pharaoh and vampires, so that is also a dead end, no alliance or kinship there.
Takuma Sato, someone who has fought tooth and nail over and over again against the vampire, even prior to his turning. Even despite all that, he tends to fight for what is right. His foes are AAPW and that brat from North Korea, and he has broken his body during each and every battle with his foes. Again though, the Yakuza was a different beast entirely. Sato wouldn’t join the vampire in an obviously losing battle, and what would Sato even gain if they joined him? Nothing, just another failed attempt at finding allies.
Bold cursed under his breath. Valora Salinas would fight for what was right, even if it was alongside a vampire. Not only that, but she could utilize the power of the Yokai once they broke free to fight her battles as repayment. But she was gone, broken and missing entirely. The changes to the federation put Bold in a place where there was no kinship or alliances he could utilize. He was entirely alone in his plan for freedom… well that wasn’t entirely true.
He had gained kinship among others who were enslaved by the tight leash of the Yakuza. There was the Kappa Daemon, who gave him the information of Momoroka, the source of the Yokai Blood, enslaved and forever enslaving her own kind. He got two Yokai inside the Yakuza’s hold who are planted and ready to make a move as soon as they are able. A pissed off Oni who hungers for blood, and a cold and calculating Onryo who would like nothing more than to free the Yokai to sow more chaos.
Bold wasn’t entirely alone, however the chains that control them would be a powerful tool, and the Yokai standing in their way would have to be swayed in this daunting task. It would be an uphill battle no matter where they struck. But for now, he would have to bide his time.
He smiled for the first time in a long time, despite his hunger which he was growing accustomed to. The source of his curse was getting closer, and they were aware of his plight. One that made all five fragmented lineages bow in either respect or fear. Despite the long line strayed from the original source, his blood was strong with that of the warrior, powerful and receptive to the almighty’s will. He would strike when the time was right and he would have allies in his wings, ready to shatter the chains that bind them. Freedom is only a war away, and no more will he be the leashed. Soon he will let the Yakuza know… that they made a fatal mistake.