《Origins of Blood》


 Chapter 1: How It All Began

    A young blonde man sat alone on the train, isolated from the sparse crowd in the stillness of the night. His phone, connected to a pair of wired earphones, rested in his hand. He sat hunched over, arms loosely hanging by his sides, his gaze fixed on the floor. Softly, he hummed to the rhythm of the music, his right leg bouncing in time. His hair fell over his eyes as he nodded along to the beat, his mind lost in the melody. Then, with sudden intensity, he stood. His expression fierce, his movements even more animated. "If the world was ending¡ªI wanna be..." he sang, his voice rising as his body moved with the song. His arms, hidden beneath the loose white fabric of his shirt, swayed with the rhythm. His legs, clad in worn blue jeans, danced with equal energy. He let the music sweep him away, absorbed by the rhythm, until¡ªwithout warning¡ªthe melody cut off. His phone had died.


    "Damn," Elliot sighed inwardly, casting a melancholic glance at the dark, shifting scenery outside the train window. The world rushed by: one moment, a blur of trees, the next, benches, roads, or fleeting glimpses of empty playgrounds. But mostly, houses¡ªsilent, unchanging. Everything comes and goes, he mused.


    Friends, family, possessions¡ªnothing lasts forever. Not even me. Not even this world. He inhaled deeply, though it did little to settle his mind. He lay down across several seats, hoping to find some rest, though the weight on his chest remained. His thoughts circled back to the visions that had plagued him for months.


    They varied, each more obscure than the last, often leaving him guessing at their meanings. But the one he had a week ago¡­ that one was different. It had been a vision so vivid, so catastrophic, that it left him drenched in cold sweat and wracked with pain for days. Normally, his visions were less intense¡ªmore like flashes of mundane tragedies: a child breaking an arm at a playground, a student bullied in a bathroom. He would experience the sensations, the dull ache of the fracture or the chilling splash of water dumped over a head, and then, a week later, the event would happen exactly as he had seen it.


    But this time¡­ This time, he had seen the world on fire. Millions suffering. The earth itself crumbling, consumed by flames. Everything unraveling into chaos. And if his previous visions had all come true after a week, then that meant the world had only hours left. The end was coming. He knew it with a certainty that gnawed at his soul.


    As exhaustion crept over him, Elliot finally succumbed to sleep, despite the occasional jolt of the train beneath him.


    Then darkness. Deeper than the blackness of night, so profound that he couldn¡¯t even see his hand in front of his face. A void. In an instant, it was filled¡ªimages flashing too quickly to comprehend. Fire. Churches. Eyes¡ªone, three, seven, eleven. Blood¡ªred, blue, green, orange, yellow, violet, brown, black, white, gold. A black-haired man with red, pupil-less eyes, his skin torn and bleeding from every gash, impaled by a black sword through his chest. Angels. Demons. Gods. A woman, also black-haired, searching desperately. Colossal beings, shackled and chained. More eyes, empty of pupils. Masks. Violet deserts. Black mountains. Syringes¡ªcountless syringes. A blonde man with red eyes, his skin peeling as a torrent of blood¡ªgolden, red, every color¡ªpoured from his eyes, ears, and mouth. Maggots swarming his body, devouring him from within.


    A voice echoed through the chaos, calling out. The black-haired woman¡¯s voice, filled with anguish. "Damian, no!" she cried, her voice breaking as she knelt beside the man with golden eyes. Rain poured, cold and relentless. The scene bathed in the light of a golden moon. The black-haired man stood over the other, gripping his black sword with both hands, the blade held upright. Around them, the world was tinged in a bluish glow¡ªa blue sun. Skulls littered the ground. People¡ªwhat few remained¡ªfought, soaked in blood. Chains rattled. Hunger gnawed at the edges of his vision. Slaves¡­ death¡­ monsters¡­ It was too much. Far too much.


    Elliot¡¯s head pounded as the vision ended, leaving him trembling in a cold sweat. The train had stopped. He found himself wrapped in a blanket, disoriented. Panic surged as he rose to his feet, but the moment he stood, his legs gave way. He collapsed to the floor, his skull thudding against the hard surface. His head throbbed violently, his balance off, his thoughts scattered. Gripping a nearby pole for support, Elliot massaged his temples, desperately trying to make sense of what he had just seen. Gods¡­ death¡­ slaves¡­ monsters? What the hell is all this?


    He forced his gaze to the window, hoping for clarity. Daylight had already broken, the sky a soft blue, clouds drifting lazily across the horizon. The train was eerily still.


    What was he supposed to do now? Wait? Hide? But before he could think of a plan, a dreadful noise shattered the silence. It wasn¡¯t the sound of the train, nor the wind. It was something far more grotesque, akin to the wet, choking gasp of a throat half-severed, struggling for breath. The sound persisted, not fading but growing more persistent, more horrifying by the second.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Elliot¡¯s pulse quickened, panic clawing at his chest. Instinctively, he crawled on his stomach, his movements awkward, almost desperate, like a soldier in the field¡ªor more accurately, like a caterpillar inching its way to safety. But technique didn¡¯t matter. He had to move. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The ghastly sound faded, becoming more distant, but it lingered at the edge of his hearing.


    He dared to peek. His hands shook as he pressed them against the window, steadying himself. His legs trembled as he pulled himself closer. Slowly, cautiously, his eyes swept the landscape. Trees. Houses. Nothing but broken windows and abandoned cars. Not a single soul in sight.


    So, it¡¯s really happening, Elliot thought, though the confirmation only deepened the pit in his stomach. His pulse hammered in his ears as he shifted his gaze to the other side. More of the same¡ªhouses, cars, trees. All empty. All dead.


    Forcing himself to breathe, Elliot turned once more, his posture more stable now. Sweat dripped slowly down his face, sliding off his chin as he tried to calm the storm inside his mind.


    ¡ªThump! Thump!


    Out of nowhere, something slammed into the train behind Elliot¡ªtwice. It was like a figure from a zombie nightmare, but worse. The creature, vaguely human in shape, oozed red blood laced with a strange blue hue, and black stakes, the size of pens, were hammered through its joints. The sight alone was horrifying, but the stench¡ªsharp, metallic, and rotting¡ªwas overwhelming. Elliot¡¯s stomach churned. Why didn¡¯t I notice the cracks earlier?! The twisted, mutilated creature, its blood-soaked limbs thrashing, was smashing violently against the window. It was only a matter of time before it broke through. He needed to escape. Now.


    Panic surged through him. He pounded on the window across from the creature, desperate to shatter the glass, but it held firm. His elbow throbbed from the effort. Think rationally! Focus! His mind raced as he looked around¡ªforward, backward, left, right¡ªnothing. No exits. Then he spotted it: an emergency tool with a pointed end. Without hesitation, he grabbed it, swung with all his strength, and shattered the window. Covering his eyes with his arm to avoid the flying shards, he leapt through the opening, his teeth clenched as his feet hit the ground hard.


    Suddenly, something grabbed him. ¡°Arghh!¡± he yelled, instinctively kicking at the creature. ¡°Get off me! Get off, you filthy beast!¡± His voice cracked with fear. Damn! This thing¡ªit¡¯s worse up close! The creature was grotesque beyond description. Worms, countless writhing worms, spilled from its open wounds, crawling over its decaying skin, through its exposed bones. How could something so destroyed still move?


    The wriggling mass of worms began to climb onto his shoes, then up his legs. ¡°Damn it! Argh!¡± Elliot kicked violently, like a trapped insect, trying to free himself. ¡°Kraggghhh!¡± The monster screeched, lunging at him with even more fury. ¡°Damn! Damn! Damn it all!¡± His hoarse screams echoed in the still air as the creature¡¯s blood, now a mix of crimson and blue, coated his legs.


    Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his calf. His body froze in shock, his voice caught in his throat. No. No, no, no! Did I just get bitten?! By this¡­thing?! His face twisted with disbelief and rage. His teeth ground together, veins bulging on his forehead. With a surge of adrenaline, he kicked harder, his arms scraping against the rough ground, nails breaking against the stones until his fingers bled. ¡°You goddamn monster! Go back to the grave you crawled out of!¡±


    The creature¡¯s grip loosened. But Elliot wasn¡¯t done. Fueled by desperation, he kicked it one final time, severing most of its neck, leaving its head barely hanging by the stake lodged in its spine. Gasping for breath, Elliot stared at the mutilated creature lying before him, its mangled body twisted in the dirt. Its wide, toothy grin stretched unnaturally, maggots wriggling from its split cheeks. And then it laughed¡ªa sickening, hollow sound. The joy on its face was monstrous, unnatural, a grotesque mockery of human emotion.


    Elliot couldn¡¯t bear it any longer. He turned away, bile rising in his throat. He needed to get away¡ªto hide, to check his wounds. He glanced down at his calf. Blood¡ªhis own, mixed with the monster¡¯s¡ªwas oozing from the bite. His hand, too, was cut, smeared with the creature¡¯s strange azure-red blood. This can¡¯t be happening. Not like this, he thought, his heart pounding. If the world is ending, why not a meteor strike? Why¡­this?


    ¡­


    Minutes passed¡ªlong, agonizing minutes. Elliot stumbled through the streets, clutching his injured leg. Every step was a battle against the searing pain, but he didn¡¯t stop. Finally, he found shelter, an empty house. The doors were locked, but after searching frantically, he found a way inside. It was quiet. Too quiet. Elliot barricaded the door behind him, his body drenched in sweat. His vision swam as he collapsed onto a dusty, brown sofa in the living room. The simple furniture, untouched for who knows how long, felt like a sanctuary, even if only for a moment.


    He knew he didn¡¯t have much time. He had to assess his wounds. His legs shook as he looked down. His calf bore deep bite marks, swollen and throbbing, blood still seeping from the gashes. His hand, cut from earlier, was smeared with a mix of his own blood and the creature¡¯s. The skin around the wound tingled, and his mind raced with dark thoughts.


    His gaze drifted to the ceiling, his body finally succumbing to exhaustion. Damn¡­ so I¡¯m going to die, huh?

 Chapter 2: A Cruel Smile

    Elliot sat motionless for several minutes, his thoughts swirling like a storm, though his exterior remained calm. The chaos around him seemed far away as he sank deeper into the dark brown sofa that nearly swallowed him whole. His sigh was internal, his mind drifting. How much longer can I stay like this? The thought didn¡¯t linger. His body relaxed, and his eyes closed, seeking a moment of peace¡ªpeace from everything.


    But it didn¡¯t last. His eyelids twitched, brows furrowing as he gasped for breath. Images flickered in his mind, erratic and vivid, like a faulty television screen. This time, it was different. His visions had never been this clear before. He wasn¡¯t just seeing blurred shapes or colors¡ªhe saw people. Almost real.


    Two men, older, one with medium-length gray hair, the other balding. Both wore black and white suits, the weight of age visible in the deep lines of their faces. Above them hung a transparent sheet, but what captured Elliot¡¯s attention was the frantic conversation between them. Their voices were sharp, tinged with panic, discussing something so horrifying it sent chills down his spine¡ªzombies. Zombies on television.


    Without hesitation, Elliot reached for the remote and switched on the TV. The men continued to speak, their fear palpable as they condemned the government, accusing it of hiding the truth. They spoke of conspiracies, alliances between states and countries, secrets kept from the public. Their foreheads were creased, their emotions volatile, fists slamming into the table as they shouted, "It''s all been a lie! The government has deceived us from the start!"


    The older man¡¯s voice trembled as he continued, ¡°The world is far bigger than we ever imagined¡ªthere are resources, powers, supernatural beings! We are nothing but entertainment, livestock, slaves! We¡¯re trapped here, and there¡¯s so much more beyond Earth. And now, we¡¯re all going to die!¡±


    The balding man added, his voice shaking, ¡°They want to kill us for sport. They¡¯re starting with the zombies, but more will come! They¡¯re going to¡ª"


    Suddenly, the screen distorted into colorful lines. Elliot¡¯s eyes widened in frustration, his mouth hanging open. ¡°And?! What else?!¡± he shouted at the screen, disbelief and fury lacing his voice. He glanced at the shattered window, a heavy weight settling in his chest. I have to help them. They¡¯re all I have left.


    His mind flashed to his brother, Ren, and his best friend, Cham, guilt gnawing at him. The last moments they had spent together felt like a distant memory. He hadn¡¯t wanted them to know the world might end. It was selfish and foolish, but he hadn¡¯t wanted to burden them with the truth. Who could have guessed the world would fall apart like this?


    The concept of higher powers using zombies to wipe them out felt absurd, yet terrifyingly real. Elliot understood fragments of the situation but couldn¡¯t piece them together. Was humanity at war with aliens now? Would people start using supernatural powers, like the ones he himself possessed? Were there others like him out there, wielding similar abilities? His mind raced as he clambered out of the shattered window, scanning his surroundings. Good, no monsters in sight.


    He jogged through the neighborhood, his muscles tense, eyes darting. Alven Street¡­ if I follow the 63rd train line, I¡¯ll be back in my neighborhood.


    His pace quickened, driven by a sense of urgency as he made his way toward the train station where the 63rd train would normally pass.


    Thump! Thump!


    A cold shiver shot down Elliot¡¯s spine. He turned, catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. Another creature. It was the same grotesque, zombie-like thing he¡¯d seen earlier. Maggots writhed across its decaying flesh, black spikes jutted from its joints, and blood oozed from gaping wounds. The creature slammed against a window, its grin widening impossibly far, beyond what its flesh should have allowed. Inside, Elliot saw others preparing to defend themselves¡ªbaseball bats raised, ready for the inevitable breach.


    I need to get out of here, fast! Elliot cursed under his breath, breaking into a sprint along the train tracks.


    ¡­


    This neighborhood had always brought Elliot a sense of comfort. It was home. Ren and Cham were nearby, and he just had to endure the pain of running for thirty minutes. It would be worth it. ¡°Please, let nothing have happened to you¡­ Not like me.¡± He muttered, his voice wavering as he fought back the fear gnawing at him.


    But as he neared Cham¡¯s house, his heart sank. The windows were shattered. His fists clenched, and he bolted toward the building, breath ragged as he propped himself against the wall before climbing through the broken window. His hand left a smeared streak of blue-red blood across his cheek. ¡°Cham!¡± he called out, desperation creeping into his voice. ¡°Cham, are you there?!¡±


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    His calls went unanswered. Panic surged through him as he raced through the apartment, knocking over chairs and tables in his haste. The once-cozy room now felt desolate, the absence of furniture adding to the oppressive emptiness.


    Then, he heard it. Faint sobbing.


    Elliot¡¯s heart leaped as he dashed toward the next room in the three-room apartment. ¡°Cham? Cham!¡± he called, hope mixing with fear. But as he entered the room, his eyes locked onto the source of the sobbing. It wasn¡¯t Cham.


    A young girl, maybe sixteen, sat hunched over, tears and snot streaking down her face, her body shaking uncontrollably.


    Thump! Thump!


    Out of nowhere, a series of heavy thuds echoed from behind the bathroom door. It had been barricaded with cabinets, ropes, and a jumble of chairs. The banging suddenly stopped, replaced by a rasping, desperate scream. Curled tightly in the corner, the young girl whimpered, ¡°Father¡­ Mother¡­¡± Her arms were wrapped protectively around her head, as though she could shield herself from the horrors outside. ¡°Make it stop! Please!¡± she cried out. Elliot stood frozen for a moment, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He could feel her anguish¡ªhe had been in a similar situation once, though under different circumstances. But now wasn''t the time to lose focus.


    With a steely resolve, he softened his tone, hoping to calm her. ¡°I¡¯ll come back for you. With help,¡± he promised, casting a glance around the room until his azure eyes fell upon a small wooden table. He grabbed it without hesitation, lifted it, and smashed one of the legs over his knee.


    Craack!


    The table leg snapped, jagged splinters jutting from the broken end. He knelt before the girl, his voice firm but compassionate. ¡°If those things come back, use this.¡± He thrust the makeshift weapon toward her. ¡°Stab them with the sharp end. Keep them away, and run if you can.¡± As he turned to leave, heading for his brother¡¯s place to check on the situation, he added, ¡°Your parents would want you to stay strong and survive.¡±


    ¡­


    Elliot felt a wave of frustration, his mind a chaotic jumble of worry and fear. Cham, where are you? he thought, his heart pounding with dread. At least let Ren be home. As he raced through the deserted streets, his legs burning with the effort, he encountered more of the undead. But to his relief, they were like the ones from horror movies¡ªslow and clumsy, only dangerous if cornered. A grim thought crossed his mind. Just like me...


    He kept running, houses and trees fading into the background. Most of the residents were huddled in their homes, watching him with fearful eyes through cracked windows. Despite the terror, it seemed that people were faring better than expected. Weapons, it turned out, were in plentiful supply, and they were putting them to use.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Gunshots echoed in the distance, mingling with the chaos of the city. Elliot skidded to a halt, eyes wide with disbelief as he saw people now turning on each other. His breath caught in his throat. What the¡­? He blinked in horror as one man, dressed in black, shrugged off a hail of bullets as if they were nothing more than pebbles. How is that possible?


    Before Elliot could process what he was seeing, the man in black retaliated. In a brutal, swift motion, he plunged his hand into the shooter¡¯s abdomen, tearing through flesh and muscle with sickening ease. Blood sprayed the pavement as the man in black ripped out the poor victim¡¯s intestines, holding the gore up like a prize. Elliot could scarcely believe his eyes. He stumbled backward, nausea rising in his throat as the man¡ªno, the creature¡ªbegan to eat the entrails with disgusting relish, his pale face smeared crimson.


    A cold shiver ran down Elliot¡¯s spine. The creature looked up from its grotesque feast, its eyeless face somehow locking onto Elliot¡¯s. It had no features, no nose, no eyes, no proper mouth¡ªjust a pale, blank mask stretched into a macabre grin that seemed far too wide for its face. Elliot¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn¡¯t move, frozen by the sheer wrongness of the thing before him.


    Run! his mind screamed at him. His legs obeyed, pumping furiously as he tore down the street, not daring to glance back. To hell with these monsters! Zombies were one thing, but now... now it¡¯s something far worse. Something from a nightmare, faceless and flawless, like Slender Man, but more horrifying. Much more.


    ¡°Kreughhaghh¡ªKreughhaghh¡ªAghaghahga!¡±


    A shriek pierced the air, louder and more unsettling than any he had heard before. It wasn¡¯t just a sound¡ªit seemed to reverberate inside his skull, vibrating through his very bones. He glanced around, searching for the source, but the street was empty. It was as if the scream had come from within his own mind, an echo of something ancient and malevolent.


    Trembling, Elliot dared a quick glance over his shoulder. The creature was still there, standing motionless in the middle of the street. It was grinning again, that horrible, too-wide grin. It pointed at Elliot, then at its own belly, before gesturing to its gaping, hollow mouth. The meaning was clear: You¡¯re next.


    Elliot¡¯s breath hitched, and he pushed himself harder, running faster than he ever had before. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out all other thoughts. I can¡¯t die like this, he thought, panic rising in his chest. Not to something like that.


    ¡­


    After what felt like an eternity of running, Elliot finally neared his brother¡¯s house. But the sight of it filled him with dread. His heart sank as he approached the familiar door. Please, let them be safe, he prayed silently. The windows weren¡¯t broken, and the door was still intact. With a shaky breath, he knocked and rang the bell, his fist pounding against the wood.


    ¡°It¡¯s me, Elliot!¡± he shouted, though his voice was weak from exertion. He waited. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.


    His gut twisted with unease. Just as he was about to turn away, the door creaked open. Relief flooded him¡ªuntil he saw it. His eyes locked onto the blood, thick and fresh, smeared across the floor. Crimson red.

 Chapter 3: Red Blood

    Elliot pushed the door open further, only to be met by a sharp yelp.


    ¡°Argh! My nose, goddammit!¡±


    Elliot''s eyes widened in recognition. That voice was unmistakable. The corners of his mouth tugged upward.


    ¡°Cham!¡± he exclaimed, spotting his friend in the familiar sky-blue hoodie and pants. Without hesitation, Elliot surged forward and wrapped him in a tight embrace. For a moment, he shut his eyes, but when they reopened, something unexpected caught his attention.


    The room was a mess.


    Normally, Ren¡¯s apartment was pristine, almost unnervingly so. Ren took pride in order and perfection in everything he did. Yet now, chaos reigned. Chairs were stacked haphazardly against the windows, clutter covered every surface, and the walls bore fresh streaks of unfamiliar colors. A disarray of plans dangled from the ceiling, and weapons were strewn across the sofa amidst a mix of hastily gathered food and drink supplies.


    What struck Elliot the most, though, was the sight of Ren himself. His brother stood silently, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Ren¡¯s usual calm demeanor had darkened into something more somber, his face lined with grim contemplation. He wore his usual attire¡ªsimple jeans and a white shirt layered with a button-down¡ªbut now both were splattered in stains: red, blue, and even green, seeping into the fabric like the remnants of a war he couldn''t escape.


    ¡°Ren... What happened? Are you two alright?¡± Elliot blurted out before he could stop himself. His gaze flickered between Ren and Cham, his brow furrowed with concern.


    Ren looked up slowly, his blonde hair falling slightly into his piercing azure eyes. For a fleeting moment, his melancholic expression softened into a weak smile.


    ¡°Elliot,¡± he said quietly, ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you.¡±


    Ren straightened, the weariness slipping away from his posture as if he had shaken off a heavy cloak. His eyes met Elliot¡¯s directly.


    ¡°First, I tried to paint the apartment green, you know, my favorite color,¡± Ren gestured at the dried paint behind him, the once-vibrant hue now dull in the dim light. ¡°But I knew I wouldn¡¯t have enough time. I tried to call you, but every time, all I got was your voicemail...¡± He rubbed his cheek absentmindedly, smearing blue paint with his already-stained sleeve. ¡°And then, when I couldn¡¯t reach you, I thought something had happened. I went looking for you. That¡¯s when things went wrong.¡±


    Ren sighed, his voice hardening. ¡°Monsters appeared. Real monsters. They tried to eat me alive, so I... sent them back to wherever they came from. Tried to help some others too, but¡­¡± His voice trailed off, and for a brief moment, sadness flickered in his eyes. ¡°...They didn¡¯t make it.¡± He gestured to his stained clothes, indicating the source of the red and blue streaks.


    ¡°After that, I rushed to a weapons shop, grabbed whatever I could carry. Got home. Found Cham here, but no sign of you.¡± His voice became pointed. ¡°We fortified the place as best we could. Windows barricaded, only two ways in or out. And yet, no call. No warning. So now I have to ask: where were you, Elliot? Why didn¡¯t you tell us the world was ending?¡±


    Elliot stood frozen, guilt weighing on him like lead. Ren¡¯s words cut deeper than any blade could. He had known his brother better than anyone, had seen him in every mood, every struggle. Ren was methodical, composed¡ªeven now, in the face of apocalypse. But beneath his carefully maintained exterior, Elliot could see it: the anger, the hurt. Ren¡¯s faith in him had wavered, and it stung more than he¡¯d ever admit.


    Elliot¡¯s gaze dropped. He couldn''t meet Ren¡¯s eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t expect forgiveness. I knew something was coming, but I... thought it would be fast. Bombs, maybe, or an asteroid. Not this.¡± He clenched his fists. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to worry you with my paranoia. I thought it would all pass, but now...¡±


    Before Elliot could continue, Cham interrupted.


    ¡°Wait... Are you saying you had visions? Real ones? You could see the future?¡± Cham¡¯s hazel eyes widened in disbelief, but then, almost immediately, he recoiled. ¡°No, sorry, that¡¯s crazy. But if it¡¯s true... What happens next?¡±


    Elliot sighed heavily. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I haven¡¯t had any clear visions that show what¡¯s coming. But before everything went dark, there was a broadcast. It claimed the Earth... it¡¯s a prison. A pen for humans. That beyond our world, we¡¯re just entertainment, slaves. And now... they¡¯ve unleashed these things on us¡ªzombies, monsters¡ªto watch us suffer.¡±


    Ren¡¯s cold eyes remained unreadable, though something flickered in their depths as he listened.


    Elliot continued, his voice low. ¡°I saw one of them. Not a zombie¡ªsomething worse. It didn¡¯t have a face. It was bulletproof, and it... it tore through someone¡¯s body like they were nothing.¡±


    The memory made him shudder, but he left out the most horrifying details, sparing his brother and Cham from further terror. Cham, meanwhile, was wide-eyed, hands running through his disheveled brown hair as he processed the news. His breaths came faster, panic creeping in.


    But Ren remained unmoved, eerily calm. His gaze lowered to the green tarp covering the floor as if in deep thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but resolute.


    ¡°I believe you.¡±


    The simple statement hit Elliot like a wave, easing the burden on his chest. For a moment, despite everything, he felt lighter.


    Thump! Thump!


    Suddenly, indistinguishable screams erupted from nowhere, accompanied by bodies crashing relentlessly against the door.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Thump! Thump!


    Again and again! Without hesitation, Ren and Elliot dashed toward the sofa, reaching for their weapons. Their pulses raced as if they were engaged in extreme sports. Cham stood perplexed in the hallway, near the door. Elliot gripped a loaded Colt 1911 in his hands, its polished steel frame gleaming as he held it poised, waiting for the door to burst open. In contrast, Ren seized a Beretta 92FS¡ªmatte black, elegant, and modern¡ªholding it with the same determination.


    Tension filled the air as the two brothers stood ready, weapons drawn, while Cham rushed toward them to grab his own. Just then, the securely fastened door burst open like a bullet shot from a gun aimed at Cham. In an instant, the heavy door slammed against his back, sending him sprawling to the floor, blood streaming from the impact as severe bruises formed. Elliot''s eyes widened in shock, his grip on the weapon loosening.


    ¡°Cham!¡± Elliot exclaimed, dumbfounded and on the verge of rushing to his friend, nearly dropping his Colt 1911, but Ren quickly halted him with a firm grip. ¡°Get a grip, Elliot! You can¡¯t save him; you need to shoot now!¡± With tears in his eyes, Elliot steadied himself, gripping his weapon tightly, the veins in his arms prominent as he clenched his teeth. Ren pressed down the safety lever on the upper left side of Elliot''s Colt 1911 with one hand while doing the same on his Beretta 92FS with the other.


    Both brothers, brows furrowed and eyes glassy, focused on Cham before swiftly turning toward the source of the flying door. Two zombies emerged, small black spikes protruding from their joints, their bodies infested with maggots and festering wounds. Azure blue blood oozed from them.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Deafening shots erupted from Elliot, while metallic sounds rang out from Ren¡¯s weapon. After only a few shots fired at the zombie-like creatures, the brothers watched in wide-eyed horror as the creatures were merely pushed back, much like they were from the recoil. The undead continued their advance toward Cham''s motionless body, more crimson blood pooling around him on the floor and tarp.


    An annoying hissing sound reached Elliot and Ren''s ears, accompanied by a wave of dizziness washing over them. Elliot felt a pressure building in his head as he pressed his hands against his ears, noticing fresh red blood on his fingers. Yet this realization was overshadowed by another presence. A chill coursed through Elliot as he raised his weapon again, trembling slightly.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    But the bullets bounced off as if they were nothing more than toys! ¡°Damn it!¡± Elliot screamed, continuing to fire.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Click!


    A wave of goosebumps swept over Elliot¡¯s body as he saw Ren staring vacantly ahead, equally devoid of a plan¡ªit seemed utterly hopeless! In a fit of desperation, Elliot hurled his Colt 1911 at the faceless creature, but the bullets ricocheted off as if the gun were aimed at nothing more than a child¡¯s toy. ¡°Fuck you, you damned beast! Fuck you, you filthy whore!¡± he screamed with all his might, his voice rising above the chaos, yet he could barely hear himself over the din.


    After inhaling deeply, he raised his gaze to confront the creature once more. It stood there, grinning¡ªno mouth, no nose, no eyes¡ªbut the malevolence was palpable. It took a step closer toward Elliot and Ren but paused, pivoting to face Cham, who lay motionless, a grim plaything for the two zombies looming over his lifeless body.


    Elliot and Ren''s eyes followed the creature¡¯s movement, horrified as it turned Cham''s head toward them. The lifeless brown eyes they had seen countless times¡ªon the playground at school or just recently while watching movies¡ªnow appeared void of life. Tears mingled with the deep crimson blood, creating a ghastly blend that trickled down Cham''s face.


    Arggjjakkha¨CArgghhakhaghakha¨CKhaghakghahah!


    The sound waves emanated from the creature, reverberating in the air like a haunting melody. A cold wind swept through the brothers¡¯ blonde hair, and Ren''s azure blue eyes widened in shock as they reflected horrifying images, each one a reminder of the pain twisting inside him. Elliot felt an overwhelming grief wash over him, tears threatening to spill from his own eyes as the brothers gritted their teeth, fists clenched tightly. They could do nothing but watch as the zombies and the faceless creature reveled in their gruesome sport, laughing with unrestrained delight.


    The faceless entity laughed and laughed, casting glances toward the two brothers, their faces twisted in horror. Its laughter grew more sinister as it approached Cham''s mangled remains, smiting the dismembered limbs with a flat hand¡ªstarting with an arm, then the head, and finally the legs. It turned once more to relish the sight of Elliot and Ren, deriving joy from their expressions of terror.


    Finally, it seized Cham''s head and dashed toward the brothers, holding it by the hair and swinging it back and forth with a triumphant grin plastered across its featureless face. Crimson blood dripped slowly from the severed head, its pallor stark against the white of the faceless creature.


    Then, with chilling intent, the creature brought the head close to its own, holding it before its non-existent face, and spoke in a disturbingly familiar voice: ¡°Desecrate his corpse. Play as much as you wish, but leave something for me to eat.¡±Elliot and Ren''s eyes widened in horror¡ªthere was no mistaking that voice. It belonged to Cham! ¡°You damned monster! What have you done? Stop it!¡± Elliot shouted, his thoughts pouring out without restraint.


    As the brothers struggled to comprehend the nightmare before them, the faceless creature turned around to reveal Cham standing alive before them, but with a grotesque grin and laughter that echoed the chilling mockery of the faceless being. ¡°What have I done? Hehe.¡± Cham toyed with his own hair, brown locks cascading down his shoulders, yet he bore an unsettling expression. ¡°I¡¯ve transformed into his shape, what else? Hehe! I¡¯ve been here for years; many of my brothers and sisters have been here for dozens. But we¡¯ve been living among you since the dawn of your existence.¡±


    The creature''s laughter drowned out the sounds of gunfire from moments before, leaving the brothers'' hearing slightly impaired as they struggled to process the scene unfolding before them. The shapeshifter continued to cackle, tossing Cham''s head like a bowling ball in their direction, their shock deepening as they beheld the faceless visage that mirrored Cham¡¯s features.


    Elliot caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye¡ªthe zombies had begun to gnaw at the remnants of Cham¡¯s body, dismembering him further, feasting on every imaginable wound. Overcome by horror, Elliot clamped his hands over his mouth, but it was no use. He doubled over, retching onto his hands, only to pull them back and stain the ground with his vomit.


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to leave something for me, you lowly blood!¡± the shapeshifter jeered, striking the zombie-like creatures and dispatching them with ease, their heads rolling away in an instant. ¡°Pardon my interruptions.¡±


    Its grin widened impossibly. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see what I should do with you. Eat you? Enslave you? Or perhaps sell your crimson flesh? Hehe.¡±As the creature advanced toward them, still wearing its ghastly smile, Elliot suddenly felt a sharp blow to the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground as he watched Ren crash against the wall.


    ¡­


    ¡°Arghhh! It hurts!¡± Elliot lamented inwardly, unable to open his mouth. He found himself alone in a dark room, surrounded by an impenetrable void. Pure darkness! Damn it, where am I?! Is Ren okay?!


    After what felt like hours of waiting, Elliot heard voices in the distance. A blue light streamed into the dark room, yet he couldn¡¯t shield his eyes from its glare, forcing them to squint shut. A rough male voice grew louder, approaching him.


    ¡°This one¡¯s Red Blood¡ªthe lowest existence and thus the weakest here in Elisia and throughout Hemorion¡­¡±

 Chapter 4: Slavery and Trade

    ¡°Let¡¯s settle on a smooth 9 Cont for this red blood, as it still has some utility.¡±


    Elliot lay motionless, chained to the cold stone floor. Darkness enveloped him, pierced only by a bluish light filtering in from outside. His eyes were not tightly shut anymore, merely lightly closed, but his mouth widened in astonishment despite his dire circumstances. Three figures stood outside the darkened room, now transformed into a faint bluish-violet hue¡ªtwo men and one woman. The man who spoke had a prominent mustache and a somewhat plump physique. Next to him stood a sharply dressed man, wearing a crisp white linen shirt with a collar, a black tie, and cotton trousers held up by suspenders, complemented by polished black leather shoes. His sleek black hair was slicked back, contrasting sharply with the woman¡¯s long, flowing brown locks.


    The stocky slave trader sported a receding hairline and a monocle perched on his eye. The woman, in contrast, wore a clean beige skirt paired with a white blouse, complemented by a beige corset-like top and small brown leather shoes. Simple white gloves adorned her hands, and a brown bonnet rested atop her head. Yet, Elliot¡¯s wonder did not stem from their attire or the salty, fishy scent wafting in with the waves. It was the sun¡ªit was azure blue! Upon closer inspection, the skin of the three individuals shimmered like the moon in the night sky.


    ¡°Why is the sun blue?¡± Elliot pondered, but soon his amazement faded, replaced by a grim expression of terror. ¡°Am I outside of Earth? Ren, what has happened to you? Where are you?¡± He bitterly glared out from the darkness, chained, at the three figures slowly approaching him in the violet-blue gloom.


    The slender man made a demand, ¡°7 Cont.¡± In a mere moment, the plump man with the monocle retorted, extending his hand toward Elliot. ¡°He¡¯s relatively unscathed, and he¡¯s survived the virus. Stamina is rare among red bloods, which is why I must stick to my 9 Cont. Although the demand is currently high due to the invasion of the Earth continent, the quality of such specimens with no significant damage or trauma is quite low.¡± The woman chimed in, crossing her arms and wrinkling her brow. ¡°That may be true, but what good is a red blood who possesses no strength? Just look at this creature; he has relatively thin arms and legs compared to the red bloods that go for 10 Cont to 1 Elis and 6 Celi on the market. Our final offer stands at 7 Cont and 6 Celi!¡±


    Her raised eyebrows and the tilt of her chin conveyed unmistakable arrogance as she negotiated. The slave trader yielded, clapping his sausage-like fingers together, a silver ring adorned with an orange crystal glittering on his index finger. ¡°If that¡¯s your final offer, allow me to provide the contract and guarantee in just a moment.¡± He maintained a grin, revealing somewhat yellowed teeth. As the couple awaited the return of the slave trader, the man with slicked-back hair noticed the orange crystal glinting on the trader¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°Excuse me, but is that orange crystal possibly the blood of an orange-blooded?¡± The slave trader¡¯s grin widened further. ¡°Indeed, esteemed sir, you have splendid eyes.¡± The man with slicked-back hair moistened his lips with his blue tongue. ¡°How much would you sell this exquisite piece for?¡±


    The slave trader responded, his smile growing broader, ¡°Oh ho ho, you are quite specific, esteemed sir. This ring is an artifact containing highly concentrated blood of an orange-blooded, totaling 25 milliliters, blended with merely 3 additional milliliters of blue blood!¡± The trader began to moisten his lips with his blue tongue. ¡°Esteemed sir, it is enhanced by our kind, the blue-blooded, and not weakly. It provides resistance against spiritual attacks that affect the mind; moreover, it significantly enhances striking power, and the hand wielding this artifact becomes as hard as steel!¡± His voice grew louder with each word, laughter ringing in the air. ¡°But because I like you both so much, I would be willing to part with this artifact for only 55 Elis. You should know that the market price is 5 Elis higher! Ohohoho!¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    While the plump man rubbed his mustache with his sausage fingers, the man and woman conferred in the distance, out of Elliot¡¯s sight, who remained chained in the darkness. Elliot¡¯s shoes and socks had vanished, as had his trousers and shirt. His underwear remained, along with a bite mark, a deep cut on his left hand, and numerous scrapes, mixed with red and blue blood. Elliot¡¯s gaze darkened, his furrowed brows fixed on the bluish light. His thoughts were clouded; there was simply too much information, making his head throb incessantly. Damn it, what does all this mean? Celli, Cont, and Elis? Is this some kind of currency? Do these people want to buy me? No, these aren¡¯t humans; what human has a blue tongue or skin that glows bluish?


    Elliot grasped his head with trembling hands, curling in on himself as his stomach began to churn.


    And then there¡¯s their attire¡ªso formal, not to mention this ¡°artifact¡± they spoke of. Blood and more blood? What is all of this?! Ren!


    Elliot¡¯s eyes began to glisten. Tears streamed down his slightly dirty cheeks. He curled his back further until his forehead touched his knees, murmuring to himself, ¡°Ren, please don¡¯t be dead¡­¡±


    Elliot remained still, the only sounds in the darkness being his quiet sobs and muffled cries. The man with slicked-back hair replied to the slave trader, ¡°We¡¯ll purchase this red blood along with the artifact.¡± He reached into a pocket of his crisp white linen shirt and retrieved five silver notes, made of paper, depicting a breathtaking young woman with long hair. In the corners, the number ten was engraved four times¡ªtwice on the front and twice on the back. Along with the silver notes were five copper notes, which resembled the silver Elis notes but bore the number one instead of ten. As the slave trader extended his sausage fingers, he added, noticing the man rummaging through his trouser pockets for change, ¡°You know what, esteemed sir? You can keep the 7 Cont and 6 Celi; let¡¯s get straight to the formalities.¡± The slave trader tucked away the five silver and copper notes, continuing to grin with his slightly yellowish teeth, as he handed over the papers and an orange pen.


    ...


    In no time, everything was read and signed, and the couple made their way toward Elliot. "Red blood!" the man shouted, sliding the silver ring with the orange gemstone onto his index finger. Elliot did not react immediately; he merely lifted his head a few seconds after the shout.


    "You wretched beast, dare you look at me?!" The man, with slicked-back hair, screamed loudly before clenching his teeth. "I am now your master and lord! Edwin Maston, my name!" Edwin looked down, noticing that Elliot¡¯s gaze remained slightly upward after he spoke, not dropping down to his leather shoes. "You filthy red-blooded scum!" Edwin balled his hands into fists, hesitating momentarily. Finally, he extended his index finger on his right hand, the artifact glinting, and pressed it lightly against Elliot¡¯s shoulder.


    "Arghhh!" Elliot cried out instantly, recoiling instinctively, but Edwin''s finger followed his retreat, pressing harder until Elliot''s bare shoulder collided with the cold, dark stone wall behind him. "Arghhh!" Elliot¡¯s eyes flickered, and he clenched his teeth tightly. The veins in his neck, temples, and limbs throbbed, twisting with a life of their own. "Please! Please, stop!" Elliot sobbed, gasping for air, his cries barely escaping his lips. Yet, Edwin only grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with delight and amusement. "Ahahaha¡­ ha." With a final sigh, Edwin added before vanishing into the dimly lit room, ¡°From this day forward, you belong to me, and we will have so much fun together¡­ a great deal, hehe.¡±


    As Edwin and his wife disappeared, Elliot continued to weep, tears streaming down his cheeks. He groaned, the pain coursing through his body transforming from a sharp sting into a dull throb. His left shoulder was a sickening shade of purple and blue, a massive bruise forming from merely the pressure of Edwin''s finger. "Arghhh!" Elliot continued to groan as the slave trader appeared before him, loosening the black shackles with silver chains that bound Elliot. The clanking sounds briefly drowned out Elliot''s moans. The slave trader, grinning, stood in the corner, snuffling through his notes like a pig. "What are you waiting for? Go to your master and mistress!"


    Elliot''s bare feet touched the cold stone floor, and he clutched his left shoulder with his right hand, Damn it! Elliot was not just crying on the outside but also within. As he murmured to himself while stepping through the door that had previously let in a bluish light, he whispered, ¡°Why must the world end this way¡­¡±

 Chapter 5: The Black Room

    Elliot stared at his feet, melancholic, feeling the cold wooden planks beneath him. Suddenly, warmth seeped into his body. With a faint glance upward, he caught sight of something that made his glassy, reddened eyes widen despite the pain and circumstances. The sky above was painted in a surreal turquoise, the sun a brilliant azure blue, and the ocean shimmered in turquoise-blue. It looked like something out of a dream or a film. The people¡ªor whatever they were¡ªon board shared a blue hue, some more pronounced than others, though many appeared almost normal in complexion.


    The deck beneath them was a stark, dark brown wood, contrasting sharply with the vibrant world around them. Yet what drew Elliot''s gaze most were the black cannonballs scattered about, accompanied by cannons and barrels of black powder, reminiscent of old pirate ships. Upon closer inspection, Elliot noticed that those who appeared intoxicated, swaying and stumbling, bore a much stronger blue tint to their skin. Were they part of the crew, not passengers? he wondered.


    Elliot was not the only one bound in chains. Others, enslaved like him, stood nearby, tethered by leashes or beaten into submission. He muttered quietly under his breath, careful not to attract the attention of Edwin or his wife, ¡°Why is this happening¡­?¡± He sighed internally, the weight of it all pressing down on him, when suddenly his legs buckled. His body trembled violently before he collapsed onto his good shoulder.


    Blood dripped from Elliot¡¯s nose as he gritted his teeth, struggling against the pain. ¡°Pathetic vermin. Getting a nosebleed from something as trivial as a fall,¡± came Edwin¡¯s voice, igniting a spark of fear within him. His head lowered automatically as he tried to stand, his body weak and shaking. For a brief moment, he knelt on the ground, looking as though he were praying for forgiveness. His entire body tensed, teeth clenched tightly, eyes squeezed shut.


    Pam! Pam! Pam!


    Three times, Edwin¡¯s boot slammed into the back of Elliot¡¯s head, smashing his forehead into the wooden deck. Laughter erupted around them, Edwin''s laughter ringing the loudest. Some onlookers wore expressions of pity, but none dared intervene. Most of them were humans¡ªlike Elliot, red-blooded. One look was enough to get them beaten as well. Their bodies trembled, hunched and battered, while the blue-blooded¡ªthose with a faint or strong blue tint¡ªstood or sat, laughing amongst themselves, entirely indifferent to the suffering.


    ¡­


    After what felt like an eternity, the boat finally came to a halt. Several enslaved humans collapsed or were kicked down, crawling like dogs behind their masters. Elliot kept his gaze firmly on the ground. Humiliating¡­ he thought bitterly, but there was nothing he could do. If I die here, I¡¯ll never find Ren. He could be suffering like this, maybe even worse! Elliot cursed under his breath, forcing himself to submit to Edwin for now, hoping for an eventual escape. But that time wouldn¡¯t come soon¡ªhis plan had to be foolproof.


    They traversed what seemed like an endless city. Elliot dared only occasional glances, knowing it was risky, but he couldn¡¯t help but observe his surroundings. The streets were narrow, filled with blue-blooded people dressed elegantly, though even among them, there were clear hierarchies and varying standards of living. The city had a cold, dark atmosphere, the tall, pointed buildings primarily painted in shades of dark grey, dark blue, and black. But what caught Elliot¡¯s attention most were the countless churches¡ªor at least, buildings that resembled churches. Just like in my vision, he thought, quickly lowering his head again.


    As they ventured deeper into the city, the temperature noticeably dropped. A bluish fog settled in, thick enough that Elliot had to squint just to see his feet, ensuring he didn¡¯t step on Edwin or his wife¡¯s heels. The mere thought sent shivers down his spine.


    Thud! Thud!


    From a nearby shop, a man pounded his fist against a wooden table, causing drinks to spill. Elliot kept his head down, but he couldn¡¯t ignore what he noticed next. In the distance, a man sat alone at a table, pulling out a syringe filled with green blood. The streets were narrow, yet there was a wide berth around the shop, as if everyone were keeping their distance. The man tied a tourniquet around his arm, rolled up his sleeve, and injected the green liquid into his vein. As he withdrew the syringe, blue blood dripped from the wound. A loud, sharp howl echoed through the street. Edwin muttered to his wife, ¡°Injecting higher blood in broad daylight¡­ imagine if he goes berserk in the crowd.¡±


    His wife whispered back, ¡°Irresponsible, really. He can succumb to his addiction, but not here, not now. Let¡¯s hurry, just in case.¡±


    Elliot kept his gaze low, eyes focused on the legs of his captors. But his brow furrowed.


    Is that why everyone¡¯s keeping their distance, afraid he might lose control? And why is everything here about blood? I¡¯m red-blooded. Edwin and his wife, and that merchant¡­ they¡¯re blue-blooded. And now there¡¯s green blood too? What else is there?


    His thoughts raced as they moved through the dense fog.


    Suddenly, Elliot¡¯s heart sank. His pulse quickened, momentarily dulling the pain in his shoulder. Edwin and his wife had stopped walking, and Elliot nearly bumped into the woman¡¯s back. Cold sweat dripped down his face as he froze, trembling. But relief washed over him when he heard the familiar jingle of keys.


    Click!


    The door creaked open, and the couple stepped inside, leaving Elliot to wait in the corner of the room. Edwin changed into comfortable blue trousers and a light blue cotton shirt, while his wife donned a loose white blouse and a pale blue skirt that fell just to her knees. Her brown hair, once tied up, now cascaded freely over her shoulders.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The apartment was surprisingly ordinary, resembling that of a human family¡¯s. There were several rooms: a bathroom, a study, a kitchen, a living room connected to the kitchen, and a bedroom. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the furniture was simple yet functional. Shelves filled with books and trinkets lined the walls, with plants and artwork scattered throughout. A bowl of fruit sat on the dining table, next to a newspaper. It all seemed so¡­ normal. But Elliot knew better. These were not humans. They were monsters¡ªmonsters who enslaved humans for sport, who killed for amusement.


    ¡°But Samantha,¡± Edwin began, ¡°those 55 Elis were eight months of savings. If we run into any trouble, we¡¯ll have to go without for a while.¡±


    Samantha sighed, ¡°Yes, dear. Let me cook something for us first, alright?¡±


    ¡°But first, let¡¯s take care of the red-blood. We still need to brand him and explain the rules.¡± Samantha rolled her eyes, exasperated. ¡°Fine, let¡¯s get it over with.¡±


    Elliot¡¯s stomach growled as he stood in the corner, clutching it tightly. Food¡­ I need food¡­ My stomach feels like it¡¯s eating itself, he thought, his vision swimming slightly. Cham, I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t help you. Tears welled in his eyes, but he forced them back. No¡­ I couldn¡¯t have done anything. But Ren¡­ I¡¯ll protect you no matter what. Just¡­ please still be alive¡­


    ¡°Red-blood! Stand before me, but keep your eyes down and turn your back,¡± Edwin commanded arrogantly, tapping his slippered foot against the wooden floor. Elliot obeyed, positioning himself in front of him with his back turned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Samantha standing before him, her hand pressing against his chest.


    "Lasset uns eure Gottheit, eure Kraft zum Nutzen der Unterdr¨¹ckung und eures Wunsches und Vergn¨¹gen nutzen.


    Lasset uns, dessen Adern euer Blut flie?t, st?rken und tr?nken.


    G?ttin der Nacht, so schenket uns eure Kraft."


    The couple chanted in perfect unison as Edwin held a sheet of paper with a complex symbol against Elliot¡¯s back. In his other hand, he gripped a knife, pricking his finger. Blue blood dripped onto the paper¡¯s intricate design. At first, the symbol was faint, nearly invisible, but the blue blood illuminated the lines, spreading rapidly across Elliot¡¯s skin.


    ?G?ttin der Nacht, schenket uns euren Segen, sodass ihr auf ewig ein Auge ¨¹ber uns habt,¡°


    they chanted again, this time in a language Elliot didn¡¯t comprehend. Are they planning to breed me or¡­ what¡¯s happening¡­?


    ¡°Arghhh!¡± Before Elliot could finish his thought, a scream tore from his lips. His eyes widened, mouth agape in shock. Veins bulged all over his body as he trembled violently, feeling as though he were being electrocuted. Even Edwin and Samantha had to take a moment to catch their breath.


    ¡°These rituals are always so exhausting,¡± Edwin muttered, wiping his brow. Samantha sat down briefly, looking equally drained. Elliot, however, remained in shock, his eyes rolling back as foam bubbled at his mouth. He collapsed face-first onto the floor, unconscious, the intricate symbol now burned into his back. It resembled a large tattoo, a vertical eye without a pupil, surrounded by several circles and star-like shapes. More circles and lines extended down his spine.


    ¡­


    It was black, as dark as the void Elliot had seen in his visions¡ªthe same place where he had heard that distorted, unintelligible voice. But this time, there were no fragmented images, no whispers pulling at his consciousness. He could move freely. Darkness surrounded him, thick and impenetrable, as if the world itself had been swallowed by it. Nothing was visible, no shapes or outlines, only the vast emptiness that clung to him like a second skin.


    But amidst the colorless abyss, something stood out¡ªa flicker, faint but unmistakable. It was a spark, brief yet blinding in the surrounding gloom. Every few seconds, the flicker would return, each time growing quicker, though its brightness weakened. Until finally, it stopped flickering altogether, dimming to a steady, soft glow.


    A blue crystal hovered in the air, suspended before Elliot¡¯s widened eyes. It wasn¡¯t polished or rounded like a gemstone, but jagged and raw, like an uncut diamond pulled straight from the earth. Elliot¡¯s breath hitched as he reached out, his trembling fingers curling around it. The light from the crystal washed over his face, casting it in a pale, azure blue glow.


    The wind suddenly rushed toward him, gusting wildly from the depths of the darkness. It lashed at Elliot¡¯s hair, blowing it upward, tugging at his cheeks as his mouth hung open in shock. His eyelids stretched wide as he stared at the glowing stone in his hand.


    Whoosh.


    And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind ceased. The pale light of the crystal dimmed until it was nothing more than a faint shimmer. But the crystal¡­ was gone. Vanished into thin air.


    Elliot blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He reached up to scratch at his brow, trying to piece together what had just happened. But when his fingers touched his skin, he realized something was off. It wasn¡¯t just the crystal that had disappeared. His body had, too.


    Panic surged through him as he looked around. He was no longer in the dark void. Instead, he found himself standing in an unfamiliar place, far from Edwin and Samantha¡¯s apartment. Around him were people he didn¡¯t recognize, all going about their lives as if unaware of his presence. To his left sat an older man with a full beard and a strikingly defined face, his thick blond hair streaked with hints of silver and white. He was seated in a high, luxurious chair, draped in a light blue velvet robe adorned with rose-like patterns. The richness of the fabric spoke of wealth, its intricate embroidery further hinting at the man''s status.


    Across the table from the older man sat a younger one, bearing a striking resemblance to him. His features were similar¡ªsharp, aristocratic¡ªbut without the marks of age. His blond hair was parted neatly down the middle, and like the older man, he wore a velvet robe. His, however, was a deep, royal blue with the same delicate rose designs. They both sat in a lavish room, decorated with opulent furnishings and expansive windows offering a breathtaking view of the azure blue sun, the shimmering sea, and a golden beach that stretched out beneath the sky.


    But none of that held Elliot¡¯s attention for long. What shocked him the most was the fact that he wasn¡¯t in his own body. He could feel the movement of his hand, the soft velvet against his skin, but it wasn¡¯t his hand. He wasn¡¯t himself. He was¡­ someone else. And this time, it wasn¡¯t like the hazy, half-formed visions he¡¯d experienced before. This was different¡ªthis was real. Too real.


    He felt his heart pounding in his chest, but the beat didn¡¯t belong to him. The air filled his lungs, but it wasn¡¯t his breath. He wasn¡¯t just seeing through someone else¡¯s eyes¡ªhe was living in their body. Every sensation, every movement felt tangible. It was as if he had been transported into another person''s life entirely.

 Chapter 6: Guilt

    Before Elliot lay an astonishing scene: a massive, elongated table brimming with an excess of food¡ªfar too extravagant for the three people seated around it. The view stretched out to the distant horizon, where an azure sun shimmered over a turquoise sea and a golden beach. Yet, in stark contrast to this idyllic vista, dark, towering Gothic spires loomed in the foreground. In the same grand dining room where the three men sat, a butler and a maid stood poised, dressed in elegant black and white. The butler wore a fine black suit, complemented by a crisp white shirt and a neatly knotted tie. His thin black mustache and slicked-back hair bore a striking resemblance to Edwin. His expression remained calm and attentive at all times. The maid, by contrast, donned a simple white cotton blouse, a black skirt, and a corset. Her dark brown hair was neatly tied back, and both she and the butler wore plain, snow-white gloves.


    The room itself was vast. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the expansive blue carpets that spread across the polished floor. The walls, painted in shades of blue, were adorned with intricate rose patterns in gold, blue, and white. Massive paintings adorned the space, but one in particular¡ªa grand canvas framed in thick gold¡ªcaptured Elliot''s attention more than the others. It depicted two young men, an older man, and a woman, all of whom were blonde, blue-eyed, and elegantly dressed in garments embellished with gold accents. To Elliot''s surprise, he recognized the older man and one of the young men¡ªthey were the same blond figures seated nearby, though at a slight distance. They ate leisurely, occasionally pushing small pieces of meat or vegetables into their mouths.


    Elliot could only take in these details out of the corner of his eye, for his body moved without his control. He savored the food on his tongue¡ªsteak, asparagus, pat¨¦, roast meats, salad, and seafood¡ªthough he was not the one chewing. ¡°Bizarre,¡± Elliot tried to articulate, but no sound emerged from his lips. It was as if he were imprisoned within another person''s body, confined in their mind, unable to influence anything around him. ¡°Damn it!¡± he screamed internally, but the words echoed only in the confines of his consciousness. Even the tension in his brows or the clenching of his fists¡ªhe felt them, yet could not express them physically.


    As his gaze drifted to a plate in his periphery, he noticed a peculiar blue fruit he had never encountered before. Long and oval, resembling a cucumber, it revealed a turquoise interior speckled with black seeds, reminiscent of a kiwi.


    ¡°Aston.¡±


    A gruff voice reverberated through the opulent hall, and for the first time, Elliot¡¯s uncontrollable body lifted its gaze to the old man. Aston, then¡­ So Edwin and Samantha have trapped me in this body? Or perhaps they¡¯ve confined me within that black void? No¡­ Is this my vision? Is it somehow evolving?! Elliot halted his attempts at speech, resigning himself to silent contemplation, as it no longer felt right to even try.


    ¡°Yes, Father?¡± Aston, the older man with a few wrinkles and blond-gray hair, raised his left hand and ran it through his meticulously groomed beard. At his father¡¯s gesture, the maid and butler exited the room through a side door, closing the large double doors behind them.


    ¡°How goes the ship trade of the red-blooded?¡± The old man¡¯s gaze was icy, his expression unyielding. He continued to eat leisurely, piece after piece of meat passing his lips. Aston¡¯s eyes dropped momentarily as he laid down his silver knife and fork, the uneaten meat still resting on his plate.


    He lifted his gaze again, noting that his brother Jonathan was also watching him intently. ¡°The trade is thriving. We¡¯ve captured and smuggled several dozen million red-blooded individuals. The revenue should amount to approximately 20 to 30 million Elis, assuming no significant complications arise.¡± Aston¡¯s eyes fell back to his plate, his teeth clenching slightly, and his right foot tapping restlessly beneath the table.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that on the continent Earth, the red-blooded have initiated a revolt. Some have even unraveled the secrets of the blood. A few have already managed to defeat the weaker shapeshifters¡ªthe green-blooded. It¡¯s possible that some red-blooded individuals have already infiltrated our ranks, posing as one of us. Father, we should disseminate this information throughout all of Zentria, no¡ªthroughout all of Elisa. Should I speak with Friedrich to ensure this message is published in the newspapers?¡±


    To Aston¡¯s right, his brother spoke, his cold eyes and expressionless face mirroring their father¡¯s. ¡°Of course, Jonathan. Speak to Friedrich. And while you¡¯re at it, let him know that anyone who uncovers these infiltrators among us will receive a reward¡ªten Elis per head.¡± The old man leaned back in his chair, adopting a relaxed posture as he stroked his beard once more.


    Throughout the conversation, Aston kept his eyes on his plate, nervously tapping his legs under the table as he continued to eat.


    ...


    The discussion concluded when the father set down his silverware. The butler and maid returned, now accompanied by six others. They moved in to clear the table of its extravagant delicacies and clean the dining hall. Without a word of farewell, the father left the dining room, heading into a side chamber. The two brothers followed shortly after, taking separate paths as they passed through the large double doors. The lingering scent of food and drink was now replaced by a faint note of lavender and rosemary. What a family¡­ Elliot mused sarcastically, though the thought left him with a heavy heart.


    The room Aston entered was dim, shrouded in heavy curtains. Only a few lines of blue light filtered in, illuminating a large king-sized bed, its covers echoing the shades of sky and dark blue found throughout the room. Nearly everything within was tinged with blue¡ªthe pillows, the clothing in the wardrobes¡ªsave for the wooden and gold accents, which remained true to their natural hues. Atop a nightstand beside the massive bed rested a small picture frame. Aston walked over, his head bowed low. He picked up the frame and gazed at the photo within. The glass was shattered, yet the picture itself remained unharmed. It depicted a young child with blond hair and blue eyes, held lovingly in the arms of a woman. Elliot''s eyes widened in recognition; it was the same older woman from the painting, albeit younger.


    Pooow! Pooow!


    Suddenly, a wave of pain crashed over Elliot, and he clutched his head with both hands. ¡°Arghhh!¡± He ground his teeth against the overwhelming agony. His mind felt as though it were being flooded. Memories surged in, too numerous to process at once. Initially, they appeared as disjointed images, distorted, while the voices of people sounded muffled, as if submerged underwater. Yet, suddenly, everything coalesced into clarity. New images and sounds poured in, cascading over him.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    As Elliot clutched his head in turmoil, vivid scenes unfurled before him. A family gathered around a large table: Aston, Jonathan, their father Argon, and their beautiful, smiling mother Hanna. They dined together, laughter echoing in the air. The brothers appeared younger, but then, as if time were on fast-forward, the scenes raced ahead. They aged¡ªfirst nine, then ten, then eleven¡ªwhile their parents grew older, their hair turning gray, their faces becoming etched with lines. The dining hall transformed as well. The colors of the walls, the furnishings, the chandeliers¡ªeverything shifted in rapid succession. Dresses, shirts, suits¡ªtheir clothing morphed as time sped onward.


    Eventually, the changes began to slow. The once-joyful family became forlorn, their faces painted with melancholy. And by today, they had grown cold.


    It had been a year since she had departed.


    Yet still, more images continued to bombard Elliot''s mind.


    ¡­


    They stood beside a large, cold, rounded stone, a somber marker in the rain-soaked ground. The entire family was clad in dark, deep blue attire, their grief palpable in the oppressive air. Argon, their father, towered over the grave, a figure of rage and sorrow. Aston and Jonathan, his sons, flanked him, all three dressed in tailored suits that had once symbolized nobility but now only served as a reminder of their loss. The rain cascaded from their damp, dark blonde hair, almost turning it brown in the gloom, mingling with their tears as if the heavens themselves mourned.


    "It was the red-blooded!" Argon screamed, bitterness dripping from each word. His eyes burned with a fury that could set the world ablaze. "Those people, those slaves, those worthless swine!" The words echoed in the cold air, heavy with disdain.


    Jonathan, the younger brother, stood rigidly, his face a mask of rage as he stared down at their mother¡¯s grave. ¡°Cassian 1, 1483 ¨C Jett 49, 1612, after AORB, the Alliance of Red-Blooded,¡± he muttered under his breath, as if the recitation could anchor him in this turbulent moment. His fists were clenched tight, knuckles white against the downpour, his red eyes glistening with unshed tears. The rain obscured his grief, yet the sight of it could not mask the anguish etched on his face.


    His gaze shifted to Aston, filled with a mixture of horror and disbelief. ¡°How could you?¡± Jonathan''s voice cut through the rain like a dagger. Aston, lost in his own turmoil, could only stare at the grave, his expression a tumultuous blend of fury and sorrow.


    The memories surged forth, unbidden and relentless, transporting them back to a different time¡ªa time when the sun shone brightly, and the streets of Zentria thrummed with life.


    ¡­


    Jett 49, 1612, after AORB.


    On that day, the skies were a brilliant blue, and the streets, wider than those in the poorer neighborhoods, were bustling with carriages, bicycles, and pedestrians going about their daily lives. It was quieter than usual in the kingdom of Zentria, a welcome reprieve from the constant din that typically filled the air. The oppressive fog that often cloaked the capital had finally lifted, revealing a clarity that had been absent for far too long.


    Aston walked beside his mother, Hanna, and a young man who was an unexpected companion. At twenty-one, Aston carried the weight of his noble lineage with grace, while Hanna, at forty, exuded an ageless beauty that belied her years. The young man, just twenty-three, wore a neatly pressed linen shirt, trousers, and suspenders that spoke of modesty rather than grandeur.


    As they strolled through the lively streets, their shared laughter painted a stark contrast to the grim realities that loomed just out of sight. Aston and his mother, draped in the elegance of nobility, bore the family crest embroidered upon their clothes¡ªthree roses, one gold, one blue, and one red¡ªa symbol of their status and heritage.


    But beneath the surface of their idyllic outing lay a darker truth. Their purpose was insidious, masked beneath layers of pleasantries. They sought to purchase another red-blooded slave, another soul to be bound to their will. Aston¡¯s heart sank at the thought, but he dared not voice his dissent.


    As they walked, Aston¡¯s mind began to wander, contemplating the man who accompanied them. Why is he dressed like that? And why are they all conversing so easily, as if they are equals? Confusion washed over him, a tempest of emotions battling within.


    Hanna walked ahead, her elegant form cutting through the crowd, and Aston found himself lagging, too slow to notice the dangers around him. As they approached an intersection, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye¡ªthe eyes of the red-blooded slave widened in alarm.


    In an instant, chaos erupted. Aston¡¯s heart raced as he watched the scene unfold before him. The young slave surged forward, desperation etched across his face, as he reached out to grab Hanna just as she stepped into the road. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as a carriage thundered down the street, its horses galloping wildly, hooves pounding against the cobblestones.


    ¡°Mother!¡± Aston¡¯s voice tore from his throat, but it was too late.


    The red-blooded slave made a valiant attempt to save her, but the carriage struck Hanna with a sickening thud, her body thrown several meters away. Gasps erupted from the onlookers, and Aston¡¯s world shattered as he witnessed the horror unfold.


    Hanna lay motionless on the cold asphalt, blood streaming from her body, blue blood mingling with traces of green and orange. The shock paralyzed him, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. The horses halted only after trampling over her, their owners unaware of the devastation they left in their wake.


    The once-bright streets of Denklin darkened, shadows swallowing the light as the tall houses and spires loomed like specters over the scene. Every part of Aston¡¯s being trembled¡ªwhether from shock, fear, or the chilling grip of despair, he could not tell. The vibrant atmosphere turned to one of horror, regret, and an unbearable silence.


    Jett 49, 1612, after AORB, marked the day when Hanna Rosenmahl bled out on the side of the road, an ordinary morning transformed into a nightmare.


    The culprit, the man who had once been entrusted with her care, stood accused¡ªa red-blooded slave, Wilson Neet. The name echoed in Aston¡¯s mind, a bitter reminder of betrayal. Witnesses emerged, their accounts filled with indignation and rage. They claimed Wilson had pushed Hanna, their voices rising in condemnation. But Aston saw it differently. In his heart, he believed Wilson had acted out of instinct, trying to save her life.


    But the crowd was relentless, their collective fury turning on the red-blooded man. The nobility scorned the Rosenmahl family for their kindness towards their slaves, as if treating them with dignity was a crime. This was a society that thrived on hierarchy, where blood status dictated one¡¯s worth. To Aston, it was incomprehensible that a noble family of mixed blood¡ªentitled to their status¡ªwould stoop to the level of the lowly red-blooded.


    Days blurred into weeks after Hanna¡¯s death, each moment tinged with despair. Wilson was sentenced to death, left to rot in a cell as the world outside continued without him. Aston, once a beacon of hope for his friend, found himself alone in his defense. He realized the futility of his efforts; the odds were stacked against him, and he began to lose faith in his ability to prove Wilson¡¯s innocence. As his family distanced themselves, Aston became a ghost in his own home, haunted by the memory of his loyal friend, condemned unjustly.


    Elliot could only perceive the chaos of memories as flashes¡ªbrief images strung together like pearls on a thread. Each one spoke of a world fractured by grief and betrayal, a world where innocence was a casualty of bloodlines and status. In the quiet of his mind, Elliot and Aston gazed mournfully at a photograph of young Hanna, cradling a small Aston in her arms. The shards of shattered glass surrounding the image reflected back their anguish, two pairs of eyes slowly filling with tears.


    ¡°Mother¡­ I¡¯m sorry, I failed.¡± Aston¡¯s voice trembled as he whispered into the emptiness. His sapphire blue eyes stared at the ground, lost in a sea of regrets. Outside the covered window of his bedroom, the black night enveloped the world, the raven-filled sky dotted with stars, while a golden moon cast its ethereal glow over the scene.

 Chapter 7: Shopping

    Lynn Street 16, at the corner of the Monument of the Goddess of Night, lay shrouded in darkness. Elliot felt his eyelids fluttering as his senses stirred, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep. The chill of the cold stone floor seeped through his body, and he blinked into a stark blue light that pierced the shadows before him.


    ¡°Red Blood!¡± a voice echoed, laced with malice. It was Edwin, his silhouette looming over Elliot, whose bleary eyes struggled to focus. As Elliot¡¯s vision swayed from side to side, he registered the emptiness of the room¡ªa stark, desolate space devoid of windows, the faint bluish glow emanating from the open door behind Edwin.


    Thump! Thump!


    Heavy footsteps reverberated in the distance, drawing closer with every passing second.


    ¡°How dare you, you worm, look up at me with such indifference? You filthy Red Blood scum!¡± Edwin spat, his contempt palpable.


    With each word, he punctuated his disdain with blows¡ªhis booted feet crashing down on Elliot¡¯s ribs, torso, and face. The force was jarring, but it was not the strikes that inflicted the most pain; it was the reminder of the injury already festering in Elliot¡¯s bluish-purple shoulder. He¡¯s not wearing that ring, Elliot thought desperately, instinctively raising his arms to shield himself as he was slowly pushed back into the cold, dark corner. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he let out a soft groan, attempting to maintain his guard, though it trembled under the weight of despair. But the assault ceased as quickly as it began.


    Elliot¡¯s forehead glistened with cold sweat, his body bare and marred with bruises and dirt, while his blonde hair clung to his skin in disarray. In stark contrast, Edwin stood pristine, his attire immaculate, untouched by the filth that clung to Elliot¡¯s skin. As he stepped out of the cramped, dark room, Edwin turned, his back still facing Elliot. ¡°You¡¯re going shopping. The basket with the list and money is outside the door.¡± His voice dripped with arrogance, echoing as he made his exit. Almost out of sight, he added in a quieter tone, ¡°And don¡¯t even think about running. The symbol on your back is a pact¡ªwe can track you anytime.¡±


    The final words hung in the air, ominous and chilling, yet Elliot understood them all too well. Gritting his teeth, he silently cursed, Damn it! How the hell am I supposed to escape now? Frustration welled within him, and he slammed his fist into the ground, his gaze fixating on the open door. ¡°You¡¯re the real filthy pigs,¡± Elliot muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing with a fierce determination. I just need to become stronger than them, he resolved, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips only to dissipate quickly. I just need blood¡ªblue, green, or whatever else I can find. Then, with time, I¡¯ll break the seal... if that¡¯s even possible. And if not, I¡¯ll finish off Edwin and Samantha so no one can track me.


    With a deep sigh, Elliot pushed himself upright on trembling hands. Was this a vision in my sleep? And when Aston himself went to bed, did I wake up in my own body? Another sigh escaped him as he stepped barefoot through the door into a world illuminated by an ethereal bluish light. His eyes squinted against the glaring brightness that enveloped him.


    Before him unfolded a scene of life, albeit one steeped in darkness. People dressed in somber, muted colors brushed past, their conversations drowned beneath the rhythmic thud of galloping horses. The sound of wheels splashing through puddles echoed against the cobblestones, punctuated by the sharp click of shoes against the cold asphalt. Elliot¡¯s gaze flickered to the basket by the door. Inside lay a shopping list alongside five Cont¡ªsilver coins embossed with the image of a beautiful young woman, reminiscent of the figures depicted on the bills of Elis, though smaller.


    As he read the list¡ªWestern Pocket Packs, bread with spreads (jam and butter), four packs of Helliod, two packs of the Robenwaldler Special, and a mixed salad with chicken breast¡ªhis brow furrowed in confusion. He noticed some items already nestled within the basket: clothes! A small smirk replaced his earlier sorrow as he eagerly pulled out a simple shirt and trousers held together by suspenders. Though plain gray and crafted from worn wool, the garments bore the marks of hardship¡ªburns and holes, particularly at the back where the symbolic blue mark on Elliot¡¯s skin peeked through.


    The mark resembled a vertical eye devoid of a pupil, surrounded by various symbols etched into the iris. Only fragments of it were visible through the fabric¡¯s damage, while the bruises marring his skin were stark against the faded cloth, the blue welts on his legs evident through the tattered trousers. The suspenders were barely functional, one strap intact while the other dangled uselessly.


    Elliot''s gaze drifted to the distant crowd, not venturing far. The clamor of horses persisted, and passersby strolled through narrow alleys, their faces reflecting a blend of desperation and resolve. The azure sun hung low in the sky, its glare harsh against his skin as he tentatively reached for his still-injured shoulder, lifting the brown basket filled with his meager provisions. His eyes absorbed the surroundings¡ªan antiquated world steeped in the trappings of a Victorian era, despite it being the year 2057. Here in the Kingdom of Avelor, on the continent of Elisia, it was the year 1613 by the AORB calendar, the "Alliance of the Red Bloods," a point of reference that echoed painfully in his mind, particularly since Aston¡¯s mother, Hanna, had presumably passed a year ago.


    ¡°But why is it so outdated here?¡± Elliot murmured to himself, observing the passersby adorned in elegant attire, some akin to Edwin and Samantha, others more like him¡ªRed Bloods from Earth. Despite everything, Elliot maintained his gaze low, his posture deliberately humble to avoid drawing attention. I hate this already... I''m unwashed, covered in dried blood and wounds, he thought bitterly, licking the back of his hand, the salty taste reminding him of his dire state. ¡°Damn it, I couldn¡¯t even brush my teeth,¡± he cursed under his breath, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ...


    After walking only a few minutes, Elliot found himself standing before a large shop, its fa?ade a stark contrast to the smaller buildings that flanked it. The sign above the entrance proclaimed Evelyn''s Shop in bold letters, engraved in black against the wood. At least the shop isn¡¯t too far, he thought. What would¡¯ve happened if I¡¯d gotten lost and Edwin had to come find me? The mere notion sent another shiver down his spine.


    With hesitant but determined steps, he approached the door, which swung open easily, resembling the entrance of a Wild West saloon. Inside, several people stood in line, prompting Elliot to raise a questioning brow. Where are the groceries? And why are all the people here like me? Before him was a shop that defied his expectations¡ªno shelves lined with food like a typical supermarket, but a space filled with ragged souls.


    The other customers, much like Elliot, bore the marks of hardship. Their clothes hung loosely, hair oily and unkempt, skin dirtied by the struggles of survival. A faint smile tugged at Elliot¡¯s lips; these were people like him¡ªhumans, struggling against the tides of fate.


    ¡°Fresh meat?¡± A voice startled him from behind.


    ¡°Fresh meat?¡± Elliot echoed, confusion etched on his features. ¡°How long have you been here?¡±


    Elliot turned to see a young man, muscular and appearing older than his years. His skin had a slight brown tone, and his short hair was swept to one side. Though marred in places, his skin was in better condition than Elliot¡¯s; his tattered clothing¡ªa beige shirt and woolen trousers¡ªwas complemented by intact suspenders, unlike Elliot¡¯s own.


    ¡°Uh, sorry... I¡¯ve only been here since yesterday,¡± Elliot replied hastily, realizing he had been staring for too long.


    The man¡¯s deep voice responded, ¡°No problem. But you should be cautious about whom you engage with around here. I¡¯ve been here a few months and can offer some insight if you need it. First one¡¯s free. Consider it a friendly gesture.¡± Elliot managed a small smile at the older-looking man, but quickly raised his hand to shield his brow. ¡°Of course, I would be grateful for any help.¡±


    The man, whose skin bore a weathered brown hue indicative of his years, introduced himself. ¡°My name is Genemis Matoly, but you can call me Gene.¡±


    With a warm yet subtly chilling smile, Gene continued, ¡°First of all, the Earth, as we know it, is merely a small part of this world, which everyone here refers to as Hemorion. There are six major continents in total, though I am familiar with only three. Earth is the continent of humans¡ªor the so-called red-blooded¡ªwhile Icarus and the continent we currently inhabit, Elisia, are home to the blue-blooded, along with some green- and orange-blooded folk. There¡¯s much more to learn, but we¡¯ll stick to the basics for now. We currently reside in the southeastern kingdom of Avelor, on the continent of Elisia. There are other kingdoms, though even I don¡¯t know them all. I can tell you about the golden heart of Elisia, the kingdom of Zentria, but that¡¯s where my knowledge starts to wane. If you desire more information, there are various ways to acquire it.¡±


    Gene wet his pale, slightly chapped lips before adding with a sly grin, ¡°Either through food, clothing... but ideally, through blood. A few milliliters of blue or green will suffice, hehe. Oh, and one more thing¡ªthis shop doesn¡¯t operate like a supermarket anymore. It¡¯s more akin to a theater. You place your order, and it¡¯s prepared for you... only with food instead of tickets.¡±


    Despite Gene¡¯s smile, a lingering chill remained in his demeanor. Elliot studied him for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯ll give it some consideration. Thank you, Gene.¡±


    Although Elliot was already aware of much of the information Gene had shared, it helped clarify his understanding of this world called Hemorion, where Earth was merely a smaller continent. It also provided him a clearer sense of his location. Through Aston¡¯s memories, he had assumed until now that he was in the kingdom of Zentria, having only heard its name in passing. Avelor, huh... he thought as he waited in line, standing quietly with his gaze lowered, as was his habit. Ren, please... be safe, somewhere out of harm¡¯s way... not buried under rubble or... in the belly of... Elliot¡¯s expression darkened as unwelcome images flooded his mind. His fists clenched tightly, his gaze fixed on the floor between himself and the people ahead. No, Ren. You¡¯re fine. You have to be. Please...


    His melancholic reverie was abruptly interrupted by a voice calling out to him. ¡°Customer?... Customer!¡± A man, a head taller than Elliot, stood before him, prompting Elliot to look up.


    ¡°What would you like?¡±


    Fumbling with his basket, Elliot raised a piece of paper and, in a somewhat louder voice, read his list: ¡°One pack of Western pockets, bread, marmalade, four packs of Helliod butter, two sets of Robenwaldler¡¯s special three-pack, mixed salad, and chicken breast.¡±


    Absentmindedly, he brushed his right eyebrow. ¡°Please wait a moment while I fetch your order.¡±


    For a whole minute, Elliot stood against a gray wall in the store, his arms resting on his knees, his back slightly hunched. ¡°Excuse me, your order is ready!¡± The shopkeeper, a man roughly 1.90 meters tall, stood behind the counter, while Gene was placing his own order.


    Elliot approached, carrying a brown basket with a sagging strap, and carefully placed the groceries inside. After concluding his conversation with Gene, the shopkeeper extended his hand and said, ¡°That¡¯ll be 1 Cont and 3 Celi.¡±


    Elliot handed him two Conts¡ªsilver coins¡ªand received 7 Celi, copper coins, in change. ¡°Thank you for your purchase,¡± the shopkeeper said as Gene moved toward the wall, turning to speak with another customer in worn clothing.


    Elliot made his way back to the door, counting his money. ¡°3 Cont and 7 Celi...¡± He sighed as he retraced his steps toward Edwin and Samantha, recalling the route with clarity.


    ...


    He knocked on the outer door, and after a few seconds, a voice called out, ¡°One moment, I¡¯m coming!¡± Edwin¡¯s previously impassive expression transformed into a grin. ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t our red-blood.¡± He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning the basket in Elliot¡¯s hand.


    Elliot kept his gaze downcast. ¡°Good job. You¡¯re still somewhat useful after all, hehe,¡± Edwin sneered, his expression souring. ¡°Now go find a job. Anywhere, and right now. But since I¡¯m in such a good mood, I¡¯ll even tell you where to look. If you head left and keep going straight, you¡¯ll find a district where many of your kind work. Oh, and by the way, all the money you make will go to us.¡±


    Edwin snatched the basket from Elliot¡¯s hand, pocketing the coins resting atop it. With a final word, ¡°Now get to work,¡± he slammed the door in Elliot¡¯s face.


    The force of the door sent a gust of air past Elliot¡¯s ears and hair, causing him to stumble back, clutching his nose. ¡°Argh, damn it!¡± Crimson blood now stained his fingers and the ground beneath him.

 Chapter 8: Job Hunting

    Elliot clenched his teeth, his fist slamming into the asphalt.


    Thump! Thump!


    ¡°Goddamn it!¡± he cursed under his breath, his voice ragged. Veins bulged at his temples and neck as his body tensed, his skin flushed a deep red. He wanted to scream, but his voice remained hoarse, suppressed. His throat burned as if he''d swallowed thorns. Passersby barely spared him a glance."Mother, Father, why is that person lying on the ground?" a child¡¯s innocent voice reached his ears.¡°Hush, darling. That¡¯s a Red Blood,¡± the mother replied coldly.When Elliot turned his bloodshot eyes in their direction, he saw a young girl walking hand-in-hand with her parents. She looked far too innocent to already reflect such prejudice, but she did.¡°But Mother, he¡¯s crying,¡± the girl said, her concerned gaze lingering on him. Her parents hurried their pace, pulling her along.¡°Kira, he¡¯s a Red Blood. They¡¯re lower beings, not like us,¡± her father said, louder this time, though his voice was almost drowned out by the chatter of the other pedestrians.


    Elliot forced himself to stand, using his good hand to support his injured shoulder.No wonder they grow up so twisted when they¡¯re fed this nonsense as children, he thought bitterly. Then, muttering under his breath, he added, ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. I need to find work.¡±


    His expression darkened as he stared into the distance, where a bluish fog seemed to swallow the horizon.


    ¡­


    Elliot wandered through the narrowing streets for a few minutes, the turquoise sky above casting its eerie glow. The surroundings were cold, the colors a lifeless blend of dark blues and blacks, yet the air felt surprisingly warm. It was likely no more than 4 degrees Celsius, but he wasn¡¯t shivering in just a shirt.


    "Workers needed! Come on, workers needed!"


    A voice broke through the stillness, pulling Elliot¡¯s attention. He turned to see an older man standing on a street corner, dressed in beige trousers, brown suspenders, a white shirt, and polished leather shoes. His dark brown hair, slicked to the side, looked almost black under the dim light. Their eyes met, and the man called out to him.


    "Young man, are you looking for a job?"


    They locked eyes for a few seconds before Elliot nodded."Yes, I am."The man motioned for him to follow."Then come inside, lad."


    Elliot followed him into a small, unassuming building. The man¡¯s broad shoulders and strong frame became more noticeable from behind, standing over 1.80 meters tall. The interior was plain, white walls, brown coat racks. A stack of documents sat on a white desk, with a few orange pens scattered about. Behind the desk, where the man sat, black containers and drawers filled with more paperwork lined the back wall.


    The man extended his hand toward Elliot.¡°The name¡¯s Pillar Winx.¡±Without hesitation, Elliot shook it.¡°Elliot Starfall.¡±Pillar cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his chair, his fingers intertwined over his stomach."That¡¯s a fine name for a Red Blood. So, how long have you been in Avelor? Please, have a seat."


    Elliot sat down across from him, his mouth pulling into a slight smile as he answered,¡°Since yesterday.¡±


    Pillar¡¯s brow furrowed."One of the new arrivals, huh? What do you know so far?"Elliot¡¯s gaze dropped out of habit, before replying,"All I know is that there are different continents, that Earth is just one of them. There¡¯s Elisia, the kingdom of Avelor, or Zentria, and the currency here. Oh, and the different blood types."


    Pillar tapped his finger twice on the armrest before speaking,¡°Sounds like you got stuck with some of the harsher landlords.¡±His blunt words made Elliot chuckle, though he quickly averted his eyes when Pillar''s sharp gaze met his own. After a moment, however, Pillar¡¯s serious expression softened into a hearty laugh.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be so downcast, lad. You should know, not everything is black and white. Sure, you Red Bloods are lower than the rest of us, but comparing you to animals? That¡¯s a bit much for my taste. After all, my kind¡ªthe Blue Bloods¡ªare just as lowly in the eyes of the Green, Orange, and higher Bloods, whether they¡¯re full-blooded or half-blooded."


    His tone was calm, his eyes meeting Elliot''s once more."Still, let me tell you a bit about this world. It¡¯s called Hemorion, not Earth. And yes, blood rules everything here, not just by its color, but because each color grants different powers. But I¡¯m sure you already knew that much. Any specific questions?¡±


    Elliot¡¯s posture relaxed slightly as he shifted his gaze from the desk back to Pillar¡¯s face."Yeah, I do have one. Why does everything here feel so ancient? I haven¡¯t seen any electronics, TVs, or anything like that.¡±Pillar smiled.¡°A good question, but an easy one to answer. First, the frequencies here are different, so most of that stuff doesn¡¯t even work. Second, your world¡¯s resources are severely lacking, not enough to sustain even the smallest country in Hemorion. You see, most of what existed in your world was artificial¡ªyour food, your sun, your sky.¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Pillar chuckled to himself.¡°Sorry, I tend to ramble. Let¡¯s get back to the job, shall we? I talk too much, and once I start, it¡¯s hard to stop, like now¡ª" He chuckled again, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.


    Elliot massaged his brow, glancing at the documents on the desk."What kind of jobs do you have available?"


    Pillar sorted through the pile, laying out five documents on the table."Two jobs behind the counter, one at a supermarket, the other at a bar. Then there¡¯s a job cleaning up the streets, one in local security, and finally, an assistant position at a detective agency."


    Elliot stared at the papers for a few moments, then looked up into Pillar¡¯s blue-green eyes.Working behind a counter would be nothing more than a slow death, waiting for the day I waste away as a slave. Street cleaning or security might give me more freedom, but a detective agency¡­ That might open up some opportunities, even for a Red Blood like me.


    Without hesitation, Elliot picked up the document for the detective assistant job and held it up."I¡¯ll take this one."


    Pillar smirked,"So, you¡¯re after the money, eh? Four Conts a week, not bad for a Red Blood. But I bet you have to hand over most of it to your landlords, don¡¯t you?"Elliot met his gaze."Yeah."


    Pillar sighed, his hands resting on his stomach."Well, I could mark your pay as three Conts and four Celi instead. The other six Celi would be yours to keep¡ªsecretly, of course. You could spend them, save them, whatever you like."


    Elliot¡¯s confused expression shifted into a grateful smile."Thank you."


    Pillar leaned forward, still smiling."All that¡¯s left is for you to sign the contract."


    He gathered the documents, including the one Elliot was holding, and pulled a new contract from a black drawer."This one¡¯s the same, just with the pay adjusted, heh."


    Pillar handed him the contract and an orange pen. Elliot scratched the back of his tousled blonde hair before taking the pen and signing his name at the bottom: Elliot Starfall.


    Pillar stood up and offered his hand. They shook, and Pillar pointed toward the door."The detective agency¡¯s just down the street to the left. You¡¯ll see a big sign that says Blue Sharks."


    As Elliot started to leave, Pillar called after him.¡°Tell them Pillar sent you, lad!¡±Elliot glanced at the contract in his hand, noticing both his and Pillar¡¯s names already on it. His smile widened as he walked away.Thank you, Pillar¡­


    ¡­


    Fring Street 95, Blue Sharks.


    Elliot glanced up. A large wooden sign hung from a black iron pole, swaying gently in the breeze. He looked down again at the document in his hand. Black and white text, with only the signature in a bold orange¡ªa sharp contrast against the bluish light that bathed the cold, dim atmosphere of the street. The words stood clear and distinct.


    As he pushed open the standard black door, a bell chimed above his head.


    Ring-ding!


    Five immaculate faces, glowing pale like the light of the moon, turned in unison toward Elliot. Four men, one woman. The men all sported slicked-back hair, either swept to the side or combed back, though one showed signs of thinning. One was blonde, two had dark brown hair, and the last had jet black hair. The woman had dark blonde locks. While the men sat in beige or black suits, the young woman, with her flawless complexion, wore a beige corset and dress.


    ¡°Business?¡± The blonde man to Elliot''s right inquired lazily from his chair, stretching his arms behind his head as he leaned back.


    "Take a good look at him, William. He''s clearly a Red Blood," one of the brown-haired men in a beige suit commented, only to be interrupted by the man with thinning hair, clad in black. "That''s enough, Chris. Even Red Bloods can come in with business, or maybe he¡¯s looking for a job himself. Use your head for once," the black-haired man grumbled, rubbing his furrowed brow before releasing a sigh.


    The dark-blonde woman rose gracefully from her seat. ¡°And what brings you here, exactly?¡± she asked.


    Elliot''s eyes dropped to the floor for several seconds before he spoke. "Uh, I¡¯m here on behalf of Pillar Winx. He sent me... I¡¯m looking for work. Here''s the contract."


    He moved forward and laid the document on the nearest table. The room felt cold, a result of its bureaucratic design, yet the warmth of the brown furniture and coat racks softened the sterility somewhat.


    "So, you''re from Pillar Winx?" William, the blonde man, spoke up, followed closely by Chris, the brown-haired one with his hair slicked to the side. ¡°We only signed the contract with him a week ago, and already he¡¯s sending us an assistant! Looks like those fees were worth it!" Chris''s laughter echoed across the room, while the other brown-haired man, his hair combed back, chuckled under his breath.


    ¡°That means fewer overtime hours, folks!¡± quipped the weary-looking man with thinning hair, the one who had spoken before. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and he ran his hands over his face, sighing again.


    "Alright, that''s enough," he cut them off as he stood up, taking the document that had been passed around. "Elliot Starfall, then. The gentleman here is William Smith," he gestured to the blonde, "and next to him is Elisia Pil." He pointed to the woman, before moving on. "These two are Christopher Vilgar and Elton Wald," indicating the two brown-haired men. "And as for me, I''m Billgard List, though most just call me Bill."


    Elliot blinked, slightly overwhelmed, glancing from the brown wooden floor up to the five faces watching him. They wore friendly smiles¡ªwell, most of them did. Two of them simply regarded him with neutral expressions, but they didn¡¯t rise or confront him. They simply remained seated, offering nothing more than a silent acknowledgment of his presence.

 Chapter 9: Colleagues and Ritual

    It seems that there really are shades of gray in this strange world, Elliot thought, pressing a hand to his right brow. Bill approached him, closing the distance to just a meter or two. His gaze was serious, piercing deep into Elliot''s soul. "You have blue blood in you." As Bill spoke these words, the other four turned their attention to Elliot with heightened interest.


    "How much?" Elisia asked, glancing at Bill, whose eyes bore dark rings. After a brief pause, he replied, "Just a minimal dose, but it''s relatively pure from an undead source, right?" Initially, Elliot responded normally, but he soon noticed the intensity of Bill''s gaze upon him. "Yes, a zombie-like creature attacked me."


    Elton and William burst into laughter simultaneously. However, the enchanting Elisia interrupted their merriment with a serious expression. Bill continued, running his fingers along his brows. "Regardless, Elliot, you need to understand that this blood, which is derived from a ritual, grants you special abilities. Particularly since this blood has been ritualized and is in relatively good condition, you should have taken a specific path akin to ours. We can''t truly assist you since we are blue-blooded and you are red-blooded, but we know you likely possess some kind of power related to death. What kind, we can''t quite ascertain, but it can be discovered quite easily. However, we need to prepare something first."


    Bill paused briefly and walked over to a wooden cabinet filled with various utensils¡ªherbs, objects, and other items. "Chris, could you please fetch two grams of silver lizard powder and a quill made from a nasche?" While the two moved towards the scattered cabinets, Elliot surveyed the surroundings. It resembled the layout of a bureaucratic office: tables and chairs with no dividers between the spaces, wooden lockers and cabinets scattered throughout the room, and an open door leading to a side room. Inside was a display case mounted on the wall, showcasing various items alongside containers of powder and empty syringes.


    "Elliot, if you could take a seat over there," Bill gestured with his palm towards an empty chair next to William, who shifted slightly to make room. Bill continued speaking as Elliot sat down. "You only need to recite a simple formula while holding this quill, and at the end of your recitation, just let go of the quill."


    Bill retrieved a small, sharp knife and carefully sliced into the tip of Elliot''s blood-stained finger. Crimson red blood flowed out¡ªjust a few drops¡ªbut within seconds, Bill had covered the wound with a small beige bandage. For a moment, Elliot''s eyes shimmered, threatening to redden, but he steeled himself and paid close attention to Bill''s instructions.


    "I will now chant something loudly and look up at the ceiling. When I glance back at you, repeat a single sentence after me. But remember to let go of the quill at the end," Bill instructed.


    After swallowing a good amount of saliva, Elliot nodded. Without hesitation, Bill mixed the two grams of silver lizard powder with a herb known as Fluora into the red blood that pooled on a white sheet of paper before Elliot. Moments later, the blood began to swell and froth, darkening in hue, while Elliot''s eyes and mouth widened slightly. The other four managed to maintain their composure.


    Bill began to chant as the mixture continued to spread. "Gott des Wissens schenke uns deine Kraft. Lasset uns wissen welche Gabe ihr uns schenket! Oh allwissende Gottheit teilet uns euer unermessliches Wissen!"


    As Bill formed his hands into a large book-like shape, he held it before his forehead, leading it down to his chest. Finally, he looked deeply into Elliot''s vacant blue eyes. His irises had vanished, replaced by a blue haze. "Lasset es uns durch das Blut meines Wissen, Oh werter Gott des Wissens!"


    Without hesitation, Elliot echoed, "Laessed eas uens duerc daes Bluet moines wuissean, Oh weater Goid deas Wuiscens." The chuckling and snickering of the others were impossible to ignore. William, Chris, and Elton turned blue from their laughter. Only Bill remained serious, while Elisia covered her mouth with her smooth, elegant hand. The others followed suit, but at the cost of resembling blueberries.


    To their dismay, the quill began to move in the air as Elliot released it. At that moment, Elliot''s face flushed red, and he clasped his hands between his thighs and the chair. The quill dipped into the now darkened blood, forming a symbol that resembled an eye without a pupil, surrounded by circles resembling stars from a satanic cult. Outside the eye, a larger circle perfectly encircled it, all rendered in dark crimson.


    The quill continued to write a sentence: "Die Gabe, Tote zu visionieren." Elliot scratched the back of his head, feeling bewildered. However, Bill relieved Elliot of his ignorance. "It means you can interact with the dead in some way, as the God of Knowledge suggests, through visions¡ªenvisioning the deceased."


    Bill and the others exchanged bewildered glances. Bill continued, "To be honest, we haven''t encountered such a branch before, especially since you''re a red-blood. You should know that such an occurrence is less than one or two percent among you red-blooded individuals." William interjected into Bill''s monologue, turning his chair around to lean against the backrest. "You¡¯ve probably ventured into a separate branch with this."


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Elton sighed, glancing down at Elliot. "What William meant to say is that only a handful possess this specific ability. Something more common, like the ability to converse with the dead and ask them a few questions, or even to control them to a certain extent, could exist. However, since you are red-blooded, such powers are exceedingly rare, and naturally, you have different branches and paths of abilities that you can pursue and acquire." Chris spoke as he slowly stood up, making his way into the side room. "Essentially, you possess a unique ability¡ªwhether it¡¯s good or bad is yet to be determined. You¡ª"


    But Chris was interrupted by Elisia. "Let him process everything first." With a sigh and a grim sideways glance at the others, she added, ¡°You¡¯re not getting to the point and are only confusing the poor boy.¡±


    Poor boy? Elliot wondered to himself, staring blankly. "But I''m already 21 years old!" he protested.


    He gazed at five faces, all of them flushed with a shade of blue, some more than others, but even Bill, who usually maintained a serious demeanor, couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. They covered their mouths with their hands; William and Elton laughed so hard they bent over, clutching their knees as tears streamed from their eyes. "Please... you look too innocent and naive," Elton attempted to regain his composure, though laughter continued to escape him.


    Elliot sat there, still perplexed, staring at the ritual table. What on earth is so funny?! he thought, gritting his teeth but with less force than before. He simply waited for the others to calm down and return to their usual tempers.


    "I''m sorry, but you must understand that red-blooded individuals are indeed short-lived. Your blood differs not only in power but in every aspect. To summarize, the blood provides sustenance¡ªbe it regeneration, oxygen supply, or other necessities. However, with a different blood type, like ours, blue, which most of us in Avelor or, more generally, in Elisia possess, everything about human senses, muscle strength, oxygen capacity, memory, compatibility, and many other aspects changes."


    Bill lectured Elliot like a biology teacher, wiping a single tear away from the corner of his eye with his finger. After taking a deep breath, William added, "And regarding age, our organs and everything else in our bodies are better supplied, allowing for an average lifespan of around 140 years instead of just 80 like yours."


    Chris, who was still recovering from the earlier fit of laughter, leaned against the doorframe. "But one must also know that age varies significantly. Most people don¡¯t die a natural death. Those who do typically live just over 220 years."


    Elisia looked at Elliot with a playful glint in her eyes, attempting to hide her smile. "As you can see, we all look to be in our twenties or early thirties, yet in reality, we range from our mid-forties to late seventies. As for me, I just turned 47 about a month ago."


    Elliot stared at the ritual items laid out on the table before him, his lips curling into a bemused grin. Please, just hit me¡­ he sighed and stretched his neck forward, asking, "But why are you all so nice, just like Pillar?"


    While I¡¯m aware that there are shades of gray even in this strange world, why on earth am I suddenly so lucky?! Not that I¡¯m complaining or anything¡­ Ren¡­ Elliot sighed again, thinking of his brother. ...Please be well, please, please¡­ I hope you''re doing okay...


    However, instead of receiving the usual comforting reply, Bill abruptly cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Elliot, how about we start getting you accustomed to work?" Before Elliot could respond, Bill placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him through the side room into another small office. It was relatively bare and compact¡ªwhite walls, a window, and around ten square meters in size. A brown wooden cabinet with drawers held a collection of documents scattered across a glass table. A few cobwebs clung to the upper corners, and dust coated most surfaces.


    "The first thing you should do is sort all the documents by date. Once you¡¯re finished, try cleaning the room as well. And make sure to fetch something if a colleague comes to see you, be it food, drink, or anything else they might need."


    With a slight smile, Bill gazed deeply into Elliot''s eyes, then gently closed the door behind him, leaving a small gap. Just like Ren used to¡­ Elliot thought melancholically, staring at the slightly ajar black door. But why were they so eager to evade my question?


    Running his right hand through his tousled dark blonde hair, he focused on the numbers, letters, and dates in front of him. With a long sigh, he began to sift through the first batch of documents.


    ¡­


    Several hours passed¡ªperhaps even more¡ªbut for Elliot, it felt like no time had passed at all. Outside, the sky had darkened significantly. He frequently glanced out at the alley, which, although not high up, offered a view of the increasingly warm day, the bluish mist dissipating. The clouds danced with the azure sun in the turquoise sky, yet everything seemed to slip away so quickly. Within just a few hours, night had enveloped the surroundings, growing darker with each passing moment.


    A soft knock echoed on the already closed door. "Elliot, your shift is over; you can go home now." Bill''s voice sounded slightly weaker and quieter than usual.


    Without hesitation, Elliot stepped out of the now pristine room, filled with neatly organized documents in the cabinet and drawers. He felt a newfound lightness in his posture and a spring in his step. As he walked through the side room and then into the main area with the others, he heard Bill utter a final remark: "And please, wash up starting tomorrow."


    With a passive nod, Elliot opened the door and made his way toward Lynn Street to meet Edwin and Samantha. As he exited, his upper body shivered, and his teeth clattered together slightly. Rubbing his dirty hands together, he glanced back at the sign of the Blue Sharks, then up at the starry black sky.


    The surroundings were now bathed in a golden hue from a half-golden moon, the mist no longer tinted blue but lightly gilded. Who would have thought I would come to enjoy my work more than my home¡­ With a sigh, he gazed at the night sky for a few seconds before heading back toward Edwin and Samantha at Lynn Street 16.

 Chapter 10: Green Vision

    Lynn Street 16, at the corner of the Monument of the Goddess of Night.Elliot clutched a crumpled white document with an orange signature in his left hand. With his right, he knocked three times on the door. Alone beneath the starry sky, the golden moon shone brightly above him, casting a warm glow that mingled with the distant mist.


    Click!


    With a downcast gaze, Elliot raised his left hand slightly. ¡°Are we finally here?¡± Edwin chuckled, glancing at the back of Elliot''s head, playfully swatting him with his rolled-up newspaper. ¡°You red-bloods are nothing but vermin!¡±


    As Edwin caught sight of the document¡ªor rather, the contract¡ªhe intended to slam the door shut and retreat into the house. However, despite his trembling hands and quaking knees, Elliot managed to prop the door open with his fingers. He bit down hard on his lip, tensing his body against the growing panic. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he clutched his nearly healed palm with his right hand, forcing himself to maintain control.


    ¡°Is that the rebellious phase of the Red Bloods?¡± Edwin laughed, his tone light rather than malicious. But soon, he furrowed his brow. ¡°What¡¯s with that?¡±


    Elliot responded, his voice barely above a whisper as the throbbing in his hand intensified. ¡°At my job, they said I should come washed.¡± He held up his pulsating, veined hand, his gaze fixed downward.


    With another playful thump to the back of Elliot''s head, Edwin spoke in a condescending tone. ¡°There¡¯s a public bath for you red-blooded scum just around the corner.¡± He reached for the door again, threatening to close it. ¡°Take a right on Lynn Street, then left at Iron Street.¡±


    Pow! Whoosh!


    A gust of wind tousled Elliot''s hair, missing his nose this time. Internally, he chuckled, Not this time. But his focus remained fixed on the rolled newspaper, glimmering in the moonlight that was slowly obscured by drifting clouds. ¡°Red blood beneath us,¡± he murmured to himself as he made his way to his dark room. The door swung open automatically.


    ¡°Not even locked¡­¡± Yet Elliot remained transfixed on the newspaper, leaning against the cold, dark wall. Stretching his trembling legs, he squinted at the illegible text in the dimness of the room.


    ¡­


    Zentria Worldview ¨C 3rd Astra 1613 AORBThe Breach of the Pact with the Red Bloods: Red Blood Among Us!


    On the 3rd of Astra, 1613, according to the AORB calendar, we have broken the long-standing treaty with the Red Bloods. They have become increasingly audacious; their resources are dwindling, and with them, their value. Particularly on our continent, Elisia, which borders the Earth, internal conflicts have ignited. Noble families such as Rosenmahl, ZwischenBr¨¹ck, Heide, Reichenfell, J?gerssohn, and many more have demanded an end to the alliance. Their argument is straightforward: To extract more profit from the losses. More slaves mean more workers, leading to greater entertainment through active intervention on the Earth. Passive observation or occasional visits are no longer sufficient.


    We have never had the opportunity to demonstrate our superiority over the Red Bloods in full¡ªan outdated and exhausting limitation that may have been thrilling centuries ago, but is no longer relevant today.


    Now, these Red Bloods dare to rebel against us! What began with a mere handful is swelling in numbers. More of them have begun to harness the power of the blood system. Who would have thought that these rat-like beings could defeat the Green Bloods, the shapeshifters? This means they are either on their way here or perhaps already among us.


    The population is thus urged to remain vigilant. Observe your neighbors, friends, and even family members closely. Any unusual behavior could be a sign that a Red Blood has assumed their form. A reward of 10 Elis is offered for every Red Blood¡ªalive or dead.


    ¡­


    Elliot¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief as his pain and worries evaporated. His heart raced as he read the newspaper, his gaze darting from the page to the wall and back again. Finally, his mouth closed, and his eyes shut, a faint smile creasing his lips. He felt at ease, his pulse beginning to settle.


    In his left hand, he clutched the newspaper, but his grip relaxed until it slipped from his fingers and fell to the cold floor. Beside the sleeping Elliot lay the open newspaper, displaying the wanted notices of 14 individuals, each adorned with a bounty of 10 Elis. Among them was a muscular, sun-kissed man with a massive tattoo covering his right arm, an elegant red-haired woman, and a slender young boy of about sixteen with black hair. Another tall, lean man had a model-like face. Yet amidst the 14 individuals, a blonde young man stood out, his azure eyes hidden beneath the crowd. His gaze was cold, and his clothes stained in various colors. It was Ren¡ªElliot''s older brother.


    ¡­


    In the dark void.When Elliot opened his eyes, he found himself once again in the black space. It seemed empty, save for the glowing blue crystal. This time, Elliot refrained from rushing toward the crystal; instead, he walked in the opposite direction. Yet his surroundings did not change. Whenever he turned around, he was met again by the shimmering blue crystal.


    As he pondered, he spun around again and again, his brows furrowed in confusion. What is this place?


    Shhiiing!


    Suddenly, it began to dim, and before Elliot knew it, he spotted another light in addition to the blue one. His face and body were now illuminated by a faint, bluish-green glow emanating from a crystal. He squeezed his eyes shut, finding that even his hand could cast no shadow before him. After a few seconds, the blinding light faded behind his eyelids, plunging him back into darkness.Green color? Does that signify a new body? A shiver coursed down Elliot¡¯s spine. Don¡¯t tell me the colors reflect the blood¡­ Yet, after a few more moments, he sought the positive. Perhaps there are vegan shapeshifters too¡­ He gazed deeply into the dimming light of the green crystal, but the blue one vanished from his peripheral vision in an instant.¡°No, no, no!¡± He sprinted toward the blue light, desperate to touch it, but nothing happened despite his frantic efforts. Elliot''s brows furrowed in a serious expression as he regarded the still-glowing green crystal. It seems I have no real choice. How many hours would I have to wait otherwise? It''s not like I want to watch people get eaten¡­ His expression darkened as he reached out to grasp the green crystal.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Whoooosh!


    ¡­


    Along Belington Street in the Kingdom of Nigil.A man cloaked in black garb, hooded and masked, strode purposefully through the darkness. His strides were long, yet unhurried. The only discernible features were his slightly lighter blue-gray eyes. He walked steadily as the rain began to fall more heavily, a stark contrast to the serene starry sky and golden moon. Only a few passersby rushed by, shielding themselves with their umbrellas or shirts. Yet the man in black continued calmly through the downpour until he turned right and pushed open a door reminiscent of those from the Wild West.


    He stood tall, his cold gaze scrutinizing the stares of those present, some instinctively reaching for their pockets while others grasped knives or pistols. Their expressions were serious, unflinching at the prospect of violence. Finally, he turned his attention to the bartender, who sported a sleek, slicked-back hairstyle. His thin, old-fashioned mustache was gray and white, and despite the wrinkles around his eyes, he appeared surprisingly youthful for his age. He juggled two glasses filled with an unspecified liquid, casting glances toward the man in black¡ªElliot.What the hell is going on here? Am I in some bad Wild West film? Elliot sighed inwardly but managed a smile, relieved that he didn¡¯t appear to be in immediate danger of being devoured.¡°A Mojito, Wyan style,¡± he ordered in a deep voice.


    The bartender met his request with calm eyes and a nod, continuing to shake the bottle. His own voice was deep and gravelly, ¡°Coming right up.¡± As Elliot felt a chill from the gaze of the others, the man in black settled comfortably onto a tall wooden stool at the bar, allowing his black garb and mask to drape over the backrest. He now wore only a tight-fitting shirt that accentuated his muscular physique. Bandages peeked out from under the sleeves, revealing scars on his exposed skin. His face was clean-shaven and well-groomed, his black hair falling to his ears and parted down the middle.


    As he glanced at his reflection in the glass window filled with bottles, Elliot couldn¡¯t help but whistle inwardly. Not bad, he thought, taking a longer look until the bartender turned his attention back to the muscular man.¡°You can leave now.¡± The muscular man¡¯s cold gaze remained fixed on the elegant bartender, who gestured toward the back door. The other patrons¡¯ expressions darkened, their grim stares shifting to the man until they resumed their own drinks. The raucous conversations abruptly ceased.Was that a password?! A real one used to gain access to someone powerful and secretive? Elliot felt a mix of tension and excitement. Either this will play out like in the movies or¡­ well, like in the movies. He sighed inwardly, watching as the muscular man walked toward the back door.


    It was darker than in the previous room, hardly illuminated by candles or oil lamps as was typical. There truly seems to be no electricity here, Elliot mused as he stared through the eyes of the muscular man into the darkness. Only one candle flickered on a small table. Seated before it was a large man dressed in a black suit. He was nearly indistinguishable, save for the stark contrast of his pale skin. The figure gazed timelessly into the small, dancing flame.¡°So small and so fragile¡­¡±


    Whoooshh!


    In an instant, the tiny orange-yellow flame extinguished, and Elliot along with the muscular man heard a whisper. ¡°Who sent you?¡± The voice was rough and its breath cold. As Elliot recoiled inwardly, teetering on the edge of collapse, the muscular man stared coldly at the extinguished candle. With a mere snap of his fingers, the candle flickered back to life, along with the chandelier above and many others in the room, illuminating the bar¡ªa cozy, cluttered space filled with brown hues, shelves, and books scattered about.


    ¡°I¡¯m from Markus, Markus Linnegar, and he said to find Reggy.¡± The man in the black suit, now clearly visible as Reggy, returned to his previous seat with uncanny speed. The change in air pressure sent the muscular man¡¯s medium-length black hair flying to the side.¡°Markus, huh¡­¡± Reggy crossed his legs and inquired, ¡°What kind of job are you willing to take?¡±


    The muscular man replied, void of any emotion, ¡°Anything.¡±Reggy clapped his hands, ¡°Ah, that¡¯s the kind I prefer! Hehe.¡± Rising, he fixed his gaze on Elliot and the muscular man, stating, ¡°There¡¯s a little dilemma. An esteemed anonymous individual has asked me to eliminate his enemy. But this esteemed enemy is rather far away¡ªabout 10,000 kilometers in Zentria. As you can imagine, few are willing to travel there, especially since it¡¯s a jurisdictional kingdom, which means you¡¯re completely out of luck if caught. Well, that applies to the weak, but you¡­ dear turquoise sky, you look strong. The job is quite simple: you only need to take out a small subgroup of an organization and retrieve a specific artifact to deliver it to a designated location. For 300 Elis, the job is yours.¡±


    As Reggy awaited a response, a wide grin spread across his face, his hands rubbing together. Before he could speak again, a sharp whisper pierced the air around Elliot and the muscular man, accompanied by a prick and a trickle of green blood. Reggy scooped a drop of the blood with his finger and said, ¡°You can start making your way to Zentria. Along the way, I¡¯ll send you certain messages. However, do bear in mind that you must always carry an open wound and a piece of paper with you.¡± He added with a grim smile, ¡°Otherwise, I won¡¯t be able to reach you, my dear.¡±


    With a shabby grin, Reggy bid farewell and snapped his fingers, causing the darkness in the room to spread once more. However, the muscular man¡ªinside whom Elliot resided¡ªwas already outside, and not a single soul in the bar paid him any mind. Even the bartender only acknowledged him with an elegant glance while reshaping ice cubes into spheres.


    ¡­


    Stepping out of the bar and into the dark night illuminated by the golden moon, the muscular man strode deeper into the colored mist that swirled around him. He continued until he paused at a side alley. The air was damp, shrouded in darkness and the stench of decay. Broken bottles, vomit, and various pieces of litter littered the ground. Yet amidst the chaos lay a figure. A young man, appearing in his early twenties, with disheveled brown hair and soiled clothes. His eyes, an unsettling shade of blue without pupils, stared blankly into the void. Blood and maggots oozed from his mouth and ears, and blue tears streamed down his face. But he was long gone¡ªdead.


    In an instant, as the muscular man touched the lifeless body, a transformation began. The black hair shifted to brown, and the grayish-brown eyes morphed into a blend of dark green and orange. The once stark features of the face became rounder, exuding an unsettling allure. He appeared younger and more innocent, yet the coldness lingered in the corners of his mouth and the depths of his eyes. Stripped down to nothing but socks and underwear, the young man¡ªa now-vibrant being¡ªreached for clean clothes resting on a dry stone beneath an overhang just a few meters down the dark alley.


    With swift efficiency, he dressed in beige trousers, brown leather shoes, and a white shirt layered with a beige vest. After brushing off the remnants of dirt from his chest and legs, he rifled through the pockets of the still-lifeless young man. He retrieved a leather wallet and an identification card. ¡°Eriksson Trieasta,¡± he murmured, savoring the name. ¡°Eriksson Trieasta, thank you very much.¡± His gaze remained cold as he stared out onto the street, still battered by the golden fog and relentless rain.


    Yet as Eriksson continued down the road, Elliot felt a wave of immense pain radiate from his head. It was as if a jackhammer were smashing into his skull. ¡°Arghhh!¡± A sound escaped his lips, but no one heard him; Eriksson kept moving through the frigid rain. Damn it, not again! In a flash, reminiscent of his experience with Aston, the blue-blooded man, Elliot was engulfed in agony and bombarded by fleeting images. They flickered before him, indistinct and rapid, yet one stood out¡ªa small child chained in utter darkness, surrounded by dried blood.

 Chapter 11: Past

    Elliot¡¯s eyes reddened, veins bulging like fish breaching the surface of water. With clenched teeth, he continued to stare, his eyes wide open despite the burning sensation¡ªfar worse than shampoo stinging his eyes. He squeezed them shut just enough to keep seeing. Rapid, fleeting images cascaded through his mind. A young boy with orange hair and green eyes raced across fields, sometimes under warm sunlight, sometimes in the rain. The leaves transformed from vibrant green to shades of orange and yellow before falling to the ground. Day turned to night, only to give way to snow that came and went just as swiftly. Again and again, the child laughed as he ran, like a glider soaring through the ripened fields and over the earth, his smile and genuine laughter never fading.


    ¡°Catch me if you can!¡± shouted the orange-haired Lennard, breathless with exhilaration. ¡°You¡¯re way too slow!¡± another child called out, panting even harder. He was smaller and slighter, yet he bore a striking resemblance to Lennard.


    More rapid-fire images followed, this time in an even faster sequence. A family gathered in a modest little house, bathed in warm shades of orange and brown. They sat together at a table reminiscent of nobility, sometimes enjoying stew, at other times more stew. Their postures and expressions shifted every second, yet they were always content, whether there was meat or not. Father, mother, brother, and Lennard himself¡ªthey were a family, bound together by love.


    Days morphed into nights and vice versa. But soon, Lennard was once again racing through the fields. The harvest was ripe, and his brother Max sprinted alongside him, grinning widely. They ran and ran, the fields blurring into the distance as the roads drew closer. They were in a small, remote village in Elitra, a place of beauty. On rainy days, sunny days, at night, and during the day, whether amidst wind, storms, or other tribulations, the scenery was always captivating. Neighbors greeted the eager little boys as they hung laundry or took leisurely strolls.


    But this time, no one was there. Only the wind whispered through the streets and the flapping clothes. Windows and doors stood ajar, yet the playful boys continued to buzz their lips as they raced like gliders. Their innocence and ignorance began to fade when they found themselves standing before their own home. The door was open, but no one was inside. Panic etched Lennard¡¯s face, and with a mere tilt of his head, the world around him seemed to spin. Elliot watched as the little boy collapsed, only to hastily awaken again, gasping in darkness, a desperate need for air choking him.


    Water surrounded him, accompanied by the sound of derisive laughter echoing in the shadows. As the darkness faded, Lennard found himself bound to a chair, drenched, his gaze fixed ahead. Grief, rage, remorse, bitterness¡ªevery emotion flickered in Lennard¡¯s eyes. Perhaps they mirrored Elliot¡¯s own feelings as he observed, horrified and disgusted. But even more, Lennard stared with empty eyes at the corpses, drained of blood, piled around him.


    It was everyone from the village he knew¡ªhis neighbors, the baker, the priest, acquaintances, friends, and his family. His father, mother, and brother lay stacked together, their eyes wide open¡ªsome gazing into the distance, others directed at Lennard. Again, Lennard was enveloped in darkness; soon, not only his vision but also his ability to breathe vanished. Water poured over a cloth pressed against Lennard¡¯s face, but flickering images danced in Elliot''s view.


    Suddenly, he heard the child¡¯s screams. Blood poured from Lennard¡¯s forearms¡ªgreen blood, but much more orange blood. The men, obscured in black coverings, laughed hysterically. The flickering intensified as the men spoke. ¡°We have enough blood.¡± Elliot saw Lennard again, alone and drenched in dried blood, bound in the dark room. His gaze remained cold and vacant, fixed on the lifeless bodies piled around him like sacks of rice.


    Lennard trembled and sweated in fear, yet his eyes were always fixed on a single point. Finally, Lennard''s eyelids fluttered shut. Elliot felt at a loss for words, his heart heavy with compassion as he lowered his gaze. The scene shifted and hissed, drawing Elliot''s sight back to Eriksson, the future Lennard. With a straight, cold stare, he continued walking through the gradually fading rain, his eyes focused ahead, further and further until he approached a larger area.


    There were train tracks, signs bearing names of distant cities, and a dark, dry stillness, interrupted only by a loud voice echoing in the distance. ¡°The next Ten-Day train to the Kingdom of Zentria, passing through Nigil and Foen, will depart in half an hour from Platform 5!¡± Following the voice, Eriksson turned toward it but did not approach the figure in a dark blue suit. Instead, he walked toward a small booth with a woman seated inside.


    With a glance exchanged, the light brown-haired woman smiled at Eriksson, who offered no such expression in return. ¡°How can I assist you, sir?¡± After a brief pause, he replied, ¡°A ticket for the Ten-Day train to the Kingdom of Zentria.¡±


    The ticket seller glanced at a slip of paper. ¡°First, second, or third class?¡± After another silent exchange, Eriksson stated, ¡°Third class.¡± His shoulders remained straight, his gaze fixed. The woman added, ¡°That will be 9 Cont and 2 Celi.¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    As Eriksson reached into his wallet, he pulled out an Elis note, handing it over. The change returned to the woman was 8 Celi. Eriksson pocketed the coins and headed toward Platform 5, biding his time until the train would finally arrive.


    ¡­


    Lynn Street 16, at the Corner of the Monument to the Goddess of Night


    Elliot awoke with drool trickling down his cheek, his eyes heavy with sleep as he rubbed them awake. Slowly turning his head, he realized he was back at Edwin and Samantha¡¯s home. So these visions hardly rob me of sleep, he thought with a reassuring yawn. But it certainly wasn¡¯t enough rest¡­


    He held his hand before his eyes, noticing a dark blue, almost black shadow looming over him. It was the familiar blue sun shining in a turquoise sky. A glance to his side revealed a small basket containing a note and some bread. However, as Elliot, who hadn¡¯t eaten in a while, picked up the piece, he discovered it was rock hard. He sighed, muttering to himself as he reached for the basket, ¡°Morning routines¡­ First, shopping, then washing, and finally work¡­¡± With another sigh, he set off, the atmosphere cold under the dark sky and blue light, the golden moon long since vanished.


    In about three-quarters of an hour, he arrived at the shop and met Gene again, purchasing something lighter this time: a box of Foenician cornflakes, a carton of milk, and a pack of Avelornian black coffee. His five Cont coins quickly turned into four Cont and five Celi, and the first part of his morning routine was complete. Now, he was on his way to the public bath, chewing the hard bread with a grimace, a spot of mold threatening to appear on one side, yet he kept his gaze fixed ahead. His bandaged hand was almost healed, and his shoulder felt better, as did the rest of his body. Is this the effect of the blue blood? If so, I need more¡­ much more. Ren, I¡¯ll see you soon! Elliot thought as he continued to devour the stale bread.


    Upon arriving, he looked around, feeling something odd. The bath was open, and a few others of his kind were inside, but what made him furrow his brow was a large clock hanging above the entrance. It was plain and old-fashioned, painted black, with a large hand hovering between the 6 and 7, pointing at the third small tick mark between them. This wasn¡¯t digital, as Elliot was used to; it was a type that hadn¡¯t been in use for perhaps the last twenty years. Roman numerals adorned its face, but what perplexed Elliot most were the numbers. Why only from 0 to 16, with double the space between 16 and 0 compared to the other numbers?


    He tilted his head slightly as he stared at the clock, muttering under his breath, Damn it, that¡¯s why I didn¡¯t get enough sleep! He continued to stare intently, searching for higher numbers than 16. No! This can¡¯t be! I¡¯ve been working for hours, probably eight of them. Add in the commute and the other errands I have to run for Edwin and Samantha¡­ Elliot¡¯s mouth fell open slightly as he kept his gaze fixed on the clock. If I need about an hour for shopping and probably another half-hour for washing, and if I leave for work around 16:00, then I¡¯ll have no time to do anything to free myself from this place¡­


    Just then, from not too far away, Elliot heard someone calling his name, ¡°Elliot!¡± Moments later, he felt a nudge on his shoulder. ¡°So you¡¯re finally going to clean yourself up! Sorry, I should have told you sooner, hehe.¡±


    ¡°Gene?¡± Elliot looked at him, puzzled.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me, hehe.¡± Elliot''s shoulders sagged slightly as Gene placed a hand on them, reading the concern in his eyes. ¡°Is it the clock?¡±


    Elliot glanced away, then replied, ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    With a deep sigh, Gene met his gaze. ¡°You know what? I¡¯ll just tell you, but this is the last time¡ªafter this, it¡¯ll cost you, got it? So, on Earth, a day was 24 hours. But you have to understand that we were trapped under a dome on the continent of Earth. More accurately, Earth is just a continent within a massive mountain, which has been exploited to create everything artificially. Everything above us¡ªholograms, the sun, the moon, the entire sky¡ªday or night. This allowed the cycle to be adjusted to the calendar of this world, Hemorion. On Earth, there were always 24 hours in a day, seven days a week, with either 30 or 31 days in a month, totaling 365 days in a year. That was nice for us since we could sleep longer and generally had more time during the day. But here, it¡¯s a bit different. Each day has exactly 16 hours, 46 minutes, and some dozens of seconds, 40 if I¡¯m not mistaken. A week consists of exactly 10 days, and the months, of which there are a total of 10, have either 52 or, less frequently, 53 days. When you do the math, that means a year has precisely 522 days, which is far more than on Earth.¡±


    Elliot stared at him in astonishment, his shoulders drooping as the back of his head touched his neck. Gene added with a suppressed laugh, ¡°Sorry for bombarding you with all this information, Elliot, but there¡¯s more. The more blood you have in your bloodstream that isn¡¯t red, the less sleep you need. Also, not every day has 16 hours and 46 minutes; instead, each first day of a month, along with the moon¡¯s color change, alters the day¡¯s length. If I remember correctly, the first day of every month always lasts 16 hours, 15 minutes, and a few seconds.¡±


    Out of breath, Gene looked at Elliot. ¡°Anything else? Of course, for a price, hehe.¡±


    With somewhat relaxed shoulders, Elliot glanced one last time at the clock. ¡°Not really. I just wonder, if you know so much and you mentioned you get paid in certain blood, do you have a plan to free yourself? I mean, is there any way to escape your bonds through your contract with your mistress?¡±


    Gene shrugged in response. ¡°Honestly, I have no plan. I doubt it¡¯s even possible. There aren¡¯t even any real reports of people who have freed themselves.¡±


    Feeling somewhat dejected, Elliot replied, ¡°Still, thank you.¡± As Gene began to walk away, Elliot watched him go, musing, ¡°So no one has managed to escape so far, but that doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s impossible¡­¡±

 Chapter 12: Jack Maggerson

    The bathing area resembled a modest lake or river on Earth, albeit smaller and relatively clean, with an open sky above and no roof to obscure it. The ability to cleanse oneself was the only aspect that truly mattered, yet there was one significant detail that bothered Elliot the most: the shared towels and toothbrushes, despite the absence of toothpaste. Each item was used daily by dozens of people, leading the towels to carry the distinct odor of a wet dog and remain perpetually damp. While this didn¡¯t trouble Elliot as much, given the focus on physical hygiene, he was far more affected by a concern that was only partially physical¡ªnamely, the lack of separation between men and women.


    Had the bathing pond been slightly larger, some distance could have been maintained; however, the entire area measured no more than 20 to 30 square meters, allowing for little privacy. Everything was visible, except for what lay beneath the water. This lack of separation weighed heavily on him emotionally and mentally, making Elliot feel uncomfortable. It was particularly disconcerting that he, along with most of the other men present, experienced an involuntary arousal, which only added to his discomfort, especially as many harbored inappropriate thoughts. While some outside the water chatted freely or brazenly attempted to catch glimpses of something indecent, Elliot and Gene hastened through their cleansing routine. They washed, dried off, and exited as swiftly as they had entered.


    Gene let out a sigh of relief as he and Elliot twisted their arms into the air. ¡°There¡¯s nothing quite like the feeling of being clean...¡± They exchanged brief glances and a quick handshake before parting ways. As Elliot inspected his teeth, he noticed the satisfying whiteness, interrupted only by a wisp of bluish mist. Finally, my teeth are back to normal.


    ¡­


    In Denklin, the capital of the Kingdom of Zentria, within the estate of the Rosenmahl family, several figures dressed in black and white exited Aston''s chamber, announcing, ¡°Sir Aston, you have correspondence¡ªtwo letters, one from the Kingdom of Avelor and another from here in Zentria.¡±


    Aston lay sprawled on his enormous blue bed, the lavish decor adorned in shades of blue, white, and gold. Aside from the wall paintings, the walls appeared somewhat bare, save for a few rose-patterned designs. It didn¡¯t take long for him to rise and make his way to his desk. Yawning, he raked a hand through his slightly unruly hair and reached for one of the letters, breaking the blue seal to read the contents written in orange ink.


    ¡°Dear Mr. Aston Rosenmahl,


    With a heart pounding in wild excitement, I pen these lines, which I have long kept within. Since that evening at your splendid estate when I first laid eyes on you at the ball, I have been unable to tear my gaze from your unparalleled form. Your artfully arranged blonde hair and sparkling azure eyes, which reflect even the sunlight, have deeply impressed me. The grace with which you savored the fine red wine was simply... overwhelming.


    You see, I can remain silent no longer. My heart...¡±


    Yet, instead of continuing to read, Aston ripped the letter to shreds. What a lack of charm; it is as clear as day what they all desire. How they idolize me as I sip my wine¡ªit¡¯s laughable¡­ Aston thought bitterly, his gaze darkening as it fell upon the torn fragments of the letter. He quickly shifted his focus to the unopened one.


    ¡°Dear Mr. Aston Rosenmahl,


    What transpired with your mother just over a year ago still weighs heavily on my heart. I am aware that both your family and you have suffered due to this situation. Therefore, I want to assure you that, should you have any grievances, I am always here for you. My door and my ears remain open to you at all times.


    However, I reach out to you with a particular request. I find myself facing a dilemma that has already led me to resort to less than honorable methods. I am being demanded to pay a sum of 600 Elis, which I have fortunately managed to settle relatively painlessly. However, another issue has arisen that I cannot resolve with money but only through your kindness and goodwill.


    Rather than seeking additional funds, I have been tasked with procuring specific blood and substances to enhance my blood powers. The requirements include a quarter kilo of ground Avel roses, six roses with eye patterns¡ªthree with one eye and three with three eyes. Additionally, I need 20 grams of the powder from the deceased night shimmer moth and 10 grams from a dead rose bush from the Forest of Glimmering Shadows.


    I thus implore you, dear Aston, to lend me your assistance as a friend. Your support would be immensely helpful, and I would be forever grateful.


    Yours sincerely,


    Hank Dosen¡±


    Aston regarded the orange text of the letter, sinking back into the plush, gold-adorned chair as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He then took up his pen, a gold-plated instrument with a long blue-and-white feather protruding from its wide casing.


    ¡°Dear Hank Dosen,


    I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I am pleased to inform you that I have received your last letter intact. First and foremost, I would like to thank you for your kind words and your concern.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The loss of my mother continues to be a challenge, but we are slowly finding our way through it. Though the grief is ever-present, the memories of the beautiful moments we shared bring us solace. It is a difficult time for my family, and I know you can relate to the circumstances.


    Regrettably, I have learned of your unfortunate predicament and the specific resources you require, which are not easily accessible to you. How fortunate¡ªor perhaps clever¡ªyou are to have reached out to me. I am aware of the challenges you face, and I will do my utmost to assist you.


    However, before we proceed, I must stipulate a few conditions. It is important to me that we meet in person to discuss the matter in detail. I propose we meet the day after tomorrow, as today marks the Day of Verdant Haven¡ªlet us gather on the 6th of Astra, 1613 AORB, also known as the Day of False Gods.


    I ask you to join me in Denklin at a modest restaurant called ¡°Delicacies in a Bowl.¡± The venue may seem unremarkable, but I believe it provides an ideal setting for us to discuss the specifics of your request and any potential counteroffers without interruption.


    I am eager to ensure that our discussion remains confidential, and I am confident we can find a mutually beneficial resolution. Please confirm whether this date works for you.


    I look forward to your response and to our forthcoming meeting.


    Warm regards,


    Aston Rosenmahl¡±


    As Aston placed his pen, dipped in the previously mentioned orange ink, back on the desk, he gazed out the window at the azure sun, now further risen on the turquoise horizon, partially obscured by a few clouds.


    ¡­


    Fring Street 95, Blue Sharks


    Elliot had been at his desk for about an hour, buried in paperwork. However, as fate would have it, William called out, "Elliot, could you make me a coffee?" "Coming right up!" Elliot replied, his tone steady despite the walls that separated them. As he walked over to the coffee machine, a faint smile crept onto his lips. The atmosphere here was markedly different from the dreary blue haze outside or the dim shadows of the storage room adjacent to Edwin and Samantha''s modest home. It was warm and inviting, much like the coffee he poured into a porcelain cup.


    Suddenly jolted from his daydream, Elliot suppressed a yelp, "Argh! Damn it!" With a wave of his right hand, he inadvertently spilled the rich brown liquid onto the wooden floor. William rushed over, glancing at Elliot''s hand before stifling a chuckle. "Sorry about that; let me grab a cloth." As Elliot set the coffee cup down and examined his slightly reddened hand¡ªthough thankfully unburned¡ªWilliam quickly wiped the liquid off the floor and muttered, "Let''s hope no stains remain; otherwise, our boss will be even more stressed than usual."


    William clapped a hand on Elliot''s shoulder, prompting Elliot to ask, "Boss?" They exchanged bewildered looks until William scratched his head, his eyes widening. "Bill''s actually the boss here. But we tend to talk more as equals." He chuckled at Elliot''s confusion, lifted the coffee cup, and thanked him as he left.


    Why am I stuck with all this paperwork? I thought there would be more assignments and less bureaucracy¡­ Elliot sighed internally and turned toward his workspace when the sudden ringing of a bell interrupted him. He hurried to the entrance, passing through the storage room filled with syringes and various equipment.


    Before him unfolded a scene straight out of a detective film. A rotund man stood there, clad in an impeccably tailored black-and-white suit, topped off with a large hat and a monocle perched on one eye. His fingers were stained blue with blood, as was much of the rest of his attire, and his disheveled hair stood on end. He looked distressed, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, his legs trembling as his red-rimmed eyes darted around.


    Elliot''s eyes widened as he clenched his fists. The slave trader. That bastard who sold me! With gritted teeth, he glared at the man from a distance, cold fury radiating from him.


    "My name is Jack Maggerson..." Jack wheezed, panting heavily. His back hunched and his bloodied hands resting on his thighs. "¡­Esteemed Blue Sharks, I need your help! My wife, my unborn child¡­" He choked back tears, "They were just¡­gone! Just gone!"


    Jack couldn''t hold back the flood of tears, tugging at his hair in anguish as it threatened to slip further from his receding hairline.


    Thud! Thud!


    Jack, after pulling out a handful of hair, began to pound his own thighs repeatedly until Chris and Elton seized him, calming him down. Concern etched on everyone''s faces, even Elliot felt a twinge of pity but continued to regard him with furrowed brows from a distance. A rough voice rose among the seven people in the room. "Jack Maggerson, I can only imagine how difficult this is for you, but please calm yourself so you can tell us what happened." Bill approached Jack with measured yet firm steps.


    "It all happened so fast!" Jack''s eyes flickered in a daze until Elisia murmured something in a language Elliot didn''t understand. "Goddess of Reason, grant this poor soul peace amidst chaos, so that in times of torment he may escape the damned cycle of anguish and act rationally rather than emotionally!"


    As Elisia recited her incantation, she pricked her finger and traced a simple circle with a dot in the middle on Jack''s sweaty cheek. In an instant, the heavy breathing, tremors, and exhaustion seemed to vanish. Jack stood there, eerily calm, as though caught in a waking dream.


    ¡°Maggerson, please continue,¡± Elisia''s gentle voice broke the bureaucratic silence.


    With a newfound serenity, Jack recounted, "I was at work, dealing in the slave trade, and making a decent profit. I had netted nearly ten Elis that morning, five more than usual. But when I decided to take a break and visit my beloved wife¡ªher belly was swollen, very swollen, already in her sixth month¡ªwhat I found was my dead wife. My dead wife. She lay there before the fireplace, the flames crackling, her face in the midst of it all. Her body was covered in blue blood, yet I saw no open wounds at first glance. It appeared as though the blood flowed from her eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, until it consumed her entirely. All I could do was hold her and cling to her."


    Everyone bowed their heads in silence, except for Elliot, who continued to watch Jack Maggerson with a mix of pity and resentment. After a few moments of stillness, Bill met Jack¡¯s gaze again. "Mr. Maggerson, what exactly is your request?"


    Locking eyes with Bill for a brief moment, Jack replied, "Find the person responsible for this tragedy inflicted upon my wife and unborn child, and deliver them to me."


    Bill nodded, urging, "And how much are you willing to pay?"


    Jack¡¯s response was swift and devoid of emotion. "One hundred Elis if you identify who did it, and two hundred Elis if you bring him to me alive."


    Nodding in agreement, Bill asked, "Where did this tragedy occur?"


    In a monotone voice, though growing weaker, Jack replied, "Ost Street 34, across from the Monnem Bar."


    Bill exchanged a glance with Elisia, silently confirming their next steps, while she absentmindedly traced her finger over the blue half-dried blood on her cheek. "Thank you, Mr. Maggerson, for entrusting us with this task." Bill bowed slightly, his hand resting between his chest and abdomen as he expressed his gratitude. Elton and Chris helped the blood-stained man to his feet just as his strength gave out.


    As Bill turned to leave, he and Elliot shared a long, serious look. For a moment, the air between them thickened until Bill¡¯s lips curled into a slight smile. "Elliot, there''s a job for you."

 Chapter 13: Vision of the Dead

    There¡¯s a job for me? Elliot looked at Bill, his brow furrowed and his eyebrows raised. ¡°Given that the woman is dead, you should try to use your ability. But hurry; we don¡¯t know how long her soul has been absent. It may have already fled.¡± With a light slap on the shoulder, Bill fixed his gaze, filled with resolve, on a coat rack and retrieved a simple black cloak. ¡°Elton and William, you¡¯ll come with Elliot and me. Elisia and Chris, you stay here and ensure everything runs smoothly. If another job comes in, speak to them as usual and wrap things up if we¡¯re not back in time, or even if you decide to take a job yourself!¡± With nods all around, Elliot sighed inwardly as a blow landed on his back. ¡°No dawdling, Red.¡± He watched Elton grin and Chris walk past him with a serious expression. They moved swiftly toward the open black door, disappearing into the gradually fading blue fog.


    ...


    Along Ost Street, the three youthful men followed the slightly older and more worn Bill. ¡°It should be around here,¡± Bill¡¯s rough voice was carried away by the stronger wind. My poor hair; I just got it looking nice again today¡­ Elliot lamented internally as he followed Bill¡¯s hand pointing toward a larger house typical of the area. ¡°Now, this is quite a residence. Spacious, with a large front yard, separated by a massive fence.¡± William admired the house, snapping his fingers against the black railings forming the fence. ¡°Isn¡¯t that Elitranian steel?¡± William¡¯s eyes widened at the realization, mirrored by Elton. ¡°So there were no rituals involved.¡± Elliot marveled at the size of the residence, far grander than any he had seen at Edwin''s. The wind tugged at Elliot''s hair as they finally stood before the large open door and stepped inside.


    ¡°There¡¯s even more blue blood here,¡± William remarked, looking down at the bloodstains scattered across the wooden floor. They were smudged and trailing shoe prints leading outward, albeit fading. The deeper they ventured inside and followed the blood, the richer and more contrasting the blue became against the orange-brown floor. The nostrils of the men widened as they breathed in the scent of burnt flesh. Holding their noses, they moved through the increasingly abundant blood, which stained the luxurious d¨¦cor, filled with bookshelves and varied patterned furniture. The house was two stories, with a spiraling staircase to one side and an interior balcony from which one could look up or down.


    As beautiful as the house appeared, the view in the living room was far more disturbing. A shiver ran down Elliot¡¯s spine, but he didn¡¯t turn away, nor did the other three standing beside him. By now, he had witnessed things far worse. In the warming glow of the fireplace, set against a massive orange wooden floor, and cushy soft cushions on the sofa, lay the corpse of a woman. She was half black and half white, her head and shoulders charred. The blue blood pooling around her created a stark contrast against the chill of her form. Beneath her swollen, white torso lay a newborn, barely developed and still attached by the umbilical cord. Goosebumps rippled across Elliot as he finally turned away. Dark yellow-green, nearly the hue of vomit, coursed through his fingers, which he held before his mouth.


    As Elliot gagged, the others gazed down at the cold, dark blue blood. Their mouths twitched. Bill¡¯s voice rose above the silence. ¡°Goddess of Death, grant this poor soul, who met her fate without protection, a splendid afterlife¡­¡± After a brief pause of mere seconds, Bill added, ¡°Elliot, if you want to find the one who did this to her, you need to come here at once.¡± Though Bill did not shout, the seriousness in his cold eyes and booming voice echoed throughout the house. His tone softened but remained as gravelly and deep as before. As Elliot wiped the bile from his mouth and approached, Bill continued, ¡°When you use one of your blood abilities, you don¡¯t need to perform a ritual; you don¡¯t have to recite anything in German to harness the power of the gods.¡± That was German? Elliot looked back in confusion, his eyes slightly widened, but he kept listening.


    ¡°All you need to do is place your hand on the woman¡¯s corpse and focus on how you want to use your power. In your case, just visualize the moment of her death.¡± Swallowing hard, Elliot walked toward the woman, wiping his soiled hand on his tattered trousers. As his palm made contact with the woman¡¯s arm, goosebumps shot up his body. What is this? Suddenly, he felt a tingling sensation radiating from his hand. With a quivering mouth and a twisted expression, the goosebumps crawled up his neck. It felt like two stoppers rubbing against each other, but with one difference: Elliot had an overwhelming urge to plunge his hand into her body on a psychic level, as if he were pushing through a thick, viscous substance. He looked at his hand, firmly planted on the corpse¡¯s arm.


    Shiiing!


    Elliot winced as a jolt ran through his senses. Before him, the world swayed like a ship in the midst of a storm. The tempest approached, bringing an unrelenting darkness with it. Everything faded; his eyes fluttered as sweat poured from him. Struggling to maintain his footing in the crime scene, he staggered until his legs finally gave way. In the blink of an eye, Elliot collapsed, the last thing he saw being the flickering light of candles on a side table.


    ¡­


    Colors flickered between black, blue, and red in a ceaseless dance. Elliot found himself again in the crime scene, yet the bloodied and slightly charred corpse of the woman was nowhere to be seen. Am I now inside the body of the deceased? He touched his brow, feeling the movement of the person he inhabited. In the reflection of a glass window, he saw her: the long, dark brown hair, nearly black, cascading over her shoulders. She was dressed in a flowing, wide skirt and a loose blouse, as white as her skin. She looked like an angel, a stark contrast to her future self. As she gently stroked her rounded belly, humming a soft tune, she slowly stood up.


    "My sweet little boy, you will grow strong. Strong like a god, my darling," she murmured with a charming smile, continuing to caress her abdomen. Her gaze shifted from her belly to a wardrobe, but suddenly, her eyes widened as they met two glowing violet orbs. In an instant, she screamed, recoiling, and pricked her finger, yellow blood oozing from the wound.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Who are you?" Her expression turned dark, laced with caution and confusion. She stood tense, her back hunched, supporting her protruding belly with her uninjured hand. While her voice trembled with urgency, the deep, calm voice of the figure with violet eyes and raven-black hair resonated.


    "I am no one, but you are dead."


    The woman looked down, lost in thought as cold sweat dripped from her forehead and cheeks. Meanwhile, Elliot felt himself retreating far away within her body, not by choice, but because he was being forcibly suppressed. He sensed an immense pressure bearing down on him, not physically but internally, as if his soul was being instinctively pushed away, desperate to flee but unable to escape.


    The woman glared bitterly at the floor, already stained with her yellow blood, and struck the ground with her palm, about two meters away from the figure in black. As she slapped the floor, drawing a small pattern, she spoke a spell in German, her other hand, which had previously supported her belly, aimed at the man in black as if she were a Jedi from Star Wars.


    "God of the sun, grant me the power to cleanse this evil that is damned!"


    As the dark-haired woman in white traced a medium-sized symbol, resembling an eye without a pupil or iris, her eyes widened. She clenched her teeth, drawing a circle before her chest with both hands. Despite all her preparations, the man in black remained unmoved.


    "Why can¡¯t I wield my power?!" the woman screamed in hysteria, while the man in black laughed.


    "How amusing it is to witness your futile attempts." He chuckled derisively until he snapped his fingers. "There, you may now interact with the gods again."


    In an instant, a colossal surge of energy erupted¡ªa blinding white orb that threatened to blind anyone who gazed upon it. Yet, Elliot remained unscathed; he watched, grimacing, but his vision remained clear. The energy beam was immense, hotter than lava and more forceful than a high-pressure washer. But all it revealed was the sight of a well-groomed man brushing dirt off his shoulder.


    "Was that all the false gods are capable of?" the man in black mocked, but soon after, his gaze turned cold, locking onto the woman''s eyes. Damn it, a shiver coursed down Elliot''s spine as he felt the man''s penetrating stare into the woman''s very being.


    All that followed was the man in black approaching her, and consequently, Elliot. The man with the glowing violet eyes took two strides, positioning himself before the trembling woman, who instinctively recoiled. In a panic, she cried out, her voice drenched in sweat, "Go away! I told you to leave! Leave my child alone!"


    Her voice became high-pitched and raspy, yet she fell silent when the man in black snapped his fingers again. "Your voice is unbearable."


    The woman, with her face turning blue, managed only a muffled sound as the veins in her neck and temples bulged. Like her, Elliot was frozen; the man with violet eyes stared coldly into hers. With a melancholic gaze, the dark-haired man snapped his fingers once more.


    As he did, it was not yellow blood that dripped from her finger but blue. With quivering lips and eyes, the woman made desperate attempts to move, yet the man now stood only a few feet away from her. The man with the glowing violet eyes snapped his fingers three times, finally appearing directly in front of her.


    The woman gasped, her face still turning blue, until her eyes bulged from their sockets. It was akin to the impact of two raw eggs, but with far more fluid spilling forth, all blue. The woman screamed, though her mouth was shut, rendering the sound akin to a scream muffled by a pillow. But it wasn¡¯t only the woman suffering; Elliot, too, screamed, his body trembling and cold sweat pouring from him.


    Why can¡¯t I see anything? Elliot screamed inwardly, feeling his face inundated with a thick, warm substance. A metallic taste filled his mouth as he screamed in vain into the darkness. He struggled to regain control over his eyes, but like the woman, he found himself completely immobilized. He stood frozen like ice, blood flowing like a river from his hollow eyes.


    In utter darkness, he saw nothing. The only sound that pierced the silence was the sharp, echoing snap of fingers every few seconds, accompanied by Elliot¡¯s own muffled screams, similar to those of the woman. A torrent of saliva, mingled with blood, pooled in his mouth, gradually spilling over his lips. Elliot gasped, feeling the urge to recoil and bend over, yet like the woman, he remained upright, utterly immobilized.


    Argh! My stomach, my cursed stomach! What the hell is happening? Tears streamed from his eyes, invisible and merging with his blood. With each snap of the violet-eyed man¡¯s fingers, the woman¡¯s suffering intensified. First, it was her eyes, followed by her belly, which burst open. Elliot, trapped within her, felt as if he too were being pierced, over and over again.


    Once more, the man in black snapped his fingers, causing the woman to scream into the silence, her mouth closed tightly as if stifled by a pillow. Even her tears mingled with her royal blue blood. Without a touch, she was hurled into a vortex of crimson flames that danced with red, orange, and yellow hues. Her dark brown hair ignited first, followed by the sizzling of her skin as it blistered. Her complexion reddened, and blisters crept across her face.


    Again, a snap echoed in the air, and the woman, along with Elliot, cried out in vain as pain seared through them. Their faces were grotesquely contorted, burning under the relentless heat. The stench of charred flesh filled the room, yet the man in black remained impassive, his gaze cool and unyielding, unwavering throughout the torment.


    It felt as though an eternity passed, yet the agony of the flames began to fade, becoming strangely soothing¡ªa release, as if it were the hand of God. It will end... Elliot murmured internally, Not much longer...


    Finally, the woman and Elliot heard another snap. The man in black spoke, "Divine blood chooses¡­ and not the other way around." His cold gaze fell upon the dismembered remains of the woman as he snapped his fingers once more, extinguishing the blazing flames.


    All that remained were charred remnants from the shoulders down and the pristine white body enveloped in blue blood, cradling a lifeless infant, motionless and silent.


    Then, the scene shifted, revealing a stocky man with a thick cigar hanging from his mouth. "Honey, today is a day for celebration! Let¡¯s go on a journey¡ªhow about the Loean Islands?" Jack Maggerson called to his wife, but the only reply that echoed in the room was the snap of fingers and the vanishing of the man in black.


    Horror flooded Jack Maggerson''s eyes as he stared at the remnants of his wife. Tears streamed down his face, and his breath came in frantic gasps as he reached out with trembling hands to the torn abdomen of his wife. Desperation gripped him as he attempted to push her intestines back inside. His fingers, stained with blue blood, shook as they traced the charred skin of his beloved, the beauty of her visage now lost.


    Gone were the breath and pulse of the woman¡ªand of Elliot as well.

 Chapter 14: God

    Ost Street 34, Opposite Monnem Bar.


    The three men, dressed in old-fashioned detective attire and draped in black and beige coats, sat uneasily on the couch. Elliot lay motionless on the floor, curled up among plush cushions and a blanket. The room felt cold, as if an ominous presence lingered in the air.


    Elton sighed and crossed his arms. "It''s been over an hour now."


    "Something''s not right," murmured Bill, his melancholic gaze fixed on Elliot, as if he could see through him.


    William tried to lighten the mood but looked just as worried. "He''ll wake up... not like Simon." Yet his words only seemed to weigh heavier on their shoulders.


    ...


    Elliot''s eyelids twitched, and he gasped for air as he found himself abruptly in an empty, white room. A harsh, flickering red light pierced through his eyelids¡ªfirst scarlet, then crimson¡ªand he let out a scream. His hands frantically searched his face and stomach, but nothing felt burned or injured.


    "Where the hell am I? Am I... dead?" Thoughts raced through his mind as his heart pounded in his chest.


    "No," a deep, calm voice resonated behind him. Elliot turned to see a man smiling at him. Red hair, red eyes, red clothing¡ªeverything about him shimmered in various shades of red. The room, the man, the light¡ªeverything was drenched in a world of red.


    "I am God," the man said, his tone almost casual. "One among many, but a true God nonetheless."


    Elliot felt the breath leave his lungs. God? He had questions¡ªso many questions¡ªbut before he could even begin to speak, the man continued.


    "You are not dead, Elliot. Your soul was torn from your body, but that was not the end. You were forced into death¡ªby someone who wields more power than you understand. But don''t worry; I will send you back."


    Elliot struggled to grasp a coherent thought. "Who... who was that? Who killed me, the women? And why?"


    "Patience," said God with a wry smile. "There is much you need to know, and I will reveal some of it. But you must discover the rest on your own. It was no coincidence that you have these visions. It is the divine blood within you."


    "Divine blood?" Elliot stared at the man, utterly bewildered. "What does that mean?"


    "In your veins flows a hint of something you do not comprehend, something from the gods themselves. You inherited it from ancestors you do not know. This blood has granted you the ability to see through the eyes of others."


    Elliot fell silent, his mind racing. All the visions he had experienced, everything that had happened until now¡ªit was starting to make some sense. Yet something still felt amiss.


    "But... that last vision... I could feel everything. Not just the footsteps or the scents, but also the pain."


    "That is because," God said, stepping closer, "you were not merely a spectator. You were drawn into death because a greater power was at play. This being knew how to breach your divine protection. But you are growing stronger, Elliot. You will learn to control these visions, even the actions of those whose lives you witness."


    "Control?" Elliot felt his thoughts crystallizing. "How?"


    "You must know their names," God explained. "Then you can guide them. But be cautious¡ªyou cannot place them directly in danger; otherwise, the connection will break. Their lives hang by a thin thread, and you must learn how to stretch that thread without snapping it."


    Elliot''s confusion slowly morphed into a dawning realization. This power was immense, but it was also perilous.


    After a brief pause, God continued, "You can absorb the blood of others without losing your mind completely, but only in moderation. You will not go mad as long as you ingest it through your mouth and mix it with your divine blood. It will grant you power¡ªbut do not overindulge. If you consume more blood than your body can handle, it will destroy you."


    Elliot nodded slowly, the weight of God''s words sinking in. "So I can... alter blood?"


    God smiled. "Yes. It will be your tool. And you must learn to wield it wisely."


    Elliot took a deep breath, feeling the power bubbling within him. But one final question burned in his mind. "Why me? Why this power?"


    "Because you have been chosen, Elliot," God replied, and for the first time, his voice held a serious tone. "There is a balance that must be restored. You will play a role in this game¡ªa role you do not yet understand."


    Elliot swallowed hard. "And Ren? What about him? Where is he?"


    God took a step back, the smile returning to his lips. "You will find out soon enough."


    ...


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    In the Maggerson family''s home at Ost Street 34, opposite Monnem Bar, Elliot awoke with a start. His vision was no longer clouded by red light but by the sight of a balcony in the middle of a house. Frantically, he looked around as he stood up. Cold sweat dripped down his brow, and he felt as though his veins were about to burst. While he was physically unharmed, a tremendous pain coursed through his body. It was not as intense as the agony he had felt in the body of the dead woman, only a few meters away from him, but it was nonetheless debilitating¡ªlike a knife peeling his skin and fingers digging into his eyes.


    With a disturbed expression, Elliot brushed his hands across his face and hair, hastily retreating from the lifeless form. Finally, clutching his abdomen, he curled into a ball, unable to sit upright. He gasped and moaned in agony, his veins bulging across his body. Eventually, he lay on his side, trembling all over.


    Elton, William, and Bill looked on with a mixture of relief and concern. They rushed to his side, gripping his shoulders to steady him. Bill, his eyes filled with worry, spoke with urgency. "Elliot! Can you hear me? What happened?"


    Bill''s usual calm demeanor had transformed. He resembled a dog eagerly approaching its master after a long wait, but this time directed downwards toward Elliot. Elliot could only groan, drenched in sweat and the blood of the woman. "W-where am I?"


    His vision was hazy. "You are in the Maggerson estate, the home of the woman who was murdered. Elliot, what happened?" Bill asked carefully, his voice loud but tinged with concern, while William and Elton exchanged equally worried glances.


    "I died. No, the woman died..." Elliot''s eyes flickered between half-open and closed, sweat trickling down his cheeks.


    "You died? Elliot..." But before he could hear any more, his eyes fluttered shut completely.


    ¡­


    In the Dark Void.


    Elliot gasped for air, as if he had been submerged underwater for minutes, but he was spared any further struggle. Where am I now? As he glanced around, his eyes caught the flickering of blue and green crystals, and realization dawned on him. ¡°So, I must have fallen asleep¡­¡± He placed a hand on his abdomen and sighed in relief. Here, in this void, I have some form of protection from the gods. No pain, I am alone¡ªno one can reach me here, only I can come and go, and on top of that, I can penetrate the bodies of others? He rubbed his brow in contemplation, a shabby smile creeping onto his face. If I can control them, then I could compel them to store certain blood elsewhere. But how would I get it there? No, Aston is wealthy; he could arrange for it to be transported here to the Kingdom of Avelor. But would they notice? No, no, they will notice eventually. Sooner or later, they will become aware. And when that happens, they will be frightened; they may fear me, but they will also try to fight back. I mustn''t act hastily¡­ Elliot''s shabby smile faded, replaced by a resolute gaze. Ren... As he moved towards the crystals, thoughts of his brother filled his mind. I will find you, and then we will protect one another, rebel, fight, and save ourselves and others like us from oppression and enslavement. We will restore the balance and reignite the ashes. He gazed at the blue-glowing crystal, which hovered in the air, jagged and impure. With a touch, the entire endless space burst into a brilliant blue light, the wind whipping his hair back.


    Whooosh!


    ¡­


    Denklin, in the Main Street of the Kingdom of Zentria, within the estate of the Rosenmahl family.


    Elliot''s eyes fluttered open, seeing through Aston''s eyes. ¡°The Day of False Gods, in two days; today is the Day of Verdant Haven.¡± Aston Rosenmahl murmured to himself as he walked down a long corridor, every few meters adorned with paintings or sculptures. The walls were decorated with trilogical roses: blue, white, and gold. Day of False Gods? Verdant Haven? Is today some kind of holiday? Elliot frowned as he touched his brow, but he maintained a determined gaze through Aston¡¯s elegant movements. ¡°Aston, skip lightly for three seconds.¡± Suddenly, Elliot''s voice emerged, and his eyes widened, his hair whipping back as if a powerful blow dryer was aimed at him. A brief flash of blue light enveloped Elliot, and he felt Aston pick up speed, bouncing lightly as he went. It was like Little Red Riding Hood innocently skipping through the woods with her basket. It really works. But this time, Elliot¡¯s voice did not escape his lips; it merely echoed in his mind. An uneasy feeling crept over him, his mouth curling up as he looked toward the high ceiling of the elongated corridor. Three seconds passed, but nothing changed¡ªexcept that Aston resumed his normal pace, albeit with slightly trembling legs.


    ¡°What just happened?¡± Aston murmured weakly, glancing around with trembling hands. ¡°Am I sick? Blues need more sleep¡­¡± He strained to look ahead, where a large double door loomed. Two men clad in butler attire stood at the entrance, swiftly opening the doors.


    ¡°Let no one in for the next two hours,¡± Aston commanded. The butlers, their white cloths draped over their folded arms, nodded in unison. ¡°Of course, Young Lord Rosenmahl.¡± The doors opened and closed as Aston stepped into his chambers. Being noble must seem significant, commanding authority, but the true power lies in controlling others. Aston Rosenmahl¡­ today, however, that power will belong to me. Elliot''s mouth curled upward as he fixed his determined gaze on the grand king-sized bed. With trembling legs, Aston stumbled and fell onto the soft, white bedding, adorned with a plethora of simple blue pillows. He sighed and sprawled out in a cross shape on the bed, still clad in his noble attire, emblazoned with the Rosenmahl family crest¡ªthe three roses.


    ¡°Aston, go to your writing desk and write the following: I am watching you.¡± A strong wind surged around Elliot as he projected his voice into Aston. The brilliant blue light momentarily blinded him, and he watched as Aston slowly and monotonously made his way to the desk, dipping a quill with a long feather into a vessel of orange ink before inscribing on a blank sheet. Suddenly, Aston''s hands trembled again, his eyes fixated on the orange cursive script that appeared starkly against the blue light: ¡°I am watching you.¡± Aston glanced nervously around, his demeanor now a stark contrast to the calm, monotonous gaze from before. His eyes flickered, sweat-soaked strands of hair fell over his forehead. Aston gripped the royal blue back of the tall chair with tense arms. His glances darted from the bedroom to the distant horizon lit by the blue sun, and then to the paper with the newly formed orange letters.


    ¡°Who are you?!¡± Aston gasped, breathless, his hands still shaking. ¡°Aston, write now: I am merely an embodiment of God, one of a true God.¡± Aston''s frantic and bewildered expression abruptly morphed into one resembling a robot. Cursive letters appeared, contrasting with the blue light, as the now bewildered Aston read the sentence: ¡°I am merely an embodiment of God, one of a true God.¡± As Elliot''s lips curled upward, reveling in the darkness, Aston¡¯s eyes fluttered shut while he struggled to hold himself upright against the sparsely decorated writing desk. But as fate would have it, Aston''s face collided with the orange script and the quill, leaving him motionless. Elliot''s smile remained unwavering, even in the darkness. He gazed with a determined expression into the dark void. God¡¯s work shall be accomplished through me.

 Chapter 15: Yellow Blood

    From the void of darkness, Elliot slowly stirred. His hands trembled slightly as he struggled to rise. Am I back in the Magerson family estate? He glanced around, recognizing the familiar scene: a grand house filled with cabinets, a sofa, and most notably, a second-floor balcony overlooking the room, along with a winding spiral staircase. His nose twitched, and he wrinkled his face in disgust. Blue blood was everywhere. The woman still lay motionless in front of the unlit fireplace.


    With a groan, Elliot stretched his body, mumbling to himself, ¡°It still hurts like hell, but at least it¡¯s bearable now.¡± As he bent forward, touching his toes with his hands, a coarse, familiar voice cut through the silence. ¡°You¡¯re awake?¡±


    Footsteps followed, two more joining the first as they approached. Their gazes were concerned, yet relieved.


    ¡°Are you alright now?¡± William asked, his eyes fixed on Elliot.


    ¡°In a relative sense, yes,¡± Elliot responded.


    Elton was quick to probe. ¡°What did you see this time?¡±


    Before Elliot could answer, Elton received a swift elbow to the stomach, causing him to grunt and clutch the spot. Elliot¡¯s eyes flickered as he stared at the floor, still feeling the lingering echoes of pain. ¡°I experienced her death,¡± he murmured. ¡°I saw what happened to her.¡±


    William¡¯s brow furrowed as he leaned in. ¡°You experienced her death?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly death,¡± Elliot corrected. ¡°I didn¡¯t die myself, but I felt everything she did. The way her eyes burst, her abdomen splitting open, her face burning... I was inside her, experiencing it all, as if I was her. But I couldn¡¯t move. I just felt it¡ªevery last detail.¡±


    Even as he spoke, Elliot¡¯s face contorted in memory, his hand instinctively clutching his stomach as he bent slightly, the horror still fresh. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes dropping, none of them meeting Elliot¡¯s gaze. Silence blanketed the Magerson estate for a long moment, until Bill broke it with a question.


    ¡°Did you see anything else?¡± His calm, gravelly voice felt steady, though his eyes now locked directly with Elliot¡¯s.


    Elliot hesitated, his gaze falling once more to the dark blue blood pooling on the wooden floor. ¡°I saw... a man. Dressed entirely in black. His face was pale, his hair as dark as a raven¡¯s feathers, and his eyes... they glowed with a violet light. He didn¡¯t have a beard, just clear, smooth skin. There was a sharp cut across his face. He said something¡ªsomething about how divine blood chooses, not the other way around. But that¡¯s all. That¡¯s all I saw.¡±


    His shoulders slumped as his eyes drifted back to the lifeless body of the woman. The sight of her made his stomach twist, but his mind wandered elsewhere. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, as if caught in a distant dream.


    ¡°Let¡¯s give him some space,¡± Bill said, his voice quiet but commanding. ¡°We need to discuss the situation.¡±


    William and Elton nodded, though William stretched and added lightly, ¡°Why don¡¯t we head across the street to the bar? We can continue there¡ªand maybe grab a drink while we¡¯re at it.¡±


    As he motioned toward the door, William glanced back. ¡°Elliot, want to come with?¡±


    Before Elliot could answer, Elton intervened, his voice lower. ¡°Look at him, William. He¡¯s exhausted, and drenched in blood. He can¡¯t go out like that¡ªespecially not to a bar.¡±


    Bill overheard their exchange and nodded in agreement, heading toward the door. ¡°Rest up, Elliot. We¡¯ll bring you something to drink and some fresh clothes later. Water, or something else?¡±


    Elliot, still half-lost in his thoughts, gave a passive nod, his eyes never leaving the woman¡¯s corpse. ¡°Water would be nice,¡± he murmured.


    With that, the three detectives¡ªdressed in their professional garb, their shoes barely touched by the blue blood¡ªleft the house, the door closing with a loud thud behind them.


    Furrowing his brow, Elliot slowly turned toward the window, watching as the trio crossed the wide street, their hands tucked in their pockets. Now, where is that yellow blood?


    His hands tightened around his abdomen, his eyes burning with a strange heat as his brow slicked with sweat. I have to find it! That blood... it¡¯s powerful¡ªone of the strong ones. Yellow blood!


    His excitement bubbled inside him, his muttering growing more fervent. ¡°Where is it? Where is it?¡± His hands released his stomach and face as he inspected the body more closely. ¡°Somewhere here... or maybe there?¡± His murmurs turned into a soft, feverish hum, ¡°Stronger... stronger... I¡¯ll become stronger.¡±


    He shifted the woman¡¯s body to the side, pushing the blue blood away with his foot, spreading it thin across the floor to reveal more of the surface beneath. ¡°Yellow blood... you beautiful, beautiful thing.¡± His humming grew more frantic as he searched, desperation creeping into his voice. If anyone discovered what he was doing, it would all be over. But just as his patience began to fray, Elliot¡¯s eyes widened in triumph.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    There it was. Yellow blood.


    It lay beneath the thick blue, untouched. The denser yellow liquid had settled at the bottom, shielded by the lighter blue blood. With eyes gleaming, Elliot knelt toward the ground, his lips parting in anticipation. Like a teenager¡¯s first kiss, his mouth inched toward the glowing, golden substance, until his lips touched the surface, and he drank.


    More... more! I must grow stronger! His fingers twitched, veins bulging beneath his skin as a wave of energy surged through him. It was like a rush of caffeine, but sharper, more metallic. The initial taste was sweet, like candy, but then came the aftertaste¡ªmetallic, almost bitter.


    Elliot smiled, nearly laughing, as he continued to drink, even after the yellow blood had vanished. He began to consume the blue blood as well, greedily, like a child devouring sweets. His teeth turned yellow, then blue, as he absorbed more and more of the woman¡¯s blood. Time seemed to freeze.


    ¡°Hehehe...¡± Elliot chuckled as the power coursed through him, from his throat to his veins. ¡°Hehehe... I¡¯m getting stronger. Stronger... no, the strongest.¡±


    But then, his eyes snapped wide open. He wiped his mouth hastily with his sleeve, panic creeping in. ¡°Damn it... I thought I was immune to the frenzy!¡±


    He glanced toward the window and saw the three men leaving the bar, bottles in hand. ¡°Damn it, I need to put everything back as it was.¡±


    Sweating and bent over, Elliot moved quickly, despite his trembling legs. Still, a faint smile tugged at his lips. His movements felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He moved faster, more fluidly, as he arranged the blood-soaked floor. Even the blue blood at his feet offered less resistance.


    With hurried steps, he left the blood to settle in place as it had been.


    Click!


    The door swung open, followed by a loud slam. A voice rang out, "Elliot, we brought you a burger! It¡¯s famous here in Tr¨¹ben-City!"


    Elliot glanced up, panting, almost out of breath, as he gripped the shoulder of the woman¡¯s lifeless body, trying to return her to her original position. But it was too late¡ªthree men were already rounding the corner, approaching the scene of the crime. Their eyes widened, and some of their shoulders slumped at the sight. Only Bill remained somewhat composed.


    ¡°Elliot!¡± William shouted, rushing over with a water bottle in one hand and a juicy burger speared with a toothpick in the other. "Why are you still standing? You should rest." William''s voice softened, his concerned gaze easing when he saw Elliot give him a shaky thumbs-up.


    Elliot leaned against a tall table, arms propped on its surface, his face buried between them, hidden from the others. His heart pounded in his chest, nearly dropping into his stomach. Desperately, he licked the blood that stained the back of his shirt and pants with his tongue, his teeth coated in a foul, metallic taste. He discreetly spat, trying his best to hide the blood.


    ¡°I¡¯m... feeling a little better. I¨CI just need something to drink,¡± Elliot¡¯s voice was faint, almost muffled, as Elton strained to hear him. Bill, however, merely stood there, holding his glass of frothy golden beer.


    William gently patted Elliot on the back, setting down the opened water bottle and burger on a crumpled paper wrapper with the word ¡°Monnem¡± faintly printed in blue letters. ¡°Eat and drink first, regain your strength.¡± With another soft pat on Elliot¡¯s half-dry back, William took a few steps away and sat down on the sofa. Bill and Elton followed suit.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the others to begin eating and drinking. While Bill and William were relatively composed as they ate, Elton fidgeted and groaned in delight, ¡°This place deserves five stars, I¡¯m telling you!¡± His voice echoed through the spacious house, prompting Elliot to cautiously raise his head from the table.


    The moment Elliot looked up, his stomach growled loudly, not in the usual quiet way it sometimes did during the night or occasionally during the day. No, this was an immense, earth-shaking rumble, as if thunder itself had descended upon the ground. Elton clapped a hand over his mouth, barely managing to stifle his laughter.


    When was the last time? Elliot thought, his mind drifting. Not the moldy bread... not that yellow and blue blood... but real food? Days. The last was in the afternoon, the day before everything ended. A pizza, a giant one. Salami, mushrooms, double cheese. Together with Ren¡­


    His mouth filled with saliva, threatening to drip from the corners. Elliot picked up the burger, ensuring it covered his mouth completely, so no one could see even a trace of the blood inside. The burger was enormous, fresh. The bun was perfectly round, the lettuce a vibrant, turquoise-tinged green that stood out. The meat was browned to perfection, and the tomatoes were an orange-red hue. The sauce, which dripped from his fingers stained with blue blood, was a striking orange-white.


    Elliot opened his mouth slightly, taking a small bite. The flavors... balanced. The savory and salty taste of the sauce and meat blended harmoniously with the slight sweetness of the bun, lettuce, and tomatoes. Something spicy lingered, along with a rough texture¡ªharder than the lettuce but still within. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed the burger closer to his mouth. His eyes reddened, glistening.


    Tears threatened to spill. Elliot¡¯s mouth couldn¡¯t keep up as he took faster and larger, greedier bites. Eventually, he coughed loudly, pounding his chest and reaching for the water to wash it down. A low groan escaped him, and this time, two tears rolled down his cheeks.


    The large house was bathed in the light of the setting blue sun, casting a violet glow across everything. The atmosphere shifted¡ªboth cold and warm at once. Slowly, a smile crept across Elliot¡¯s face as he continued to eat his burger, but this time more slowly, savoring each bite. The metallic taste faded, as did the sweat that had once poured from him.


    No longer did he clutch his stomach, his eyes, or his face. He simply gazed up at the purple sky, smiling, with a burger in hand and a bottle beside him, lost in the casual chatter of his three colleagues. With the burger still close to his mouth, Elliot stared up at the deep violet sky.


    I¡¯m getting stronger. And then, Ren... we¡¯ll eat burgers, pizza, and ice cream together again. Like back then, whenever our parents were away... or when they disappeared for good.


    Elliot gazed out, a melancholic but peaceful smile on his face, lost in memories of the past, as the emerging night sky darkened, revealing the golden moon.

 Chapter 16: A Letter

    13th September 2052¡ªabout five years ago on Earth, when the red blood Alliance still held strong. It was a cold day, unusual for the warmer ones that marked the late summers of a couple of decades ago, back when Elliot and Ren were still only a plan. On that cold day, Elliot walked around in nothing but a shirt, his body trembling, a thin stream of mucus trickling down his nose. He was only sixteen, just returning home from school. I should¡¯ve listened to mother, he sighed, shivering as he caught sight of his brother, Ren, leaning against the school¡¯s stone wall like always. Unlike Elliot, Ren was wrapped in a long sweater and scarf, having heeded their mother¡¯s advice. Despite the chill, Ren¡¯s smile warmed Elliot¡¯s heart, though he didn¡¯t rush to hug him out of joy¡ªElliot never did. His friends from school might see him, after all.


    ¡°And how was school today?¡± Ren asked, his smile even more radiant, his short blonde hair neatly swept to the side.


    ¡°We had economics in math, learning about the Homo Oeconomicus, and we just started the Victorian era in history,¡± Elliot replied as Ren ruffled his hair with a warm hand.


    ¡°And what did you manage to learn?¡± Ren¡¯s gentle tone only made Elliot squirm a bit more, batting away his brother¡¯s arm. Ren was two years older and a head taller, and Elliot could never quite match his calm, teasing demeanor.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t paying much attention. Now stop it already, Ren!¡± Elliot¡¯s voice rose, his brows furrowing in frustration, his teeth gritted in mild annoyance.


    ¡°Why do you always have to embarrass me?¡± Ren chuckled softly, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the laughter threatening to escape.


    ¡°Embarrass you? Who¡¯s even here to see? I don¡¯t see anyone.¡± Ren gestured left and right with a carefree grin, but Elliot flushed with embarrassment, nonetheless.


    ¡°It¡¯s the principle of it,¡± Elliot muttered, crossing his arms and walking ahead with a huff. Ren¡¯s smile remained soft, amused at his younger brother¡¯s antics.


    Ah, Elliot, Ren mused to himself, still so young, innocent and so na?ve. He chuckled inwardly, his hands slipping into his pockets as they continued walking, their conversation shifting to their shared anticipation for dinner. Roast with dumplings¡ªElliot¡¯s favorite, especially their mother¡¯s thick, brown gravy that she always made to perfection.


    Emma Starfall was her name. She was kind, beautiful, and warm-hearted, just like Ren. Their father, Mark Starfall, on the other hand, was more of a loner. He was impulsive, always yearning to see and know more¡ªcuriosity and adventure seemed to run through his veins. And it was those traits that Elliot took after most.


    As the two blonde brothers approached their front door, only a few steps apart, Elliot fumbled in his pockets for the house keys, but Ren moved ahead to unlock the door first. Elliot meant to thank him but froze instead¡ªhis gaze locked in terror on the hallway inside.


    It was not something a sixteen- or eighteen-year-old should ever have to see: a man and a woman, lying side by side, hand in hand, crimson liquid seeping from their bodies, their wide, glassy eyes staring blankly into the distance. It was their parents¡ªEmma and Mark. Their clothes, their blonde hair, their once-blue eyes¡ªeverything was soaked in the deep scarlet of their blood. Their eyes remained open, pupils dilated and fading.


    Elliot stumbled back, gasping for breath, his lungs burning with each shaky inhale. Ren, on the other hand, stood motionless, staring at their parents¡¯ lifeless forms. Seconds ticked by, each one heavier than the last, as Elliot lay on the cold, stony ground, struggling to breathe, while Ren¡¯s gaze never wavered. His eyes reflected their parents¡¯ vacant expressions, mirroring the horror before him.


    From that day onward, Ren was never the same. His emotions faded, the warmth in his smile¡ª the smile that once always brought light to Elliot¡¯s heart¡ªdisappeared. Ren was no longer the happy, gentle brother. In a single moment, he became someone else, someone colder, devoid of emotion.


    ...


    Lynn Street 16, near the Monument of the Goddess of Night.


    Elliot jolted awake, gasping for air. A nightmare¡ªit always started beautifully, only to twist into terror. That dream again. Cold sweat clung to his skin as memories resurfaced¡ªmemories that felt more real than dreams had any right to. Maybe because they weren¡¯t dreams at all. They were memories of what had truly happened.


    ¡°Mother, Father, Ren... how did it all go so wrong?¡± Elliot murmured to himself, eyes cast downward to the cold, dark stone floor where he had been sleeping. As he pushed himself upright, he clutched at his stomach, still shaken by the memory. But despite the nightmare and the painful recollections it stirred, Elliot forced a smile to his lips. This detective agency was the best decision I ever made. His gaze shifted toward the exit of the storage space he called home¡ªresembling a garage in the modern world¡ªbut instead of the bright, blue light of day, all he saw was the shadowed figure of a man. Edwin stood there, looking down at Elliot with disdain, even though they were nearly eye to eye.


    Elliot lowered his gaze, bracing himself for the inevitable blow.


    ¡°Red blood, where did you get those clothes?¡± Edwin spat, barely missing Elliot with the spit.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°My job provided them. My old clothes were beyond saving.¡± Elliot stood with his head lowered, his posture tense, but now dressed in clean, sturdy attire. He wore black leather suspenders, a slightly dirty but still crisp white shirt, and smooth, black linen trousers. Even his shoes, though worn, were well-made leather, capable of lasting years more.


    Edwin¡¯s eyes blazed with fury, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Veins bulged under his skin as he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. With his other hand, he ran his fingers through his slicked-back hair. ¡°A Red blood should always be recognized as one,¡± he sneered, his lips twisting into a vicious grin as he stared down at Elliot, who continued to look at the ground.


    Pow! Pow! Pow¡­


    The blows came, fast and hard. Three, five, seven¡ªit didn¡¯t stop. Edwin¡¯s once-neat hair began to fall out of place as sweat dripped from his face onto the cold floor. Elliot groaned with every hit, curling into himself as he tried to protect his ribs, shoulders, and arms¡ªthe main targets of the brutal assault. I just need to survive this, Elliot thought bitterly, trying to endure. His entire body trembled, his muscles tensed painfully as blue and yellow bruises began to form beneath his now-soiled white shirt.


    ¡°If you ever take something like that again, I¡¯ll kill you, Red blood!¡± Edwin roared; his fists still clenched as the veins on his blue-skinned forehead pulsed with rage. Spitting one last time, Edwin turned away, leaving Elliot crumpled on the ground. Samantha stood in the distance, giggling behind her black fan as she watched the scene unfold.


    As the two of them walked away, Elliot remained on his hands and knees, his legs trembling, his chest heaving with labored breaths. His eyes, burning with rage, stared at the stone floor beneath him. Blue and yellow blood surged beneath the red, hidden in his veins, but he forced himself to stay calm. Muttering under his breath, Elliot swore, ¡°You¡¯ll regret this one day.¡±


    ¡­


    At Fring Street 95, within the Blue Sharks office, Elliot hurried through the doors. His morning routine had been rushed, completed without washing, and finished by half-past six instead of quarter to seven, as was usual. Despite his reluctance, he knew he had to go shopping. One day, he would break free from their contract, but until then, he had to play the obedient dog. Along the way, he ran into Gene, but their conversation was trivial, devoid of meaning.


    ¡°Ah, Elliot, how was the warm shower?¡± William greeted him with a bright smile, pulling Elliot from his foul mood almost instantly. Ren... Elliot returned the smile, though it was forced. The others were always so kind to him, and he couldn¡¯t bring himself to make them feel guilty.


    ¡°Guys, how does the outfit look on him?¡± Elton called out, louder than necessary. The others glanced over briefly, nodding their approval before returning to their work. Bill, rubbing the back of his balding head, furrowed his brow as he looked at Elliot.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you too warm in that?¡± Bill asked, eyeing Elliot¡¯s long sleeves. The morning was indeed warmer, the mist outside already starting to fade.


    ¡°No, actually, I¡¯m a bit cold,¡± Elliot responded, his tone neutral. Bill nodded, satisfied, and resumed his task.


    ¡°There are some documents waiting for you¡ªbooks, to be precise. They cover the basics of ritual magic. You¡¯ll understand what I mean once you start reading them,¡± Bill added with his back turned, while Chris clapped Elliot on the shoulder.


    ¡°You¡¯ll manage,¡± Chris said, his voice filled with a peculiar sympathy, as though it were some kind of ordeal. Elliot only grimaced slightly, blending the expression with a forced smile and a nod. Why only the shoulder? And why does everyone act like it¡¯s a nightmare? I¡¯m learning something valuable, aren¡¯t I? Elliot thought, keeping his emotions tightly controlled as he walked to his desk.


    There, waiting for him, were two thick, leather-bound books. He sighed as he looked them over. ¡°Introduction to the World of Rituals and Expansion of Ritualism,¡± he read aloud, his fingers brushing the covers to wipe away some of the dust on his black pants. At least the bruises and dirt don¡¯t show, he thought.


    He opened the first book, its pages dense with text written in a script he recognized but couldn¡¯t yet read. Below, though, was an English translation. ¡°This book contains the basics of ritual magic and introduces the language of the gods. This language, known as ''German,'' allows us to channel the power of those whose golden blood flows through them. Let us first honor these beings before we proceed...¡±


    ...


    In the adjoining room of the Blue Sharks detective agency, four men and one woman sat, the atmosphere tense as they exchanged glances. ¡°This case is a strange one. No clues, nothing to follow,¡± Bill began, his fingers interlaced as he stared at them with weary, sleepless eyes. ¡°And then a similar case emerged shortly afterward, isn¡¯t that right, Elisia, Chris?¡±


    Elisia, smoothing her delicate hands over her deep blue, almost black skirt, nodded. Her dark blonde hair was tied up in a neat bun under a bonnet. ¡°Chris and I were assigned to another case, sent by a woman whose husband¡¯s head exploded out of nowhere. He was carrying a sealed letter,¡± she said, glancing toward Chris, who, dressed in a simple beige suit matching his hair, handed the letter to Bill.


    The group sat either with their hands resting on their laps or legs crossed, listening as Chris elaborated. ¡°The man¡¯s name was Wil Zimmermann, a Blue Blood, working as a supervisor in a manufacturing firm. No children, married to another Blue Blood. Their residence was modest, appropriate for their income. But the strange part¡ªhis records only go back six years. He was a migrant, probably from a remote country.¡±


    Bill¡¯s eyes, along with William¡¯s and Elton¡¯s, widened slightly at the mention of migration, while Chris continued, ¡°In the letter, it mentioned that ''the time was near,'' that ''the mother of the unborn was ready,'' and that a ''new era was about to begin.'' Wil seemed to be the sender, addressing someone only identified as ¡®V.¡¯¡±


    William immediately suggested, ¡°There¡¯s a connection between this case and the woman who was murdered¡ªboth died in the same gruesome way, exploding from the inside. What if we start by looking into migrants who¡¯ve arrived in the past few years?¡±


    Bill nodded in agreement, sealing the conclusion of the meeting. With a rough, authoritative voice, he gave the next orders: ¡°Elton, William, head to the High Council for Migration and Border Protection¡ªthe HCMBP here in Tr¨¹ben-City. Elisia, Chris, investigate the victim¡¯s surroundings and her contacts further. I¡¯ll reach out to the public security officials in the Kingdom of Avelor and the A9 intelligence service.¡±


    Already on his feet, Bill strode over to Elliot. ¡°You¡¯ll be on your own for a while. I trust you, so use this time to study,¡± he said with a warm smile before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him.


    Elliot, now alone, returned his focus to the thick book in front of him, flipping the pages as he delved deeper into the text.

 Chapter 17: Blue-Yellow Blood

    Several hours had passed, and Elliot¡¯s nose was still buried deep within the thick book. The window beside him was open, and the wind whistled gently as it swept by. The sky had darkened, cloaked in a deep turquoise horizon, with heavy clouds veiling the sun, casting a comfortable gloom. It felt like the endless night hours spent reading a novel, but with one difference¡ªhis eyes had long lost the shimmer of excitement. His brow furrowed, and he rubbed his temples with thumb and forefinger. With a sigh, he muttered under his breath, "What on earth is the meaning of all this? Those verb tenses?"


    He groaned, dragging a hand across his face before continuing, ¡°Pronunciation isn¡¯t the worst of it¡ªnot for the future at least¡ªbut the grammar? Half the book is just grammar! And then vocabulary... that¡¯s expected, but why does the formality have to be so complicated?" In frustration, he buried his hands in his hair, leaning on the desk with his elbows. "At least I¡¯ve learned a bit about ritual magic."


    Leaning back in his chair, Elliot stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts racing. There are three prerequisites, no, sometimes just two. First, you must speak the language of the gods, and offer something in return. Sometimes it''s plants, objects, or even blood. On occasion, you need a formula written on a piece of paper. The eye without a pupil stands for us, those who draw power from the nine gods, but also for the Seraphim, the angel who once watched over the gods.


    Elliot sighed as he rocked his chair back and forth, still gazing at the ceiling. The thick book rested in his lap, its pages barely touched. But those are the easy parts. How long will it take before I can read a few sentences for good? The letters are mostly the same, except for ?, ¨¹, and ?¡ªno idea how to pronounce those.


    Frustrated, Elliot pushed the book back in front of his eyes but immediately sat upright. There were sentences written in German, with translations beneath them explaining what the godly incantations did. Flipping through the pages faster now, a smile crept onto his face, his dimples deepening. It took only minutes before he found the section, just three pages ahead. One of the sentences read:


    "Gott des Wissens schenke uns deine Kraft. Lasset uns wissen welche Gabe ihr uns schenket! Oh alwissende Gottheit teilet uns euer unermessliches Wissen!"


    The ingredients for the ritual were listed below: 2 grams of powdered silver lizard, a herb called Fluora, and the addition of one¡¯s own blood (the primary blood type). Additionally, a sheet of paper and a quill made of Nishe were required. The incantation had to be concluded with, "Lasset es uns durch das Blut meines Wissen, Oh werter Gott des Wissens!"


    During the process, the hands must be held in the shape of a book, from the forehead down to the chest.


    However, a note at the bottom added that this only worked for lower blood types (red to orange). Elliot swallowed hard as he read the passage, his mouth twitching. At least I can discreetly research blue blood at some point. Frustrated once more, he snapped the book shut, but just as quickly opened it again to continue studying. The sky had cleared. The wind no longer whistled through the open window, and the world outside seemed crystal clear. The cloudless sky, now a mix of turquoise and sky blue, stretched endlessly, while white and blue seagulls flew toward the distant city of Tr¨¹ben. Everything felt serene¡ªperhaps too serene.


    ¡­


    Aboard the Ten-Day Train to the Kingdom of Zentria, heading toward the capital, Denklin.


    Errikson Triesta, the green-blooded figure from Elliot''s visions, sat in a small compartment in third class, a newspaper in hand and a hot cup of coffee balanced on his crossed legs. The train, powered by steam as the familiar sound indicated, jolted every few dozen seconds, but Errikson remained composed, balancing his cup effortlessly while most passengers had already stained their fine suits. What a lovely view. That turquoise-blue sky. This land rich with fertile soil.


    Errikson¡¯s cold eyes drifted to the man sitting across from him, his voice low and deep. ¡°May I?¡± He gestured to the sugar jar on the table, fixing his gaze on the man clutching a suitcase on his lap, who merely nodded in response. As Errikson added more sugar to his brown coffee, he glanced at his left middle finger, hidden within his loosely clenched fist. His dried, dark green blood was visible beneath the skin. With a swift motion, he opened the wound using the edge of his nail. The sweeter, the better, he thought, bringing the cup to his lips once again before returning his focus to the newspaper. Nothing exciting so far. Just the discovery of large quantities of elithranium steel, boosting the economy of the Elitran Kingdom, a massive hydroelectric power plant being repaired, and a string of unexplained murders across multiple cities in the Kingdom of Avelor... but what¡¯s this? King Galestine III has been assassinated by an unknown assailant. A man with half blue, half yellow blood? Here, in Elisia, the Kingdom of Avelor?


    Errikson¡¯s expression remained unchanged as he stared at the paper. He then looked out the train window, gazing at the distant turquoise-green bushes and trees, but soon his view was obstructed by the darkness of an approaching tunnel.


    ¡­


    In the grand sleeping chamber of the Rosenmahl noble house, a young blond man lay sprawled across his bed, his hand resting on his forehead¡ªAston himself, comfortably nestled in a bathrobe. Droplets of water trailed from the closed door to the bed. Aston nervously bit at his well-manicured nails, which had a pale bluish hue, not the usual pink flesh tone. The embodiment of a god? A god? Why would a Gold Blood target me?


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    He shut his eyes, deep in thought. But what could such a powerful being want from me? One who lacks for nothing¡ªwealth, status, anything. His pale face tightened as he chewed at his nails, his hands trembling slightly.


    ...


    Along Wellington Street, Bill sat dressed in his detective attire¡ªan all-black suit and coat¡ªthough this time, he carried a long cane, reminiscent of something used by the elderly. His weary eyes, marked by dark circles, gazed out from the horse-drawn carriage. The sky was crystal clear, devoid of clouds, and only the tall, sharp, Gothic-style buildings loomed in the distance. Bill listened absentmindedly to the chatter of pedestrians walking through the open streets until the carriage came to a stop. He tossed a Celi coin into the hand of the driver, even though he had already paid for the ride.


    "Much appreciated, good sir!" The driver tipped his hat and urged the horses forward, pulling away from Bill, who stepped down onto the street with a faint smirk. One more good deed done.


    Ahead, at the intersection of Wellington and Fern Street, stood a large building¡ªmarked as the post office of Tr¨¹ben-City. The sound of a bell greeted Bill as he entered. With a direct and sharp gaze, he said, "A letter, in blue, to Renegade."


    The orange-haired woman behind the counter, dressed in the post office''s blue uniform, nodded with a flat hand and a proper stance, gesturing to her right. "Please, follow me, sir."


    But Bill had already begun walking ahead, turning left, then continuing straight until he reached a door on his right. Without hesitation, he pricked his finger, leaving a drop of blood on the door''s handle. Ignoring the woman¡¯s presence in his shadow, a twisted voice slid past Bill¡¯s left ear.


    "Well, if it isn¡¯t Bill."


    Bill dodged the outstretched arm of the man who had spoken his name, his voice slick with familiarity.


    "Is Gerlinger here?" Bill asked, his gaze steady, undeterred by the dimly lit room. The window blinds were partially lowered, casting shadows, but even in the darkness, the man¡¯s grotesque face was unmistakable¡ªfull of boils and blisters, shifting between pale blue and white. One eye lacked an eyelid, making it seem permanently open.


    With a cane in hand and a black coat and top hat completing his strange appearance, the man with the burnt face stepped closer. "What brings you here... Bill?"


    ¡­


    At the High Council for Migration and Border Protection¡ªthe HCMBP¡ªElton and William ascended the long, winding staircase. Elton, bent slightly with slouched shoulders, muttered under his breath, tongue half out of his mouth, "How many floors does this place have?"


    No sooner had the complaint left his lips than they reached their destination. The partners entered a large room where, behind a glass window to their left, sat a woman¡ªslightly plump, bespectacled, with brown hair pulled back.


    "What can I do for the likes of you?" she asked, her voice lilting as Elton, visibly weary, leaned against the counter with a half-smile. He raised his badge¡ªmarked with two blue droplets of blood¡ªmatching William¡¯s own. With a wink, Elton managed, "What can we do for you?"


    His eyes suddenly widened, and he coughed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. William gave him a side-eye, attempting to salvage the situation.


    "Apologies for my colleague¡¯s... lack of focus," he said smoothly. "Might we request records or, if possible, blood samples from migrants who arrived in Tr¨¹ben-City up to ten years ago?"


    The woman, resting her hand on her cheek, appeared slightly flustered as she glanced at William. "Of course, I''ll fetch everything you need." Her face turned an odd shade of blue as she hurried away, leaving William staring off in bewilderment, more startled than Elton.


    "What... was that?"


    "I have no idea," William muttered, his eyes still wide. Both men watched as the woman, her face flushed blue, tucked her hair behind her ears. She scurried down a hallway barely wide enough for her, and just as she disappeared, they heard a sudden crash.


    Time seemed to slow as she fell face-first onto the floor. Elton and William stiffened, muscles tense, struggling to keep their composure. When she finally rose, blood trickling from her nose, glasses shattered, and hair disheveled, the two officers pressed their lips together, their veins nearly bursting from their tightly buttoned shirts.


    The woman, wiping the blue blood from her nose with the back of her hand, gave a nervous laugh. "So sorry... here are the documents, though I¡¯m afraid we never received the blood samples." She looked down, ashamed, holding the papers out to them. "These are copies, but if you''d like, I could bring you coffee while you go through them?"


    Elton glanced at William, who mirrored his look. In unison, they spoke, "No, thank you. But we appreciate your hospitality."


    As they turned to leave, William whispered behind his hand, "Were we too harsh?"


    Elton¡¯s lips twitched, barely holding in a laugh. "Pffff..." He let out a stifled chuckle.


    Click!


    The woman, whose nose was still smeared with blue blood, wiped it away again with the back of her hand. Her expression shifted, no longer embarrassed or flustered, but dark and furious. Glancing at the documents, she muttered to herself, "Why does everything have to go wrong now?" Veins pulsed on her forehead, but as the blue blood stopped dripping from her nose, its color subtly shifted¡ªyellow, almost golden, if one wasn¡¯t paying close attention.


    ¡­


    At the intersection of East and West Street, Elisia and Chris stood before a door marked with the number 2 on a white plaque. As Elisia, dressed in a knee-length skirt that complemented her fair skin, prepared to knock three times, the door creaked open on the second knock. Chris glanced at Elisia with a soft smile, his eyes shining, while Elisia¡¯s stance grew more serious.


    With a slow, deliberate movement, she drew a revolver from beneath her skirt. The sight snapped Chris out of his trance, and he quickly pulled his own weapon, hidden beneath his coat.


    They advanced cautiously, blood seeping from their bitten fingertips, blue drops falling to the floor. Chris moved behind Elisia, glancing sideways and back, while Elisia kept her eyes fixed ahead. As they edged forward, Chris nudged Elisia¡¯s back, tensing as he gripped his revolver tightly. In a single fluid motion, he spun around her, his weapon aimed forward, eyes narrowed in focus.


    But what greeted them inside the secluded room was not an enemy¡ªonly the corpses of two people, a woman with her head split open, and a man, his limbs severed. They sat slumped over at the dinner table, wine glasses filled with their own blue blood, and half-eaten bread on their plates. Beneath their pale, drained bodies, hidden from plain sight, was a thicker, darker pool of yellow blood.

 Chapter 18: A Hot Lead

    Fring Street 95, Blue Sharks.


    Elliot had spent a few more hours buried in his books, his gaze set with hope despite his constant sighing. ¡°Nine gods, nine with golden blood?¡± Elliot ran his hand through his hair, his brow furrowed. He stared into the pages, letting his eyes blur for a moment. ¡°But why do these gods have golden blood? The god I encountered¡­ he was draped entirely in red, everything was red.¡± His shoulders slumped as he sighed again, replaying what he''d learned so far in his mind. ¡°I can somewhat read the alphabet now, and I can manage a few simple sentences, but it¡¯s still far from perfect.¡±


    He blinked, a moment of realization dawning on his face. ¡°But wait, is that all? No! Damn it, these words... normally it would take me days, maybe even weeks to learn this much. I¡¯ve covered more than half in just a few hours!¡± A grin spread across his face as he rolled up his sleeves, glancing at his forearm, the faint traces of bruises fading away. His smile deepened.


    Ring! Ding!


    The bell at the door chimed as Elliot glanced toward the deepening twilight sky, streaks of turquoise still visible at the horizon.


    ¡°Elliot!?¡± A voice called from the next room, startling him as he rose to his feet.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    William spoke, Elton standing just behind him, ¡°How¡¯s the studying going?¡± William gave a half-smile, placing a stack of documents from HCMBP on the table¡ªthree pictures with some sparse data. Casually glancing around, he and Elton removed their coats and helped themselves to water from a nearby cupboard.


    ¡°We¡¯re heading back out. Won¡¯t be back for a while,¡± William waved before they both disappeared as quickly as they¡¯d arrived.


    ¡°Well, enjoy yourselves. I¡¯ll just keep at it¡­¡± Elliot muttered to himself.


    ¡­


    At the A9 Intelligence Division, disguised as a post office, six individuals sat in a dimly lit room. A round table with 13 chairs, half of them occupied. All eyes were on the calm Bill, who sat in silence. Some leaned forward, fingers interlaced, while others sat back, arms folded. One figure, with burn scars across his face and a tailored top hat, leaned back casually, his polished black shoes resting on the table. Gerlinger, the burned man, spoke, his voice deep and raspy, ¡°There have been a few incidents. Here and there... mostly blue bloods.¡± He paused briefly before continuing, ¡°But each of them had a trace of yellow blood in their system.¡±


    Gerlinger¡¯s words echoed through the room, leaving most unshaken¡ªexcept for Bill, whose eyes widened for a brief moment. ¡°Yellow blood? Does that mean the yellow-blooded are now against us?¡±


    The darkness of the room seemed to swallow the sound of his voice, leaving only the rustle of papers in the silence. The four other figures sat motionless, watching.


    ¡°Whether they¡¯re hostile or not, it¡¯s hard to say. As for their intentions with these individuals, it remains a mystery. But there¡¯s someone powerful behind this, without a doubt. Someone at least on the level of a three-blood, if not higher. Whoever they are, they¡¯re formidable. At least green-blooded, perhaps more,¡± Gerlinger added, his voice gritty. He pointed toward the exit, ¡°Help yourself before you leave, for Simon¡¯s sake.¡±


    For a moment, all eyes turned to Gerlinger, as if they had something to say. But the man¡¯s charred face blended into the shadows as he rose and left the room. Bill¡¯s gaze dropped to the barely visible floor, his expression melancholic. ¡°I can just take what I want?¡±


    He gave a slight nod of gratitude, his eyes still lowered, closing briefly. The orange-haired woman opened a black case, revealing its contents to Bill. The greed in the eyes of the other four was unmistakable. Inside the dark case were five syringes, each containing a different colored liquid: green, orange, yellow, violet, and brown. Without hesitation, Bill reached for the brown syringe, even though it contained the smallest dose.


    ¡­


    Elton and William were combing through the area where the migrants were supposed to be, but only one of the three was anywhere to be found. They followed the third closely, conducting their investigation as they went.


    ¡°But don¡¯t you find it strange?¡± William asked, scratching his brow.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Elton replied, glancing sideways at him.


    ¡°I mean, even though Tr¨¹ben-City isn¡¯t the largest place, only three migrants? That seems too few.¡± William¡¯s gaze shifted, avoiding Elton¡¯s scrutiny.


    Elton smirked knowingly. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve taken a liking to the ¡®one Elisia per week¡¯ lady...¡± he muttered, though William quickly cut him off.


    ¡°No, no¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± William said dismissively, turning away. Elton chuckled under his breath but their focus soon shifted¡ªthey had reached their destination.


    Three knocks. No answer. Five seconds later, louder knocks followed, still no response. Elton scaled the wall, clinging to the window ledge. ¡°Kick the door in,¡± he called down, his face taking on a bluish tint from the evening light.


    Pow!


    With a single kick, the door swung open, the handle falling to the floor. Both men quickly drew their revolvers, pressing forward back-to-back through the narrow hallway.


    ¡°There¡¯s someone here,¡± Elton muttered from behind William, gripping his revolver tightly as they crept forward. But what they found wasn¡¯t a person¡ªit was a room strewn with the dismembered body of a man, pieces scattered across the floor. The sight wasn¡¯t new to them, but it didn¡¯t make it any less grim.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Elton was the first to speak, ¡°There¡¯s something over there.¡± He pointed to an unopened letter, soaked in blood¡ªblue blood mingled with streaks of yellow.


    ¡­


    It was only a few hours before everyone had returned to the detective agency, save for William and Elton. Chris, Elisia, and Bill sat together, waiting. Elliot continued his relentless study of the language of the gods, his progress nothing short of astonishing¡ªhe seemed to absorb knowledge at an incredible pace, though not without imperfections.


    Bill, sitting with dark circles under his eyes, broke the silence, ¡°We need to clarify something. From this point on, as soon as Elton and William return, we¡¯re calling off this mission. We¡¯ll have to forfeit the 200 Elis from Mr. Maggerson.¡±


    Chris and Elisia exchanged confused glances before turning to Bill, leaning forward in their seats.


    ¡°But why?¡± they asked in unison.


    Bill¡¯s tone was serious. ¡°It¡¯s because of the killer. Whoever they are, they¡¯re likely on the level of a three-blood or higher.¡±


    Chris and Elisia fell silent, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Elisia spoke hesitantly, ¡°If that¡¯s the case, there¡¯s nothing we can do.¡± She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and Chris glanced at her from the side.


    ¡°So, what do we do now?¡± Chris asked, turning back to Bill. But before Bill could respond, the door chimed.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a hot lead!¡± Elton shouted as he entered, with William close behind. The three sitting at the table sighed in unison.


    ¡°Why the long faces?¡± William asked, puzzled by their lack of excitement. ¡°We know where ¡®V¡¯ is hiding!¡±


    This news shifted the mood entirely. Bill¡¯s tired eyes focused sharply on the two men emerging from the shadowy, violet-lit hallway.


    Elton continued, ¡°V is currently holed up in an abandoned factory, waiting for those who managed to escape the unknown assailant. But the letter he sent out was never opened, and it couldn¡¯t be passed along.¡±


    He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. ¡°But the problem is, they¡¯ll soon go into hiding and leave the city since their plan has been uncovered.¡± Bill looked skeptical for the first time, then shifted his gaze to the inner pocket of his coat. As he waited for a response, the tension in the room thickened. Bill nodded. ¡°Then that settles it.¡± Elton smiled as he and William retrieved their coats from the rack. But Elisia tugged at Bill''s sleeve. ¡°But the unknown man is at least a three-blood or higher.¡±


    Bill initially looked down at the ground, but a moment later spoke more quietly, ¡°This is our only lead. I need to inform the secret service first. You will wait for me nearby.¡± As he walked toward Elliot¡¯s room, he added more loudly, ¡°Take the green-blooded cartridges with you!¡±


    Upon arriving at Elliot¡¯s room, he found him asleep, sprawled over one of the books, drool trailing down his sleeve. Melancholy washed over Bill as he gazed at him, hesitating for a moment before murmuring as he draped his coat over Elliot¡¯s back, ¡°We won¡¯t die, so you won¡¯t either.¡± His words pained his heart, and his usually calm expression twisted slightly. But as quickly as he came, he had to leave again.


    ¡­


    In the dark void, Elliot awoke with bleary eyes. It was dark, but suddenly a blinding emerald light illuminated the space. ¡°Goddammit, turn off that light!¡± Yet he realized he was still in this abyss. Looking around, he saw two crystals, one glowing more fiercely than the other. The green light clearly triumphed, while the blue flickered into obscurity. Perhaps I should always choose the light that shines brightest, he mused.


    Resolutely, he approached the uncut green crystal, gripping it with his speared hand as if it were a bullet. ¡®You too, Lennard¡ªI mean Eriksson¡ªwill feel the power of God.¡¯ As the corners of Elliot''s mouth curled into a smile in the infinite darkness, a strong wind swept through, carrying even brighter light.


    Whoosh!


    ¡­


    At a train station, waiting for the ten-day journey to Denklin in the Kingdom of Zentria, Eriksson Triesta held a sweet drink in his hand, stepping off the train with a cold, calculating gaze. Doubts bubbled in Elliot''s mind. Will he not try to kill me just with his stare? But as Eriksson¡¯s form passed by, Elliot steeled himself, looking ahead.


    Thud!


    Suddenly, Eriksson collided with a man who had grown broader than he was before. The person who bumped into Eriksson apologized lightly, revealing a bald head and a thin mustache, but his physique was well-built, making most men envious. ¡°No problem,¡± Eriksson replied, his voice deep yet distinct from his previous self.


    As their paths diverged, the bald man turned right while Eriksson moved left. If only the bald man knew whom he had just irritated, Elliot thought. Eriksson strolled past a shop, tossing his drink into a trash can without a glance. He remained unfazed, moving further left, his gaze fixed on a narrow alleyway.


    As Elliot watched, perplexed, Eriksson began to run faster and faster. The images around him blurred, the human eye unable to keep pace, and suddenly he found himself behind a stranger¡ªdirectly in front of the bald man. Without breaking a sweat or betraying a hint of emotion, Eriksson seized the heads of both men and forcefully slammed them together.


    Thump!


    A collision echoed, but it didn¡¯t linger. The two men lay sprawled out, jaws slack in the cold, bluish darkness of the alley, which looked slightly filthy. In the distance, the sounds of rats scurrying out of trash bins could be heard. Eriksson reached into the pockets of both men, pulling out their wallets but keeping only his own¡ªa brown leather wallet, now stuffed with notes from the other thieves. Should I do it now? A shiver ran down Elliot¡¯s spine as he pondered.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Eriksson, who had reopened the cut on his fingertip, arrived at his designated spot. Elliot hesitated momentarily but, after some contemplation, made up his mind. ¡°Lennard, go to the restroom and write. I¡¯ll watch you from your newspaper.¡± The green light shone in Elliot¡¯s eyes as the wind tousled his hair. Eriksson stood up as always, straight and monotonous, heading toward the restroom¡ªspecifically the nearby women¡¯s restroom.


    Stop! What are you doing? Once inside, Eriksson pressed the newspaper against the thin wall of the train. Get out! He cut deeper into his finger, blood oozing¡ªa vivid green¡ªas he wrote, ¡°I watch you¡± in bold letters across the page.


    ¡°Eriksson, get out of the women¡¯s restroom!¡± Elliot¡¯s voice rang out again as the wind swirled. The green blood dripped from the paper, trailing down his finger and pooling on the floor. Eriksson walked out monotonously, standing still without further movement. He stared at the wall opposite him in the train until he finally glanced at his left and right hands.


    On the newspaper, green letters dripped down, spelling out, ¡°I watch you.¡±


    ¡°Reggy?¡± Eriksson asked, his voice steady and unwavering, not diverting his gaze from the ink. Reggy? Who was that again? He ruminated for a few seconds within the halls of his memory. Meanwhile, Eriksson remained focused, not glancing away or moving.


    Suddenly, realization struck Elliot. Ah, that contractor. Now I remember. However, in a rush of thought, Elliot replied quickly while reflecting on something he had considered earlier. Concrete and precise¡­Concrete and precise.


    ¡°Lennard, write carefully with your blood on the newspaper, being careful not to spill after you go to the men¡¯s restroom. No, I am the embodiment of God¡ªa true God.¡± The light and the wind, then the desire of Elliot, the apparent God.


    ¡°No, I am the embodiment of God¡ªa true God.¡± As he read, Eriksson remained unperturbed, but in a calm and flat tone, replied, ¡°Then screw you.¡±

 Chapter 19: The Abandoned Factory

    "Screw¡­ Screw?" Elliot muttered, perplexed. "Damn it, why must I act so quickly?" Taking a deep breath, he tried to gather his thoughts. But time was slipping away. "Lennard, write this on the back of the newspaper with your own blood: I know your past. And be careful ¡ª no smudges.¡±The light flared as the wind whirled through the room. Eriksson¡¯s finger started to bleed as he traced the letters, deep in focus. I know your past. The words held Eriksson captive for several seconds, his gaze locked, unwavering. "Fine¡­ what do you want?" His voice was steady, his posture as still as a candle.Elliot exhaled, his eyes determined, the corner of his mouth curving into a slight smile. Good, very good, he thought. His past ¡ª that¡¯s what binds him. Yet, he felt a knot of tension in his stomach. Let¡¯s hope I haven¡¯t struck too deep a nerve¡­ "Lennard, again with your blood. Write, The better question is, what do you want?"Once more, Eriksson¡¯s blood traced the words on the page, the letters taking shape in a faint, green glow. After reading it, Eriksson¡¯s eyes stayed fixed on the message, his expression tense. But then he spoke, low and certain, "Revenge. I want revenge."Revenge, Elliot thought. The very thing he needs, though I know what it¡¯ll cost him in the end... With a sigh and a nod, Elliot pressed forward. "Lennard, write one more time on the lower part of the page, without smearing. Revenge? It¡¯ll come to you, but all in due time."A green glow and a cold draft filled the room as Eriksson completed the line. He nodded once, satisfied. "Fine." Elliot returned the nod, satisfied as well. Scratching his brow, he decided to close their interaction. "Lennard, throw the newspaper in the toilet and flush it away."The page dissolved, swirling down as Eriksson followed Elliot¡¯s instructions, his gaze fixed on the fading whirlpool. Elliot¡¯s vision went black, and he felt a lurch, as if he might faint.


    ¡­


    On Fring Street 95, at the Blue Sharks¡¯ hideout, the day of False Gods.


    Elliot awoke, sprawled over his desk, his face smeared with drool, a heavy tome lying under his cheek. The thick book cover was damp, bearing a faint mark of his sleep. He blinked, taking in his surroundings: the room, shrouded in dimness, and his coat slipping off his shoulders. Outside, the sky was still dark, with the golden moon drifting slowly westward.A sudden chill gripped his chest. What time is it? He glanced at the ritual magic textbook, now slightly damp. Damn it all, I fell asleep! His face twisted as he stumbled to his feet, searching frantically. Where¡¯s the clock?He scoured the hallway, his office, and the nearby room, checking every wall. Finally, in the entry room, amidst tables and cabinets arranged like a bureaucratic maze, he spotted the clock. It was somewhat oval, but mostly round, with sixteen Roman numerals displayed, from 1 to 16, and no number at the zero mark. Tiny lines marked the hours, twice as many between 16 and 0. But the crucial thing was the long hand, pointing to 1:30.1:30¡­? His panic surged. Damn, I need to get back before Edwin or Samantha notices I¡¯ve been gone.At first, he walked, but within seconds, he was running through the narrow, shadowed streets. The streets were empty, save for a few solitary figures. Elliot¡¯s breath grew ragged as he turned down a familiar intersection


    Thud!


    He collided with a figure. A tall man in a wide, long, dark cloak stood before him, nearly hidden in the shadows. A lengthened hat covered his brow, and tufts of greyish-white hair peeked out from under its brim, reaching down to his ears."Ahh!" The old man groaned, collapsing to the ground, clutching his back and hip as he winced.Of all things, Elliot thought with an inward groan. Exactly what I needed¡­ He quickly bowed and extended his hand to the man, his breaths heavy, arm outstretched. The man hesitated before taking his hand. Even with Elliot¡¯s support, he needed his other hand to steady himself as he rose."Are you all right? I¡¯m terribly sorry for that," Elliot said, pasting on a contrite smile.The old man, still rubbing his lower back, cleared his throat with a raspy cough but nodded. "No harm done, thank you." He offered a brief smile, adjusting his hat before limping off with a hand on his back.Elliot¡¯s smile faded, and he hurried onward, rushing toward home, where Edwin and Samantha awaited.


    ¡­


    Near an Abandoned Factory, Another Deserted Building


    In the shadow of the abandoned factory, Bill followed a group of five individuals. A bald man with a blue-tinged complexion led the way. Beside him was a woman with white-blonde hair, her elegant features defying the signs of age. Behind them trailed two men, both identical in appearance, with side-parted black hair and pale faces tinged with blue, each wearing a black mask.Bill blended in with his dark attire, his eyes alert. Today, he wore a white shirt beneath his coat rather than his usual black. Yet, it wasn¡¯t the company around him or even the ominous presence of A9¡¯s scarred leader, Gerlinger, that made him feel powerful. It was the brown-blood injection he had taken, the rush of heat it brought, his veins pulsing beneath his skin. His gaze flicked toward the leader at the front, a tall man with scorched, bald patches and blue-mottled scars covering his face ¡ª Gerlinger himself, unmistakable even without his signature top hat.Bill felt a deep thrill, suppressing the urge to let his lips curl into a grin. The blood flowed with a fiery intensity, a sensation close to boiling, yet strangely bearable. It was hot but not searing."Is that the infamous A9?" Elton¡¯s voice broke the silence, a trace of excitement in his tone, the faintest glimmer of apprehension fading as he watched the scarred man in front. Even from a distance, they radiated an unmistakable aura of authority, despite the low visibility."Yes, that¡¯s them, kid. Now tell us ¡ª where¡¯s this place?" Gerlinger¡¯s voice was rough, almost a rasp, layered with a deep timbre.Elton glanced back at his comrades ¡ª William, Chris, and Elisia ¡ª before speaking, "Just around the corner, about five hundred meters ahead."Elton gestured with a slightly trembling finger, directing Gerlinger, who was already moving toward the spot where V was rumored to be. Bill stayed silent, following close behind, his eyes trained on the backs of the group.Elton¡¯s expression turned serious as he watched Gerlinger stride ahead, his gaze steady. Behind him, William¡¯s blond hair melded into the night shadows, just as Elisia, dressed in more practical footwear, moved with quiet poise beside him. Chris offered a gentle smile, his gaze lingering on Elisia¡¯s profile.The golden moon dipped behind the tall buildings, casting long shadows and leaving only the starlit sky to illuminate their path.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡­


    Amidst the ten-day journey to Denklin in the Kingdom of Zentria, the train sped through the night, lit only faintly by dim, flickering candles and oil lamps. Most passengers slept through these late hours, for three or four hours, perhaps even six if they were lucky. But not Eriksson. He rarely slept for more than an hour and a half at best. Yet, he never yawned, nor did the darkness unsettle him. He kept his gaze fixed on the man across from him, who clutched a suitcase on his lap with one hand. Though both hands had held it firmly at first, sleep had claimed him, and his other arm now hung limply at his side, peaceful as an infant. For a fleeting moment, Eriksson mused at the sight, then looked away, out into the night at the golden moon sinking slowly over the horizon.


    The large, golden moon cast a soft glow across the clouds and distant fields. Eriksson wondered when it would next shine in full green or amber¡ªthree, maybe four months from now. He kept his eyes fixed on the fading horizon. The thought that someone on board might have injected themselves with green blood amused him, drawing a quiet, knowing laugh. But this god¡ªthis true Gold-Blood¡ªwell, he was different. Eriksson admitted he might have been too hasty in his earlier judgment. The deity seemed powerful, possessing a calm that could easily deceive, strong enough to strike him down at any moment without effort. Foolish indeed to have challenged a Gold-Blood¡ªnot even in his wildest dreams, not even those where his younger brother, Max, appeared, nor on the Day of the Green Moon in the Jade month. Eriksson continued to gaze at the distant golden glow, barely glancing up when the sleeping man jerked awake, sending his suitcase tumbling to the floor.


    ¡­


    Outside an abandoned factory, ten figures, including two women, stood concealed by the night. The distant glow of the golden moon did not reach them; a thick fog obscured all visibility. They stood alone before the vast, dilapidated building, surrounded by neglected grounds, shrouded in silence. No one spoke; no one truly knew the plan, yet they all understood one another. They split into two groups, with Elton, Chris, William, and Elisia joined shortly by Bill, forming a team of five each. Their faces were tense, some crouched low, some gripping their revolvers with both hands. Their hair¡ªstraight, full, or absent altogether¡ªwas concealed in the darkness as they moved, silent as shadows.


    Gerlinger¡¯s eyes gleamed an icy blue as he muttered an incantation, letting droplets of his blue blood fall to the ground. ¡°You five, stay behind us, keep watch, and provide cover if anything goes wrong,¡± he thought, his mental voice cutting through the silence and resounding in the others'' minds. Elton, Chris, William, and Elisia stiffened at the intrusion, though only briefly. ¡°No matter what happens,¡± his voice repeated in their heads, ¡°no one is to leave. No one, unless all but you are dead.¡± His tone echoed sharply, leaving a few to swallow hard, some to tremble, while others remained indifferent. Only Bill smiled, his mouth twitching as he fought a surge of energy heating his body. He steadied himself and took position with his team of Blue Sharks, following close behind the five of A9.


    Bill clenched his fists, veins surging blue under his skin as his body pulsed with heat, a grin stretching into the endless, starlit night. Moving in tandem, they slid alongside the rows of men and crates, separated by moments as they crossed through gaps in the shadows. Finally, Gerlinger raised a hand, signaling everyone to halt. The members of A9 froze immediately, while Elton, William, and Chris overshot by a step or two before also halting. Hearts pounding, they listened to the thrumming in their chests, drowning out even the wind¡¯s faint whispers and the distant murmurs of voices inside.


    A voice shattered the silence, powerful, deep, laden with authority¡ªa voice that filled the factory with its sheer presence. ¡°Gentlemen who serve the faith of true gods! Yours is the blood of blue, the only true blue. Not the blue that once lost its radiance! Not the blue that gave up its wings in pursuit of peace! Not the blue that was taken to forge kingdoms! Nor the blue that once united us only to divide again! Our blood, the blood of divinity itself! Not the false red, nor the green, nor even the golden of pretenders! Ours is the blood of true gods. Praise the Goddess of the Blue Blood! Praise her, that our blood may rise again to its ancient splendor, that we may multiply our own for eternity and reclaim the power that once was ours!¡±


    With that, V¡¯s words echoed and Gerlinger¡¯s fist shot up, signaling the assault.

 Chapter 20: Control Lost

    It was merely a fist, devoid of a thumb. Burned and blistered, it gleamed a striking blue. On Gerlinger¡¯s disfigured forehead, an eye devoid of a pupil shimmered in the moon''s amber hue. His followers scurried low and deftly behind the factory''s barricades. Meanwhile, V stood with arms outstretched, forming a V against the night sky, his eyes glowing a vibrant blue. His voice echoed through the factory, loud yet eerily calm. "Who are you?"


    In that instant, the twins surged forward like a reversed parable, their movements intertwining. From their pants, they drew elongated daggers, each glinting ominously. V merely regarded them, his deep blue eyes penetrating the core of A9. The blue sharks remained alert behind them, concealed yet poised, brandishing their revolvers like their adversaries, loaded with green-blooded cartridges.


    Pow! Pow! Pow!


    A flurry of shots rang out, the twins evading in a flash, Gerlinger absorbing the impacts as bullets merely ricocheted off him. "Now!" Gerlinger shouted, raising his finger, the violet blood forming a second ring within the iris on his brow. V stood still, his gaze locked onto Gerlinger. His lips, tinted a bluish hue, complemented his dark hair, which was closer to black, giving him an eccentric appearance. Yet Gerlinger paid him no mind; instead, he muttered something in German, his hand forming a fist. "Allm?chtiger Gott der Kraft, gew?hre uns die Essenz des Lebens selbst, damit wir uns auf ewig ¨¹bertreffen m?gen." Gerlinger clenched and released his fist as his heart beat steadily.


    V continued to smirk, while the twins, with their narrow swords, deftly pierced through their adversaries. The blonde-haired woman drew her revolver, stepping aside slightly.


    Pow! Pow!


    She fired with a steady rhythm but only connected with every other shot. The bald man, tinted with a shade of blue, wielded a revolver in one hand and a long, slender sword in the other. Countless shots echoed through the air.


    Peng! Pow! Peng! Click!


    Most began to reload, as about an eighth of V''s supporters had already been struck down, yet they held their ground. It was dark, especially now that the cigars had been extinguished; only two lay on the ground. Gerlinger absorbed the shots as if they were inconsequential, while the twins dodged every incoming attack in close combat. The bald man deflected the majority of the bullets with his sword, most of which missed anyway, though one grazed his shoulder. The somewhat wrinkled, blonde-haired woman noticed the light of a cigar on the ground directly before her, and in that instant, a clear shot tore through her shin.


    Bang! Krrk! Krch!


    The bullet penetrated flesh and bone. "Arghh!" she screamed, tears streaming from her eyes, yet she pressed on, more shots firing around her. This time, she evaded, lying on her side in the darkness, struggling to rise. The bald man rushed toward her, continuing to shoot and parry with his sword. Meanwhile, the young twins swiftly eliminated their opponents, Gerlinger implanting thoughts into the minds of the blue sharks. Now!


    Without hesitation, the five¡ªChris, Elisia, trailing behind William and Elton¡ªfollowed Bill. They saw nothing, guided solely by the shots reverberating throughout the building and the flashes they ignited. Bill''s smile shone with every gunfire, his pupils dilating and contracting, except for those devoid of irises, their colors soaked in vibrant hues. The air was filled with gunshots and cries. "Arghhh!" they all screamed, yet they begged for nothing; their voices rose only in defiance. V observed in the darkness, his grin unmistakable.


    Behind Bill, in a slightly broader formation, they advanced, their revolvers nestled against the shoulders of the ones before them.


    Peng! Pow! Click! Click!


    More reloaded as the number of foes dwindled. From three-quarters of their men, only half remained, but V surveyed the scene with an amused smile. As the bald man checked on the injured woman from A9, Gerlinger advanced steadily toward the enemy''s ranks, deflecting bullets, until he struck his clenched fist into the faces of those who dared approach him. Blue and tinged yellow blood splattered as teeth flew from the mouths of the men he felled. It was a massacre; ten men or more lay on the ground, some struggling to rise, yet Gerlinger remained unyielding, not even the wind of a category-three storm could disturb him. He stood like a wall, continuing his march toward V. All attention fixated on Gerlinger, while the bald man tended to the woman and resumed firing.


    The twins continued to stab into the ranks of their enemies, barely taking any damage themselves. Bill and his crew fired moments later, but they had little effect. They were only about 10 to 20 meters away, yet the blood already reached them in proximity. It was a scene of carnage, a dark tableau, yet the shots and screams persisted. Only a quarter remained, perhaps even less. Next to V, who wore a broad grin, stood four large men, all weaponless, relying solely on their arms and fists.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Slashhh! Kachiingg! Pow!


    Fists, swords, and bullets collided. Sweat, blood, pain, and death lingered in the air, yet the battle showed no signs of concluding. Fists flew; the twins interjected into Gerlinger''s fight but received a powerful blow in return. One twin caught his brother, only to let out a pained cry as a sword pierced through his leg, striking a tendon. As fists soared, the injured twin faltered, succumbing to a final blow that sent him crashing to the ground.


    Peng! Pow!


    The blue sharks also intervened, with Bill grinning widely as he fired his pistol, which narrowly missed one of the men. In an instant, he teleported to the missed position, revolver''s muzzle pressed against the side of one of the men. He fired three times as Gerlinger continued to rain blows upon the faces of the enemies, untouched by any wounds.


    Pow! Pow! Pow! Click!


    Bill continued to shoot, his grin widening as blood congealed and heated around him. Blue blood streamed from his eyes and dripped from his nose, while sparks and crimson sprayed from the fallen men. The blue sharks stared in perplexity, glancing at one another and then back to the unfolding scene. ¡°What was that?¡± Elton asked, puzzled, as they pressed forward. V¡¯s grin grew larger and more sinister. ¡°Magnificent, truly magnificent! Oh, Divine Blue, is it not impressive?¡± His smile, reminiscent of Bill¡¯s, morphed into a hysterical laugh. All his men lay crumpled on the ground. V held a deep blue-gloved hand to his face, laughing maniacally. ¡°Ahahaha! Truly impressive, is it not? Praise the Goddess of Blue Blood!¡±


    Yet his laughter faltered as he moved his hand from his eyes to his mouth. V¡¯s eyes ignited with blue light, illuminating the entire factory with a blinding glare that narrowed his pupils, but only for a fleeting moment. The dazzling source of light faded, and the scene transformed abruptly before the astonished blue sharks. Every man who had fallen under V¡¯s command¡ªeach pierced, gutted, or beaten¡ªrose to their previous positions. The few who had been smoking still clutched their smoldering cigars, and those who had been chatting resumed their conversations. V, who had been smiling the entire time, continued to do so, ¡°Oh, Goddess of Blue Blood, you must witness their faces!¡±


    The blue sharks gazed on in horror. Their surroundings had shifted; their comrades¡¯ positions were altered. The expressions of their companions had changed, save for Bill, who maintained his eerie smile. The others looked bewildered, disoriented. ¡°Didn¡¯t we win?¡± Elton inquired. They remained puzzled until something else caught their eye¡ªthe five faces of the A9. One head lay severed from the body, while the bald one appeared charred and blistered. They were piled together like the twins, their own swords binding their heads. Their eyes were rolled back, blood pouring from them. Gerlinger, stripped bare, his skin resembling that of a wild beast, lay beside them. Blue flesh and veins were visible, along with bulging eyes and shattered teeth.


    The four blue sharks stared in horror at the gruesome tableau before them, while Bill, still grinning with his heated body, drew his revolver once more, blood pooling in the open chamber. His own blood flowed into the magazine, spinning as it splattered, the blue liquid rebounding like water off a spinning tennis ball.


    Click!


    He held his revolver outstretched, his finger resting on the trigger. The skin on his hand and forearm began to peel, exposing swollen veins beneath. The heat intensified, and Bill''s sweat poured down his brow, yet his grin widened beneath the dark circles encircling his eyes.


    Bang!


    The bullet spun, the casing falling to the ground. This time, it was the only sound reverberating through the abandoned factory. The shot echoed, and sparks flew. The bullet hurtled through the air toward V, who was surrounded by the men chatting away, all unharmed, as if the chaos around them had never happened. Suddenly, the world seemed to spin, and in the blink of an eye, the bullet was right beside V¡¯s torso, where Bill now stood next to him. His eyes were fixed on V, his otherwise smooth, slicked-back black hair disheveled, falling forward. His blue eyes shone, his face painted with blue blood, which splattered everywhere. His smile stretched impossibly wide, revealing teeth glistening with blue blood.


    With lightning speed, he aimed his revolver at V¡¯s torso.


    Bang! Pow!


    He squeezed the trigger with a finger losing its skin, still clinging to flesh and blue blood.


    Pow! Pow!


    V recoiled, blue blood spraying from the wound in his side. His eyes widened in shock, but the smile lingered. ¡°Ahahaha! Forgive me, Goddess of Blue Blood! I beg your pardon for my inappropriate behavior, divine one! Please, forgive me!¡± The blood disappeared, along with the holes the bullets had created in V¡¯s body. He smiled sheepishly, then erupted in laughter.


    Click!


    At the same time, Bill attempted to fire again, but the cylinder clicked empty. His smile remained, albeit overshadowed by laughter. The blue sharks continued to watch, disturbed. The men under V remained emotionless. Yet Bill and V laughed hysterically together. Bill attempted to strike V with his fists, but V merely stared back, his eyes glowing a deep blue. Blood congealed and dripped from Bill¡¯s wounds. He struggled to move, feeling weaker than before, yet his grin persisted, broad and wild. V kept his gaze locked on Bill¡¯s equally deep blue eyes, which seemed almost black now. Bill¡¯s veins threatened to burst from the pressure building within him. He gasped, his smile unwavering. Blood streamed from his eyes, nose, and mouth as the skin began to peel from his face, revealing more blue veins beneath.


    The veins began to burst, breaking apart like the strands of a bridge. Blue blood flowed freely, his body disintegrating gradually. The grin on his face only grew wider. Small maggots began to emerge from his skin, multiplying by the second.


    V watched the transformation unfold with fascination. ¡°Now, that¡¯s what I call a successful metamorphosis. Oh, Goddess of Blue Blood, let this poor soul, who sacrificed his sanity and body for power, find peace! Allow me to redeem the souls that once indulged in sin!¡± He raised his arms toward the night sky, forming a V shape. But the only sound that filled the air was a series of sharp snaps, echoing in quick succession.


    A man in black garb suddenly emerged from the chaos, violet eyes gleaming beneath raven-black hair.

 Chapter 21: Violet Eyes

    Darkness enveloped everything. No light, no fire, no smoking cigars¡ªonly the crisp sound of snapping fingers.


    Snap! Snap!


    The echo punctuated the silence, breaking through the void. There was no laughter from V, no monstrous groans from Bill. The sense of touch, sight, and even smell seemed to vanish, leaving only the searing violet glow of a man¡¯s eyes piercing the blackness.


    Snap!


    Another snap shattered the nothingness, and suddenly, the sensation of falling subsided. However, everyone present found themselves immobilized, save for the man in black whose eyes burned with an intense violet flame. ¡°Divine blood is not freely given; it must be earned,¡± he declared, his voice cold as he stared at V¡¯s barely visible, wide-eyed face.


    V¡¯s mouth twitched, his veins standing out as he strained to speak, but his voice was lost to him. The man in black approached, his eyes unwavering, and muttered, ¡°I can¡¯t hear you, but don¡¯t worry¡ªI¡¯ll help with that.¡±


    Snap!


    The air exploded with the sound of flesh tearing and the squelching of blood. The splattering noise was unmistakable¡ªa torrent of blue blood surged, cascading in waves, as V¡¯s head erupted in a gory spectacle. The viscous, vivid blue liquid scattered everywhere, only to rebound away from the man in black, as though repelled by an invisible force.


    Snap! Snap! Snap!


    The man snapped his fingers 21 times, each click followed by the haunting sound of heads bursting, one after another, in a morbid symphony of destruction. Bodies thudded to the ground in sync with the grisly tempo, collapsing into pools of blood.


    Yet, the man in black was not finished. His gaze shifted to Bill, standing frozen a short distance away. Slowly, with unnerving precision, he peeled back Bill¡¯s skin, revealing sinews of blue muscle and veins bulging with a network of writhing maggots that seemed to crawl beneath his flesh. The blue-blooded men gasped for air, though their bodies remained paralyzed, terror written across their strained faces.


    The man¡¯s voice echoed in the desolate factory, resonant and calm. ¡°There¡¯s no going back. You should be more cautious with blood you¡¯re unfit to wield.¡± He closed his violet eyes for a moment, as if recalling something painful, his expression softening into one of brief sorrow. ¡°But your suffering ends here.¡±


    Snap! Snap! Snap!


    Three final snaps echoed, each louder than the last. Bill¡¯s head exploded on the first, a cascade of blue blood painting the darkness. The second brought a blinding flash of fire and oil¡ªa stored reserve that ignited instantly, flooding the factory with brilliant, unforgiving light. And with the third snap, the man vanished, his silhouette lingering for only a moment, head bowed and expression melancholy, while the blue-blooded onlookers regained control of their bodies.


    As they looked down, horror filled their tear-streaked eyes. Their limbs shook, sweat and snot streaming down their faces, while before them lay their captain, their friend¡ªBill¡ªnow a lifeless heap. His headless body sprawled on the ground, blue flesh exposed, and writhing with worms.


    ¡­


    16 Lynn Street, on the corner by the Monument of the Night Goddess.


    Elliot jolted awake, his forehead slick with sweat. Another one of those dreams. Rising slowly, he scanned his surroundings, a question lingering in his mind. No additional visions this time? Could I be limited to one a day, or am I just too weak? Puzzled, he shook his head and stepped outside, stretching as he noticed yet another note tucked in the basket beside him. Someday, he thought with resolve, I¡¯ll leave this place for good. He faced forward with a small smile, heading towards the narrow street lined with sharp, towering buildings, the sun rising and casting a blue glow through the dissipating morning fog.


    ¡­


    Within the humble establishment known as Delicacies in a Bowl, Aston Rosenmahl waited, his skin pallid and dark circles heavy under his eyes. How much longer must I wait for him to show up? His leg tapped restlessly as he glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist: 7:10 a.m. Dressed modestly in a blue suit that complemented his weary gaze, Aston nodded at a waiter who had been keeping an eye on him for several minutes.


    ¡°What would you like today, sir?¡± The waiter in black inquired, arriving with impeccable speed.


    Briefly considering, Aston glanced at the empty chair across from him. ¡°Two servings of today¡¯s drink and dish.¡±


    The waiter replied smoothly, ¡°Two pressed orange juices mixed with Avalorian fruits, and bowls of cured lowland beef in a day-aged broth, as requested.¡± With that, the waiter turned, and at that moment, another man approached the round table for two.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    With light brown hair bordering on blond and striking blue eyes, Hank Dosen carried himself with an air of elegance. He wore a dark brown suit draped with an even darker coat, adjusting his tie as he approached. ¡°Apologies for the wait, Aston. I only received the letter on Azure Breeze Day,¡± he explained with a smile as he took his seat, hanging his coat neatly on the chair.


    Aston leaned forward, fatigue etched into his face, and cut straight to the point. ¡°So, what exactly are you planning to do with these materials and the blood? And what¡¯s this mission of yours? Who are these people you¡¯re dealing with, and what do I gain from all this?¡±


    Hank accepted the barrage of questions with a patient smile, fingers entwined as he replied, ¡°The individuals I¡¯m negotiating with form a vast organization¡ªa black-market collective. They¡¯re mostly green-blooded, though some have yellow, even brown blood. Among them are a few two- and three-blooded hybrids, with rare instances of four-blooded ones. Those¡­ we couldn¡¯t afford even with a year¡¯s salary.¡±


    Aston swallowed hard, feeling his stomach turn. Holy Mother, what have I gotten myself into? First, I attracted the attention of a deity¡ªa golden-blooded being whose intentions I can¡¯t begin to fathom and who could be watching my every move. And now, I¡¯m in indirect contact with a black-market syndicate teeming with green-, yellow-, and brown-blooded individuals. Especially those with blood ratings of three or higher¡­


    Aston struggled to process the weight of the information Hank had just shared. He watched as the waiter brought two drinks in elegant glasses that seemed extravagant for their usual standards. Hank continued, ¡°You apparently need these materials to create artifacts and blood abilities, but as I mentioned, I can''t ask any further questions. It''s a firm ''no'' with those people down there. Anyway, you wanted to know what¡¯s in it for you regarding this whole situation. It''s quite simple: it''s the formula to deal with the madness of blood, so we can become less likely to be possessed.¡±


    Aston stared, his eyes widening in disbelief. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed to fade as a spark of excitement ignited within him. A formula to counteract the possession of blood? If he had that, he could elevate his rank and power! Leaning his fingers against his dark blonde brows, he pondered for a moment before agreeing, ¡°I¡¯ll help you. So tell me, what is this formula?¡±


    Hank smiled slightly, scratching the back of his head, and leaned back in his chair. Aston took his first sip of the warm juice, feeling its richness. ¡°As for that, I don¡¯t know it precisely myself yet. They told me I would receive the formula if I provided them with the necessary materials. It¡¯s sort of a supplement, but worth more than the initial offer.¡±


    Aston considered this, acknowledging the inherent risk. He set down his glass, feeling the determination swell within him. It''s worth the risk; I need to become stronger¡ªnot just for justice, but for my own protection. ¡°I still agree,¡± he replied resolutely.


    Hank grinned, revealing one of his dimples. ¡°Thank you, truly. I wouldn¡¯t know what to do without you.¡± Despite his fatigue, Aston mirrored Hank''s smile, their camaraderie forming a fragile but hopeful bond.


    ¡­


    An hour later, Elliot was out shopping. He met Gene and then later encountered him again at the bathhouse. However, as Elliot made his way to the detective agency of the Blue Sharks, he found it eerily deserted. No one was present¡ªnot Chris, not Elisia, not William, not Elton, nor Captain Bill. The silence enveloped him, reminiscent of the first days when he had started working and knew no one.


    Instead of dwelling on the absence of his colleagues, he buried himself in textbooks on ritual magic. It¡¯s only the second day. Just the second day, and I¡¯ve perhaps studied for six to eight hours. Yet my progress feels abnormal. I know I''ve consumed a significant amount of yellow and, especially, blue blood, but the fluency with which I can read the text¡ªdespite it being in German¡ªis impressive. I can derive most words and translate them, or even recite them by heart.


    His thoughts drifted. If only I had this blood back in school, I¡¯d be living comfortably underground in a bunker with my brother, stocked with supplies for decades! Gazing melancholically at the flowing text, he sighed, murmuring to himself, ¡°I suppose it¡¯s time to uncover the divine gift of my blue blood.¡±


    With that resolve, he set out to gather the required materials: a blank sheet, two grams of silver lizard powder, a flora herb, and a nib made from niche wood. As he worked, he accidentally nicked himself, allowing a drop of his red blood to spill onto the empty page. He began to chant from the book beside him in German, each word clear in his mind. ¡°Let us know what gift you bestow upon us! Oh, all-knowing deity, share with us your boundless wisdom!¡±


    As his eyes became clouded with a crimson hue, his pupils seemingly dissolving, he held his hands before him in a book-like gesture, spanning from his forehead to his chest. The red blood began to spread, mingling with the ingredients, bubbling with intensity. He uttered a final phrase in the language of the gods, ¡°Let it be known through the blood of my knowledge, oh worthy God of Wisdom!¡±


    The red blood formed a symbol of an eye, devoid of a pupil, with concentric circles within the iris. The niche nib, seemingly moving on its own, began to write on the sheet, ¡°Your gift is the control of your own blood in small quantities.¡± Elliot marveled, his lips curling into a smile. So my gift is to control my own blood?


    Various possibilities danced in his mind. That¡¯s quite useful, especially if I were to bleed out. As long as the quantity isn¡¯t too low, I could potentially reanimate myself¡ªor rather, keep my blood flowing. Not bad at all. Elliot felt a smile spreading across his face, dimples forming gently in his cheeks.


    Suddenly, the bells rang out, cutting through his concentration. Startled, he hurried to the nearest wastebasket, crumpling the blood-soaked paper along with other consumed ingredients. Quickly, he hid the nib behind the display case, then licked the slightly bloodied finger clean as he moved through the adjacent room toward the main area. But upon entering, he was met by four individuals, each casting their eyes downward. They appeared more troubled than the last, all clad in dark blue, almost raven-black attire. Elisia wore a dark mourning hat, its veil hanging low. None of them dared meet Elliot¡¯s gaze.


    What had he walked into? The atmosphere grew heavy with unspoken tension as he approached the group, sensing a storm brewing beneath their silence.

 Chapter 22: Funeral

    A heavy silence blanketed the room, as if even the air held its breath. The blue light cast a chilling glow, enveloping everyone in an icy embrace. Why was everyone dressed in such somber attire? Why did they all look so defeated? Elliot¡¯s shoulders slumped further under the weight of his thoughts. His legs trembled slightly, and he leaned against a table for support. His eyes flickered, struggling to maintain focus, and he felt his equilibrium wavering. ¡°No, no, this can¡¯t be real,¡± Elliot murmured to himself, his voice faltering.


    Elton lifted his head, glancing away as he spoke, ¡°It¡¯s true, Bill is dead.¡± The dim light from the blue sun outlined the silhouettes of the four figures standing by Elliot, casting a stark contrast against his fading composure. He felt his strength give way, leaning heavily as tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. Elliot fought against his emotions, desperately wishing to hold back the flood, but the tears flowed freely, blurring his vision and burning his throat.


    ¡°No, this can¡¯t be true,¡± he sobbed, the weight of grief overwhelming him. The stillness returned, punctuated only by the soft glow of the blue sun and the fog rolling outside, mingling with the despair that hung in the air. Even the others wept, their tears dampening their hands, empathy deepening as they caught sight of Elliot¡¯s anguish. William added softly, ¡°We¡¯re heading to Bill¡¯s funeral this afternoon. It¡¯s at the Tr¨¹ben-city cemetery¡ªjust to the right if you walk down Fring Street and then take the other roads without turning.¡±


    ¡­


    The estate of the Rosenmahl family in the Kingdom of Zentria, Denklin.


    Aston led the way, with Hank trailing behind. ¡°Thank you again for your help,¡± Hank said gratefully. ¡°No, I owe you my thanks, my dear friend. Once I have this formula, I¡¯ll finally be the rightful heir. I will be richer, more powerful, stronger.¡± Though Aston maintained a calm exterior, a tempest of ambition roiled beneath his seemingly placid surface. They passed through a large gate guarded by two robust men wielding lances, reminiscent of ancient knights.


    The estate was adorned with exquisite decorations that left even Hank in awe. Eventually, they entered a sprawling garden, so vast it resembled a small forest. However, they did not venture into the thickets, instead approaching a larger-than-usual chest, filled with various materials waiting for them: a quarter kilo of ground Avel roses, six roses bearing eye patterns¡ªthree with one eye and three with three eyes. There was also twenty grams of powdered Nightshimmer from a violet moth and ten grams of a dead rose bouquet from the Glimmering Woods.


    ¡°What blood do we need for this?¡± Hank asked, swallowing hard. ¡°Black?¡± Aston erupted into a furious scream, his hands clenched into fists. ¡°Are you serious!? The black blood of a demon? No wonder they demand such a formula!¡±


    Gradually, Aston calmed, though his fury remained palpable. ¡°But we can acquire it relatively easily. Well, not easy, but for the circumstances, it¡¯s manageable¡ªat least for someone of your stature.¡± Aston¡¯s expression remained skeptical as he fixed his gaze on Hank¡¯s blue eyes. ¡°Continue.¡±


    With another swallow, Hank adjusted his tie. ¡°Typically, you can obtain such blood through combat or monetary means. However, acquiring it with money is more challenging due to the limited supply and high demand. Occasionally, black blood can be purchased, but it¡¯s rare. Since Zentria is quite popular, there are large events¡ªmarkets and the like¡ªwhere black blood can be accessed through auction houses that aren¡¯t publicly accessible. But you, Aston, son of Argon Rosenmahl, can gain entry and purchase it without issues.¡± Hank smiled, a crooked grin revealing his eagerness.


    ¡°Not a bad plan. However, I must convince my father first. How much does a milliliter cost, and how much do they require?¡± Hank took a deep breath. ¡°The current price is about 1,040 Elis per milliliter¡­¡± He hesitated, gauging Aston¡¯s reaction. ¡°¡­and they want three large doses, so twenty milliliters in total.¡±


    Over twenty thousand Elis? That¡¯s almost my monthly budget. Aston mused, pleasantly surprised it was less than he had anticipated. ¡°No worries, I¡¯ll find the money. Just tell me where this auction will take place.¡± Hank¡¯s blue eyes lit up as he clapped his hands together slightly. ¡°It¡¯s at the Reichenfell family auction house.¡±


    ¡­


    Inside the ten-day train to Denklin, the capital of the Kingdom of Zentria, Eriksson sat, absorbing the warmth of the blue light around him. Before him, a man clutched his suitcase tightly, appearing frail and gaunt, with sunken eyes that hinted at daydreams and forgotten thoughts. Every time he snapped back to reality, he grasped his suitcase as if it were a precious child being pulled away by a crowd.


    Meanwhile, Eriksson gazed out the window, lost in the horizon of the turquoise sky. The sun shone with a vivid blue brilliance, effortlessly radiating warmth. It was midday, yet the sun beamed its energy to warm the distant landscape. For billions of years, it had given us everything, and soon it would extinguish. Once bright white, it now glimmered in shades of blue. Yet we give it nothing in return¡­


    I must succeed. Max, my dear boy, I will avenge you. Mother, Father, I will come to you, even if it costs me another hundred years of my life. Eriksson fell into a trance, his body rigid as a candle, his gaze fixed on the horizon beneath the azure sun.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Thump!


    Suddenly, a man stumbled and fell as the train jolted violently. Eriksson remained fixated on the sun, though his gaze had become vacant, devoid of thought. In the chaos, a slender man beside him dropped his suitcase, which contained numerous cans of an orange liquid. Orange blood, it seemed! Eriksson''s mind raced with possibilities as he quickly composed himself.


    ¡°Excuse me, may I speak with you?¡± he asked, his tall frame looming over the trembling man who clutched the suitcase as if it were a lifeline.


    ¡°What is it about?¡± the man replied, his voice shaky.


    ¡°You know precisely what this is about,¡± Eriksson replied, his tone deep and calm. ¡°Let¡¯s keep this to a conversation, shall we?¡±


    But the slender man simply grabbed his suitcase and darted down the narrow aisle. Eriksson''s gaze lingered on the dark brown leather of the case, his thoughts consumed by its mystery.


    ¡­


    On a cemetery that afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the sun dipped low on the horizon. The colors shifted from violet to black as the golden moon rose in the east. The air was chilly. Elliot stood amidst a group of mourners, almost indistinguishable from them.


    ¡°In the name of the gods, let this poor soul rest. You may now say your goodbyes,¡± intoned a priest clad in a long, pale blue robe that bordered on white, adorned with golden patterns. A silver veil draped over his face as he leaned on a staff, surveying the gathering with solemnity.


    Each attendee approached Bill''s closed casket, tears glistening in their eyes. They trembled, their sorrow palpable. Elliot did not recognize them, yet their connection to him felt intimate. He chided himself for considering a scene too grand for the occasion. Since then, he had not shed another tear. He didn¡¯t even want to, but for some reason, the urge resurfaced. Was it the fear of losing warmth forever, the thought of never feeling it again? Or was it because Bill had treated him as a friend? Elliot remained confused, his emotions tied in knots.


    The blue sharks¡ªthe name they called themselves¡ªstood in silent reverence, their expressions a mix of loss and respect. ¡°We will miss you, Captain. Thank you for your service,¡± they murmured as they prepared to bid farewell to Billgard List, as inscribed on his gravestone.


    Elliot wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, the blue of his gaze deepening. Chris and William cast their eyes down, their sadness palpable. One by one, they drew their revolvers, each chamber loaded with blue blood, and with resolute looks, they fired three shots into the air.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Silence fell over the graveyard as Elliot waited. He waited for everyone to leave, for the last words to be spoken. A few mourners trickled away, and then more, until only he remained, enveloped in shadows, the priest having long departed. The starry sky unveiled itself, accentuated by the golden moon, which cast a spectral glow over the scene.


    Elliot lowered his gaze, moving toward Bill''s gravestone. He settled beside it and murmured, ¡°I don¡¯t care if Edwin punishes me for this; let him do it¡­¡± His thoughts spiraled, and with one hand resting on the gravestone, the other absently adjusted his clothes. ¡°No one ever gave me more than you did. I was lost; I thought I would remain lost forever, a slave to my fate. But everything changed when I met you. It was your gentle smile and the kindness from the others that made a difference, but you¡­ you seemed to care for me like no one else. The help, the gestures, the respect, the feeling of belonging¡­ You gave me everything. Even the clothes. Those early tips, the textbooks; we were strangers then. Just a few days, yet it felt like family, a family I once had.


    First, my parents; then Cham, and I thought that my last hope for Ren had shattered. And now you. Bill, I will forever remember you, and you will remain in my thoughts.¡±


    His eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. Not a single one. He was sure Bill wouldn¡¯t have wanted it that way.


    ¡­


    Before long, Elliot was halfway to Edwin and Samantha¡¯s house when he spotted the old man again¡ªthe one he had collided with earlier. He wore the same oversized black cloak, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his brow, white wisps of hair escaping at the sides.


    ¡°What a coincidence,¡± the old man rasped, his voice gravelly. ¡°I wanted to tell you something last time. You bear a striking resemblance to my younger brother. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    Elliot stared, momentarily bewildered. He lifted his melancholic gaze. ¡°Elliot, Elliot Starfall,¡± he replied.


    The old man sighed. ¡°Why such a downtrodden look?¡±


    What a time to receive such lectures. Before Elliot could respond, the old man continued, ¡°But I know a thing or two about loss¡ªit hurts, I understand that intimately.¡± He leaned against his back, his posture crooked.


    Elliot felt an unsettling curiosity rise within him. How does he know what I¡¯m feeling?


    Clearing his throat, the old man shifted the conversation. ¡°Look to the future,¡± he said, liberating Elliot from his thoughts. ¡°Not exactly looking to the future, but let¡¯s leave it at that for now. You¡¯re searching for your brother, Ren, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Elliot replied, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. What was he to think? How should he respond? It felt as though he had forgotten everything; he could barely stand still.


    The old man, hunched yet kind, continued, ¡°I can help you, Elliot.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Elliot asked, his voice flat. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s say I see my brother in you and want to do him one last favor,¡± the old man replied, his forehead shadowed by the brim of his hat.


    Elliot clenched his fists at his sides, looking down at the ground. ¡°How exactly can you help me?¡±


    The old man smiled gently, still massaging his back. ¡°All I need is a strand of your hair. With it, I can pinpoint an exact date, time, and place of your brother¡¯s whereabouts. But I¡¯ll need some time; come back tomorrow, and we can talk again. For now, let me take a few strands of your hair.¡±


    ¡­


    Time passed, and Elliot soon found himself back at Edwin and Samantha¡¯s house. Once again, they showed no concern for him. It felt as if he were so insignificant that his absence wouldn¡¯t even matter. He trudged toward his makeshift sleeping spot on the cold floor of the storage room. With his eyes shut, he lay in darkness, the golden moonlight streaming through, illuminating his solitude.

 Chapter 23: Black Blood

    In the dark void, Elliot awoke with a soft, measured breath. It still feels strange, he thought, absorbing the weightlessness in his body. His physical, mental, and spiritual states seemed balanced¡ªat least within this emptiness. His form felt light, as though he could drift far into the distance with a single leap, yet something tethered him here, like invisible bonds anchoring him to this place. Suddenly, a powerful glimmer of blue light pierced the void, forcing the faint green glow to retreat. So, it¡¯s Aston this time, he mused. Hope you''re ready to host a deity¡¯s presence. Elliot allowed himself a wry smile, acknowledging the irony in his own thoughts.


    His hand drifted over the rough edges of a blue crystal that began to shine intensely, emitting a faint whooshing sound like an approaching wind.


    ¡­


    Whooosh!


    In the midst of an auction house belonging to the Reichenfell family, Aston sat beside Hank in an opulent, ornate hall. The setup resembled a grand theater, with seats descending in the front and rising towards the back. Blue curtains adorned the stage, concealing the evening''s items. The hall, nearly a thousand square meters, accommodated around 400 attendees, each seated in anticipation.


    Above the expansive blue curtain, the Reichenfell family crest¡ªa lion with a majestic golden mane, backed by animal pelts¡ªproudly caught the light. Hank leaned close, his voice low. ¡°What¡¯s your budget? I¡¯ve got everything I could spare for this month, roughly 5,000 Elis.¡± He sighed dramatically, gazing at the back of the head of the person seated in front of him. ¡°Guess it means no new watches for me this month¡­¡±


    Aston chuckled, patting Hank¡¯s shoulder. ¡°While you were gone, I asked my father, and he extended my budget for tonight,¡± he whispered, covering his mouth as he added, ¡°Up to 50,000 Elis. And if necessary, I can exceed even that.¡±


    Hank¡¯s eyes widened as though he¡¯d just seen a ghost, his lips quivering. ¡°Fifty¡­ thousand¡­ Elis¡­¡± he muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. Aston just smiled faintly.


    Who is this guy? Why¡¯s he fawning over Aston so much? And this place¡­ all that money¡­ Elliot¡¯s thoughts whirled as he observed, curiosity piqued. Is Aston really about to buy something of serious value?


    A booming voice from the stage cut through his musings. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen! We are gathered here tonight to celebrate the annual anniversary of Reichenfell Auction House!¡± declared the auctioneer. ¡°Tonight¡¯s collection is filled exclusively with rare materials and artifacts, items that can only be found here. Whether you carry two, three, or more blood affinities, or simply a lesser one, as long as your status and wealth allow it, all are welcome.¡± He went on, ¡°As today crosses from the Day of False Gods into the Violet Dunes at midnight, we will auction up to 100 unique items of varying distance and rarity.¡±


    And yet here he is, still rambling. Elliot smirked, rubbing his brow at the auctioneer¡¯s drawn-out preamble.


    The auctioneer continued as two young men dressed in dark blue suits pushed a table covered by a cloth onto the stage. ¡°We begin with the first item of tonight''s auction,¡± he announced, as the assistants lifted the cloth with dramatic flair, revealing a pair of sleek, jet-black boots. The crowd leaned forward, eyes intent, many raising their opera glasses, Aston and Hank among them.


    ¡°This artifact, rated Level 6, is enchanted for extended durability and strength, empowered by a mixture of orange and yellow blood essence. These boots grant the wearer increased stamina, reduced fatigue in their legs, and the ability to strike with enough force to dent Elitran steel. Sturdy, powerful, and filled with useful side effects, the bidding starts at 100 Elis!¡± the auctioneer declared.


    ¡°110! 120! 130! 150!¡± Bidders raised their signs, eager for the auction¡¯s first prize.


    When will this end? Elliot inwardly sighed, watching the scene unfold. This must be the longest I''ve ever stayed within a body. Hours had slipped by, each artifact adding to the monotony. There were items of Levels 8 to 4¡ªimbued with various abilities, from enhanced strength to illusions and invisibility, infused with blue to brown blood. Yet, Aston hadn''t made a single bid. None of the items were even close to his budget, let alone surpassing half of it. The only expensive item, a mask that claimed to transform the wearer into a higher being with prolonged youth, failed to draw Aston¡¯s interest. Just buy something already if you¡¯re going to sit through all this¡­


    Elliot¡¯s thoughts were interrupted by the auctioneer¡¯s booming voice again, ¡°And now, we come to the final item and tonight¡¯s grand prize. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the blood of a demon¡ªten large vials, totaling a full 100 milliliters. Bidding begins at 100,000 Elis!¡±


    100,000 Elis? Demon blood? Elliot¡¯s eyes, through Aston¡¯s own, widened in astonishment. The entire hall fell silent, whispers breaking out across the crowd.


    ¡°Ten vials?¡± ¡°Demon blood?¡± ¡°One hundred thousand Elis!?¡±


    The auctioneer repeated, ¡°The opening bid is 100,000 Elis!¡±


    The silence grew heavy as participants exchanged nervous glances. Then, one hand lifted among the crowd, holding a bidding sign. ¡°100,000 Elis,¡± the auctioneer called, ¡°going once¡­ going twice¡­ sold to the gentleman in the back row!¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    All eyes turned to Aston, shock filling the air. Aston¡¯s mouth twitched, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, while Hank seemed to melt into his chair. So, he did buy something after all. Demon blood¡­ 100,000 Elis. I¡¯d have to work for lifetimes to come close to that kind of money. Elliot smirked beneath a mask of disbelief. Today¡¯s the day, Aston, whether you like it or not¡­ a deity is watching over you.


    The auctioneer cleared his throat, interrupting the eerie silence. ¡°With that, our auction for the Day of Violet Dunes comes to an end. All purchased items can be retrieved in the adjacent room. Please remember to bring your numbered signs to confirm you are the rightful buyer of each item.¡±


    ¡­


    Aston and Hank moved purposefully through the grand hall, where most of the evening¡¯s guests were either mingling in sophisticated attire or gradually making their exit. The duo directed their steps toward a side room reserved for select individuals, though they were halted as they attempted to line up. The auctioneer approached them with an ingratiating smile, "Ah, Mr. Rosenmahl, I presume? I hope I¡¯m not being too forward, but as an exclusive bidder, we would be honored to spare you the wait. Please, come with me."


    Maintaining an elegant composure, Aston nodded, gesturing to Hank, who followed closely behind. Meanwhile, Elliot sneered at the auctioneer¡¯s long-windedness. How much more can he stretch his sentences? It¡¯s not as if he¡¯ll lose his head if he just speaks plainly, he thought, rubbing his temples in mild irritation.


    After a quick exchange of a bank draft, Aston was handed a black suitcase, heavy with its precious contents: ten large vials of pure demon blood. The auctioneer smiled with a formal farewell, "Thank you, Mr. Rosenmahl. We hope to see you again next year."


    As he departed, Hank leaned in close to Aston, whispering behind his hand, "The folks from the black market aren¡¯t far from here." Aston merely gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable. Without hesitation, he proceeded in the direction Hank indicated. Elliot, observing through his connection with Aston, frowned, wondering, What now? Isn¡¯t this blood for Aston¡¯s own purposes?


    ¡­


    Elsewhere, Eriksson stood on a train platform along the ten-day route to Denklin, the capital of the Kingdom of Zentria. His piercing gaze was fixed on a nervous, slender man clutching a small suitcase and shuffling backward as though hoping to escape. The man¡¯s eyes were wide with fear as he glanced over his shoulder, his untidy brown hair falling over his face.


    ¡°Now, from the beginning,¡± Eriksson demanded, his voice chillingly calm. ¡°Out here, no one can protect you. What exactly did these people tell you when they handed you the orange blood?¡±


    The man¡¯s gaze wavered as he stammered his response. "I-I don¡¯t know much¡­ They only said that if I could smuggle this blood into Zentria and deliver it to a certain person, then they¡¯d release my little brother.¡± His voice quivered, and his bony shoulders trembled. "You have to understand¡­ I¡¯m from Denklin, but I got caught up in things, and they¡­ They took my brother.¡± Tears streamed down his face as he buried it in his grimy shirt sleeve, choking back sobs.


    Just like me, Eriksson thought darkly. He softened slightly, though his resolve remained hard as steel. I¡¯ll help you. I¡¯ll get your brother out of harm¡¯s way and make those monsters pay, slowly.


    Eriksson stepped forward, his voice quieter but resolute. ¡°I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    ¡­


    The darkened alleyways of Denklin twisted like veins through the city. Clad in black cloaks, Aston and Hank moved with purpose, a raven-black case in tow. Only three vials of demon blood remained.


    ¡°This is it,¡± Hank whispered, though his legs were visibly trembling. Aston gave him a steady look, but Elliot, still watching, couldn¡¯t hide his confusion. Why the black market? Isn¡¯t the black blood meant for Aston? But he sensed something darker afoot as they approached a shadowed doorway, the weight of many unseen eyes upon them. The alley felt thick with an oppressive stillness, every glance as sharp as a knife.


    The door creaked open, revealing a man with inky black hair and hauntingly white eyes. His smile was kind yet unsettling, burning into Aston and Hank as he greeted them. "Ah, Hank, and a companion as well. I trust you have the blood?¡±


    Hank¡¯s hands shook slightly as he nodded. The man with the white eyes beckoned them inside, his voice soft. "Good. Let¡¯s not waste time; I have another engagement shortly.¡±


    They entered a dimly lit room, a single oil lamp casting weak light onto a table. Aston placed the case on the table, its contents briefly catching the lamp¡¯s glow. The man with the white eyes inspected it carefully, his expression a mask of calm satisfaction. ¡°Three vials of demon blood. I¡¯m impressed. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d manage it, Hank. But it seems your friend here gave you the extra push you needed.¡±


    Aston and Hank nodded in unison, though their smiles were forced and brittle. The man¡¯s unsettling eyes glittered as he continued, ¡°Now, let¡¯s get to the formula. It¡¯s not some mysterious ritual; it¡¯s simply a matter of compatibility. Certain types of blood blend well, while others cause¡­ unpleasant side effects¡ªpeeling skin, madness, corruption, coagulated blood, and so forth. The maggots, well, those are merely an enzymatic reaction that occurs when incompatible blood types combine.¡± He paused, glancing at Aston and Hank¡¯s faces, which were both a mixture of fascination and dread.


    ¡°To put it simply, the key to avoiding transformation lies in understanding which blood types harmonize with one another,¡± he explained. ¡°Each blood type¡ªred, blue, green, yellow, violet, orange, brown, black, white, and gold¡ªhas its own set of rules. For instance, those with blue blood can safely consume only gold, white, violet, orange, and red blood. Green blood can only accept black, brown, yellow, and red blood. Similarly, orange blood can take in gold, white, violet, blue, and red, and so on.¡±


    Elliot listened intently through Aston¡¯s perception, piecing together the intricacies of the blood system. The man continued, ¡°You¡¯ve likely noticed the pattern. Blue, orange, violet, white, and gold are part of a harmonious group, while brown, black, yellow, and green fall into another. The red blood, however, is unique¡ªit can consume any blood type, though there¡¯s a catch. The more red-blooded individuals consume other types, the more susceptible they become to addiction. This addiction eventually leads to corruption, though the transformation occurs far later than with any other blood type.¡±


    The black-haired man gave a parting wave, disappearing into a side room. Aston and Hank exchanged a tense look, both absorbing the wealth of information they¡¯d just received, while Elliot, in turn, processed every word, sensing the profound implications of this knowledge.

 Chapter 24: Yellow Vision

    Elliot absently stroked his slowly regrowing stubble, deep in thought. So, one can absorb only certain types of blood without significant issues. Blue is compatible with red, orange, violet, white, and gold, while the others lead to madness, corruption, and transformation. In contrast, red, green, yellow, brown, and black blood can be mixed. But why are reds different? Anyone can take red blood, and reds can absorb any other type, albeit with a delayed transformation. Why is that? Elliot sighed, rubbing his brow as he continued to gaze into Aston''s eyes. The room was dim, the oil lamp struggling to cast light around them. Aston¡¯s expression was grim, his fists clenched tightly.


    Hank leaned closer and whispered, "Do you know what this means?" Aston nodded, his teeth grinding together, on the verge of breaking something but reconsidering. Hank swallowed hard. "I''m sorry, but you could use the black blood differently¡ªperhaps as a trade for more information or as leverage for protection or other types of blood." He managed a crooked smile, his gaze downward, before falling silent.


    Elliot¡¯s lips curled into a smirk as a realization struck him. His thoughts turned devious; he could wrest the black blood from him. What if it were a sacrifice or an investment, ensuring that Hank owed him a favor? Elliot continued to ponder, rubbing his hands together.


    ...


    Only half an hour passed, the length of a carriage ride, before Hank said goodbye to Aston. Another hour later, Aston exited as well. Accompanied by the embodiment of God, Elliot followed Aston, who was carrying a suitcase filled with the remaining seven vials of black blood back to his estate. How I miss all the technical gadgets! With a tram, we would have arrived in ten or twenty minutes. A razor would be nice again, although I suppose they have them here too. But most importantly, the mobile phones... Elliot sank deeper into his thoughts, boredom creeping in. But now was the time for Aston to be alone in his bedroom with his suitcase full of black blood.


    "Aston, write on a sheet with ink on your desk: An intriguing second life for an aristocrat." A blue light flickered, accompanied by the wind.


    Whooosh!


    Aston stood up, took his fountain pen, and wrote in orange ink. His posture remained elegant, but his eyes and hands trembled as he looked around wildly, just like the first time. "What do you want?!" Aston¡¯s pulse quickened, sweat forming on his palms. Elliot spoke again, wearing a smile. "Aston, write this: I mean no harm. I, as the true God, love my children, my worshippers. But one of my devotees needs something you possess: the black blood."


    Another flash of light followed, and the wind whipped through the room. Aston trembled, his voice fluctuating between high and low as he stammered, "You want the black blood? How much?" Elliot rubbed his brow. "Aston, write again: My devotee requires three vials of black blood." It blazed and hissed, Elliot''s eyes reddening as his ears rang. Glistening with goosebumps, Aston exclaimed, "I can give you three vials, but where shall I send it? And forgive my curiosity, but which god are you?"


    Which god am I? Good question. Elliot ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "Aston, write again: Send the blood to Tr¨¹ben-City, to the Kingdom of Avelor. In an alley on Fing Street, between house numbers 10 and 12. I am the God who is lost, the tenth among the nine, the deity of creation, of beginnings and ends."


    It blazed and hissed again, a sharp pain stabbing deep in Elliot''s left eye. Aston, reading the message with widened eyes, appeared more composed. "As you wish, God of Creation. I will send it to your devotee. However, it will likely take 10 to 12 days to arrive." Elliot nodded, rubbing his eye. But suddenly, darkness enveloped him, and his body felt as if it were falling endlessly.


    ...


    On the tenth day of the journey toward the Kingdom of Zentria, under the day of the Violet Dunes, a frail man named Rafael sat before the elegantly seated Eriksson. Rafael clutched his suitcase as if his life depended on it, while Eriksson scratched at the green, dark crust of a wound, something orange seeping from it this time. About five milliliters spilled out, hovering slightly above the newspaper he had recently bought, leaving behind a message written in blood.


    Good morning, contractor. It is time for new information. The client who provided me the funds is a certain Hank Dosen. He wants to eliminate a rival faction that has been shooting at him and also steal an artifact that resembles a hand¡ªa mummified one. In any case, the address is as follows: near the Dosen family estate, specifically the building across from it. I will possibly provide you with more information, so you must keep your wound open for another 8 to 10 days. The payment will also come from the client, Hank Dosen, once you complete your mission. Yours sincerely, Reggy.


    Eriksson stared at the tiny writing, barely legible, noting the name Hank Dosen and the estate across from his. Fine, but now I will enjoy my journey first. The rising sun bathed the fields in a bluish glow as Eriksson filled his coffee with more sugar than usual, nearly a quarter of the cup.


    ...


    Elliot had been awake for some time, buying provisions for Edwin and Samantha, washing up, and now sat in his small office, the Blue Shark. As everyone around him busied themselves with work and kept their heads down as usual, Elliot continued reading his book on ritual magic. His gaze turned murky; the dark emptiness that had been absent returned, bringing forth his worries and negative feelings. The atmosphere matched the color of the room, dim light filtering in. Cold¡ªeverywhere reminded him of Bill. Even in Elliot''s workspace, Bill''s black cloak hung on the back of his chair.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    I¡¯m sorry, Bill. I wish I could undo what has happened, but the world is cruel. What¡¯s even crueler is that I¡¯ve begun to accept it as normal. Bill... it hurts. It truly hurts, yet it feels like the passing of two birds, two ships, or two strangers. It feels as if I¡¯m starting to normalize it. How can that be? It is death. Yet perhaps they are in a better place. Mother, Father, Cham, Bill. I hope you dwell in a better realm¡ªa place where one feels no fear, no remorse, no anger, and no sorrow.


    Elliot was entranced, lost in the echoes of old thoughts, his gaze fixed on the pages of his book. It was a tranquil reverie until a sharp pain pierced his consciousness, pulling him back into the present. With a sudden shake of his head, he dragged his finger across the words on the page, but the discomfort only intensified. It felt as if someone were squeezing his eye, though without the full agony of such a sensation¡ªmore like a persistent flicking, a reminder that something was amiss.


    He rubbed his eye, feeling an unsettling warmth that refused to dissipate, an insistent whisper that warned him of an impending revelation. As he continued to rub, he felt something viscous and warm emerge from beneath his eyelid. It was yellow blood, the strange substance that had camouflaged itself within the crimson. Why? Why yellow? His thoughts spiraled, yet his eyes drooped heavy, and he found himself collapsing forward, his face meeting the half-open pages of the book. More crimson blood spilled forth, entangling itself around the yellow, ensnaring it, only to draw it back into his eye.


    ¡­


    In a realm of darkness, Elliot awoke with a frantic gasp, the weight of confusion pressing down on him. Where am I? Panic surged as he grasped at his eye, but the warm yellow blood was gone. The emptiness that surrounded him was no longer void; it was filled with a piercing yellow light. The wind howled around him, whipping his hair back as he squinted against the brightness. Even with his eyes shut tight, he was enveloped in blinding yellow. Shielding his face with his hands, he found the light dimming to a more bearable saffron hue, though shadows lurked at the edges of his vision.


    ¡°What in the world is happening?¡± Elliot cursed inwardly, each step he took toward the source of the light met with a fierce gust that pushed him back. The wind grew stronger, and the ground beneath him felt as though it might collapse at any moment.


    Suddenly¡ªwhoosh!


    Elliot''s fingers grazed a rough, angular yellow crystal, and in that instant, the light and wind subsided, though he still felt the oppressive weight of their presence.


    ¡­


    The sky above him blazed a vivid cyan, the sand beneath his feet a striking violet. The sun loomed high, its rays beating down on a child¡ªapproximately sixteen years old. The boy¡¯s skin was pale, tinged with an unsettling yellow hue. His red eyes contrasted sharply with his almost blonde, light brown hair. What are those sounds? Why is the sky so blindingly bright, and why does it feel both cold and hot at once? Elliot cursed, trapped within the boy''s body, experiencing the conflicting sensations of temperature while gazing up at the endless sky.


    But he could see through only one eye; his left remained lost in the dark void. Sounds of gunfire echoed in the distance, loud and jarring, while the dull thud of vibrations pulsed through the violet sand beneath him. The bright cyan sky loomed overhead, the sun glaring down upon the child, who lay there in confusion.


    Then, a shadow fell over him¡ªa dark silhouette that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Goddamn it! Pain shot through his body, stiffness gripping him as an ache flared in his head. What is happening? Why do I feel both cold and warm? Elliot continued to wonder as the child remained prone on the violet sand, which rippled like waves, shifting under him yet failing to lift him.


    The boy, with one red eye staring into the blindingly bright sky, remained paralyzed by fear. Above, birds soared, their massive wings casting shadows over the barren expanse of desert and the grotesque machines of war, colossal constructs engaged in brutal conflict. The boy raised his arm, reaching for the infinite blue, only to be seized by a hand¡ªrough and strong, belonging to a man who approached with hurried strides.


    ¡°Boy, what are you doing?¡± The man¡¯s voice was gruff, filled with urgency as he hoisted the boy onto his back. Elliot felt a wave of disorientation wash over him, caught in the boy''s fading consciousness. What the hell is going on? Vivid violet sand stretched out endlessly, and towering machines loomed, their orange frames casting monstrous shadows. Was he on a battlefield? In the midst of war? Elliot cursed the situation he found himself in.


    Despite feeling relatively unharmed, a grim sense of impending doom clung to him, and he yearned to protect the child¡¯s life¡ªespecially now that he was intertwined with it. I refuse to die again, especially not against my will! He cursed inwardly, watching through the child¡¯s hazy vision as the ground trembled and shadows danced around them.


    ¡°Stay awake, boy!¡± the strong man warned, his voice booming as they made a narrow escape. ¡°Watch your tongue, yellow-belly!¡± With a powerful leap, he bounded across a vast chasm, landing on the other side with a calculated grace. A barricade loomed ahead, where men with guns peered down at them with wary eyes.


    ¡°Outpost 2468! I¡¯m from Outpost 2468! Don¡¯t shoot!¡± The man called, his voice strained yet authoritative, while he maneuvered the boy securely on his back, gripping the rough surface of the ladder with one hand as he climbed. The guards exchanged glances, noting the boy''s unsettling yellow skin.


    ¡°Show us your tongues!¡± came the order, and the strong man complied, sweat streaming down his face as the child struggled to do the same. After a tense moment, the guards nodded, lowering their weapons and reaching down to help. But instead of lingering, the man leaped back into the violet desert, and Elliot felt the boy¡¯s eyelids grow heavy, as his own consciousness began to fade.


    ¡°Stay awake! Get the medics! Now!¡± The words echoed faintly in his mind as the strong man urged, but instead of the chaotic scene around him, Elliot found himself swept away into distant memories¡ªfaded recollections of the boy with bond-like brown hair and red eyes, drifting like whispers in the wind.

 Chapter 25: Violet Seas

    It was dark, and several children sat in a cramped room, listening to a man in uniform delivering a passionate speech. ¡°You, our descendants! You, who will one day nourish, provide for, and celebrate us! You must fight for the well-being of us all! Think of your children, your grandchildren, who will one day sit here. Think of these and the deeds of the past. We were guilty, and we admit it. Our ancestors committed sins. They spoke in the name of the gods, behaved like them, and presented themselves as such. No one can take pride in that! But we are us now. Not those from the past, and not those from the future! We are those who must endure all this suffering! Our homeland has been pushed back! Our resources, our asphanium, have been stolen from us! At some point, it was enough; we were looked down upon, spat on! Just like the Red-Blooded, but we are Yellow! A pure, a powerful race! With our technology, we can trample our enemies and reclaim our power! I tell you, children, our ancestors made mistakes, but we do not have to stand for it! No! It has been far too long, and we were not even close to a millennium away to be planned at all. Therefore, I tell you, you children who will be the future of our army: fight for us, for yourselves, and fight for all our descendants so that one day we can once again raise our heads in shining armor!¡±


    Dozens of children listened to the speech of a tall, strong man whose arm had been replaced by a metallic prosthesis. But the scene shifted. The small boy Fynn, without a last name, was running alongside a man in pious clothing. They were in a city, outpost 2456, as it was called, one of many on the imperial battlefield of the continent of violet seas, which was divided between Yellow and Violet-Blooded people. One half was a vast violet desert, while the other was an equally large expanse of solid land.


    The now even smaller Fynn, with his slightly yellow-tinged white skin and his two red eyes, asked, ¡°Father, why exactly do we have to fight?¡± The pious man in dark clothing replied, ¡°If you don¡¯t fight, who will? The old or the wounded? The world is cruel, but our enemies are even crueler. Fynn, do you really want to be trapped behind these walls forever? Do you really want to live a miserable life just because of our ancestors and others who box us into a corner?¡±


    The scene changed again. This time, Fynn stood alone on the walls, proud and determined, as evening fell. The blue sun set, and the sky turned dark violet, a slight pinkish shimmer running through the sand, which moved in the wind like the waves of a sea. The little Fynn murmured to himself,


    ¡°Tomorrow is the day. I will make my homeland proud. I will win and gift my children the world. One day I will marry a woman, a beautiful one, and together with her and my children, I will go to the seas, to the real ones.¡±


    Fynn proudly gazed into the violet-pink horizon as the clouds descended, followed by the sun. In his line of sight stood massive robots, known as titans, walking on all fours or rather on eight legs.


    Once again, the scene changed. Fynn ran with hundreds of others his age, followed by older fighters, quickly through the desert. Sand grains whipped into their eyes and onto their faces, but no one stopped. After some time, they were overtaken by the titans, monstrous beings powered by asphanium, the resource they fought over with the Violet-Blooded. The crowd screamed as they charged onto the battlefield. The sand trembled, the cries echoed, everyone was armed with firearms and lightly dressed. A slightly older boy, about 17 years old, shouted from the front:


    ¡°We will defeat them! We will restore our yellow blood to its former glory!¡±


    But just a moment later, a bullet struck the boy, and his body crumpled. He fell to his knees. The violet sea absorbed the yellow blood, blowing it in one direction. Still, they all continued running, proud in their ordinary clothing, with a yellow star on their chests. But the shots continued to rain down; they seemed to come from nowhere.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Suddenly, the gunfire intensified, but no one was visible. Only when Fynn glanced to the side did he see another man in violet garb hiding in the violet desert, also firing at him and all the others. Dodging, Fynn turned around, but he felt a stabbing pain in his left eye. Fynn screamed and screamed, but no one came to help him. No one! Minutes passed, yet everyone kept fighting. Finally, Fynn¡¯s life was just one of many on a battlefield.


    ¡°Arghh!¡± Fynn screamed. He was in pain, almost forgetting it. Fynn, an interesting story. A completely new continent, a violet desert, and a kind of land, full of outposts in various factions of the continent. Yellow and violet blood warring against each other? Elliot thought, as he listened to the screaming Fynn. Sweating profusely, the medics pressed cloths to Fynn¡¯s eye while the yellow blood gushed out. Yet there was also a bullet lodged in Fynn¡¯s leg.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°His leg won¡¯t stop bleeding! I fear a major artery has been hit!¡± A female voice rang out, followed by one of the men. ¡°What¡¯s the status of the boy!?¡± The guardians hastily replied, ¡°We don¡¯t know!¡± Everyone screamed, but not Fynn anymore; his skin turned paler, and Elliot felt that too. He sensed his vision fading gradually. Goddammit, don¡¯t die on me now! This time, Elliot was also a bit distracted. As he pondered, he scratched the back of his head hard.


    Fynn¡¯s vision continued to fade, the voices grew quieter, but Elliot quickly had an idea. Please, let it work! ¡°Fynn, reclaim your blood and do not let it out; use my power to control the blood!¡± A blinding light and a gust of wind followed. Parts of the yellow blood flowed back into Fynn¡¯s body, circulation resumed, and his heart beat stronger. Fynn¡¯s eyes closed, the voices vanished, but the pulse remained strong, and breathing resumed.


    ¡­


    ¡°Fynn!¡± Elliot shouted, spittle hanging from his mouth, his voice hoarse and frayed. Is he dead now?! God, please, no. This should work; if I command him not to lose blood, he should be able to use my power to stop it since I¡¯m in his body. Indirectly, it¡¯s mine, isn¡¯t it? Please! He clasped his hands, pleading, his thoughts overtaken by the voices echoing nearby.


    ¡°Yes, we can accept your assignment.¡± A soft voice spoke from across the room. It was Elisia, her dark blond hair cascading down a white blouse paired with a beige skirt. Elliot edged closer, wondering if anyone had heard his earlier cries, but Elisia and the others remained focused on the conversation. Are they ignoring me? He glanced at them hopefully, his hands still clasped tightly.


    ¡°It¡¯s settled then,¡± Elisia continued in her composed tone. ¡°The job is to find your husband, and in return, we¡¯ll receive four Elis, plus any additional hourly rates after the second week, correct?¡± The client gave a slight nod, but no one directly answered her. Nearby, a delicate woman in a fine dress stood by the entrance, only to disappear almost as quickly as she¡¯d appeared. All Elliot managed to see were her black hair and the striking crimson gown that marked her departure.


    ¡°Who was she?¡± Elliot asked as he leaned against the door frame, trying to catch his breath and ground himself after the chaos of his vision. The room felt surprisingly relaxed, even calm, in stark contrast to the intensity he had just experienced.


    ¡°A woman, or rather, the wife of a scoundrel,¡± Chris remarked dryly, glancing down with a smirk, only to be met with a sharp look from Elisia. He shrugged, stifling his humor as he glanced away, while William offered a bit more information.


    ¡°The woman¡¯s husband seems to have vanished without a trace,¡± he explained.


    Elton, eager to contribute, added, ¡°In other words, he¡¯s flown the coop.¡± He gave a faint smile, adding, ¡°...fifty-fifty, at least.¡±


    Elliot blinked, still catching up to their lighthearted tone. So, a new assignment. He mulled it over, then asked aloud, ¡°Who¡¯ll be handling this one?¡±


    Elton turned to him with a faint grin. ¡°Good question. This isn¡¯t a specialized mission; anyone can take it on, really. Since this would be your first real job, Elliot, I imagine you¡¯d be the one to go. But as it¡¯s your first time, you¡¯ll need someone else along. Any volunteers?¡±


    Silence fell over the room for a few moments before William sighed and raised his hand, drawing nods of approval from the others. ¡°Then get dressed; it¡¯s a bit brisk outside. Winter¡¯s creeping in.¡± With that, William reached for his beige coat hanging over a nearby wardrobe, while Elliot returned to his study to grab his own black coat, the familiar wear from Bill¡¯s collection.


    ¡­


    Elsewhere, a figure draped in a shadowy cloak entered a dimly lit room, one he had shared with Hank earlier but was now deserted. Aston stood there alone, a suitcase in hand, waiting. Before long, another man appeared, his hair raven-black and his eyes an unsettling white, a grin spreading across his face as he sized Aston up.


    ¡°Well, well, I didn¡¯t know you were the mischievous type. What brings you here?¡± the man asked, his voice smooth yet taunting.


    Aston swallowed, steadying himself before he replied, ¡°I need this suitcase delivered somewhere... elsewhere.¡±


    The man chuckled, clearly amused. ¡°I suppose we haven¡¯t been introduced. I go by Ranton, and you are?¡±


    ¡°Aston.¡± His response was clipped, his body tense.


    ¡°Not one for conversation, are we?¡± Ranton smirked, pausing as Aston gave a hesitant nod. With a brief laugh, he gestured to Aston to follow. ¡°I¡¯ll take you to someone who can deliver your suitcase wherever you need, aside from the realms of the Angels, Demons, or Gods, of course.¡± He moved purposefully, leading Aston to yet another man cloaked in dark robes, much like Aston himself.


    The man they approached, known as Cas, sat drinking in silence. His silhouette was broad and imposing, his frame wiry and muscular under the shadows. Ranton cleared his throat, catching Cas¡¯s attention. ¡°Cas, we¡¯ve got a client.¡±


    Cas glanced up from his drink, his voice rumbling as he asked, ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°Six hundred Elis,¡± Ranton replied, without missing a beat.


    Cas downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, his face obscured under a hood, save for the hint of a thick, scarred beard peeking through. ¡°Where¡¯s the destination?¡± he asked, turning to face Aston fully.


    Aston shifted, finally managing to answer. ¡°The Kingdom of Avelor, in Tr¨¹ben City.¡±


    A grim smile crept across Cas¡¯s face, a glint of dark amusement in his eye. ¡°Only if the next round¡¯s on you,¡± he grinned, his tone mocking. A deep laugh rumbled from his chest, echoing through the dimly lit room.


    The deal set, Aston watched as Cas prepared to handle the suitcase, his heart pounding slightly as he processed the strangeness of the evening. He barely knew Ranton and Cas, yet here he was, placing his trust in them, entrusting this valuable parcel to a man whose face remained shrouded in mystery, marked only by the fleeting glimpses of scars and a life forged in violence.

 Chapter 26: Vanished Men

    Elliot sat in a pre-paid carriage alongside William. Without a word exchanged, they both took in the sights of the city. The morning sun had risen, casting a sharp turquoise hue across the sky, though a dense mist clung to the streets. ¡°Next stop, the Crossroad at the Statue of the Deity of Knowledge!¡± the driver shouted as he whipped the reins, urging his horses forward.


    Once they¡¯d alighted, Elliot turned to William. ¡°What was your relationship with Bill, if I may ask?¡± he ventured, instantly regretting the question. Of course, they had been close¡ªwhy even ask?


    Elliot cursed his own foolishness, but William simply sighed and replied, ¡°He was my colleague, my mentor, and¡­more than that, he was my friend.¡± William¡¯s gaze dropped, his hair falling slightly over his face. ¡°Bill didn¡¯t have it easy¡ªnone of us do, really. I¡¯m a half-blood. Red and blue. Untrusted. Yet Bill took me in. He was a good man. And Simon¡­¡±


    William paused, gathering his thoughts, but then he continued, ¡°You were bound to learn about this eventually. Before you joined us, we had another full-blooded red like you. Back then, I was still new. Simon was¡­well, he was like any other man. He could be sad, angry, joyful. But he always showed a happy face. We all assumed he was doing well. He fit in so naturally that we soon forgot he was a red-blood. I forgot from the very start. But that¡¯s beside the point. The important thing is what we all gained from being around him. We learned compassion, understanding, the truth that no matter one¡¯s blood, we¡¯re all living beings. We¡¯re human. And then one day¡­Simon, the red-blood before you, was gone. He was killed, murdered by his master. A brutal display, just to show everyone who held power. To say it was a show of strength doesn¡¯t even come close. Afterward, Bill was never the same. He never admitted it, but he blamed himself. He aged before our eyes. His hair began to thin, his face lined with shadows. He must have thought himself weak, believing that if only he were stronger, he could¡¯ve protected those around him. And what can I say? In the end, he did¡­even if it cost him his life.¡±


    William¡¯s gaze remained distant, his mind adrift in memory. ¡°But don¡¯t let this weigh you down. Think of it as a lesson¡ªstrength is important, yes, but life itself matters even more. What good is strength if it can¡¯t be wielded when it¡¯s needed most?¡±


    The air between them grew heavy, in tune with the cold, mist-laden atmosphere. Fog hugged the bases of towering, pointed buildings, and the sky, now obscured by dark, slate-blue clouds, seemed ominous. When they reached their destination, William knocked on the door, holding up his detective badge flecked with blue blood marks. ¡°We¡¯re with the Blue Sharks. We heard that a man named Joe Hillinger was visiting here recently. Did he seem troubled? Was he in a hurry, or perhaps frightened?¡±


    William¡¯s words hung in the air as the door opened to reveal a man with cold, piercing blue eyes and rolled-up sleeves. ¡°Joe? Yes, he was here yesterday,¡± the man replied. ¡°We¡¯re colleagues, after all. He dropped by for a short visit, and we invited him to have some cake since it was my little girl¡¯s birthday.¡±


    William smiled faintly, trying to peer into the house. ¡°I see. Then, please give her my belated congratulations. But you wouldn¡¯t happen to know where he went afterward, would you?¡±


    The man nodded, returning William¡¯s smile with a softer one of his own. ¡°Actually, yes. He mentioned he was heading to a salon to get his hair cut. Took his time with it, too, but¡­why are you asking about him?¡±


    Elliot¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°He¡¯s gone missing. We don¡¯t yet know why or where. Our best guess is that he either ran off with someone or he¡¯s been taken. Do you know if he was distant from his wife recently, or perhaps¡­seeking comfort elsewhere?¡±


    The man¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Never. Joe wouldn¡¯t hurt a soul. Even in his wildest dreams, he¡¯d never betray Lisa. I¡¯d stake my life on that. He¡¯s too kind-hearted for such a thing, even toward red-bloods, I¡¯ll have you know.¡±


    A woman¡¯s voice called for him from within the house, and he excused himself with a nod. ¡°Try the salon just down the street,¡± he offered as he stepped back inside. ¡°It¡¯s along Tilgen Street, right around the corner.¡±


    Nodding, William and Elliot exchanged a glance with the man¡¯s icy blue eyes one last time before turning away. ¡°Seems we¡¯re onto something,¡± William murmured, running a hand through his blond hair. With his confident stride and upright bearing, he hardly resembled the child of a red-blood at all. It piqued my curiosity¡ªwhat was William¡¯s story? But perhaps that question could wait for another time.


    ¡­


    Fringe Street 95, Blue Sharks.


    The bell above the office door rang, and a young woman entered. ¡°Another case? Already?¡± Elton muttered under his breath, but Elisia was quick to step forward and greet the visitor. ¡°How can we help you?¡±


    The young woman, dressed in a modest beige skirt and short blouse, spoke with a trembling voice, her lips barely holding their shape. ¡°M¨Cmy husband has gone missing. Since last night at work. I waited for him, went to his workplace, but no one¡¯s seen him since.¡±


    Her voice quivered as Elton stifled a sigh, while Elisia gently put an arm around her shoulders. ¡°Please, tell us more,¡± she encouraged softly. ¡°We¡¯ll do all we can.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes were beginning to turn red as tears welled up. She looked away, visibly shaken. ¡°My husband¡­he works at a manufacturing company for household goods, but he never came home. I¡¯ll give you four Elis to start the search, and another six if you find him.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Elton exhaled sharply, glancing up to find Chris and Elisia both looking at him expectantly. ¡°Why are you staring at me like that?¡± he muttered, only to find himself, moments later, standing in the street, armed with his equipment and wrapped in his coat. Alone and cursing under his breath, he set off to gather information about the disappearance of Oliver Blue.


    ¡­


    In the grand estate of the Rosenmahl family, Aston lay on a lush chaise, lost in contemplation over a book of intricate ritual magic. Sunlight poured into the study, casting a sharp glare over the pages, but the orange-inked symbols lifted off the paper, distinct and alive. Aston squinted, running his hand across the ornate, hand-written script. ¡°What are these bizarre symbols¡ªhieroglyphs or what? Sign after sign, dots and strokes, shapes within shapes. What kind of language could even begin to make sense of this?¡±


    He turned another page with a huff. ¡°I thought this book would shed some light on this lost language. But instead? I¡¯ve wasted another 50 Elis on obscure symbols.¡± He groaned, leaning back, the book resting on his lap as he stared at the ceiling. ¡°At that price, I should have known,¡± he muttered, frustration bubbling over.


    Aston¡¯s mind wandered to recent events, to the many unanswered questions that seemed to shadow him wherever he went. With a sudden start, he sat up straight, a new thought pulling his attention from the ceiling to the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll never look up again, not if the god of creation could be watching me¡ªwatching all of us¡­ even in the most¡­ private moments. No, that¡¯s absurd. Not even a god would stoop to that level. But¡­¡± His voice fell to a low murmur as a new thought chilled him. ¡°Could the god of creation read my thoughts?¡±


    Aston scanned the room, chewing his nails absently as his nerves mounted. He knew what he needed: a controlled infusion of blood. But he had learned by now that moderation was key. Too much, and he¡¯d be risking his sanity. He reached for a syringe tucked away in a drawer, inspecting it as he pulled up his sleeve and tightened his grip, sinking his teeth into his sleeve to brace himself. He pressed the needle into his arm, slowly injecting a measured dose of orange blood. A wave of warmth spread through him, unfamiliar yet exhilarating, a surge of energy coursing into every fiber of his being.


    Born with blue blood, Aston was one of the rare members of his family to inherit this trait from his mother. Mostly everyone else had orange blood, but none had ever needed to resort to injections; they wielded influence and resources that provided all the power they required. Aston, however, was different¡ªdriven, ambitious, and determined to tap into every possible source of strength he could find. Even his father had seemed impressed, surprising Aston with an approving nod when he¡¯d risked the dangers of black blood. But Aston knew that black blood came with a different price¡ªa transformation he was not yet ready to face.


    Aston¡¯s veins pulsed with heat and fury, feeding his resolve. His body brimmed with newfound strength, an intoxicating sensation of power rising within him. ¡°First, I¡¯ll start with orange, then on to violet. Three-blooded,¡± he mused with a twisted grin. ¡°Then, in time, white and gold¡ªfour-blooded, five-blooded¡­¡± His gaze sharpened, his fingers tightening into a fist as he paced the study, mentally tracing his path to ultimate power. But for now, he needed patience. ¡°All in good time,¡± he reminded himself, his eyes scanning the shelves for the rare ingredients he would need for his next ritual.


    ¡­


    Meanwhile, at a Hair Salon.


    It was midday, and Elliot and William stood inside a crowded hair salon where clients received their weekly grooming¡ªhair trims, mustaches freshly shaped, sides neatly faded. Elliot stood in his dark coat, expression unreadable, while William wore a beige coat, his detective badge marked with droplets of blue blood lifted visibly to the barber. Both wore serious expressions as they observed the barber with a grand mustache and slicked-back hair.


    ¡°Was Joe Hillinger here last night?¡± William asked, voice firm. ¡°He¡¯s unassuming, friendly. Brown hair, somewhat plain.¡±


    The barber nodded immediately. ¡°Yes, Joe was here just yesterday. Wanted his hair trimmed to the side, in a rush though. Why do you ask?¡±


    William sighed, glancing briefly at Elliot before turning back. ¡°He¡¯s gone missing, and we¡¯re looking for him on behalf of his wife.¡±


    The barber stroked his mustache thoughtfully. ¡°Ah, is that so? Poor Lisa. Joe did seem distracted. In fact, he paid me a Cont too much and didn¡¯t even notice when he dashed out in a hurry.¡±


    ¡°Would you mind showing us where he went?¡± William asked, clearing his throat. ¡°The exact street, even the alley if you could.¡±


    The barber shrugged, nodding obligingly. ¡°It¡¯s no bother. Business is slow until the afternoon rush anyway. Follow me.¡±


    The two detectives exchanged a brief smile, grateful for the help, and followed the barber through the winding streets. The barber moved with the ease of someone accustomed to the twists and turns of the neighborhood. ¡°It was dark that night,¡± he said, gesturing animatedly as he described the scene. ¡°And the moon was full and golden, hanging low like a mist as Joe rushed out. When I saw he¡¯d given me a Cont too much, I tried calling after him, but he didn¡¯t turn back. I followed a few steps behind, hoping to catch up and return the money, but he disappeared into an alley.¡±


    They arrived at the entrance of the alley, a narrow passageway shadowed by towering, steep-sided buildings. The barber pointed. ¡°He was there, just at the end, but it was strange. There¡¯s no way out, no side paths to take, yet¡­ he was gone.¡±


    William gave a respectful nod to the barber, waving him off. Turning to the alley, he muttered, ¡°Unless he scaled that five-meter wall in mere seconds¡­¡±


    ¡­


    Elton strolled down a long street lined with workshops and factories, each humming with the activity of the midday shift. He approached the building of interest¡ªa small, slightly worn factory where the missing Oliver Blue was last seen. Polishing his badge, he knocked politely, then stepped inside the open door.


    ¡°Good day,¡± he announced, his voice carrying through the factory¡¯s empty halls. ¡°I¡¯m with the Blue Sharks Detective Agency. Some of you may know of us.¡± He held his detective badge up with a polite, professional smile. ¡°Has anyone seen Oliver Blue? Or perhaps heard from him since last night?¡±


    Silence met his question. Elton looked around, noting the absence of any workers on the floor. Production was stalled; the machinery stood silent, neglected, as if the entire workforce had vanished.


    ¡°What on earth¡­¡± he muttered, a frown creasing his face. Searching the floor, Elton¡¯s gaze swept the entire layout, noting every machine, every darkened corner, every nook where someone could be hiding. But the factory was void of life.


    Letting out a frustrated sigh, Elton turned to make his way back to the agency, a creeping sense of unease settling in his mind.

 Chapter 27: The Old Man

    The slate-gray clouds, tinged with deep, stormy blue, wept relentlessly, their tears carving streams through the city. The blue sun was nowhere to be seen, hidden behind the oppressive veil of rain. On the rooftops, exposed to the downpour, William sprinted forward, his movements nimble, his balance impeccable. Behind him, Elliot followed closely, each step a precarious dance across the slick tiles of the three-to-five-meter-high buildings. Don¡¯t look down, don¡¯t look down, Elliot chanted silently, his gaze fixed ahead.


    Their pursuit of Joe Hillinger¡¯s trail had led them here, but every lead dissolved the moment they crossed paths with the Barber. Now, their progress felt like chasing shadows.


    ¡°Elliot,¡± William called out, his voice cutting through the rhythm of raindrops against the rooftops. ¡°I think we¡¯ve done enough for today. Let¡¯s head back to the others.¡±


    Elliot nodded silently, glancing at William. The rain had darkened the latter¡¯s hair, plastering it across his forehead in uneven strands. With a shared understanding, they turned, retreating across the labyrinthine rooftops.


    ¡­


    Inside the Rosenmahl estate, Aston sat in solitude, his thoughts spiraling into paranoia. His pale complexion and sweat-soaked hair were testaments to his crumbling composure. Three hours had passed since his last dose.


    Can I take another now? No. Not yet. But¡­ maybe just a little. Just half. I need it. Now. Right now.


    Aston rose unsteadily to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. It¡¯s only because I don¡¯t feel well. This isn¡¯t the beginning of the transformation. It¡¯s just to steady my nerves. Just a bit more.


    His hands, shaking uncontrollably, reached for the drawer. Beside it lay a vial of black blood¡ªdemonic blood. His fingers hovered over it, the temptation unbearable.


    One drop won¡¯t hurt¡­ right?


    It was as if an unseen force controlled him, an insidious hunger gnawing at his insides. His breaths came in sharp gasps, sweat streaming down his pale cheeks. His heart hammered in his chest as his trembling fingers closed around the syringe.


    One drop. Just one. And I¡¯ll become stronger¡ªfar stronger. One of the strongest in Zentria¡­ no, in all of Elisia.


    With the needle poised above a vein, its tip just grazing his skin, his lips moved wordlessly, mouthing promises of power.


    Slap!


    Aston reeled as his own hand struck his face, the sting snapping him out of his trance. Staggering back, he collapsed against his bed, his body convulsing in a fit of anger and self-loathing. His veins pulsed with blue blood, his eyes wild with fury.


    You hypocritical fool! his mind roared. What good are power and strength if you turn into a monster to obtain them?


    With a guttural yell, he kicked the side of the bed repeatedly, his body wracked with frustration. The room echoed with his fury as he fought the insidious desire within.


    ¡­


    The rain eased to a drizzle as the evening deepened, the clouds shifting from gray to violet. Outside the Blue Sharks¡¯ headquarters, the storm¡¯s remnants dripped from rooftops and awnings, pooling in uneven cobblestone streets.


    Inside the dimly lit reception room, four detectives and their assistant sat in various states of dampness. Two of them were soaked, their coats clinging uncomfortably, while the others remained dry.


    ¡°Did things seem¡­ off to you?¡± Elton broke the silence, his voice tinged with unease. ¡°When I checked the missing man¡¯s workplace, the entire place was deserted. It¡¯s as if everyone vanished into thin air.¡±


    William nodded grimly while Elliot, leaning against a wall, remained silent.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange,¡± William added, his voice low. ¡°At our end, it was the same. Hillinger¡¯s tracks just stopped¡ªvanished. And tell me this: how does an ordinary worker scale a five-meter wall in mere seconds?¡±


    The group exchanged puzzled glances. Elisia clapped her hands together suddenly, breaking the tension.


    ¡°Well,¡± she declared, ¡°there¡¯s not much we can do tonight with this rain. Let¡¯s call it a day. Go home¡ªspend time with your families, wives, kids, or whatever else keeps you sane.¡±


    The others murmured their agreement, their weary expressions lightening as they prepared to leave. William, his usual grin creeping back onto his face, nudged Elliot with an elbow.


    ¡°Elliot, want to come over to my place?¡± he asked.


    Elliot looked up, his expression softening slightly. ¡°If I¡¯m allowed, then sure.¡±


    William¡¯s grin widened as he clapped a hand on Elliot¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Of course you¡¯re allowed. Come on.¡±


    ¡­


    Not far from the Blue Sharks¡¯ agency, William and Elliot stood outside the door of a modest apartment. William knocked, and within moments, the door opened to reveal a woman of striking elegance. Despite her age, her dark blonde hair retained a youthful sheen, flowing down her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a flowing dress of black and blue, its simplicity accentuating her poise.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Her face lit up as she embraced William, showering him with kisses like an overjoyed mother welcoming her child home. ¡°My little William,¡± she cooed, her voice warm and melodious.


    Turning her gaze to Elliot, her expression softened further. ¡°And who might this young man be?¡±


    Before Elliot could respond, she pulled him into a hug, her warmth catching him off guard. ¡°Elliot¡­ Elliot Starfall,¡± he murmured quietly, his voice tinged with shyness as he accepted her embrace.


    In that brief moment, Elliot felt a distant memory resurface¡ªa warmth he hadn¡¯t felt in years.


    ¡°Elliot,¡± she repeated, her voice savoring the name. ¡°What a beautiful name. Come inside, both of you, before you catch your deaths in this weather. Oh, and William¡ªyour favorite stew is ready. I made sure to add extra Myso meat, just the way you like it.¡±


    William¡¯s eyes lit up momentarily before he cleared his throat, glancing at Elliot with a sheepish grin. ¡°Thanks, Mama.¡±


    The apartment radiated warmth, its interior bathed in hues of brown, orange, and soft red. Oil lamps cast a golden glow over the modest furnishings, enhancing the cozy atmosphere.


    William shrugged off his beige coat and hung it on a nearby hook, while Elliot, having left his own coat back at the agency, took a seat at the wooden dining table.


    The woman, William¡¯s mother, brought out porcelain bowls filled with thick, aromatic stew. The hearty scent of herbs and spices mingled with the savory aroma of the Myso meat, its juices glistening under the lamplight.


    Elliot took a tentative bite, the tender meat bursting with flavor as it melted in his mouth. Now I understand why William loves this so much.


    Before he could lose himself in the meal, William spoke, a dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiled.


    ¡°Mama, Elliot is like you¡ªa full red-blood. He¡¯s working with us now, as an assistant.¡±


    William¡¯s mother froze, her eyes widening with delight. Her golden hair bounced as she leapt to her feet, clasping her hands together.


    ¡°Really? A red-blood from Earth? Oh, Elliot, you must tell me¡ªwhat was it like back there? Before¡­ everything changed? The last thing I remember was the world shutting down during COVID, or something called TikTok. I was barely 20 when they took me here.¡±


    Elliot swallowed, hesitated for a moment, then spoke. ¡°There¡¯s really nothing else major, except for a rather rapid improvement in robotics and general artificial intelligence. Conflicts were present, which could have led to a third war, but a peace emerged out of nowhere. The only issue was the scarcity of resources, which escalated exponentially. But other than that, nothing more.¡±


    William didn¡¯t quite grasp the magnitude of Elliot¡¯s words, but his mother¡¯s face lit up. ¡°Elliot, you must think that this world would be a nightmare, and in a way, it is. But there are good sides to it too. My husband, William¡¯s father, was my owner, but he treated me like a human, as if I were his equal. And when he passed away, the enchantment that enslaved me was lifted. It hurt, the loss, but I still had my little boy with me. You must know this: where there is evil, there is also good. In the darkness, there is always somewhere, even if faint, a light burning¡ªno matter how small, like the flickering flame of a candle.¡±


    She smiled at Elliot, and they continued their conversation, the meal before them now a comfort.


    ¡­


    The day passed in a blur. The food sat heavily in Elliot¡¯s empty stomach, which had only been fed a single burger and some stale bread. "Thank you, William... No, thank all of you, Blue Sharks. Thank you, so much." Elliot walked under the starry sky, the golden moon shining brightly above him. His eyes glazed over as he gazed at the shimmering celestial body. A small smile crept onto his lips. Now it¡¯s time. The old man will tell me not just where Ren is, but the exact time too. Elliot smiled softly, rubbing his reddened eyes with his fingers. From here on, everything will be fine. From now on, it¡¯s all uphill. I just need to find Ren, then kill Edwin and Samantha, and I¡¯ll be free from my chains. I¡¯ll leave the Blue Sharks behind, but as long as my big brother is safe, I¡¯d endure torture, even death, for it. Just be safe, Ren.


    ¡°Hey, little one?!¡± A familiar voice reached Elliot¡¯s ears. It was the old man, dressed in black robes, with a long cap and a hunched back.


    ¡°You¡¯ve kept me waiting a long time. I only live as long as you do, hehe.¡± The old man¡¯s laugh was raspy, and he cleared his throat, rubbing his hand over his crooked back. The old man stared into Elliot¡¯s eyes. ¡°Relax a bit, kid. You¡¯re so stiff. Quite different from my little brother, hehe.¡± His gaze never faltered, though his wrinkles and the downturn of his mouth spoke volumes. ¡°Do you have the information about my brother?¡±


    Elliot spoke directly, but his voice trembled, his body slightly shaking. ¡°Actually, I know. I¡¯ve found out where your brother will be, but it will be difficult. He¡¯ll be at AORB on the 17th of Astra, 1613, at precisely 16:20. He¡¯ll be at the intersection of Wellington and Fernen Streets. But you must hurry. He¡¯ll only be there for a brief moment. He¡¯s being hunted by powerful people, people who wish to use your brother as a sacrifice.¡±


    The old man¡¯s expression grew serious, and he looked up slightly, but continued walking, rubbing his back once more. ¡°From that day on, we¡¯ll meet at this time every day, except for your brother¡¯s day, understood?¡±


    Elliot nodded first, but then, with a faint smile, replied softly, ¡°Understood.¡±


    ¡­


    Elliot returned, Edwin and Samantha ignoring him as always. He wore a wide, satisfied smile. His soaked clothes were nearly dry. He closed his eyes, and before long, he drifted into a dreamless sleep, only to awaken in the dark emptiness. But the void was quickly filled with a yellow light. So, Fynn survived. Someone younger than me actually made it. Elliot¡¯s thoughts swirled as he observed the surroundings. But even better, I can use my powers through the bodies of others¡ªif Fynn really survived.


    Without hesitation, he walked toward the jagged, rough yellow crystal. The light and wind began to grow stronger around him.


    Whooosh!


    The world was dark, the sky tinged with deep violet and pink hues. Towering walls rose higher than the buildings around them. Fynn¡¯s eyes flickered. His body was covered in cold sweat. Yellow blood lay in small pools around him. His left eye was missing, pierced through, and it lay nearby. His remaining eye flickered with no control over his body, and he reached weakly toward the fading stars in the distance. So, he survived. Lucky. Elliot sighed deeply, his mind attempting to assess his surroundings. High walls, purple deserts, probably more than two thousand and more fortresses outside. An interesting civilization¡ªyellow-blooded, no less. The strength of the one man who brought Fynn and me here was inhuman. He jumped over ten meters, scaling dozen-meter-high walls with a single hand.


    Elliot looked closely at the boy¡¯s situation, despite the poor circumstances. Poor boy. Only one eye left, and full of holes, but his yellow blood should help him recover quickly. Elliot felt sympathy for the boy¡¯s plight, but his words were meant to assert his authority, his power.


    ¡°Fynn,¡± Elliot¡¯s voice echoed in the empty space, ¡°let my words sink into your mind. I am watching you. I protect you. Your life was doomed here and now, but I saved it. I, the God of Creation, have granted you a new life. Learn to appreciate it.¡±


    Yellow light and wind swirled around them, causing Fynn to tremble. His eyes flickered erratically, his remaining eye rolling backward. As the vision of Elliot was forced out of Fynn¡¯s mind, Elliot was abruptly pulled from the dream. Yet, before he fully returned, he heard the faintest whisper from Fynn. His voice was distorted, hoarse, barely audible: ¡°Thank you.¡±

 Chapter 28: Blue Beauty

    Three days passed in the blink of an eye. The sun stood high in the sky, marking the day of the Elysian Glow, the day of gold, the day of the gods, on the 11th of Astra, 1613 after AORB. Or rather, now that the old calendar system had been changed due to the broken contract with the Red-Bloods, today was the 11th of Astra, 0 after Astarion, a day named in honor of Astarion, the most powerful of the Gold-Bloods, the gods. He was the one who had brought about the rupture of the contract. The sky was turquoise, lighter with a blue hue. The air was clear, and the clouds were nowhere to be seen.


    Elliot went about his day and his work, but there had been no noticeable progress in the disappearance of the men. At night, he spent time with the old man, learning more about his past as well as gaining further insight into certain powers of the Blood Paths. In Elliot''s visions, as a god in the bodies of others, nothing particularly remarkable occurred. Fynn, the yellow one, had yet to awaken. Only the green and blue lights flickered brightly. Eriksson sat on the train, staring off into the distance, while Aston occasionally injected himself with orange-colored blood. And now, Elliot found himself once again with Pillar, after receiving the 3 Cont and 4 Celi from the Blue Sharks.


    "The first week of this month is already over, since yesterday, isn''t it... Elliot?" Pillar asked, looking at him thoughtfully, his fingers intertwined. "Then, I suppose I should give you the 6 Celi I promised. But don''t spend it all at once, alright?" Pillar smiled gently at him, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers.


    Six Celi¡ªit wasn''t much, but at least I can buy a little more food for myself, Elliot thought as he gazed at the bronze coins, which depicted the image of a beautiful young woman. A bell rang as he left through the door, bidding Pillar farewell.


    The weather today felt different, somehow. The fog had lifted, and it was warmer than usual, enough to keep my upper body from shivering. And that magnificent blue sun¡ªit was truly a beautiful sight. So blue, with a hint of white inside, yet the rays shining outside were so distinctly blue. The light seemed to jump right into me. No, it wasn''t just the sun. The entire world felt so impossibly beautiful. The street, the carriages, the passersby, the towering spires that seemed to stretch higher than anything else. The even higher churches or towers, standing here and there, sometimes alone but often in clusters. The bakery with the scent of fresh bread wafting through the air¡ªit made its way into my nostrils. The puddles left from the night, the clear turquoise-blue sky cutting sharply into my eyes. Everything here was so perfect.


    Elliot smiled as he looked around, his mouth slightly open, his jaw slack. His pupils were wide, his irises overwhelmed by the sheer beauty around him. The scent, the splendor! Her delicate skin, her soft, flawless white skin. Her smooth, silky hair cascading down her shoulders. Exquisite, and blue. Her hair was so stunning, perfectly matching her blue, tight dress that accentuated her curves. I think I might go mad! How could such beauty be walking here alone?! Her blue nails, the beautiful silver jewelry on her left hand, her graceful gaze¡ªit was all so perfect!


    Driven by his desire, Elliot moved closer to the elegant young woman. No! No, I can¡¯t approach her like this. I can¡¯t be so forward with her, her flawless beauty... I must... I must approach her with grace! But, but if I do that, she¡¯ll vanish! No! No! No!!!


    A fierce grimace spread across Elliot¡¯s face. His hands reached up to tug at his blonde hair, pulling it in frustration. He struck his own head with his fists, the pressure mounting as he tried to suppress the surge of emotion. His teeth ground together, threatening to crack under the tension. Yet, in the blink of an eye, a smile formed on his lips. Dimples creased his cheeks as he turned his gaze toward the eccentric, flawless woman who had now seated herself on a secluded bench nearby.


    She looked so serene, her figure standing out against the calm surroundings. Elliot¡¯s heart raced, a torrent of conflicting emotions raging within him. His mind flickered, lost in the conflict between his desire to claim her and the awareness that such beauty might slip through his grasp if he moved too hastily. He knew he had to be careful, to approach with the perfect balance of desire and restraint. The kind of grace he lacked in moments like this.


    Yet, his body betrayed him. His heart pounded as he stood still, his eyes locked on her every move. She is perfection, he thought again. The way she carried herself, as if the world was her domain, made him ache with longing. His hands trembled, and he clenched his fists to stop them from betraying his emotions. The internal battle raged, a constant reminder of the obsession that clawed at him.


    For a moment, he stood frozen, watching her as if entranced. His mind was spinning, and every fiber of his being screamed for him to act. But he resisted, for now.


    Patience, he told himself. He had to be patient, he reminded himself over and over. It was the only way to possess something so rare. He had to maintain control. But even as he forced himself to step back, he could feel the burning desire within him. It would never subside; it could only grow.


    As he lingered there, caught in the chaos of his emotions, a strange sense of calm overcame him. The world seemed to stretch in front of him, allowing him to see it in its entirety, every detail heightened by his overwhelming feelings. The sky, the buildings, the streets¡ªthey all seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was her.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Elliot finally exhaled, his breath shaky, but his resolve stronger than before. He would wait, plan, and then approach with precision. This time, he wouldn¡¯t let her slip away. He wouldn¡¯t be the fool again.


    With a last glance, he turned on his heel and walked away, his mind still fixated on the beautiful vision he had just witnessed. And though he left the scene, the desire he felt for her would linger in his mind, burning brightly as he plotted his next move.


    Her bright blue eyes shone as they gazed into the distance, her soft, bluish lips curving gracefully across her face. Her skin shimmered with an enchanting blue hue, her posture elegant and poised. I could die right here! Jackpot! Elliot¡¯s eyes darted to a nearby barbershop¡ªthe one William and I visited just three days ago. He hurried toward it, trying to appear composed, turning his face slightly so as not to be recognized.


    ¡°Quick, quick! I need a new look!¡± Elliot¡¯s voice was strained, his hand tossing six bronze Celi coins, along with three Cont and four Celi, onto the barber''s table. The barber, barely glancing up, ran his fingers through his thick mustache, then reached for his scissors with a heavy sigh.


    ...


    Minutes ticked by¡ªfifteen, perhaps¡ªand Elliot was done. His stubbled beard was gone. His hair, once unkempt and greasy, was now sleek and fresh. He gazed proudly at his reflection in the mirror, his hair combed neatly to the side, looking a few years younger. The grime from yesterday had vanished. Okay, now I can face her. But as he caught sight of his reflection, his heart plummeted, and his pulse quickened. No! No! No! Elliot shouted, clenching his fists in frustration.


    The woman¡ªthe beautiful woman with the long blue hair¡ªwas gone.


    No, no, no, where is she? His thoughts became incoherent, muttering as his legs propelled him forward. He sprinted out of the barbershop, the barber standing dumbfounded. Hair scattered on the floor, the barber''s gaze following him, his voice trailing off. ¡°Why does everyone always run away? I¡¯ve earned at least two Cont in tips over the past few days, not that I mind it¡­¡±


    ...


    Elliot ran, faster and faster, his pupils dilating, his face twisted in panic. He reached for his hair as though to tear it out but restrained himself. Instead, he ran, moving with a frantic speed, until he reached an alleyway where Joe Hillinger had vanished days ago. There, just as before, Elliot¡¯s presence seemed to dissolve into the air¡ªhe vanished as if the earth had swallowed him whole.


    ...


    On the continent of the Violet Seas, amid the chaos of an imperial battlefield, between the yellow and violet factions, at outpost 2456, Fynn slowly awoke. His eyes flickered open, blinking against the blinding cyan light of the sky. Too bright. Too intense. Where am I? He sprang to his feet, only to be halted by a sharp pain in his eye and leg. Groaning, he touched his left eye, recoiling at the emptiness he felt there. He glanced around desperately, but the pain overwhelmed him.


    What happened? Damn it, my eye¡­ He staggered back, his heart pounding. He could barely breathe, his thoughts fragmented. The emptiness in his eye socket was cold and unfamiliar. When he looked down, he saw it: his eye, a bright red like a ruby, now covered in yellowish blood. It¡¯s my eye! And my leg is¡­ pierced. How? Why?


    Fynn¡¯s breath came in rapid, shallow gasps as he tried to understand the situation. Then, a hand gently but firmly landed on his shoulder. Despite the warmth, the touch sent another wave of pain through him.


    ¡°Well, kid, it¡¯s a miracle you¡¯re still breathing!¡± The voice was deep and strong, the laughter unmistakable. It was the man who had carried him here, though Fynn didn¡¯t recognize him. I don¡¯t remember anything¡­ The only thing that lingered was a voice, distorted, echoing like a brand in his mind.


    God of Creation¡­ He saved me. He protected me. But¡­ a god? Fynn¡¯s mind raced, struggling to understand. He looked up, still disoriented, his skin pale and faintly yellow, his vision weak. The man above him loomed large, his silhouette casting a shadow over Fynn, and despite the pain, Fynn couldn¡¯t help but notice the figure¡¯s immense size¡ªalmost as tall as the walls that seemed to stretch into the sky. His legs trembled, but the man¡¯s voice cut through the confusion.


    ¡°Kid, you¡¯ll make it. Just believe. Believe in yourself. And only in yourself.¡± His voice was booming, full of conviction, his laughter resounding as Fynn¡¯s fading consciousness finally gave in, his eyelids fluttering closed.


    ...


    Back at Fring Street 95, the headquarters of the Blue Sharks, William and Elton hurried through the streets. Chris and Elisia had stayed behind at the agency, in case any new assignments came in. Elton turned to William, his brow furrowed. ¡°How many jobs have we gotten in just the last three days? Over ten?¡± His face was puzzled, filled with concern.


    William only nodded, ¡°And we¡¯ve found nothing. It¡¯s as if people are literally vanishing into thin air.¡±


    Elton¡¯s stomach dropped. ¡°You don¡¯t mean¡­?¡±


    William responded coldly, ¡°The Browns¡­¡±


    Elton¡¯s face paled at the mention of the group. His voice grew tight with frustration. ¡°How can this be? Everything¡¯s falling apart! Since the contract was broken, everything¡¯s spiraling out of control. These¡­ blues, they think they¡¯re better than us. They think they can bring back our wings, so we can fly once more. Then our captain, Bill, is dead. Our ally, the Goddess of Night, is gone. Without him, we¡¯re lost. And now, now people keep disappearing¡­ What in the name of the gods is happening here?!¡±


    Elton vented his anger loudly, his voice breaking the otherwise eerie silence. William didn¡¯t respond. He simply kept walking, his eyes lowered. Their usual camaraderie was gone, replaced by a tense quiet. The once familiar streets now felt strange and ominous.


    As they passed by, memories of times spent with Elliot resurfaced. But now, William and Elton were patrolling the streets, haunted by the disappearance of more and more people. Their eyes widened when they spotted a familiar figure: the barber.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to interrupt,¡± the barber called, his voice low and measured, ¡°but your friend is also missing. The blonde one¡ªhe was similar to a redhead in his appearance.¡±


    William and Elton¡¯s pulses quickened, their hearts sinking at the thought of what this might mean. They exchanged a brief glance, understanding without words.

 Chapter 29: Sinners

    In a dark, desolate room, where the only sounds were the chattering of teeth and the distant weeping of others, Elliot lay on the cold stone floor, drenched in sweat. His pupils remained wide open, though this time, it was from the overwhelming darkness. The stench in the air was suffocating¡ªa mixture of burnt flesh and rotting remains that had decayed for weeks. As Elliot moved, his hand brushed against something hard, then something soft, crawling creatures¡ªmaggots. It was a pit of skeletons and flesh-bound husks, their souls long departed. Piles upon piles, but too dark to discern any details.


    The room stretched endlessly, cold stone walls surrounding him like a medieval prison. His mind raced. What happened? I was just with Pillar, my money... I was on my way to Edwin and Samantha. How did I end up here?!


    Elliot trembled, his clothes soaked with blood¡ªboth red and blue. He could hear the sounds of others, similarly trapped in cells scattered across the room. A chilling breeze blew through every few seconds, cutting through the oppressive silence, broken only by the faint sobs and the sound of chattering teeth.


    Creaaak!


    Suddenly, a door creaked open. The orange-yellow glow of an oil lamp pierced the suffocating darkness, casting a faint light across the room. A figure stepped through the doorway¡ªa woman, strikingly beautiful with an eccentric air. She had blue hair, smooth skin, and wore a tight, elegant blue dress.


    Elliot¡¯s pupils dilated further, struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness. Who is she? he wondered. As his vision cleared, he saw the woman¡¯s cyan eyes gleam in the dim light, her pupils completely gone. The living prisoners, driven mad with hunger and desperation, lunged forward, their heads poking through the bars of their cells, trying to reach her.


    They all screamed in unison, a collective cry of desperation. ¡°Please, let me out! Let me go with you! I beg you!¡±


    What is this madness? Elliot thought, his mind swirling. He was surrounded by those howling, their faces contorted in hunger. He watched as one man next to him stretched out a hand, his voice hoarse with need. ¡°Let me sit on your lap! Please, I can¡¯t live without you!¡±


    Others joined in, their cries overlapping as they fought to get closer to the woman. No! She¡¯s mine! You filthy animal, get away!


    The woman, her cyan eyes gleaming with amusement, raised a finger to her lips. ¡°My, what impatient little creatures you are. Do you really want to be with me so badly?¡± she mused aloud.


    The prisoners, including Elliot, nodded eagerly, their voices a chorus of pleading. ¡°Yes! Yes! Please, let us come to you!¡±


    With a playful smile, the woman began to count aloud, ¡°One, two, three... and you will come with me.¡± Her lips curved into a smile that seemed far too perfect, too detached from the desperation around her.


    The hunger in the room intensified. One prisoner, overcome with desire, reached desperately for the woman, his eyes gleaming with the madness of a starved animal. He was the first to break through the frenzied cries, and he ran toward her, arms outstretched. His words, like a prayer, spilled from his mouth, ¡°I¡¯ll die for you! Please, take me!¡±


    Crack!


    The sudden, grotesque sound of breaking bones shattered the air. The man¡¯s neck twisted at an impossible angle, and before Elliot¡¯s eyes, his head flew from his shoulders, hurtling straight toward him. Blue blood sprayed over Elliot¡¯s face, coating him in the mess. A sickening lump formed on his forehead from the impact of the head, and the man¡¯s neck left purple bruises from where it slammed into the bars of his cell.


    But Elliot smiled. A twisted, giddy smile.


    Yes! He¡¯s dead! Finally! Elliot thought, his mouth now stained with blue blood. Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much!


    Creaaak!


    The door slammed shut, and the woman''s presence vanished, leaving only the lingering cries and chattering teeth. Elliot¡¯s pupils shrank back to normal as the light from the door faded, leaving only the oppressive darkness. But it was not the same darkness as before. It now seemed colder, heavier, as though the very air had become suffocating.


    The silence returned with a vengeance, broken only by the distant sobs and the occasional sharp sound of chattering teeth. The others who had not been chosen, including Elliot, were left in an unbearable void of yearning and fear. But Elliot¡¯s gaze fell upon something in the corner of his cell, something that made his stomach turn. He couldn¡¯t make out the details clearly, but he could see the shape of a head, its eyes wide open. Blue blood streamed from its skull, pooling on the ground beneath it. The eyes rolled upward, an eerie grin on the face of the corpse.


    Elliot recoiled, a chill running down his spine.


    Then, as quickly as the sight had appeared, it was gone. And he was left in the dark once more.


    ¡­


    In the dark void, Elliot took a deep breath. His eyes opened wide for a moment, then closed as he tried to steady himself. What is happening? His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and anger. What the hell is going on here?


    But as the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly around him, he noticed something¡ªthere was a faint yellow glow in the distance, pushing through the darkness. A light? he thought, almost disbelieving.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    He moved toward it, hands trembling, but with an oddly optimistic resolve. The yellow light felt warm, like the promise of something better. The blue light flickered faintly in the distance, and the green flame seemed to dance weakly.


    Elliot placed his hand on the rough, yellow stone, and with a sharp gust of wind, the room was filled with more light. He shielded his eyes with his other hand as the wind swirled around him.


    ¡­


    On the continent of the Violet Seas, amidst a battlefield where the yellow and violet forces clashed in an endless struggle, the Imperial Base 2456 stood firm, its iron walls standing in the face of relentless warfare.


    Fynn sat on a medium-sized stone, his legs dangling freely in the air. His left leg swung slightly, less vigorously than his right.


    ¡°You know, kid, if you were of a lesser bloodline than ours, you¡¯d probably have been dead by now. A few more days, maybe weeks, and you''d have been out of the picture,¡± Algar, a burly man with long blond hair and the rugged appearance of a Viking, said, laughing heartily.


    ¡°Then I wouldn¡¯t be in such bad shape,¡± Fynn replied, his voice low.


    ¡°Oh, ¡®bad shape¡¯? These are badges of honor from the battlefield! Not many can proudly walk around with just one eye, here on the Violet Seas!¡± Algar grinned, his laughter echoing through the tense air. Fynn¡¯s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.


    ¡°Elliot,¡± he muttered under his breath, glancing briefly at the conversation unfolding before him. So he¡¯s okay now¡­


    Algar continued, his tone now serious. ¡°I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re wise, without a state rank.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true. My parents ran away when I was young, left me behind at Base 2462. I never had a chance to get registered... without their status, I was just... alone.¡± Fynn¡¯s words hung heavy in the air.


    Algar studied him for a moment before running a hand through his thick Viking beard. ¡°Kid, how would you like to join my family? My daughter needs to marry soon, and for my taste, you''d be perfect for her. I¡¯d trust you with her.¡±


    Fynn froze, his face going pale. "Marry your daughter...? Algar, I¡¯m not the right one. Look at me¡ªmy eye, my leg. I¡¯m not even pretty."


    Algar laughed loudly, shaking his head. ¡°Kid, you¡¯re more than perfect for her, especially after what you just said. So, what do you say? Want to join the Astor family? I must tell you, I am a part of the Astor family," Fynn''s legs and voice trembled even more.


    "Astor...? The Astor family? The one of the three high-ranking families that oversee the Titans and the Asphanium, the Astor family?" Algar nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips. Fynn''s face turned pale once again, and after a long pause, he finally uttered, "Yes." Algar lightly slapped Fynn¡¯s injured leg. "Then from this moment, your name will be Fynn Astor." Fynn¡¯s vision blurred, the light swallowed by the endless abyss of darkness, a profound emptiness.


    ¡­


    Fring Street 95, headquarters of the Blue Sharks.


    Three figures¡ªWilliam, Elisia, and Elton¡ªsat across from one another. Chris was on another mission, one dealing with the disappearance of several men. Elisia sighed deeply, her dark blonde hair falling behind her ears. "Elliot has disappeared too. By the Nine Gods... What does all of this mean? This V... This man with the violet eyes who defeated him. Bill... I thought it was over already, but no. Instead, it all starts again, and now it''s Elliot''s turn."


    A heavy silence descended over the room, the walls painted blue by the light of the setting sun. The wind outside howled, brushing against the windows. Elton lowered his gaze to his knees, while William slammed his fist onto the table. "We can''t lose another one of us¡ªnot like we lost Bill or Simon. Not in this way..."


    ¡­


    In the dark dungeons, somewhere beneath the earth.


    "It¡¯s time. We need another sacrifice, Y." A small man spoke, barely reaching 1.50 meters. His humped back overshadowed his wrinkled face, with a long nose and hair as blue as the shade on his scalp. It was mostly gray, his hair receding almost to the point of baldness. "Of course, Father," a woman replied elegantly, holding an oil lamp in her left hand as she walked through the lightless dungeon.


    Elliot, along with the other prisoners, began to stir. Their pupils dilated, their bodies growing in size as their minds awakened. The other prisoners, except for the old man and the woman, began to rattle their cages, clanging against the bars that separated them. They screamed like wild animals. "Let me to you! I can¡¯t live without you! My life is meaningless without you!" Some of them wept, overwhelmed with sorrow. Others screamed out of envy. And some remained silent, holding on to hope.


    The cells began to open, while others remained locked. Elliot was one of the fortunate ones whose cell was opened. Yes, yes! My prayers have been heard! Praise the Nine Gods, no... Praise the Goddess of Blue! Elliot''s face contorted in a disturbing expression, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Thank you, thank you. I love you." He rushed out of the cell, his knees trembling. The woman, Y, walked ahead of him, with the old man following closely behind. She made a Y with her fingers, forming a straight line, like a pair of scissors closing. But instead of cutting paper, blue blood sprayed from the side, splattering across the prisoners, including Elliot.


    "Y, do not go with them unless there is use for you. They too are scarce as a resource." It was the blood of a man¡ªdecapitated, his head flying off like the cork of a wine bottle. Yet, all those following the two blue-haired figures laughed, their eyes glued to the elegant body of the woman.


    "This vermin should not receive the mercy of the Goddess of Blue." The old man shook his head. "Sinners are sinners. Yet, in death, they are all the same. They should be granted the opportunity to wash away their sins. Y, my youngest. You still have much to learn."


    The old man glanced forward while the woman looked down, her luscious blue lips twitching. Elliot and the others hurried after them, passing by the corpse of the man whose head had exploded. They entered the warm orange-yellow light, but the atmosphere of the room shifted as quickly as the temperature. It grew cold¡ªeerily cold, tinted in blue. But, oddly enough, it wasn¡¯t cold¡ªit was too warm.


    "Children," the elegant woman spoke, her voice smooth yet chilling, "your sins will be washed away. But first, you must repent and suffer for the Goddess of Blue. Only then will you be permitted to die and enter the Palace of Blue."


    Her hands were raised, forming a Y with her fingers, her posture striking and regal. Her eyes shone with a cyan light, her voice a soft command. "Surrender yourselves to the will of the Goddess of Blue!"


    With a final cry, she offered a gentle smile, a flame igniting¡ªblue as the sun. The room grew unbearably hot, the temperature rising, reaching unbearable levels. In an instant, the prisoners'' nails began to melt, their skin dissolving into nothingness. Flesh over veins and organs, their eyes wide, pupils stretching across the entire eye, turning into pitch-black voids.


    In a room that was once clean, five men stood. Each was without skin, their bodies hairless, their faces scorched. They appeared identical, their only difference being their physique and size. The only distinction between Elliot and the others was that his body had turned red, while the others remained blue.


    They stood silently, the flames gone, their black eyes fixed upon the elegant woman. Their mouths stretched wide, the grin so large it seemed to split their faces, their teeth bared like a grotesque grin. Blood sprayed from their bodies, yet they all smiled¡ªno, they laughed, their hunger for something far darker than life itself was evident in their eyes.


    Y spoke, her blue nail resting upon her full, blue lips. "Well, that was the appetizer."

 Chapter 30: Endless Night

    "Y, you still haven''t finished your illusion." The old man looked at Y with a neutral expression, casually chewing the air with his mouth. "Forgive me, Father," Y responded with a slight bow, her voice barely above a whisper. In an instant, nothing seemed to change, but in the next, the five flayed, burned men began to scream in agony. Their teeth were still visible, and some bones could be seen beneath their flesh. Their cries echoed, their eyes shedding blue blood, except for Elliot, whose blood was red.


    They trembled uncontrollably, their bodies writhing as they began to run, only to collapse onto the ground. They screamed in torment, their eyes flickering with the flickering of their souls, until the first two passed out from the unbearable pain. Seconds stretched into eternity as their bodies contorted, the pain racking their limbs, each tendon taut with anguish. They could not escape the searing torture; every movement was met with pain. Soon, the third man closed his eyes, his body succumbing to the agony. Only two remained, their eyes still open, locking onto each other in shared suffering.


    Elliot¡¯s gaze shifted, turning from the burning blue of the others¡¯ eyes to something more unsettling: a desolate green. The pain was no longer physical; it was something far deeper. His vision blurred, his mind swirling in a vortex of confusion. Ren, I must get to Ren... just a few more days... I must get my blood back into my body!


    The blood, once pooling around Elliot in a grotesque display of crimson defiance, began to retreat with agonizing slowness. It ebbed as if summoned by some unseen force, seeping back into the jagged wounds from which it had emerged. The process was neither clean nor seamless. Threads of coagulated fluid clung stubbornly to the edges of his torn skin, stretching and snapping like cursed sinew as the liquid inched its way home.


    His thoughts echoed in his skull like a distant, fading whisper. His eyes shimmered, growing unfocused. Only two figures remained, their shapes indistinct, like reflections in a rain-drenched puddle, flickering and dissolving.


    Elliot clenched his teeth weakly, the effort insignificant in the face of the insurmountable pressure. Ren, I am coming. I can do this. His hand reached out, but it was an empty gesture¡ªno strength behind it. He fell back, exhausted, unable to keep his eyes open. Ren¡­


    The old man chuckled softly; his voice laced with amusement. "Ah, someone has a great deal of endurance, don¡¯t they?" His grin was sharp, almost predatory. "Y, go ahead and hunt. I¡¯ll amuse myself here for a while." The elegant woman nodded silently, her blue hair flowing gently as she bowed. "Of course, Father."


    Elliot, struggling to hold onto his fleeting consciousness, could feel his hearing fading. His vision was narrowing, and all he could do was stare ahead, fixating on the blue shoes of the old man as they moved away. But there was no hope. His eyelids closed on their own, despite his desperate attempts to keep them open.


    Ren...


    ¡­


    On the continent of the Violet Seas, amidst the imperial battlefield between the yellow and violet forces, at the base 2468.


    Fynn stood before an immense door, towering several meters in height and width. The two guards at the entrance, with their long spears and containers filled with a yellow, almost golden liquid, moved in sync. They struck the ground twice, the liquid swirling through the spears as it cascaded, only to return to the containers in a seamless cycle. Like magic, the great gates opened. Fynn and Algar walked past the heavily armored guards. Their gear shimmered with a translucent yellow liquid flowing through it¡ªAsphanium, the essence of life for the yellow, the resource of power and modernization.


    The palace-like building that lay before them was magnificent, and Fynn was left in awe. His shoulders sagged, and his jaw hung loosely in disbelief. His usual blonde hair was neatly styled, his red right eye gleaming like a ruby, while his left was replaced by a vibrant yellow one. His yellow leg, encased in a matching suit, limped slightly behind, though with time, he managed to walk more steadily.


    "Are you ready, little one?" Algar¡¯s voice was firm but reassuring, his posture as imposing as ever. "Don¡¯t be afraid. Breathe deeply and show your chest proudly." He gave Fynn a light slap on the back, a gesture of encouragement. They proceeded, their eyes locked in an intense stare, one red, the other yellow, as they entered the grand hall.


    Inside, a dozen strangers sat around an enormous dining table, laden with lavish yellow meats and vegetables. The menu was sparse¡ªonly yellow foods, with no fruits in sight. The air was thick with the scent of rich, pungent food. An elderly woman with blonde hair, her yellow earrings jingling as she shifted in her seat, spoke in a rough voice, her eyes scanning Fynn. "And who is this, Algar?"


    "The man of my daughter," Algar answered, his voice clipped and formal. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before they were met with a sharp retort.


    "What?! No!" A young woman, furious, slammed her fist onto the table. Her silverware clattered across the surface as she stood, her face flushed with anger. "Father, you can¡¯t do this! I want Ergon, and only Ergon! Father, I hate you!"This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    A young girl, her eyes glowing with yellow flames, similar to those in Algar¡¯s gaze, wore a beautiful light yellow-and-white dress. Yet, it was ruined by the yellow sauce of meat splashed across it as she abruptly slammed her fist onto the table, rising to her feet. "Diana!" her father¡¯s voice echoed through the room. "Ergon is no good influence. He is neither sincere nor loyal. Ergon is just a boy with the privilege of wealth, and all he does with it is waste it on revelry!" Diana turned her back to him, her skin, like everyone else''s, faintly glowing yellow.


    "Diana Asphania Astor! Get back here right now!" A tense silence enveloped the room. Algar stiffened, and Fynn could only watch in confusion, wondering how this was going to play out. Well, this certainly ended on a good note, Fynn thought. Seems like she doesn¡¯t want to marry me after all. He glanced at Algar, whose expression remained calm as he smiled faintly.


    "Don''t worry. She''s just... how shall I put it? Stubborn," Algar remarked nonchalantly.


    ...


    Beneath the earth, in a dimly lit, sealed-off room, Elliot lay on a hard, uncomfortable surface. His skin, covered in a crust of dried blood, was bound by thick ropes. His eyes, which were open even in his unconscious state, reflected the faint light with an eerie shimmer. But everything around him was blurry, as if his vision had been stolen from him. He could barely focus, his mind in a haze, and the relentless itching beneath the crust of his skin made him feel like thousands of feathers were gently stroking his body. He rubbed at the spots where the ropes bound him, tearing through the hardened surface, and fresh red blood trickled down his limbs.


    Damn it... Damn it... Damn it! What¡¯s going on here? Elliot gritted his teeth, frustration consuming him. His body trembled with what felt like an endless array of phantom pains. His pupils and irises flickered in and out of focus, as though his entire being was being pulled apart. He tried to turn his head to the left, but that was when the old man with blue hair entered the room.


    "So, you''re finally awake?" the old man croaked, his voice sharp but somehow filled with satisfaction. "I¡¯ve waited two full days for you to come around, despite all the measures I took to keep you alive. But, as they say, new week, new opportunities. Your sacrifice will honor the Azure Goddess, and I shall remember it for eternity. Let¡¯s begin now, on the Day of Azure Breeze, and see how long you can endure."


    Elliot gasped weakly, unable to make a sound, his vocal cords seemingly locked by the sheer force of his agony.


    "But don''t worry," the old man continued, his voice softening, almost as though trying to reassure him, "the Paradise awaits you. A place of peace. And with luck, you¡¯ll find a spot at the Goddess''s side. Perhaps even she will grant you a place among the Seraphims."


    The old man cleared his throat, lost in thought, then spoke again, more to himself than to Elliot. "But enough talk. Let us begin, shall we?"


    The elderly figure hobbled toward Elliot, his posture bent in a way that suggested a lifelong burden had been carried. His once-thick blue hair had become thin and brittle, much like his frail body. He produced a syringe from his pocket and without hesitation, drove the needle into Elliot¡¯s chest. A sharp intake of breath followed, and as soon as the substance entered his veins, Elliot¡¯s body spasmed uncontrollably. His pupils dilated wildly, expanding and contracting as if the drug was igniting his very soul. His limbs jerked against the restraints, and his body trembled violently, as though it were being torn apart from the inside.


    "This," the old man muttered, "is a sample of a substance known as Crystalium. A wondrous compound. It solidifies your blood, then reverts it to liquid every few minutes. For each minute, your blood will become as hard as steel, stretching and forming spikes. But don¡¯t worry, there won''t be any internal bleeding, as the substance will dissolve and become thinner once again. It¡¯s agonizing, perfect for sinners."


    The man clasped his hands together in front of his head, forming a triangle, his back hunched, as he muttered words of prayer. "My child, learn to accept the pain," he said with fervor.


    Meanwhile, Elliot¡¯s body continued to convulse. His jaw clenched tightly, gritting his teeth in futile attempts to resist the pain. The torturous spikes, which were forming just beneath the skin, felt like a thousand needles piercing his flesh. His body writhed in agony, helpless as his flesh bubbled and peeled. His skin was covered in blisters, resembling the craters of a pizza, with blood dripping from each burst. Minutes dragged on, though Elliot could no longer tell how much time had passed. Was it hours? Days?


    The pain was endless. Even in the moments of respite, where his body seemed to calm, it was only a cruel illusion. A moment of silence, before the next wave of pain would come crashing down on him. The dark room closed in on him, suffocating his thoughts, drowning his mind in a sea of agony.


    In his fragmented moments of clarity, Elliot could hear the footsteps of the old man leaving the room, his figure retreating as he would return hours later, the syringe in hand to inject him with more Crystalium. The dosage increased with each visit, and the pain became worse. Every time Elliot seemed to lose himself, to drift away into the oblivion of death, the old man would return, injecting him once more to pull him back, making sure his torment never ended.


    Elliot''s body, battered and broken, was now a shell of the person he once was. His mind was on the verge of collapse, his body nearing the edge of exhaustion, yet he was kept alive through sheer force. The endless cycle of pain, the increasing doses, and the injection of unknown substances kept him tethered to the world, but there was no freedom, no escape. The thoughts of Ren, of his brother, faded. The pain had consumed all.


    Time itself became irrelevant. What had felt like hours stretched into what could have been weeks or months. Elliot no longer knew. He could only stare into the darkness, his mind a blank void, as if the night itself had swallowed him whole.


    He closed his eyes, or perhaps they had already been closed. Was he blind now, or was it simply the eternal darkness of his surroundings? He didn''t care anymore. His body, broken and exhausted, had long since surrendered. His soul, too, seemed to have abandoned him, adrift in an endless sea of torment, forever waiting for something that might never come.

 Chapter 31: Heartbeat

    At Denklin Station, within the kingdom of Zentria, Eriksson stood silently beside the frail Rafael, who clutched his suitcase as if it were his lifeline. The train roared past them, its endless motion a stark contrast to the stillness of the two figures by the platform. Eriksson¡¯s gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon.


    ¡°Where do you need to go now?¡± he asked, his tone as distant as his eyes.


    ¡°I¡ªI need to find an alley on Tren Street. Between a bar and a weapons shop,¡± Rafael stammered, his legs trembling beneath him.


    Eriksson¡¯s expression remained unreadable as he replied, ¡°Then follow me.¡±


    Rafael hesitated, his grip on the suitcase tightening. ¡°But... with all due respect, I appreciate your help, I truly do, but if those people see me... they might suspect something and kill my little brother.¡± His voice was high-pitched, the sweat on his brow glistening in the dim light of the station.


    Eriksson¡¯s response was calm, almost unnervingly so. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I have a plan. And, to ease your concerns,¡± he added with a faint, chilling smile, ¡°I could eliminate everyone there and rescue your brother without a scratch on him.¡±


    Rafael swallowed hard, his words catching in his throat. He could only nod, the weight of his fear rendering him mute.


    As they walked in tense silence, Eriksson''s thoughts wandered. Max... I¡¯ll save you. No matter the cost.


    ¡­


    The sprawling estate of the Rosenmahl family stood proudly within Denklin, the capital of Zentria. In one of its grand chambers, Aston sat upon his oversized bed, his pale skin glistening faintly under the dim chandelier¡¯s light. His hair and eyes seemed to shimmer with renewed vitality, a stark contrast to the exhaustion that had plagued him in recent weeks.


    Still no word from the so-called god of creation, Aston mused, his gaze shifting to the open drawer at his bedside. Four empty syringes lay discarded within.


    Has it forgotten me? Or decided I¡¯m no longer worth its attention? Wouldn¡¯t surprise me. After all, I¡¯m just a blue in the eyes of a gold...


    He glanced at his forearms, veins pulsating beneath the surface. His shoulders sagged, his head lowering as he exhaled deeply, the oxygen in the room filling his enhanced lungs. The air felt heavier, richer, as though his body demanded more than an ordinary man¡¯s.


    Blue blood coursed visibly beneath his skin, its vibrant hue a testament to the transformation taking place within him. Aston couldn¡¯t help but smirk at his reflection in the ornate mirror across the room.


    ¡°Only four doses of orange blood, and I feel this powerful already,¡± he murmured, his voice tinged with wonder. ¡°And to think, I¡¯m only halfway through the process of becoming a two-blooded.¡±


    Aston chuckled softly to himself, leaning back against the intricately carved headboard. This is incredible. And the abilities I¡¯ve gained... remarkable.


    He raised a hand, studying his slender fingers as though they held the key to his newfound power. I can alter my own state of mind, he thought with glee. Grief? Gone. Anger? Suppressed. Rationality? Heightened at will. It¡¯s like having a shield against the psychological abilities of other blues. And if I refine this power further, I could nullify almost any effect that targets me.


    His grin widened, taking on a sinister edge. But that¡¯s not all. I can influence others... make them believe what I say, no matter how absurd.


    Aston rose from the bed, his elegant royal-blue attire accentuating his sharp features and aristocratic bearing. His reflection stared back at him, glowing with confidence. If I tell someone wood is actually stone, they¡¯ll believe it. Though the more mundane the subject, the shorter the manipulation lasts.


    The corners of his mouth curled upward in a smirk, his hands clasping before his face as if in silent prayer. His golden-blond hair was slicked neatly to the side, accentuating the brilliance of his sapphire-blue eyes. Today was a significant day¡ªa celebration of the Astarion Calendar, named after the golden god of the sun. A god who had decreed the enslavement of the red-blooded.


    Aston¡¯s expression darkened. What utter nonsense.


    ¡­


    On the continent of the Violet Seas, amidst the chaos of an imperial battlefield between the yellow- and violet-blooded, Fynn limped down a long corridor within Outpost 2468. His left leg dragged slightly behind him, the wound still fresh, though his movements betrayed little of the pain.


    Through his left, yellow-golden eye, the world appeared in striking detail. Information streamed into his mind with each glance, a torrent of data he could summon at will. A painting on the wall¡ªits creation, provenance, and exhibition history. A chandelier hanging overhead¡ªits crafting details and years of service. Even the people he encountered were not immune to this relentless analysis.


    Ahead, a maid polished a set of ornate vases. Fynn¡¯s gaze lingered on her for a moment. Leila Smith. Fifty-seven years old. A lifelong servant of the Leninger family. Born within Outpost 2468. Status: underclass. Current role: housemaid. Middle-class rank within the estate.


    His fingers brushed his upper lip thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing. But why the Leninger family?


    Thud. Thud.


    A muffled sound interrupted his thoughts, coming from a slightly ajar door nearby. A woman¡¯s breathless voice followed, tinged with desperation.


    ¡°Not so hard... What if someone hears us?¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Curiosity piqued, Fynn¡¯s golden eye scanned the room as he cautiously approached. The woman¡¯s profile appeared in his vision. Emilia Smith. Thirty-nine years old. A maid of the Leninger household. Underclass by status. Current state: lustful.


    The male voice responded, equally breathless, ¡°Don¡¯t worry. This is my wing of the estate. No one comes here without reason.¡±


    Ergon Leninger. Thirty-four years old. Son of Duke Adrian Leninger. Upper-class noble. The Leninger family is part of the Astor lineage, tasked with overseeing Asphanium. Current state: lustful.


    Fynn¡¯s pulse quickened as he recoiled, his mind racing. Ergon... But I thought he was involved with Diana?


    He backed away, running a hand through his yellow-streaked hair. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. Nothing at all.


    With one last glance at the crack in the door, Fynn turned and hurried back down the corridor, his thoughts a chaotic storm.


    ¡­


    In a darkened chamber, where the color blue seemed to dissolve into blackness, Elliot awoke. His eyes were open, yet no sight greeted him. His flesh, charred and blistered like overcooked crust, cracked as he shifted slightly. The crystalline substance that had once infected his blood had finally been neutralized, leaving his body weak but alive.


    His heartbeat was faint, his breaths shallow and uneven. He couldn¡¯t tell if he was gasping, murmuring, or simply existing.


    Is this how it ends? he wondered, his thoughts fragmented. My fingers... I can¡¯t feel them. Are they gone? Or has the sensation fled?


    The damp air burned against his exposed wounds, though the pain was strangely bearable. Instead, a maddening itch stirred within him, compelling faint, twitching movements.


    The ropes aren¡¯t even necessary anymore, he thought with a bitter smile.


    Elliot stared into the void, his mind teetering on the edge of oblivion. He began to laugh, the sound faint and hollow. This... This is what I¡¯ve become.


    No change was visible on his face, though his thoughts churned violently.Heh, so here I lie, powerless because of two people¡ªa young woman and an old man. I can¡¯t even recall their faces. Did they burn away my mind along with my body?


    The effects of the injection had faded, leaving behind an excruciating, searing pain, as though countless swords were mercilessly stabbing through his body. Why do I even continue thinking? Why am I still alive?


    Elliot stared into the void with open, sightless eyes. His corneas had been scorched away, leaving his blue irises disfigured. And why don¡¯t I have those visions anymore? Maston... or was it Erik? And the boy¡­ Lynn? No, that¡¯s wrong too. Maston wasn¡¯t the first name; it was a surname... Edwin¡¯s surname, I think. His thoughts spiraled in confusion. Does it matter? When will this torment finally end?


    Ren... it¡¯s because of Ren. My brother. I live because of my brother.


    Bound to the chair, Elliot¡¯s unseeing, hollow eyes shimmered faintly.Ren¡­ please. Save me. I can¡¯t endure this anymore.


    He remained motionless in the suffocating darkness.He wanted to weep. He wanted to curl up, clenching his trembling body into himself.He wanted to release all his frustration¡ªto scream, to cry, to rage.He wanted to shatter everything, to destroy, to kill.


    Edwin. Samantha. The old man and the woman.I will take revenge. I¡¯ll kill them all. Every last one of those other-blooded wretches. I am chosen by God! How dare they torture me!


    The scream of his soul reverberated in his head, his silent mouth opening wide, exposing the torn flesh of his teeth and gums. The dark, crusted scabs split apart, spilling crimson blood that oozed down his disfigured cheeks. Slowly, the once-proud features of his face were reduced to shredded strands of muscle, like the unraveling of tightly bound ropes on a collapsing bridge.


    The metallic taste of blood filled Elliot¡¯s mouth, his mangled cheeks leaking red streams onto his collar. His jaw quivered, teeth chattering faintly, as he rasped a hoarse whisper through his shredded throat:¡°Ren... my brother. Please...¡±


    Thud.


    Am I crying? he thought hazily. Why does it feel warm against my cheek?


    Thud.


    Another drop ran down his face, this time sliding from his nose. Elliot¡¯s vacant gaze remained locked in the blindness of his despair, his body trembling, crimson rivulets still seeping from his torn mouth.


    Splash!


    A sudden wave of water crashed over Elliot''s broken form, drenching his raw, exposed flesh. The liquid burned into him as though his very sinews absorbed its touch, igniting every nerve in his body. He convulsed violently, a raw, inhuman sound rasping from his ruined throat. His skin bubbled and hissed where the water struck, steam rising in wisps as the acrid scent of charred, decayed flesh filled the air.


    Splash!


    A voice spoke softly over the sounds of agony:¡°My boy, your deliverance has come. You were a sinner, but now...¡±


    Elliot barely registered the words. The searing pain eclipsed all else. His consciousness wavered as the relentless heat gnawed through his body. Still, he clung to the last shreds of awareness, his teeth grinding audibly, even as flesh and sinew peeled away to expose yellowed bone.


    Acid.


    It wasn¡¯t water¡ªit was acid. The kind that dissolved human flesh in minutes. A death sentence, cruel and inevitable. Every second stretched into eternity.


    Goddamn it! his mind screamed. Stop this! Please, just stop!


    ¡°Sto¡ª!¡±


    His voice, faint and strained, broke off mid-cry, leaving only a shuddering exhale. His body slumped, twitching feebly as the acid continued its merciless work, eating through muscle, organs, and bone. His torso, from chest to shin, was riddled with gaping holes that revealed the grim mess within.


    The old man, A, stepped closer. Seeing that Elliot no longer moved, he reached down to unbind the lifeless figure. He groaned as he leaned forward, his hunched frame trembling. His gnarled hands formed a gesture¡ªa prayer, perhaps¡ªand he intoned reverently:¡°Goddess of the Blue Blood, grant this sinner salvation. Release his soul from its sins...¡±


    The darkness remained undisturbed.


    ¡°Goddess of the Blue Blood?¡± The old man¡¯s voice trembled.


    Still, no light came.


    ¡°Goddess of the Blue Blood!?¡± he cried, leaning in closer to inspect Elliot¡¯s ruined remains. A rhythmic sound broke the silence:


    A faint pulse.


    A heartbeat.


    Elliot¡¯s heart still beat.


    If I¡¯m going to die, then I¡¯ll take you with me, you filthy bastard.


    As the old man bent forward, Elliot summoned the last vestiges of his will, spitting a small mouthful of blood into the man¡¯s open mouth. A staggered cough escaped A¡¯s throat as he recoiled, but the blood was already at work.


    It pierced like a needle, forming a jagged lance that tore through the old man¡¯s throat and into his brain. It burrowed deep, shredding his insides without breaching the skull.


    A choked gurgle escaped the man¡¯s lips, his body convulsing before collapsing beside Elliot. Blue blood seeped from his eyes, nose, and mouth, pooling around his lifeless form.


    Elliot lay still. His broken body dissolved further into unrecognizable pulp, his blood-soaked flesh replaced by artificial vessels that struggled to sustain his failing frame.


    His voice, faint and cracked, whispered one final word:¡°Die...¡±


    In that moment, his thoughts turned to Ren. Ren... live well. For both of us. I¡¯m so sorry.


    The night dragged on, a brief moment in an endless abyss.


    Two breaths ceased.One young, one old.One red, one blue.

 Chapter 32: Vengeance

    In a shadowed alleyway nestled between a rowdy bar and a modest weapon shop, stood the frail Rafael, partially shielded by the towering figure of Eriksson. His scrawny legs trembled beneath him as he stammered, "I-it''s here."


    "Is it now?" Eriksson¡¯s tone was as indifferent as his expression, his imposing frame steady amidst the cold breeze that swept through the narrow street.


    The pair advanced deeper into the dim corridor, the chill of the night settling into their bones. It was the 15th of Astra, the Day of Amber Glow, year 0 after Astarion. Overhead, the golden moon hung resplendent amidst a sea of stars, casting a faint ethereal light onto the cobblestones. The wind tousled their brown hair, carrying the faint scent of oil and metal.


    They arrived at a door shrouded in shadow, the faint hum of conversation seeping through its cracks. A passphrase was exchanged, muffled yet firm, and they were granted entry. The heavy door creaked open to reveal a room bathed in the warm orange glow of oil lamps. The space resembled a clandestine tavern; every table was occupied by at least two individuals clad in a mix of elegant attire and understated suits. Despite the subdued sophistication of the scene, Eriksson¡¯s sharp gaze immediately locked onto a man with black hair and deep, almost drowning eyes.


    "So, Rafael," the man drawled, his tone laced with mockery. "Do you have the amber blood? My men struggled more than expected. That village of yours¡ªtougher than they looked, weren¡¯t they? Who would¡¯ve thought they''d have a yellow-blooded among them? Those fools caused us no end of trouble."


    Eriksson¡¯s fists clenched tightly, his green veins faintly pulsing with an orange hue beneath his long-sleeved shirt. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding audibly.


    "And who," the black-haired man continued, his dark brows furrowing, "is this? A bodyguard, Rafael?"


    Before an answer could be given, Eriksson lunged.


    In a flash¡ªfaster than the blink of an eye¡ªhe crossed the two meters separating them.


    ¡®Pow!¡¯


    A single, decisive punch landed squarely on the black-haired man''s face. Blue blood spurted from his nostrils as his body crumpled to the floor like a sack of bricks. Gasps and shouts erupted around the room, the previously hushed ambiance dissolving into chaos. Chairs scraped violently against the floor as patrons scrambled to their feet, weapons gleaming in the lamplight¡ªrevolvers were drawn, blades unsheathed.


    "You dare strike our boss?!" one shouted, his voice thick with disbelief.


    "Who the hell are you, bastard?!" another growled, his knife trembling in his grip.


    An older, stocky man stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a long, slender sword. His voice was calm yet commanding, a sharp contrast to the rising panic. "You¡¯ve got one chance to explain yourself, or you¡¯ll leave here in pieces."


    But Eriksson didn¡¯t flinch. He moved like lightning, a storm embodied, his strikes thunderous and swift.


    ¡®Pow! Peng! Peng! Pow!¡¯


    Gunfire rang out, but Eriksson was faster than their trembling hands could aim. Each movement left a distorted trail, as if reality itself struggled to keep up. With brutal efficiency, he dispatched one opponent after another, his blows rendering them unconscious before their bullets found their mark.


    In the heat of the battle, Eriksson bit down on the inside of his cheek, his own blood¡ªa deep violet¡ªspilling into his mouth. As it coursed through his veins, the green lines beneath his skin shifted into a vibrant, glowing purple, spreading rapidly throughout his body. His presence flickered like a dying light, and then¡ª


    He vanished.


    The room fell eerily silent, save for the labored breaths of those who remained standing. Eriksson was gone. No footsteps, no shadows¡ªjust confusion painted on the faces of his adversaries.


    Seconds later, bodies began to drop. One after another, they collapsed in synchronized agony, until only Rafael remained standing, his legs buckling beneath him. He sank to the floor, trembling, his wide eyes darting around the room.


    "W-w-what was that?" Rafael stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He stared at the black-haired man sprawled on the ground, and then at Eriksson, who had reappeared as abruptly as he had vanished.


    "Lensing," Eriksson said simply, his voice calm as his violet veins dimmed and returned to their natural state. "Through violet blood."


    His tone held no room for further explanation. He stepped toward the black-haired man, who groaned weakly, cradling his bruised and bloodied face.


    ¡®Slap!¡¯


    The sound echoed sharply in the room as Eriksson struck him with an open hand, leaving a vivid blue imprint on his cheek. The man¡¯s head lolled to the side, and Eriksson¡¯s cold voice cut through the silence. "Wake up."


    The black-haired man groaned again, his dark eyes fluttering open. His confusion deepened as he squinted up at Eriksson. "W-who are you? What do you want from me?"


    Eriksson¡¯s expression darkened, his brows knitting together as a storm of fury brewed within him. "Who am I?" His voice rose for the first time, the sheer weight of his words suffocating the air in the room. "That¡¯s what I should be asking ¡®you¡®. A hundred years ago, your filthy crew razed my village to the ground!"Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "A hundred years ago?" the man repeated, his face contorting in bewilderment. "I¡¯m only 69 years old!" His voice cracked as he stammered on. "If¡ªif that happened, it must¡¯ve been my father. But he¡¯s been dead for decades!"


    "Dead?" Eriksson¡¯s voice was sharp, laced with disbelief and barely contained rage.


    The black-haired man nodded weakly, blood still trickling from his nose. "Yes... but the other two who worked with him¡ªthey¡¯re still alive. I only know where one of them is now. He¡¯s moved south¡ªoff Elisia. He¡¯s set up operations on the Underground Continent, scouting for resources to export here."


    Eriksson¡¯s gaze bore into him, unrelenting. His hands twitched at his sides, as if struggling against the urge to strike again. So this man wasn¡¯t the one responsible? And yet, his father¡¯s companions lived, their atrocities continuing to ripple across the years.


    "You¡¯re going to take me to him," Eriksson said coldly. "In two days, I¡¯ll return. When I do, this place will be empty¡ªno one here but you and me. As for Rafael and his brother, you will release them from your service and ensure they have a proper start to a new life. Do you understand?"


    The black-haired man hesitated, then exhaled shakily, his resolve broken. "Understood," he muttered, barely audible.


    ¡­


    Outside the Astor Estate, on the 2468th Base of the Imperial Battlefield overlooking the Violet Seas, a crowd of onlookers had gathered. Among them were nobles of the Astor house, their servants, and a handful of butlers. At the center of their attention, two young men in light gold-yellow armor faced off, their long rapiers clashing in rapid strikes. These were training blades, meant to simulate combat without the lethality.


    Their golden masks shimmered faintly under the waning sunlight, both combatants moving with graceful precision. One hand rested behind their backs, the other guiding the elegant blades as they lunged, parried, and danced across the marble training ground.


    A faint beep sounded inside their masks, accompanied by a flicker of golden light within the visor.


    "An excellent performance, young Master Leninger," one of the attendants praised, kneeling beside one of the combatants.


    "That? That was nothing," Ergon replied, running a hand through his neatly combed hair and flashing a smug grin.


    From where he stood, Fynn scowled, his fingers tightening against his side. ¡®What¡¯s wrong with him?¡® he thought bitterly. ¡®I¡¯ve been here for just one day, and he¡¯s already mocking me. He thinks I¡¯m a threat to his little romance, but in truth, he¡¯s the one betraying her trust.¡®


    Fynn''s thoughts churned as his expression darkened. His lips pressed together tightly, and his gaze drifted momentarily toward his left leg. Though he could now move it without much difficulty, the faint trembling betrayed his lingering unease.


    Donning his own yellow-gold mask, Fynn joined the training ground. Unlike the others, however, his movements felt weighted¡ªunnaturally so. Every step dragged, every shift of his body felt like hauling an invisible anchor.


    The culprit lay within his armor. The ¡®Asphanium¡®, a lightweight yet mysteriously potent material unique to the Astor house, was reacting to the program set for his training. The settings had been adjusted to mimic a gravity of ¡®three times the norm¡®. Fynn¡¯s body, weighing scarcely 60 kilograms under ordinary conditions, now felt as if it carried three times that.


    ¡®This isn¡¯t training¡ªit¡¯s punishment,¡® he thought grimly. His muscles burned with each step, his breaths came shallow and sharp. ¡®By the Goddess of Knowledge... what kind of madness is this?¡®


    Even so, Fynn refused to falter. He straightened, suppressing the ache in his limbs as best he could. The whispers of the past still haunted him¡ªhis near brush with death, his fleeting vision of salvation. ¡®The Goddess of Creation saved me,¡® he thought, a hint of doubt creeping into his mind. ¡®But why? What purpose could a life like mine serve?¡®


    His introspection ended abruptly as the sparring began. His opponent, a soldier loyal to the Astor house, wasted no time closing the distance. Their rapiers clashed in quick succession, each strike calculated and precise.


    The crowd watched intently, though it had dwindled to a few key individuals. Among them stood Algar Astor, the patriarch of the noble house, his piercing gaze fixed on the training. Beside him were a handful of guards, maids, and butlers, and¡ªmost notably¡ªDiana, Algar¡¯s daughter.


    Diana¡¯s eyes followed the combat closely, though her expression remained unreadable. Her attire, a flowing yellow-gold gown accented with delicate embroidery, shimmered faintly in the evening light. Her hair, tied into an elegant updo, framed her sharp features.


    ¡®She¡¯s watching,¡® Fynn realized with a pang of anxiety. ¡®Of course she¡¯s watching.¡®


    Pow!


    The sound of clashing blades jolted him back into the moment. His opponent was relentless, forcing Fynn to retreat with every strike. He managed to parry several blows, his movements increasingly deliberate, but his footing was unsteady. Each lunge felt heavier than the last, the strain on his left leg growing unbearable.


    The duel continued, the rhythm of their blades filling the training ground like a symphony of tempered steel. For a brief moment, Fynn regained his composure, his form tightening. He bent his knees slightly, one hand positioned neatly at his back while the other guided his rapier with newfound focus.


    ¡®Just hold out a little longer.¡®


    But as he moved forward, disaster struck. A sharp pain shot through his left leg, the muscle seizing violently. His footing faltered, and in that split second of weakness, his opponent struck.


    The blow landed squarely against Fynn¡¯s mask, the force of it sending him sprawling onto the ground. His back hit the marble with a resounding thud, the weight of his armor pressing him further down.


    Gritting his teeth, Fynn clutched his left thigh, the pain radiating through his body like fire. He blinked up at the golden sky, his vision swimming as he processed his defeat.


    A shadow loomed over him. His opponent, a broad-shouldered man with a coarse demeanor, extended a hand to help him up.


    Fynn hesitated. ¡®Why must I endure this?¡® he thought, his gaze drifting toward Algar. The nobleman stood a short distance away, his expression unreadable save for a faint smirk. Diana, who had been beside him moments ago, was now gone.


    ¡®Of course she left. I¡¯ve only sunk further in her expectations, haven¡¯t I?¡®


    "Not bad, Fynn, not bad at all," Algar¡¯s voice rang out, warm and teasing. "When I was your age, I trained under G5. But even so, I wasn¡¯t half as composed during my first attempts."


    Fynn gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his feet.


    "And don¡¯t worry about Diana," Algar continued with a hearty laugh. "She¡¯ll come around eventually. Give it time."


    Before Fynn could respond, Algar clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. The sudden force, amplified by the still-active gravity setting, drove Fynn to his knees once more.


    Laughter erupted from the gathered onlookers, but Fynn ignored it. He pressed his hands against the ground, forcing himself upright. Algar¡¯s laughter faded, replaced by a satisfied hum as he watched the young man rise.


    Through it all, Fynn managed a smile. It was faint, strained, but genuine enough to mask the storm brewing in his heart.

 Chapter 33: Illusion

    Across the cobblestone street from the Dosen estate, Eriksson walked with a deliberate, almost statuesque stride. His eyes held a distant gleam, the weight of vengeance etched into every movement. ¡®Finally,¡® he mused, ¡®nothing obstructs my path¡ªneither my revenge nor the future it will shape. All that remains is to complete this mission. After that...¡® His thoughts darkened, a cold fury brewing within. ¡®Then I¡¯ll carve those bastards apart until they beg the heavens that they¡¯d never been born.¡®


    The sky, veiled with sparse clouds, bore a faint melancholy. A delicate mist clung to the air, yet the blue sun shone high, casting an ethereal glow upon the world below. Birds glided across the horizon, their distant silhouettes lending an odd tranquility to the otherwise ordinary day. The scene seemed deceptively serene, as though the world had been taught to wear a mask of peace over its ever-present strife.


    Eriksson adjusted the collar of his thick coat, a modest ensemble of whites and beiges that complemented his unkempt brown hair. ¡®This must be the place,¡® he thought, halting before the large, iron-bound doors. He rapped sharply against the wood, leaning slightly to peer through the viewing lens embedded in the frame. Almost immediately, a shadow stirred on the other side.


    ¡®Click.¡®


    The door swung open to reveal a well-dressed man, his manner refined yet eerily calculating. Clad in a tailored suit, he bowed slightly, one hand pressed to his chest in a gesture of polite deference.


    "Ah, somewhat later than expected," the man greeted with a smooth tone, his lips curving into a courteous smile. "Nonetheless, welcome, sir. Do come in."


    Eriksson stepped inside without a word, his posture erect, his bearing one of impeccable decorum. It was the bearing of nobility, honed and practiced.


    "But before we proceed," the man continued, his head tilting slightly, "may I have the honor of knowing your name?"


    "Eriksson. Eriksson Triesta," he replied curtly, his voice steady and devoid of unnecessary emotion.


    "Ah, splendid. A pleasure to meet you, Herr Triesta." The man¡¯s smile deepened as he clapped his hands together. "But before we get down to business, might I offer you something to drink? Perhaps a black tea?"


    "A fruity tea," Eriksson answered after a moment''s pause, his expression unchanging.


    "A fruity one, is it? Sailman!" The man clapped his hands again, summoning a liveried butler. "Fetch our esteemed guest a mango tea!"


    Once the order had been given, the man turned his attention back to Eriksson. His gaze sharpened, as though appraising a valuable piece of art. "Now, to the matter at hand. As I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware, Herr Triesta, I require the elimination of a certain... group that has become quite the thorn in my side. Death is an inevitability here, I¡¯m afraid. There¡¯s no room for leniency."


    The man¡¯s eyes glittered, his smile tinged with something darker. "Additionally, should you procure for me a specific artifact¡ªa mummified hand of rather peculiar design¡ªI shall raise your reward to a total of 800 Elis. Consider it a gesture of appreciation for your troubles."


    Eriksson studied the man¡¯s extended hand but did not take it. His piercing gaze met the other¡¯s, unflinching. ¡®Eight hundred Elis. No small sum.¡®


    "Before I commit to anything," Eriksson said, his voice firm, "I will need to examine the situation from within. Where exactly is this group located?"


    The man¡¯s expression faltered momentarily, though he quickly masked it with an understanding nod. "An hour¡¯s ride by carriage from here. If you wish, I can have one prepared immediately."


    "Very well," Eriksson replied, his attention shifting as the butler returned, carrying a beautifully crafted porcelain cup. Golden-hued steam wafted from its surface, filling the air with a sweet, tropical aroma.


    For a moment, Eriksson stared at the swirling vapor, his mind momentarily adrift. Then, as if returning from some distant reverie, he asked, "And where is the sugar?"


    ¡­


    Meanwhile, in the grand estate of the Rosenmahl family, located in the heart of Denklin within the Kingdom of Zentria, a lavish ball was underway. The opulent hall shimmered with golden light, its towering crystal chandeliers casting a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Women in flowing gowns of silk and satin danced gracefully to the lilting strains of a live orchestra, their laughter mingling with the genteel murmur of conversation.


    Standing by a tall table near the room''s edge, Aston observed the festivities with a distant gaze. His hair, slicked back with precision, gleamed under the chandelier''s light. Beside him stood his father, Argon, and his younger brother, Jonathan, both exuding an air of cold detachment.


    "Aston," Jonathan began, his tone as frosty as his expression, "how fares the expansion of the Reds into the Subterranean Continent?"


    Argon¡¯s steely gaze turned to Aston as well, awaiting his response.


    "We¡¯ve shifted our efforts toward leveraging the corpses of the Reds," Aston replied smoothly. "The Browns seem content with the arrangement. As long as the supply lasts, our profits will continue to soar. The economy, as you¡¯ve no doubt noticed, is flourishing as a result."


    ¡®Lie.¡® The Browns were no mere scavengers. They were brutal, mindless creatures, devouring anything they could sink their claws into. This "agreement" was nothing more than a fragile pretense, a desperate attempt to spare even a small fraction of the living from their ravenous clutches. The dead, tragic as their fate was, at least felt no pain.


    "The corpses of swine," Argon mused, a brief smirk breaking through his stoic mask before he regained his stern composure. "Your reasoning is sound. It seems you are improving."


    Aston bowed slightly. "Thank you, Father."


    Without another word, Argon and Jonathan turned and left, their cold eyes betraying neither warmth nor pride.


    ¡®Family?¡® Aston thought bitterly, his hands tightening against the edge of the table. ¡®These men share my blood, yet they are nothing to me. Hollow shells, driven by vengeance and consumed by hatred. How can they call this existence a life?¡®You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    He watched their retreating figures, his lips curling into a scornful smile. ¡®Traitors. They betrayed Mother. They betrayed me.¡®


    "Aston," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Turning, he saw Elisia approaching. Her gown, an unusual shade of orange, stood out amidst the sea of muted tones. Her honey-colored hair was styled into an elegant updo, her soft blue eyes glinting with concern.


    "Elisia," Aston greeted her softly as she came to stand beside him.


    "Another quarrel with your family?" she asked, her voice gentle but knowing.


    Aston sighed, running a hand through his hair. "They¡¯ll never change. I can¡¯t fathom how they could betray Mother and pin the blame on Wilson. Yes, he wasn¡¯t there to defend himself, but they knew him. He was a friend. And yet, they refused to believe me¡ªtheir own son, their own brother."


    His hand curled into a fist, trembling with suppressed anger. "For months, I endured their scorn, their accusations. The black sheep of the family, they called me, as if I were the one at fault."


    Before his rage could spiral further, Elisia placed her hand over his, her touch warm and steady. "You¡¯re not alone, Aston," she said softly. "I¡¯m here for you. Always."


    He looked into her serene blue eyes, finding a fleeting solace there. "Thank you, Elisia," he murmured.


    Turning his gaze toward the orchestra, Aston allowed himself a brief moment of vulnerability. Tears pricked his eyes, threatening to spill. ¡®Not here,¡® he told himself fiercely. ¡®Not in front of her.¡®


    ¡­


    Within the gardens of the Astor family estate, hidden within the fortified walls of Base 2468, Diana stood amidst a sea of golden and violet foliage. She was a vision of serenity, plucking flowers with the delicate precision of someone entirely in harmony with nature. Fynn, having wandered out for a stroll after freshening up, paused in his steps as his gaze settled on her. From a distance, his golden eye followed her movements, transfixed by the quiet grace with which she worked.


    ¡®Diana Asphania von Astor. Twenty-three years old, the only child of Algar von Astor. Her mother had died at her birth, leaving Diana the sole heir to the prestigious Astor lineage¡ªone of the three great powers of the realm.¡® These facts passed through Fynn''s mind as idle acknowledgments, mere details compared to the young woman before him, who seemed to blend effortlessly with the autumn hues of the garden.


    ¡®Just a year older than me,¡® Fynn mused, his thoughts lingering as he observed her hands¡ªdelicate yet purposeful, their faint golden shimmer catching the pale light. He could not help but stare, caught in an almost spellbound reverie. Slowly, as if drawn by an unseen force, he began to move closer, his steps soft and deliberate, as though the mere act of approaching her might shatter the tranquil moment.


    ¡®Why am I doing this?¡® he wondered, a flicker of confusion amidst the haze of fascination. He didn¡¯t know. He only knew that Diana captivated him in a way he could neither articulate nor resist.


    She was beautiful, her near-golden hair cascading around her face, a few strands tucked behind her ear in an unassuming gesture that struck him as effortlessly elegant.


    ¡®Crack.¡¯


    The sharp snap of a branch beneath his foot broke the spell. Fynn froze, his breath hitching as his heart pounded wildly in his chest. ¡®Why am I so nervous?¡® he thought, frustration mingling with embarrassment. His hands trembled slightly, and his legs felt unsteady.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Diana''s voice was soft, yet there was a firmness in her tone as her saffron-yellow eyes turned toward him.


    ¡°What was I doing?¡± Fynn echoed her question, averting his gaze as if the ground beneath his feet might offer some guidance. After a brief pause, he found himself blurting, ¡°I just wanted to see you.¡±


    ¡°See me?¡± Diana asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she lowered her gaze, her expression unreadable.


    ¡®Why did I say that?¡® Fynn berated himself internally, his mind scrambling to recover. ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, his tone suddenly more assured. ¡°I wanted to see my wife. Is that so unusual?¡±


    ¡°Your wife?¡± Diana repeated, raising an eyebrow. She looked at him fully now, the flowers she had gathered cradled in her hands.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Fynn said, holding her gaze for a fleeting moment before breaking it. His palms began to sweat as she took a step closer, her presence almost overwhelming. Diana was taller than him by half a head, and as she loomed closer, he swallowed hard.


    ¡°I will not be your bride,¡± she said firmly, her tone colder than the autumn breeze. With that, she let the flowers fall from her hands¡ªblue, red, and yellow carnations scattering onto the ground like discarded remnants of a fleeting dream.


    Her footsteps crunched over the fallen leaves as she walked past him, leaving Fynn standing in stunned silence. His heart pounded against his ribs, and he brought a trembling hand to his chest, feeling the fabric of his simple shirt dampened by sweat. A weak smile played on his lips as he looked down at the flowers strewn on the ground. There were three of them, their colors vibrant against the earth. His lips curled into a quiet, self-mocking laugh.


    ¡­


    Elsewhere, a man cloaked in black strode leisurely down an empty street. A silver pocket watch swung from his left hand, the chain catching faint glimmers of moonlight. His gaze was cast downward, his violet eyes faintly glowing beneath the shadow of his hood. With a deft flick, he caught the watch and pocketed it, letting his hood fall to reveal shoulder-length black hair.


    ¡°Well then,¡± he muttered, his voice calm yet charged with purpose. ¡°It seems the time has come.¡±


    ¡®Snap.¡¯


    The sound of his fingers snapping reverberated through the air, and in an instant, the scenery before him twisted and blurred. The gray and black of the desolate street transformed into a deep, haunting blue. The lanterns lining the road flickered and vanished, replaced by dim candles mounted on an ornate chandelier. The buildings around him folded inward, shifting into towering walls that exuded an oppressive weight. The empty street filled with figures¡ªseven in total.


    Of the seven, four lay dead, their bodies mutilated. The remaining three stood amidst the carnage, their presence striking. At the center was a stunning woman with flowing blue hair and lips the color of frost, her elegant blue dress hugging her figure. Beside her stood an elderly man, his hunched posture betraying his frailty.


    These were Y and A.


    At their feet lay five bodies. Four were decapitated, their heads grotesquely separated from their bodies. The fifth, however, was whole¡ªa young man with unblemished skin and unburned flesh. It was Elliot. His body lay unmarked, but cold sweat glistened on his face.


    ¡®Snap.¡¯


    Y and A recoiled in unison, though the elderly man faltered less. ¡°Who are you?¡± Y demanded, her voice trembling as her companion shouted beside her.


    The man in black didn¡¯t answer immediately. His glowing violet eyes locked onto theirs, piercing and unyielding. ¡°Try as you might,¡± he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of disdain. ¡°Your illusions¡ªor should I call them alternate realities¡ªare meaningless to me.¡±


    Their eyes widened in terror as his gaze bore into them, their pupils dilating. Their bodies began to quake, frozen in place as though bound by invisible chains.


    ¡°Now,¡± the man said, his tone calm yet laced with cruelty. ¡°Why not experience the very realities you have inflicted upon others? You fanatics of the Blue God.¡±


    He stepped forward, his footsteps muffled against the darkened floor. His focus shifted briefly to Elliot, who remained motionless, drenched in sweat.


    For a moment, silence reigned. Then¡ª


    ¡®Snap.¡¯


    Y and A¡¯s limbs were severed in an instant, their arms and legs falling away like meat cleaved from a bone. Blood sprayed across the floor, yet their torsos remained intact, their senses cruelly left untouched. They could neither scream nor move, their eyes blank and trembling.


    ¡®Snap.


    ¡®Their heads exploded in unison, the blue ichor of their blood splattering across the darkened walls and onto Elliot¡¯s face. A few thick droplets dripped into his open mouth.


    And then, with one final snap, the man in black was gone, his violet eyes vanishing into the void. Elliot was left alone, surrounded by the dismembered remains of Y and A. The room was silent save for the sound of blue blood dripping onto the cold floor.


    Elliot awoke with a start, his body convulsing as he broke free from the illusion. Cold sweat drenched his trembling form, his breath ragged. Yet his reaction was not one of terror.


    No, Elliot laughed.


    His hysterical laughter echoed through the room, his blue-stained teeth gleaming as the thick, viscous liquid trickled from his mouth.

 Chapter 34: The Mummy鈥檚 Hand

    Elliot stared blankly ahead, his eyes flickering and rolling back as if they sought to burrow into his brain. But with a sudden shake, he snapped out of it. The sweet taste of the divine blue blood of Y and A lingered in his mouth, far more pleasant than the metallic tang of ordinary blood. More. He thought dully, sharpening his senses. A fiery strength surged within him, each drop of the blood burning its way down his throat, filling him with warmth that spread throughout his body¡ªbut not in an uncomfortable way.


    His red eyes fixated on the dismembered limbs of the two corpses before him, staring at the entrails that spilled from their torn bodies. A smile twisted across his face, the sweet taste of blood still dancing on his tongue. But in the next moment, he emptied his stomach, retching violently as if the contents of his innards had been sucked out through a vacuum. Red and black spewed from his mouth, yet he couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away from the mutilated corpses. His nostrils flared, and his face contorted in disgust.


    But his body moved without hesitation, his face dipping into the open wound on V¡¯s leg, the blue blood still warm and flowing freely. He knelt, first soaking his pants, then his hands, and finally, his mouth, now tinged blue. He sucked greedily, drawing the blood like a thirsty man at a well, even as the straw proved too small for the task. After only a few moments, he recoiled, his face instinctively pressing against his hand. His nails had grown longer, scratching at his cheeks, nearly gouging out his eye. He spat out a portion of the blue blood, but his thirst remained unquenched. Without thinking, he leaned in again, only to slap himself across the face in an attempt to break free from the madness.


    ¡°Stop! Damn it, stop!¡± Elliot screamed, clutching at his messy, greasy hair, his locks turning blue with the blood that dripped from his fingers. ¡°Stop!¡± His voice became increasingly desperate. He yanked strands of his hair free from his scalp, the pain unheeded. Then, in a fit of frustration, he slammed his head into the wall, again and again. His blood mingled with the blue stains, dripping down his face in a macabre tapestry.


    Finally, his actions ceased, his body going limp. His expression remained cold, lifeless, devoid of emotion. But then, suddenly, he laughed¡ªlow and harsh¡ªscraping his nails across his forearms. The laughter echoed through the room, unhinged, until his arms bled, the red blood seeping from his skin.


    His chuckles quieted, but his eyes were still distant, unseeing, as though the turmoil within him had settled into the depths of some abyss. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind the other prisoners, none of whom would ever know their fates. He didn¡¯t care. He didn¡¯t even notice.


    Elliot walked aimlessly, out through the corridors and up the stairs. His gaze dropped, his tears flowing freely as he caught sight of the distant blue light of the sun, glowing faintly through a window. For a moment, he laughed again¡ªnot from hysteria, but from something deeper, a sense of unexpected joy. His shoulders sagged, and his knees buckled beneath him. He licked his lips as his body collapsed forward, becoming one with the cold asphalt of the street.


    ¡®Ren, I guess I made it after all.¡®


    ¡­


    Eriksson stood within the spacious museum, his gaze scanning the exhibits with practiced disinterest. Dressed in a sharp suit, he casually admired the various sculptures and paintings, but his attention never lingered on the art itself. Instead, his eyes darted over the surroundings¡ªhigh, wide, and impressive. The museum was two stories, but it had an almost sprawling quality, the ceiling reaching up as if to stretch into eternity. Pillars were spaced evenly throughout, and at every fourth pillar stood a guard in simple black attire. Each bore a revolver at their side, holstered securely on their suspenders. The guards looked almost interchangeable in their uniformity, their stances stiff and military, their expressions as impassive as statues. Sixteen men in total, yet Eriksson noticed that over half of them had the distinct aura of being blooded¡ªfar too much of a coincidence.


    A sudden thought struck him. ¡®Could this be a setup?¡®


    He snapped out of his musings and refocused on the task at hand¡ªhis eyes scanning the room for the object he sought: an artifact. More specifically, a hand¡ªa mummy¡¯s hand. His mind flicked back to the reward: 800 Elis. This should have been the simplest job of his career. Yet something gnawed at him.


    As he walked through the gallery, he passed paintings¡ªstill-lifes, portraits, and sculptures of the ancient world. There were curly-haired figures, noses that seemed exaggerated in size, depictions of angels locked in eternal conflict with demons. But most striking were the golden images¡ªfigures with flawless features, their bodies radiant and almost inhuman in their perfection. ¡®Gods,¡® Eriksson thought. ¡®Golden beings, who resemble humans, but are far from it. They are the ideal form.¡®


    Rumors had long circulated that the nine blood types were failed experiments¡ªdistorted reflections of the divine. The ¡®gods¡¯ were said to be pure, while everything else, the rest of humanity, was a mere shadow. But how could humans ever compare to gods? Yet there were still paintings of other blood types¡ªreds, browns, yellows, purples, each unique in their own way. People were depicted in caves, riding massive machines, standing in oases of violet deserts.


    And then, there it was: the mummy¡¯s hand. Eriksson stared at it for a brief moment before stepping closer.


    ¡°A fine hand, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    A voice broke through his thoughts, and Eriksson turned to see a man standing nearby. His skin was dark, with a brownish tint, his hair and eyes smeared with the color of mud. His eyes were small in relation to his large pupils, his brown irises nearly completely swallowed up. Something about him seemed... off. ¡®Where did he come from? Why didn¡¯t I notice him?¡®Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I heard there¡¯s been unrest lately,¡± the man continued. ¡°You should know that others can get information on the black market too. I was told to look out for visitors with... particular strength.¡± He paused, his eyes narrowing as he sized Eriksson up. ¡°I was instructed to keep an eye out for you.¡±


    Eriksson took a quick step back, his fine suit rippling with movement.


    ¡°Fast on your feet, I see?¡± The man smiled, stepping forward as sharp stone pillars erupted from the ground. Eriksson dodged instinctively, his leg narrowly missing one of the spikes, but he didn¡¯t hesitate. In a flash, he launched forward, landing a solid punch to the man¡¯s face. But the brown-skinned figure evaded him effortlessly.


    The sound of their blows echoed through the museum like gunshots. The guards, alerted to the commotion, rushed toward them in unison, surrounding Eriksson. ¡®Gods, just what I needed.¡®


    ¡°Damn you, Hank. 800 Elis? Worthless thieves!¡±


    Eriksson broke off the skirmish with the brown man and swiftly dispatched several of the guards with brutal efficiency. In just eight seconds, he had knocked out all but the brown-skinned figure, who had calmly seated himself on a bench, his chin resting on his fist.


    ¡°Is this the warm-up then?¡± he asked with a bored expression, his voice tinged with mockery.


    The brown tried to throw Eriksson off balance, provoking him with a flick of his right index finger, daring him to approach. "I¡¯ll even let you hit me. Fair enough?" But Eriksson remained calm, shaking out his fists. Black blood. That was all Eriksson could think of as he felt the black blood stored somewhere deep inside his body, and then he saw it¡ªthe vein in his leg darkening, its contents revealed in full clarity to the brown¡¯s blood vision. "So we¡¯re dabbling with demons now? But why all the blood colors, and why have you absorbed every color, except for gold and white?" The brown¡¯s eyes widened with realization. Eriksson only stared ahead, his veins thinning, darkening with the black blood. His leg stiffened, burning with a rising heat, before he leaped, launching off the ground with an immense force. Sparks and a trail of fire erupted behind him as he sprang to the side of the brown, a slash across his cheek. Eriksson¡¯s eyes¡ªnow a brilliant green¡ªlocked onto the ground as he swayed unsteadily.


    "You still can¡¯t control it, can you?" the brown laughed, wiping the blood from his cheek, which now dripped down like warm chocolate. "Still can¡¯t keep it in check."


    The brown charged at Eriksson, but with a quick sidestep, Eriksson avoided the attack, using a swift lateral kick that knocked the brown back. The brown caught himself, arms crossing to protect his body. Gasping, the brown''s eyes flared with hatred.


    "Are you a half-blood, little one?" he sneered.


    Eriksson didn¡¯t respond, remaining quiet. The brown, after a moment, loosened his posture, twisting his limbs to warm up. The battle had already caused significant damage to the museum, though the destruction was minor in comparison to the forces at play. His veins, now a vibrant yellow, pulsated with overwhelming energy, surging through his body like an uncontainable torrent. Eriksson¡¯s veins followed suit, springing from his skin with a violent force. The brown had grown faster, but his vision started to blur with each blink, the world around him darkening exponentially. With each flicker of his eyes, his sight dimmed, until it stopped entirely.


    Eriksson narrowed his eyes, peering through the haze, activating his blood vision to track the brown¡¯s blood flow. But even that was strangely faint and difficult to discern. His heart raced, his thoughts racing with the realization that the brown was resorting to desperate measures.


    ¡®Pow! Pow! Pow!¡¯


    Three consecutive blows struck Eriksson¡¯s cheekbone, followed by strikes to his liver, until he grabbed the brown¡¯s arm, holding it in place. The brief moment of respite was filled with Eriksson¡¯s thoughts on his orange blood, desperately attempting to dispel the blindness with the burst of energy. But it was in vain¡ªthe orange blood surged uselessly through his head, his efforts to regain his sight squandered. The brown laughed hysterically, ¡°Do you really need your eyes that badly? Down here, we see nothing except the light of the crystals¡ªand even that is a rarity.¡± He spat in Eriksson¡¯s face, his blood dripping down. "And yet, despite my species¡¯ superiority, you lot still have all the privileges!"


    With a roar, the brown pushed Eriksson¡¯s grip loose, breaking free and striking Eriksson with a vicious sideways kick. The blow landed cleanly, sending Eriksson stumbling back, but his legs, now weak, could barely hold him upright. His bloodline, tainted with black blood, made it difficult for him to keep his balance, and soon, his blood flow grew unbalanced. He faltered as his leg trailed behind him, completely out of sync with the rest of his body. For a moment, the brown eyed him with suspicion, but soon, his gaze clouded entirely. He could no longer see Eriksson.


    "Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve run away?" the brown muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. But Eriksson¡¯s form suddenly appeared right behind him, his body partially camouflaged by the distortion in light caused by his violet blood. Eriksson¡¯s shape flickered in and out of focus, until, in an instant, he struck, his foot landing firmly on the brown¡¯s back. The brown had no time to react as Eriksson¡¯s blow sent him hurtling toward a museum pillar. He crashed through it with terrifying force, smashing through another, then another, until he was launched forty meters away, his body slamming into a wall so hard that it shattered. The impact sent shockwaves through the area.


    Eriksson followed closely behind, his face marred with brown smudges of blood, his eyes swollen and bloodied. He delivered another strike, this time toward the brown¡¯s skull, his foot landing with brutal precision. The sound of cracking bone echoed through the space as Eriksson¡¯s strike caused a deep indentation in the back of the brown¡¯s head, his skull audibly breaking.


    Eriksson exhaled, a long, quiet breath of relief, as his vision returned to normal, his pupils returning to their usual size. He looked down at the brown¡¯s crumpled form, blood pooling around him, and grabbed three small vials from his pocket. He quickly filled each one with the brown¡¯s blood, muttering to himself, ¡°Soon, I¡¯ll have enough of these.¡±


    For a moment, he stood still, looking down at the fallen brown, before turning his attention to the mummified hand in his possession. "With this, my task is complete," he thought. A few lives had been claimed, but the real tragedy would come with the collapse of the museum. Many would die, and no one would care. Eriksson gave one last glance to a painting of a golden god, the divine figure¡¯s eyes seeming to watch him. "And you, are you watching over me, creator god?" he muttered. "Let¡¯s see how our future unfolds."


    Without another word, Eriksson leaped into action, swiftly exiting the museum and retreating into a narrow alley. He sat down for a moment, resting, his left hand clutching the mummified hand that bore the name "Sebastian."


    As he closed his eyes, he heard the deafening crash of a building collapsing behind him. The streets, the buildings, all began to rumble with the intensity of the destruction. The sound of shifting rubble and crumbling concrete filled the air, the wind picking up and scattering newspapers, trash, and debris across the streets. But Eriksson simply closed his eyes, savoring the rare moment of peace.

 Chapter 35: Tears

    The midday sun hung high in the azure sky, its brilliance unhindered save for a few faint clouds lingering near the horizon. The Lynn Street was lively with bustling passersby, their chatter blending with the occasional sound of carriage wheels on cobblestones. Yet, as Elliot strode along the path, the crowd parted instinctively, leaving a wide berth around him. His steps were measured, deliberate, the soft scrape of his boots a counterpoint to the distant hum of life.


    ¡°Darling, stay close!¡±¡°Don¡¯t go near him.¡±


    The murmurs of the townsfolk carried a mixture of fear and disdain. Mothers clutched their children, pulling them back with wary glances, while others turned their heads away the moment Elliot¡¯s piercing gaze fell upon them. His eyes were like shards of frozen sapphire, unwavering, and devoid of warmth.


    ¡®None of them have the right to judge us Reds.¡®


    Elliot¡¯s thoughts simmered, his lips curling in disdain as he spotted a curious little girl peeking at him. Her round cheeks flushed pink as their eyes met. She was no more than half his height, her small hands clutching the hem of her mother¡¯s dress. Elliot sneered, spitting a glob of blue-tinged blood onto the pavement without breaking stride. The child recoiled, hiding her face against her mother¡¯s side.


    With a sigh, Elliot ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, tasting the metallic tang of old blood. His hand grazed the faded door in front of him, his fingers brushing against splinters as he knocked three times. From the depths of his pocket, he pulled nothing but the brittle remnants of dried blood. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath.


    The door creaked open to reveal a tall man with a broad chest and hair slicked back neatly. His stance was commanding, his orange ring glinting proudly in the sunlight. Edwin. The man hadn¡¯t changed. Behind him, seated on a worn sofa, was Samantha, flipping through the day¡¯s newspaper with casual indifference.


    Edwin¡¯s gaze bore down on Elliot, sharp and unyielding, as he seized him by the suspenders and shoved him inside with brute force. The door slammed shut behind them.


    ¡°Where in the Goddess of Night¡¯s name have you been?¡± Edwin¡¯s voice thundered, veins bulging against his skin as his fists tightened. His sleeves rolled up instinctively, just like in the old days.


    Elliot, undeterred, met Edwin¡¯s fury with a cold, emotionless stare. ¡°What day is it?¡± His voice was low, calm, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.


    ¡°What day?!¡± Edwin roared, his face reddening further. ¡°You disappear, disgrace the Goddess¡¯s pact, and now you ask me ¡®what day it is?¡® You filthy Red swine!¡±


    With that, Edwin¡¯s fist shot forward, a hammer of raw strength. It was fast¡ªdeadly, even¡ªbut Elliot¡¯s enhanced physique absorbed the blow, though it sent him crashing against a nearby cabinet. A sharp pain spread across his cheekbone, blood trickling down from the reopened wounds on his face.


    ¡°By the gods!¡± Edwin snarled, shaking his fist. ¡°Your cursed blood is staining my entire house!¡±


    Before Edwin could strike again, Samantha hurled a slipper at his head. ¡°¡®Your¡® house?¡± she shrieked, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. ¡°Who do you think paid for most of it, huh?!¡±


    Her tirade sent Edwin into a stunned silence, his chest heaving as he glared at her. Elliot leaned against the cabinet, wiping blood from his lips as he watched the exchange. His expression barely shifted, save for a slight grimace when his fingers brushed the tender bruise forming on his cheek.


    Samantha¡¯s voice rang out again, but this time Edwin¡¯s attention was elsewhere. His gaze snapped back to Elliot, who now stood by the sofa, dripping blue-tinted blood onto the carpet.


    Elliot picked up the discarded newspaper, his eyes scanning the bold letters across the front page. ¡°Seventeenth of Astra,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°Zero Astarion, the Day of the Violet Dunes¡­¡± His voice trailed off as he pieced it together. ¡®The day has come. Today, at 4:20 PM, I¡¯ll be reunited with Ren.¡®


    A bitter smile crossed his lips. ¡°Finally¡­ after all this suffering¡­¡±


    Elliot glared upward at Edwin, his teeth clenched, his azure eyes darker than usual, shimmering like storm-tossed seas. Blue blood painted his battered body, its glow refracting faintly under the dim light. Opposite him, Edwin stood tall, a mocking sneer curving his lips, his fingers coiling as if to crush the very air. Samantha''s shrill cries tore through the atmosphere, a discordant hymn to chaos. Edwin lunged forward, his arm cocked back in a throwing motion, the ring upon his finger pulsating with an ominous glow.


    Elliot, unmoving, braced himself. The strike landed squarely on his shoulder, the healed flesh absorbing most of the blow. He staggered slightly but stood firm, unyielding. Edwin faltered, disbelief twisting his features. "W-what¡­ How is this possible?!" he roared, his steps faltering. Samantha''s gasps echoed his confusion, her hands clutching her chest.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    A surge of power coursed through Elliot''s veins, his muscles hardening to stone yet retaining an uncanny agility. His eyes locked onto Edwin''s unblemished arm, a predator honing in on weakness. Without hesitation, Elliot dashed forward, his speed surpassing the limits of human ability. Each fiber of his being pulsed with blood, a relentless cadence driving him onward.


    In a heartbeat, he was upon Edwin. Time seemed to slow as Elliot¡¯s fist hurtled through the air. Samantha¡¯s scream hung frozen, her mouth agape. Edwin¡¯s eyes clenched shut, his arms struggling to rise in defense. It was too late. Elliot spat a mouthful of his own blood, the crimson droplets hovering in the air before spiraling toward Samantha¡¯s open mouth.


    The blood slid down her throat, unbidden and unstoppable. Samantha gagged, clutching her neck, her body convulsing as the foreign substance took hold. Blue veins spidered across her pale skin, her lips trembling as blood spewed forth, staining the ground. She collapsed, her knees buckling. "M-my baby¡­" she choked, her voice a faint whisper as her trembling hands cradled her stomach.


    Elliot¡¯s gaze flicked downward, catching sight of her abdomen. Slightly rounded, it betrayed a fragile promise of life¡ªa life now slipping away.


    ¡®Pow!¡¯


    A sharp blow slammed into Elliot¡¯s temple. Edwin, teeth bared in desperation, had swung his broken arm, the artifact on his finger glowing faintly. His fractured bones jutted grotesquely, yet he pressed on, tears streaming down his face. "You bastard!" Edwin howled, his voice cracking. "You¡¯ve taken everything¡ªmy wife, my child! You filthy red-blooded scum!"


    His words dissolved into incoherent rage as he swung wildly, his strikes fueled by despair rather than strength. Elliot sidestepped each blow, his expression darkening. He extended a hand, his crimson blood snaking through the air like a living thread, weaving into Edwin¡¯s veins.


    Within seconds, Edwin faltered, his movements halting abruptly. His body convulsed as blood poured from his eyes and mouth, pooling at his feet. He collapsed beside Samantha, their lifeless forms entwined.


    Elliot stood over them, his fists trembling. His lips quivered, but no words came. His vision blurred, droplets falling from his cheeks. ¡®Am I crying?¡® His hand brushed against his face, the salty taste of tears confirming what his mind refused to acknowledge.


    Through the haze of emotion, his gaze wandered to the shattered window, where the faint outline of a little girl emerged in the distance. She was smiling, her hands clasped in those of her parents. They laughed, the sound carrying faintly over the mist as they disappeared into the fog.


    ¡®Ren¡­¡¯


    ¡­


    Elsewhere, Eriksson strode through the shadowed corridors of a modest manor, streaks of green and brown blood staining his clothing. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing away dried crimson. His eyes narrowed as he approached the sitting room, where Hank Dosen awaited him, wringing his hands nervously.


    "So, this is the prize you spoke of," Eriksson remarked coldly, his gaze falling on the artifact¡ªa shriveled hand encased in ancient wrappings.


    Hank managed a weak smile, his fingers twitching. "A-and you''re unharmed, I trust?"


    Eriksson¡¯s expression remained stony. "It was a Brown. He put up a fight."


    Hank¡¯s shoulders sagged, relief mingled with guilt. Eriksson stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Either you raise the payment, or you hand over the mummy''s hand. Explain its worth to me, Dosen. I don¡¯t take kindly to missions shrouded in mystery."


    Hank hesitated, his face paling. "I¡­ I can¡¯t give you the hand. Its value transcends money¡ªit¡¯s priceless. But I¡¯ll increase the payment to 1,200 Elis. That¡¯s the best I can do. Please, understand. If I part with this artifact, I¡¯ll be doomed. The one who seeks it¡­ they¡¯re no ordinary person. They¡¯ll imprison me in a place worse than death. You must believe me!"


    The man¡¯s voice cracked as he fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Eriksson regarded him with disdain before scrawling numbers on a slip of parchment. "Fine. Transfer the money in monthly installments. Two hundred Elis, every month, until Indigo next year."


    Hank nodded fervently, clutching the note as Eriksson turned and walked away.


    ¡­


    As Eriksson stepped into the stormy night, Hank remained alone in his dimly lit study. The rain tapped insistently against the windows, the wind howling like a chorus of vengeful spirits. He sat before the artifact, his nails bitten to the quick, his leg bouncing nervously.


    "Sebastian¡­" he whispered, his eyes flickering to the name etched faintly onto the artifact''s base.


    The storm intensified, the room growing colder. Shadows crept along the walls as the lamps flickered, their light barely holding back the encroaching darkness. Hank swallowed hard, his breaths shallow.


    A sudden crash startled him. The window shutters slammed shut, and the lamps extinguished in unison, plunging the room into pitch blackness. Hank¡¯s heart raced as he turned toward the artifact, his pulse hammering in his ears.


    Two golden eyes emerged from the darkness, their glow cold and unfeeling. A figure stepped forward, draped in robes of shimmering gold. His hair cascaded like molten metal, his skin radiating an otherworldly brilliance.


    Hank gasped, his body frozen as the golden figure reached out, its hand tightening around his throat despite the distance between them. His vision blurred, his veins bulging as he struggled to breathe.


    "A-Astarion," Hank choked, his voice barely audible.


    In his mind, he heard a voice¡ªnot spoken but imposed upon his thoughts, its tone like the toll of a death knell. ¡®"Speak not my name, insect."¡®


    ¡®Crack!¡®


    Hank¡¯s neck twisted unnaturally, his head lolling backward. His body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him. The golden figure stood over him, unmoved.


    "Sebastian," Astarion murmured, his voice carrying an eerie calm. He lifted the mummy''s hand, his golden eyes glinting with recognition. "It has been far too long, old friend."


    For a brief moment, the golden light flared, illuminating the room with an almost divine radiance. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the figure vanished, leaving behind only darkness and the steady patter of rain.


    Hank¡¯s lifeless body lay still, his vacant eyes reflecting the storm outside.

 Chapter 36: Decisions

    The sky was shrouded in clouds, a deep purplish hue marking the transition to night. The stars threatened to reveal themselves, but the moon had yet to make its appearance. The visibility was near non-existent, with torrential rain beating down relentlessly, making it impossible to see more than three meters ahead. Elliot stood in an alley between house numbers 10 and 12, the water pouring down from above with such force that it felt like a high-pressure washer. The relentless stream washed away the blue blood on his skin, and his body trembled from the force of the downpour and the cold winds. Yet, he held his ground.


    Though he had only just entered the alley, his eyes were sharp, scanning the environment for something specific¡ªa black suitcase, containing three vials of black blood. His eyelids narrowed, the worsening conditions blurring his vision. But there, ahead of him, he saw it. The suitcase. Finally. ¡®My black blood. I''ll take one and a half for myself, and leave the rest for Ren. With Edwin and Samantha dead, I''m no longer bound by any contract. I''m free.¡®


    Elliot glanced over at his bag, both it and he drenched, the water rising around his legs. In the distance, beyond the alley, a figure loomed¡ªcloaked in black, its silhouette imposing and large, but barely distinguishable against the downpour. Elliot continued forward, his shoes and socks soaked, the rest of his body just as wet. He held his bag and the suitcase above the rising water, his strides long and determined. The water came up to his shins, but his pace quickened, his steps sharp and forceful, as though he were wading through thick mud and hopping over small obstacles.


    The darkness around him felt impenetrable. The light from the stars had vanished, swallowed by the winds that churned the air. It was as if he were running through a void, moving without sight or sound, his mind singularly focused. His body pushed through the water, faster than most people could run. He appeared like a man racing against time, the look on his face grim, eyes cold as the sea. It wasn¡¯t just running anymore¡ªhe was leaping from the water, his muscles contracting painfully, veins surging under his drenched clothes.


    ¡®I must be faster. Faster, to Ren! What time is it? Where am I?¡®


    The sharp taste of iron filled his mouth as he bit into his inner cheek, the blood mingling with the sensation of urgency building in his chest. His pupils were wide, but the rain had rendered his senses numb and his vision blurry. But then, there it was¡ªhe was under a roof now, rain less intense but still pouring, the water around his legs almost up to his knees. He held his bag with one hand, but the suitcase remained pressed to his side.


    Quickly, he opened the suitcase to confirm that the black blood had arrived safely. The contents were as he expected¡ªdark as the night, difficult to see but undoubtedly present. He pulled one vial out carefully, leaving the others behind, and swiftly closed the case. With the vial now in hand, Elliot pressed it to his lips. He twisted the cap off, consuming the black blood in one motion, as if it were a shot of whiskey.


    His teeth, yellowed by the constant exposure to harsh elements, now turned black, blending into the dark surroundings. The rain continued to pour down, drenching him further. As the black blood coursed through his veins, his insides seemed to burn, hotter than any fire, but this fire was from within, consuming him from the inside out. His eyes rolled back, and his fingers stiffened, dropping both the suitcase and the bag into the rising water. His body was consumed by spasms, his muscles convulsing violently, veins popping under his skin as if they were about to rupture.


    His knees buckled, and he sank into the water. His whole body, from his calves to his neck, was frozen in a painful rigidity as his veins darkened and expanded, overtaking his limbs and torso. He couldn¡¯t move, couldn¡¯t speak. The pain was excruciating, but he couldn¡¯t stop. His body had betrayed him. He twitched and jerked, his vision flickering, until a blow to his nose brought him back to reality.


    ¡®Splash!¡®


    Elliot fell to the ground, his body wracked with violent tremors, his muscles locking up even more. He struggled to regain control, his limbs moving without coordination. His hearing was filled with the rushing of dirty water, muffled sounds distorted by the torrent. All he could focus on were the footsteps¡ªheavy, powerful¡ªgetting closer. Then, the voice.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know the black blood was in here. I was curious, but I didn¡¯t want to take any risks. But a weakling like you, receiving black blood... Are you the son of a king, little one?¡± The deep voice of the figure, cloaked in black, laughed. The sound sent a chill down Elliot¡¯s spine as the figure grabbed for the suitcase.


    But then, a light. A blinding light¡ªorange and yellow, so intense that it was almost unbearable. Elliot could barely see, but the man who had been standing over him shrieked in agony, his vision stolen by the burst of light. His body stumbled back, clutching his eyes as though they were burned.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± the man cried, his figure staggering. But Elliot, still struggling, murmured weakly, ¡°Ren¡­ I need to get to Ren¡­¡±


    Before he could continue, the light faded, and with it came a flurry of red strikes. Elliot felt himself being dragged away from the water, his body wet and trembling. He could hear more strikes, the sound of fists landing, but everything around him was muffled and white. Yet, in mere seconds, four figures appeared above him.


    It was William, Elton, Chris, and Elisia¡ªstanding tall, dry, their appearances unchanged. They looked down at Elliot, their smiles forced, their eyes troubled.


    ¡°What happened? Where have you been?¡± William and Elton shouted in unison, their voices filled with panic and frustration. Their gazes turned to the large, burly man, who had entered the headquarters of the Blue Sharks.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Did you kidnap Elliot?¡± William demanded, his voice rising, blue veins pulsing along his neck.


    ¡°Kidnap?¡± The burly man laughed, though it wasn¡¯t the laugh of a jovial person¡ªhis face, marred by scars, twisted into a cruel grin. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk. I was just curious.¡±


    The man, his face obscured by a hood, stepped forward, his color-shifting eyes narrowing, the blue deepening. The moment their gazes locked, a strange orange hue began to seep into his pupils, signaling something dangerous. Without warning, the man lunged.


    William and the others were forced onto their knees, their bodies convulsing as their veins bulged under their skin, a response to the threat that loomed before them. Elisia, undeterred, cut her palm with a swift motion, stepping back as Chris positioned himself in front of her, his revolver aimed at the burly figure.


    William, taking cover, shouted, ¡°We need time! Chris, cover us!¡±


    ¡°On it!¡± Chris shouted, sprinting toward a nearby cupboard. Meanwhile, Elisia circled the burly man, while William and Elton charged at him, but the man moved with blinding speed, pulling out two short swords that resembled machetes from beneath his cloak.


    Elton froze for a moment, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide.


    Elton watched in horror as a short sword was driven into William¡¯s cheek and then plunged into his throat. Blue blood mixed with the cold water as William collapsed. He gasped, his face submerged, his blonde hair clinging to the water¡¯s surface, his eyes flickering weakly. He clutched at his open wounds, more blood than usual spilling out, the blue blood flowing first, quickly followed by red, merging with the water, drifting toward Elliot.


    Elliot could only stare in terror, his eyes wide as he watched William reach out toward him. But Elliot recoiled, unable to move, William¡¯s faint, desperate attempt at speech fading into the stillness. ¡®No, no! This can¡¯t be happening!¡®


    Elliot¡¯s eyes shimmered with tears, his trembling hand hovering uncertainly over William, but it was too late. William¡¯s blue eyes stared unblinking into the abyss, the pale fog of morning surrounding him, unmoving.


    Elton screamed, his voice hoarse with rage, more powerful than ever before. "You damn bastard!" His fury tore through the air as he lunged toward the strong man, gripping him desperately, but the powerful figure shook him off, two short machetes embedded deep in Elton¡¯s legs. Blue blood sprayed out, staining the water. Elton bit down on his lips, his voice breaking, "Elisia, now!"


    Elisia raised her hand, her own blue blood staining the murderer¡¯s cheek, her eyes filled with anguish as her teeth ground together in determination. The strong man froze, as if he could not move, even as Elton collapsed, his body flailing as he fell into the shallow water. Elliot, still frozen, could only watch, his entire body trembling in shock.


    He saw Elisia standing there, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but Elton¡¯s blood continued to stain the water. In the corner of his vision, Chris was reloading his revolver, his eyes glancing quickly at the clock on the wall.


    ¡®16:02. 16:02?! Only 18 minutes left! ¡®Elliot rubbed his eyes frantically, his gaze darting between the clock, the bodies around him, and back to the clock again.


    His body trembled, his thoughts in chaos. His eyes flicked to the open door, his heart hammering. "Damn it, I have to go." His inner curse was drowned in a flood of grief, his tears continuing to mix with the rain. His gaze shifted to William¡¯s lifeless form, his body hunched with quiet, bitter sobs. Then, as if a spark had gone off inside him, Elliot stood fully upright.


    For a moment, everyone¡¯s eyes were on him. But he paid them no mind. He searched the water for something, his hand grasping for his bag and his suitcase. Shaking, he clutched his things, then moved with purpose toward the door. His legs trembled with each step, his body unable to steady itself, but he walked on. The strong man, scarred and dangerous, watched him silently, his body unmoving.


    Then, the strong man¡¯s body twitched, as though waking from some deep slumber. A guttural, silent scream poured from him, his veins bulging as if they might burst. His skin took on a blue hue, gradually shifting to a sickly orange. The transformation was slow, but his hands began to move, followed by his mouth, then his joints. He was waking up.


    Elliot had already crossed the threshold, stepping out into the storm. The darkness enveloped him like a thick cloak, the rain slashing down in torrents, each droplet adding to his grief. Behind him, he could hear the others. The muffled sound of Elton¡¯s broken sobs, his body kneeling in the water, clutching at his bleeding legs. But Elliot did not look back. He had already slipped away into the shadows, his silhouette fading into the night, disappearing into the storm.


    Inside, the strong man was slowly regaining control of his body. But Chris fired again, his aim sharp despite the panic in his eyes. The gunshots rang out, four rounds, each one sinking deep into the strong man¡¯s flesh, but he kept moving.


    ¡®Pow! Pow! Click!¡¯


    The revolver fell silent. Chris¡¯s eyes widened in horror as the weapon misfired. ¡°No!¡± Elisia screamed, lunging toward the powerful man in a final, desperate attempt to stop him.


    The sounds of chaos were drowned out by the storm, the world spinning as Chris stood helplessly, his body trembling with shock. A warm, wet sensation spread over his hands and clothes. Blue blood, sticky and warm, soaked into his skin. Elisia¡¯s blood.


    The strong man had driven his two machetes into her back, the blades digging into Chris¡¯s clothing, slicing through the fabric just enough to cut into his abdomen, though they didn¡¯t go deeper. The pain was unbearable, but Chris didn¡¯t move, his eyes fixed on Elisia.


    ¡°Chris¡­¡± Her voice was faint, barely a whisper. Her pale hands clung weakly to his shoulders as her eyes fluttered. ¡°I¡¯m cold¡­¡±


    Her words were barely audible as she coughed, more blue blood staining her pale skin. Chris watched, helpless, as she continued to tremble in his arms. Her breath grew shallow, her body becoming more fragile with each passing second.


    ¡°N-no, you¡¯ll make it,¡± he muttered, his voice hoarse. He gently brushed the damp strands of her hair out of her face, his hands trembling as he wiped away the blood from her brow.


    But Elisia¡¯s eyes began to flicker, her breaths shallow and ragged. Her body swayed, her lips parting to speak, but all she could manage was a faint whisper, ¡°I love you¡­¡±


    Her voice faltered, and her body collapsed forward, her fragile frame leaning against him. Chris¡¯s arms tightened around her, pulling her close as her heart slowed, her breath growing still. The room was filled with silence, broken only by the sound of rain and the soft lapping of the water around them.


    Elisia¡¯s body, like William¡¯s and Elton¡¯s, joined the others in the cold water, her eyes wide and glassy, her lips parted as if she still wanted to say something. Her last words lingered in the air, haunting, as her body pressed against Chris¡¯s trembling form.


    He stared at her, unable to speak, unable to understand what had happened. His gaze shifted to the outside world; his eyes locked on the endless night. The storm raged around them, the darkness pressing in from all sides. He didn¡¯t blink, didn¡¯t move. His world had shattered, and all he could do was hold her as the rain continued to fall, his teeth grinding together in silence.

 Chapter 37: Emptiness and Abundance

    The underbelly of Tr¨¹ben-City had long since been swallowed by water. It reached up to Elliot¡¯s waist, cold and unrelenting, its icy grip numbing him to the bone. His teeth clattered like loose stones, and the howling storm churned the floodwaters into restless waves, splashing as high as his chest with every step. The air smelled of wet earth and decay, the oppressive darkness broken only by flashes of lightning.


    Elliot trudged onward, his body steady as a boulder against the relentless tide. Filthy water mixed with the relentless rain, drenching him thoroughly, his clothes clinging like a second skin. His head tilted forward, his arms raised above the waterline to safeguard a satchel and a small leather case.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry, William. Truly, I am.¡®


    His lips moved soundlessly; his voice swallowed by the roar of the storm. His eyes, heavy with regret, fixed on the horizon where the Wellington and Fernen streets would intersect. Somewhere beyond the chaos lay that familiar junction¡ªa beacon in his memory. He couldn¡¯t afford to stop.


    Minutes stretched into eternity, yet Elliot''s thoughts remained fixed on his colleagues¡ªhis friends. William¡¯s face haunted him, the moment of his death replaying like a cruel specter. The gleam of the machete as it struck, the red and blue blood cascading down William¡¯s throat as life drained from him. The image seared itself deeper into Elliot''s mind, the guilt eating away at him like rust on metal.


    ¡®It¡¯s all my fault¡­¡®


    The mantra repeated in his head, each step into the murky depths carrying the weight of his sins. The storm howled louder, the wind whipping his soaked hair into his eyes. Blind to his surroundings, Elliot pressed forward. He was deaf to the screams of the world around him, yet the storm seemed to echo his inner torment.


    Then, amidst the pitch-black despair, a light emerged.


    It was faint at first, a flicker barely noticeable¡ªa candlelight in a basement, a lantern against the endless void. Elliot¡¯s breath caught; his body froze mid-stride as his eyes adjusted to the distant glow. A figure materialized in the distance, illuminated by the harsh glare of lightning.


    A young man with disheveled blond hair was struggling against the current, his legs churning through the water, his every movement frantic yet determined.


    ¡°Ren¡­¡±


    Elliot whispered the name, his voice trembling, his shoulders sagging under an unseen weight.


    For a moment, he stood rooted in place, the storm battering him from all sides. But as the realization hit, his legs found strength once more. He pushed forward, each step a Herculean effort against the rising tide.


    ¡°Ren!¡± he shouted, his voice a mere croak lost to the cacophony of the storm.


    The figure moved farther away, unaware of Elliot¡¯s presence. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and Elliot caught another glimpse of him. Ren¡¯s silhouette stood stark against the dark, the storm carving his outline into the chaos.


    ¡°Ren!¡± Elliot cried again, desperation shredding his vocal cords. The wind swallowed his words whole, waves crashing over him, forcing water into his lungs.


    The storm was merciless.


    Another wave surged forward, this one massive enough to rival buildings. It bore down on Elliot with the force of an avalanche, dragging him under and tossing him like a rag doll in its wake.


    ¡°Ren!¡±


    Elliot¡¯s scream was muffled beneath the water as his body was lifted by the wave, propelled forward. His legs strained, black veins pulsing under his skin as he drew on reserves of strength, he didn¡¯t know he possessed. He leapt as high as he could, water cascading off his form as he reached for the surface.


    The light grew closer now, Ren¡¯s silhouette more distinct. Elliot¡¯s heart pounded against his ribcage as he tried to call out again, but no sound escaped his lips. His limbs grew heavier, his body sluggish as if weighed down by invisible chains.


    The surface seemed within reach¡ªonly a meter above¡ªbut no matter how he thrashed, he couldn¡¯t breach it. His arms clawed desperately, his suitcase and satchel long lost to the abyss.


    Darkness encroached.


    His vision narrowed until there was nothing but black, an oppressive void swallowing him whole. For a moment, there was no sound, no feeling¡ªonly emptiness.


    Then, a light pierced through the gloom.


    At first, it was no larger than a pinprick, but it grew rapidly, shaping itself into a hand. A strong, steady hand. It reached out to him, cutting through the watery haze like a lifeline.


    Ren.


    Ren¡¯s figure became clear, his teeth gritted as he strained to pull Elliot from the depths. Veins bulged along his arms, his soaked shirt clinging to him as the effort took its toll.


    Elliot gasped as he broke the surface, coughing violently, water spewing from his lungs as oxygen finally flooded back in.


    ¡°Ren!¡± Elliot rasped, his voice hoarse and raw. His eyes darted wildly, his face wet with a mixture of rain and tears.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got you, Elliot,¡± Ren¡¯s voice came, distant but firm. It was a voice Elliot hadn¡¯t heard in what felt like a lifetime, a voice he had feared he would never hear again.


    ¡°Ren?¡± Elliot¡¯s teeth chattered as he struggled to focus, his body wracked with shivers. ¡°Is it really you?¡±


    Ren gave him a small, lopsided smile, his wet blond hair plastered against his face. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡­


    In a dimly lit room, the storm¡¯s wrath raged outside, rattling the windows and threatening to tear them from their frames. The orange-red glow of oil lamps and flickering candles cast shifting shadows on the waterlogged floor.


    Eriksson stood leaning against a closed door, water seeping through the cracks and pooling around his boots. He stared into the dim reflection of the candlelight in the puddle below, his expression unreadable.


    ¡°This¡­ This is no ordinary storm,¡± a man¡¯s voice broke the silence. It belonged a lanky figure with sharp black hair and a prominent nose. He dabbed at his nostrils with his sleeve, his voice thick and nasally.


    ¡°I¡¯m Markus, by the way,¡± he added awkwardly, his attempt at a smile faltering under Eriksson¡¯s icy gaze.


    ¡°What do you think is happening here?¡± Markus¡¯s voice cut through the tension, but once again, no answer came.


    ¡®This Hank had spoken of a dangerous individual¡ªcould they be responsible? Or was it something greater? A deity, perhaps? A golden one? The God of Creation? ¡®


    Eriksson¡¯s thoughts churned as he stared into the shimmering reflection of the warm light on the water¡¯s surface.


    Markus broke the silence again, dragging a sleeve across his long nose, smearing snot in the process. ¡°Whatever¡¯s going on here, it¡¯s bad. Real bad,¡± he muttered before exhaling sharply and glancing at Eriksson. ¡°But let¡¯s talk about the journey to the Underground instead.¡±


    His voice trembled as Eriksson¡¯s piercing green eyes met his own. ¡°A-are you sure about going there?¡± Markus stammered. ¡°I mean, the place is crawling with Browns, not to mention the war zone between demons and angels up on the surface. Sure, there are areas where the fighting¡¯s contained, but even there, low-blooded folk like us won¡¯t be treated kindly. We¡¯ll be seen the same way Reds are treated here¡ªlike fools dancing to someone else¡¯s tune.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Eriksson¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver, his pale green eyes cold and unyielding. ¡°Then so be it.¡±


    ¡­


    In the Rosenmahl Estate, the rain lashed against the windows like an endless volley of stones. Some of the grand, ornamental panes, more for show than function, burst open under the assault, welcoming the deluge into the opulent halls with an unsettling intimacy. Outside, the storm howled, an unrelenting symphony of thunder, lightning, and wind. Inside, the household carried on with its celebration of the new temporal calendar, honoring Astarion, the sovereign of all golden gods.


    Aston sat alone in his chamber, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows across the room. His gaze was distant, fixed on the droplets racing down the glass of the nearest window. "Elisia, I can''t do this anymore," he murmured, his voice heavy with resignation. "Why must my father and brother be so stubborn? Why do they hate the Reds so vehemently? We were once the family that cared for them¡ªprotected them."


    Elisia, draped in a flowing azure gown that seemed to shimmer in the dim light, sat gracefully on the edge of his bed. Her orange hair cascaded down her shoulders, resting softly against the fabric. "It will get better, Aston," she whispered, her amber eyes meeting his cerulean ones with a tender, unwavering gaze.


    The storm outside raged on, the periodic crack of thunder punctuating the steady rhythm of rain. Yet here, in the warmth of Aston''s chamber, their breaths mingled, the heat of their proximity warding off the chill of the tempest. Slowly, she leaned closer, her lips¡ªa soft orange hue¡ªhovering near his own. The warmth of her kiss left a delicate imprint on his lips, a fleeting mark of solace amidst the storm.


    "I love you, Aston," she whispered, her voice trembling with sincerity.


    "And I, you," he replied, his tone soft yet resolute.


    As they exchanged breath and warmth, Elisia''s gaze drifted, her smile faltering slightly as her eyes locked on a portrait resting on the far wall. It depicted Aston and his mother, their expressions immortalized in serene happiness. Yet her lips curved upward again, a subtle, knowing smile taking form as she focused intently on the image. Aston, oblivious to her distraction, kissed the nape of her neck, his affection unbroken.


    ¡­


    Elsewhere, in the heart of Tr¨¹ben-City, a darkened room lay half-submerged under the storm¡¯s wrath. Rainwater poured relentlessly through the broken doorway, flooding the floor, and surging ever higher. Elliot and Ren stood back-to-back against a crumbling wall, their breathing steady despite the chaos around them. Their eyes were closed, faint smiles playing on their lips, masking the deeper emotions that churned beneath the surface¡ªgrief, guilt, and regret.


    Elliot¡¯s face, damp from both rain and tears, glimmered faintly in the sparse light filtering through the shattered window. He stared out at the tempest, his trembling hands betraying his attempts at composure. His stomach growled audibly, but he ignored it, lost in the weight of his thoughts.


    ¡®Please, let them have survived. Please¡­¡® Elliot tried to piece together the events in his mind, but it only made him shake his head and let more tears spill down his cheeks. Still, a faint smile tugged at his lips as his gaze shifted to Ren, standing by his side.


    "I love you."


    It was the first time such words escaped Elliot¡¯s mouth. Ren, however, replied with his head lowered, his voice almost a whisper. "I love you too..."


    For a moment, they barely looked at each other, and yet, it felt as if they saw more of one another than ever before. It was strange, a connection both profound and unsettling.


    The steps ahead were damp, the first two submerged in water. Only further up did the stairs grow drier, though droplets from their soaked clothes still fell and darkened the stone. Ren trailed a couple of meters behind Elliot as they ascended.


    "How did you survive that shapeshifter, anyway?" Elliot asked, his voice breaking the rhythm of their steps. "All I remember is hitting the ground..."


    Ren didn¡¯t answer immediately, his boots creaking against the aged wood of the stairs. When he reached the top, he turned left into an empty room. The rain battered against the walls, the wind howling like a wailing spirit, while thunder roared in the distance, shifting the world between blinding white and oppressive black.


    "How did you survive the attack?" Elliot repeated, turning back with one final step.


    But the only thing he saw was a silhouette illuminated by a flash of lightning. Blonde hair, eyes glowing a piercing azure, and clothing drenched, water dripping steadily from the figure''s chin and nose. The figure grinned¡ªa wide, unnerving grin.


    In the fleeting moments between light and dark, it was difficult to make out the details. Yet something was wrong. Where his teeth should have been, there was... nothing.


    Elliot¡¯s eyes widened, his body instinctively stepping back.


    "N-no. No!" he stammered, his pulse quickening as his knees buckled beneath him. He scrambled back further, his gaze locked on the figure, his mind reeling.


    "Where¡¯s Ren?! What have you done to him?!"


    The figure tilted its head slightly, its voice cold, laced with mocking amusement. "What I¡¯ve done to Ren?" It chuckled, a sound that grew darker with every note. "I ¡®am¡® Ren, lil brother."


    Ren¡¯s grin widened further, his laughter bursting forth, uncontrollable and deranged. Lightning illuminated his face again, revealing blackened teeth as he dragged his tongue over them, smearing a tar-like substance. He kept laughing, his hand motioning toward the other as if inviting a twisted joke only he understood.


    Elliot stared, frozen, his breath hitching. His body trembled, every muscle refusing to obey as he pressed himself against the wall.


    Ren¡¯s voice cut through the storm. "You probably have a lot of questions, don¡¯t you, Elliot or shall I address you as the golden Reaper?¡±


    As he spoke, his body began to twist and distort, his features shifting like melting wax. His hair turned white and gray, his face wrinkled and sunken, his stature hunching. He looked almost identical to the old man who had revealed Ren¡¯s location to Elliot.


    Ren bent forward, clutching his lower back with an exaggerated groan. "Ah, it hurts, it hurts so much," he mocked, laughter bubbling up again. "What¡¯s the matter, golden Reaper? Crying already?"


    Elliot¡¯s tears spilled freely; his shimmering blue eyes filled with despair.


    "Shall I blow on your wounds, like I used to when we were kids? Put a little plaster on them, perhaps?" Ren cackled, his tone dripping with cruel sarcasm.


    But as his features morphed back into their original state, his laughter ceased, replaced by a sharp glare. His brows furrowed in fury, his teeth clenched, and his voice dropped to a venomous growl.


    "You don¡¯t know what it means to suffer. You¡¯ve never had to! You¡¯re so stupid¡ªalways thinking you¡¯re something special! Those visions of yours? Don¡¯t make me laugh."


    Ren stepped closer, his face mere inches from Elliot¡¯s, the rancid heat of his breath washing over him.


    "Did it never cross your mind," Ren hissed, "that I might have visions too? Perhaps even more extensive ones than yours? In one moment, I¡¯ve lived every agonizing second of my future life."


    He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before breaking into laughter again. His hand reached out, brushing away the tears from Elliot¡¯s face as if savoring his pain.


    "That¡¯s it," Ren whispered, his grin widening once more. "The sweet taste of revenge. Golden, golden Reaper. I¡¯ve waited five long years for this moment. To take everything from you in one fell swoop. To leave you hopeless and utterly alone."


    Ren stepped back, pulling a knife from his belt. Its blade glinted in the dim light as he pressed it against his own finger, slicing it deliberately. Green and red blood welled up, dripping slowly to the floor.


    "You want to know about the shapeshifter?" Ren smirked. "I killed it myself. Cham, though... well, that was unfortunate. But breaking you is worth so much more."


    His voice dropped into a low, taunting whisper as he leaned in close once more. "Now, Elliot, you have the honor of giving your blood to me. Your ¡®great¡®, ¡®honorable¡® brother."


    Elliot¡¯s chest heaved, his body trembling violently as he tried to process the horror unfolding before him.


    Ren chuckled, his gaze drifting upward. "Go ahead, look up, golden Reaper,¡± he said mockingly. "Oh wait, you can¡¯t. Silly me."


    He tilted his head back as if admiring the empty air above, his laughter filling the storm-battered room. "There¡¯s nothing there."


    ¡®Slash!¡®


    The knife plunged into Elliot¡¯s stomach.


    His breath caught, a ragged gasp escaping his lips as pain erupted through his body. Blood¡ªred, tinged with faint streaks of blue, yellow, and black¡ªgushed from the wound. Ren¡¯s hand, steady and unyielding, twisted the blade deeper.


    Elliot¡¯s legs buckled, his face ashen, but his eyes remained locked on Ren¡¯s. The storm outside raged on, thunder illuminating Ren¡¯s maniacal grin, his teeth smeared with dark, viscous blood.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡± Ren whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. ¡°Your blood, your despair¡ªit¡¯s perfect. Everything I dreamed of.¡±


    ¡®Slash!¡®¡®Slash!¡®¡®Slash!¡®


    Again and again, the blade descended. Elliot¡¯s body jerked with every strike, his blood pooling around them, mixing with the stormwater flooding the floor. His breathing grew shallow, each exhale weaker than the last.


    Ren stepped back, his laughter bordering on hysterical, as he admired his work. Elliot stood there, his body trembling involuntarily, his knees threatening to give way. Tears continued to stream down his hollow, lifeless eyes, merging with the kaleidoscope of blood dripping from his wounds.


    ¡°Goodbye, golden¡­ Reaper,¡± Ren whispered, his voice softer now, almost tender.


    Elliot¡¯s vision darkened, the flickering storm light fading into an endless void. The warmth of life, the flicker of hope that once resided in his heart, was extinguished. His final breath escaped him in a shallow whisper, and his heart gave one last, futile beat before surrendering to the abyss.


    The storm outside roared, relentless and unforgiving, but within Elliot, there was only silence¡ªa silence that stretched into eternity.

 Chapter 38: Red Eclipse

    Darkness engulfed everything, stretching endlessly, consuming all light. No spark of hope flickered in this void¡ªonly an infinite, oppressive emptiness. This was the dark void Elliot had come to know, the same realm he had inhabited each time he invaded another''s body.


    He lay motionless, his back pressed against the cold nothingness. His eyes were open, staring upward, though there was nothing to see. The void swallowed his vision, his surroundings, his existence. His pupils, dilated as if grasping for light, found no reprieve. He was adrift in a sea of darkness, his arms and legs splayed against the unseen floor.


    Elliot didn¡¯t speak. He barely breathed. He simply stared into the infinite abyss, his expression hollow, his body unmoving. Only his heartbeat broke the silence, faint and steady, though even that seemed out of place in this lifeless expanse.


    ¡®Golden Reaper?¡® The thought clawed its way into his mind, bitter and accusing. ¡®What is that supposed to mean? A future I¡¯ve yet to live?¡®


    His thoughts churned, fragments of memories and questions colliding in chaotic disarray. ¡®Why? What could I have done to deserve such hatred from my own flesh and blood? I would have died for him¡ªsuffered endless torment if it meant he could live another day. So why? What could drive Ren to despise me so deeply?"¡®


    Elliot¡¯s gaze remained fixed on the invisible heavens above. His thoughts spiraled deeper, emotions unraveling as the void crept into his heart. The pain that had once stabbed at his chest had dulled into numbness. Memories faded like whispers in the wind, leaving only questions.


    ¡®Why had Ren turned against me?¡® Elliot¡¯s mind clung to the thought like a drowning man to driftwood. ¡®Was it power? Did he know about the black blood? Or¡­ was everything a lie? Has every moment with him been a deception?¡®


    His eyes, once vibrant and piercing, had grown pale, devoid of their usual spark. His lids refused to blink, his gaze unflinching as if afraid to lose focus on something unseen.


    ¡®Golden Reaper¡­¡® The words repeated in his mind, sharp and venomous. ¡®What crime have I committed to earn such a name?¡®


    A voice shattered the stillness, warm yet firm, reverberating through the endless void.


    "The reason lies in your choices," it said, calm yet resolute. "Your future self-aligned with only one side¡ªone extreme."


    Suddenly, a light broke through the void, crimson and radiant. It spilled across the endless darkness, saturating the space in the deep hue of blood. In the distance, a figure emerged, his silhouette sharp against the red glow.


    He was young, or so he appeared, with crimson hair cascading like fire, eyes like molten rubies, and skin shimmering faintly as if forged from the same scarlet light. His robes billowed gently, dyed in every shade of red imaginable.


    The figure stepped forward, his movements slow but deliberate, his presence commanding yet serene. His voice echoed again, filling the space as though it spoke directly into Elliot''s soul.


    "Yes," the crimson god confirmed, his tone unwavering. "Your choices. The path you chose. The side you favored above all others."


    Before Elliot, a massive table materialized, long and ancient, etched with unknowable symbols. Upon it rested ten crystals, each mounted on ornate pedestals. Four of the crystals shimmered with vibrant colors, while the remaining six were dull and lifeless.


    "You may not want to accept it," the god continued, his voice steady. "But you committed atrocities. You killed for power, for strength, for the sake of your own growth. You slaughtered all who stood in your way¡ªfriends, foes, innocents alike. In the end, you even killed your brother. The world would call you the ¡®Golden Reaper,¡® a harbinger of death and judgment, feared by all, a servant of the golden bloodlines, an enforcer of their so-called divine will."


    The god''s gaze softened, though his eyes remained piercing. "But even they, Elliot, are not true gods. They are merely the children of my eldest."


    Elliot remained motionless, his mind reeling, unable to process the weight of the words. The crimson god gestured to one of the chairs at the massive table¡ªa throne directly opposite his own.


    "Sit," the god said gently.


    A snap of his fingers echoed, and in an instant, Elliot was no longer on the ground. He found himself seated on the throne, its enormity dwarfing him. The table stretched between him and the crimson god like a chasm, each crystal positioned precisely.


    To his immediate left stood a blue crystal, glowing faintly. On his right, a green crystal shimmered with life as well as a yellow crystal. The others, dull and lifeless, were scattered farther along the table, save for one: a black crystal, distant and foreboding, emanating a faint, ominous pulse.


    The crimson god leaned forward, his hands clasped together, his expression somber. "I am sorry, Elliot," he said, his voice sincere. "But that is the future awaiting you."


    He paused, letting the words settle, before continuing. "Unless, of course, you change it. But to do so, you must embrace balance. Not good, not evil¡ªboth. To maintain balance is to walk the line between order and chaos, never truly belonging to either."


    Elliot¡¯s breath hitched, though he remained silent. His chest ached with a growing despair, but his face betrayed no emotion.


    "Even if you became a saint tomorrow," the crimson god continued, "the end result would not change. You would die, Elliot. Perhaps within days. Maybe within hours." His voice hardened. "You cannot save this world by choosing one side. You must be the bridge between them, the equilibrium that holds the scales steady. Your decisions must weigh morality against necessity, compassion against pragmatism."


    The god¡¯s crimson gaze bore into Elliot, unyielding. "Elliot, you must rebuild this fractured world. Not as a pawn of the golden bloodlines, nor as a servant of chaos, but as a god¡ªa true god, in my stead."A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    A long silence followed, broken only by the faint hum of the crystals and the weight of the crimson light.


    "I know how you feel," the god said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "Lost. Isolated. Like a lone ship adrift on an endless ocean."


    The words hung in the air, cutting through Elliot¡¯s guarded heart.


    "But there are people who care for you," the god continued, his tone almost pleading. "There is a world worth saving. You must learn to love it, to fight for it, even when it feels impossible."


    Elliot¡¯s mind rebelled. ¡®Lies.¡®


    The crimson god said nothing more, his eyes locked on Elliot¡¯s. Seconds stretched into an eternity before he finally spoke again.


    "There are things you must know," the god said firmly. "First: the golden bloodlines are not gods. I am a god, as are my children. From blue to gold, they are merely my progeny."


    The god¡¯s gaze shifted, staring into the infinite crimson void. "Second: I am bound to this place¡ªnot by my children, but by my own nature, my own code. That is irrelevant to you, however."


    He turned back to Elliot, his expression grave. "Elliot, I will say this only once more: the fate of this world rests upon your shoulders. Choose wisely."


    "You must balance this world upon a silken thread while dedicating yourself to your purpose. And finally, I shall grant you an extension of your divine blood''s abilities. First, you will have dominion over this place¡ªcomplete authority over my prison. But there is a price for this power: you, too, will remain bound as I am."


    The Red God¡¯s blood-red eyes locked onto Elliot''s pale gray-blue irises; his voice unwavering. "You were able to inhabit the bodies of others, but now, you will wield the power to summon them here, into this space. I will bestow upon you a language¡ªone that only you and the other chosen will understand. You must learn to wield it, not as a means of mere communication, but as a conduit for rituals. Rituals akin to those used to commune with the Nine Gods. This language is not your native tongue; it is the language of the crimson epoch, the era in which Sebastian once lived."


    Elliot''s expression remained stoic, yet his breathing quickened as the weight of the words pressed upon him.


    "With this language," the Red God continued, his voice reverberating like a drumbeat, "you shall become your own god. Prayers will be spoken to you, miracles invoked in your name. Through it, you will forge alliances with those of other bloodlines and communicate with the unthinkable. You shall play the role you claim to disdain: the God of Creation. The Father of All Fathers."


    The Red God rose, his silhouette towering like a shadow against an unseen sun. Suddenly, he appeared at Elliot''s side, his blazing ruby eyes igniting the dim void around them.


    "But know this, Elliot¡ªyou do not have long to live. Your soul teeters on the edge of this realm, threatening to escape entirely."


    Before Elliot could respond, the Red God placed a hand upon his shoulder.


    ¡®CRACK!¡®


    The sound split the stillness like a lightning strike. Elliot''s gaze shifted downward, following the path of his severed arm as it tumbled to the ground, crimson blood spilling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His expression betrayed nothing¡ªno pain, no fear. Only his gray-blue eyes tracked the flow of his lifeblood.


    "You feel no pain here," the Red God said, his voice almost tender. "Neither physical nor emotional. But know this: the torment will return to you in the waking world¡ªnot this arm, but the anguish that festers within your soul."


    With an unsettling calm, the Red God took Elliot''s other arm and wrenched it free, the sinew and flesh parting with ease. Blood pooled around them, vibrant and almost luminous in the dimness. The God then pressed the severed arm back to the exposed flesh, reattaching it with an unholy precision.


    Elliot sat motionless, his gaze hollow, his once-pale skin now reddened as the divine blood coursed anew through his veins. His torn garments lay draped across his lap, their once-pristine fabric dyed in shimmering crimson.


    "Most of your blood was gone," the Red God said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "The blue, the yellow, the green, and the black¡ªall drained from your body. But now you are filled again. Not with the blood of mortals, but with divine blood. Pure and untainted."


    The God turned, his crimson cloak billowing behind him like a banner of war. "I must attend to my children now. We shall meet again."


    He waved his hand, and the air itself twisted, bending reality to reveal an immense, open doorway. The portal stretched impossibly high, far beyond Elliot''s ability to perceive its summit. It was a gateway to another realm¡ªone filled with titanic beings whose forms defied comprehension.


    Through the aperture, Elliot glimpsed colossi shackled by chains of gleaming metals. Their skins shimmered in hues of blue, green to gold, and their figures ranged from eyeless, smooth-faced titans to abominations adorned with countless eyes and limbs. The chains binding them radiated an unyielding power, pulsating like the heartbeat of the cosmos.


    The doorway closed with a resounding boom, the Red God vanishing into its depths, his figure dwarfed by the enormity of the chained beings beyond. With a final wave, the void consumed him, leaving Elliot alone in the stillness. His eyes fluttered shut.


    ¡­


    Elliot awoke to the stench of decay. Cold sweat clung to his skin, and his breath came in shallow gasps. Tiny, scuttling creatures crawled across his face, their legs prickling his flesh. He tried to move, but his body refused to respond. His muscles were paralyzed, his mind trapped in his uncooperative flesh.


    ¡®Where am I?¡® The thought echoed in his mind, tinged with rising panic. The confidence he had moments ago was gone, replaced by a pounding heart and a suffocating dread. His pulse quickened as an oppressive weight settled over his chest.


    "Are we really just dumping garbage on the cargo?" A voice spoke, distant but audible.


    "The Browns will eat anything organic," another voice replied dismissively.


    ¡®Browns? Cargo? What do they mean?¡® Elliot''s thoughts spiraled, confusion mingling with fear.


    A new pressure bore down on his ribs, and he felt the rhythmic rocking of a ship beneath him. The air was thick with salt and stench¡ªblood, flesh, urine, and rot intermingled in an unbearable miasma. The sound of waves crashing against the hull filled the silence, punctuated by the creaking of wood under strain.


    Through flickering eyes, Elliot caught glimpses of his surroundings. Darkness cloaked the space, the faint glow of a dim light seeping through a narrow window. His vision blurred, the pale glow of blue sunlight piercing through his dilated pupils.


    He strained to see, his eyes drawn to the source of the light. It was the moon¡ªits silhouette an inky black against the radiant blue sun. Slowly, the moon moved, its shadow sliding away to reveal the sun¡¯s brilliance. Elliot''s pupils shrank to pinpoints, yet he couldn''t look away.


    The light grew harsher, but it was not alone. Another light¡ªa red light¡ªbathed the ship in an otherworldly glow. Elliot''s chest tightened as he beheld the spectacle. A blood moon hung in the sky, casting its crimson hue across the waves.


    Tears welled in his eyes, shimmering like rubies under the red light. They traced paths down his cheeks, staining his pallid face with streaks of crimson. Elliot lay among the dead, their lifeless bodies illuminated by the eerie glow of the red eclipse. His breath caught, his heart pounding against his ribcage.


    Above him, the blood moon shifted, its golden surface transforming into an ominous red. The ocean itself seemed to bleed as the moonlight mingled with the waves. A faint mist rose, tinged with the colors of the eclipse¡ªred with hints of blue, like veins of light threading through the darkness.


    Elliot stared, unblinking, his lips trembling as the sight overwhelmed him. The enormity of the moment pressed down on him, rendering him motionless. Tears of blood continued to flow.


    The ship rocked gently beneath him, but Elliot remained still, his body drenched in cold sweat. The crimson light painted the world in hues of death, a reflection of the horrors within and without. And yet, through the despair, a flicker of resolve sparked within him.


    The red moon gazed back, unyielding.


    ¡®A Red Eclipse¡¯

 Chapter 1: Survival (1)

    Balance is not a burden one carries but a blade upon which one dances. Each step demands sacrifice, and every misstep sends the world spiraling into chaos. Though the weight may rest upon my shoulders, it is my mind that bears the brunt, cracking under the strain.


    I am but an empty vessel¡ªa shell of divinity tasked with maintaining the equilibrium of existence. Yet, all I have ever desired is a quiet life. A life with my family, my own flesh and blood. With my brother. But I am a fool for believing in such a dream. This dark void I find myself trapped within¡ªthis bleak abyss¡ªis my prison. A place I cannot escape.


    I have searched for my brother across days that stretch longer than my mortal life, every moment of that quest burned into my mind. And yet, he betrayed me. He lied to me. He spat upon the bond we shared, crushed it underfoot. The wounds he inflicted did not come from blade or steel but from his treachery. Now, I lie here, drowning in the weight of the world, surrounded not by the living but by the dead. Their bodies¡ªour bodies¡ªpiled upon one another in a grotesque mountain of red.


    Night has long since fallen, yet I remain motionless, unable to move. My breath comes in shallow gasps, each one a battle as the crushing weight of destiny presses harder. What have I done to deserve this? That question haunts me, gnawing at my soul, as tears stream down my face and my gaze locks onto the blood-red moon above. Its color mirrors the crimson staining everything around me¡ªmy blood and theirs.


    I shiver, my body trembling between sweat and cold. Days bleed into nights, and nights into days, yet I remain paralyzed, my limbs numb, my body unresponsive. Ren¡ªmy brother¡ªcalls me Golden Reaper. No, not my brother anymore. Just Ren. He says I will kill him. He says it with certainty. My thoughts drift to the faint crimson light spilling through a tiny crack in the hull of this cursed vessel.


    I lie near the edge of the heap of corpses, my limbs long since turned to dead weight. The chill of death seeps into my bones. My stomach growls, empty for days now. Warmth comes only in fleeting bursts as my body surrenders to its most basic needs, staining my trousers with the warmth of my own piss. The stench of decay is suffocating, the air thick with the scent of rotting flesh and my own filth.


    Maggots dance across my skin, their tiny bodies writhing against my frozen form. I hunger, my stomach an endless pit of gnawing pain. At night, the ship rocks gently, lulling the heap of corpses into a grotesque rhythm. I can only turn my head slightly to the right, my neck stiff and likely broken. Every movement sends a sharp pain shooting down my spine.


    The red moon hangs in the night sky, its light both a curse and a comfort. When morning comes, the blue sun rises, painting the sky in cold, unfeeling hues. But I prefer the night. The red of the moon feels closer to me, more familiar. Beneath its light, I weep.


    The days drag on, though how many have passed, I cannot say. A week? Two? Time blurs in the darkness. My eyes remain bloodshot, the whites long gone, replaced by crimson. My skin is pallid, my body cold. If I could see myself, I doubt I would recognize the wretched creature I have become.


    My throat burns with dryness, my tongue swollen and cracked. The maggots crawling over me become more than pests; they are sustenance. I bite at the air, snapping up the writhing larvae that crawl too close to my mouth. Their texture is strange¡ªboth crisp and slimy¡ªbut I chew and swallow them, nonetheless. The act disgusts me, but I cannot afford the luxury of pride.


    I hear voices above¡ªtwo men, their words muffled but clear enough to discern their indifference. Trivial talk, meaningless prattle.


    My heart stirs faintly, but my body remains lifeless.


    The red moonlight continues to pour through the crack, bathing me in its faint glow. I shudder, the trembling of my body unstoppable now. My neck protests as I force it to turn toward the source of the light, away from the suffocating darkness. The movement is agonizing, sharp pain radiating down my spine.


    Before me lies blackness, a void filled with nothing but rotting flesh and the relentless crawl of maggots. Their pale bodies emerge from the decay, writhing in the festering remains. My nose presses against the filth, the stench overwhelming. My stomach lurches, but I have nothing to vomit. Hunger gnaws at me, relentless and unyielding.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Desperation drives me to the unthinkable. My mouth moves of its own accord, seeking nourishment in the horror before me. The maggots, the flesh¡ªthey become my only chance to survive. I bite down, tasting iron and rot. The raw meat is vile, its texture slimy and cold, but I force it down. My throat tightens, threatening to gag, but I swallow, refusing to let survival slip away.


    My face burns red with shame, my tears mixing with the filth on my cheeks. The moon watches over me, unyielding in its crimson gaze. Everywhere, there is blood. Blood that stains, blood that lingers, blood that refuses to let me go.


    The maggots crawl over my face now, wriggling into my nostrils and across my lips. I let them in, crushing them between my teeth. The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth, mingling with the grotesque crunch of their bodies. My eyes, bloodshot and weary, flicker toward the red moon once more.


    The maggots squelch between my teeth, their texture like sour milk mixed with soggy cornflakes. My stomach churns as I swallow, the foul taste lingering like an insult. I gag but force it down, tears streaming uncontrollably down my blood-crusted face. My body convulses, rejecting the meager meal, and I vomit onto myself, the stench of decay now compounded by my own bile. The grotesque slurry splashes onto the corpse next to me¡ªa fellow vessel of red blood, his empty, maggot-riddled sockets staring vacantly into mine. I spit again, clearing my throat, but my vision wavers. The red moon has vanished.


    I lie there, trembling in the oppressive dark, the weight of death crushing me as if the entire world rests on my shoulders. My thoughts turn bitterly to Ren. Always to Ren.


    Why?


    Why must I suffer like this? What crime have I committed to deserve this? Or is it for the sins of another me¡ªa version of myself that I never was and never will be? I bite down hard, my teeth scraping together as frustration wells inside me. The maggots crawling over my flesh do not stop; they burrow into the soft, rotting layers of me, their feast unending. Are they inside me? Have they claimed the hollow spaces of my body¡ªthe unseen places I can no longer feel? I shudder, imagining them nestled in the hidden crevices of my anatomy, even in the deepest, most shameful recesses.


    "I want to live."


    The words escape my cracked, bloodied lips, no louder than a breath. My voice trembles, the faintest echo of resolve buried beneath layers of despair.


    Ren¡¯s name lingers in my mind. My tears dry, but my body shakes uncontrollably. What would I do if I saw him again? Would I even want to? Not this Ren. Not the one who betrayed me.


    The red moon¡¯s absence fills the night with a suffocating void. I bury my face back into the putrid corpse above me, tearing at the cold, rubbery flesh with my teeth. It resists at first, but desperation drives me, and I rip away a chunk, chewing mechanically. The texture is wretched¡ªstiff and slimy with the tang of old blood¡ªbut I force it down, swallowing with difficulty. The maggots burst against my tongue, adding a gritty, briny bitterness to the sickening bite.


    This is what I have become.


    Not a man. Not even a beast. Just a hollow thing gnawing at death for the sake of survival.


    I bite again, greedily this time, like an infant suckling at its mother. But there is no warmth here, only the icy embrace of death. I do not gag this time, my throat too parched to manage even that small rebellion. My head throbs with the effort, my eyes burn, and for a moment, I wonder if they will betray me, if they will close forever.


    No.


    The words repeat like a mantra in my mind.


    Not yet.


    I squeeze my eyes shut, the blackness behind my lids mirroring the abyss I have stared into for countless days. Seconds? Minutes? Time has lost all meaning. My tongue drags over my teeth, gathering remnants of my pitiful meal. My lips tremble as I bite down again, teeth grinding together with a faint click that echo louder in my mind than it ever could in reality.


    And then I hear it.


    Voices.


    ¡°Yo, Wilson, we¡¯re almost ready to deliver the cargo. Just a few more minutes, and we¡¯ll dock.¡±


    Another voice, rough and assured, responds. ¡°A week of sailing, but damn, it¡¯s worth it. Twenty Elis. The Rosenmahl family¡¯s paying top dollar for this shipment. No wonder they¡¯re one of the most powerful families in Elisia.¡±


    Rosenmahl?


    My dry, cracked lips twitch, and for the first time in days, I feel something close to hope. The weight above me shifts slightly as the boat tilts, and I catch a sliver of dim, warm light filtering through the pile of bodies. The movement pulls at my stiffened neck, pain radiating down my spine.


    I grit my teeth and force myself to focus.


    One of the voices speaks again, this time colder, more commanding.


    ¡°And what about that guy you mentioned? The one who used to work with your father?¡±


    The sound of the voice sends a chill through me, sharp and undeniable.


    Eriksson.


    The Green One.


    My mind reels, but my lips curl into the faintest hint of a smile. His voice is as I remember it¡ªsteady, calculating, utterly devoid of warmth.


    I am saved.

 Chapter 2: Survival (2)

    I stare into the void, the warmth of the lights flickering around me. The sound of footsteps grows fainter, as if their weight were being lifted with each passing moment. Eriksson, please save me. But I remain silent. He does not know who I am. My gaze lingers on the decayed, hollow eyes of the corpse beside me. The footsteps grow nearer. My body is still numb; I tremble, yet I remain motionless. I must stay calm. I must meet Eriksson face to face, in a moment where I can speak to him, convince him. Convince him that I am not just a mere red-blood, but an agent of the Creator God¡ªa servant like Eriksson himself.


    I close my eyes, allowing the darkness to settle over me. The orange and red tones of flames dance across my eyelids, like a fiery waltz in the night. But I remain unmoving. No sound escapes my lips, no flinch betrays my nerves. The weight of bodies presses against me, their lifeless forms thudding one after another. I hear the faint rustle of hands sifting through the pile. A fleeting moment of dread tempts me to open my eyes. Just for a second. Just to glimpse Eriksson.


    When I do, I catch sight of his tall frame retreating into the distance, disappearing into the crimson haze of the night. His figure stands out, even among the shadows¡ªcommanding and unyielding. The red moonlight shines down on my face, casting the world around me in shades of black and scarlet. My heart sinks as I spot another figure beside him, shorter by a head, walking alongside him like a shadow.


    Damn it, I curse inwardly, but not a sound passes my lips.


    I glance for too long. Too long. Two other men notice me. Their cold, weathered gazes fall on my seemingly lifeless form. My chest tightens as I fight the instinct to blink or react. Sweat runs down my temple like ice. They are broad-shouldered and rugged, with dark beards and weathered skin that shimmers faintly blue under the moonlight. One of them has a cigar between his teeth, its embers glowing faintly.


    ¡°Willi,¡± the man with the cigar grumbles, his voice gravelly, ¡°am I losing it, or did that red pig just look at us?¡±


    Willi turns to face me. My hollow gaze remains fixed, unyielding. I stare blankly at the cigar, letting it anchor my sight. Willi takes the cigar from his mouth, examining me with a mocking smirk.


    ¡°You¡¯re losing it, man. Maybe those old eyes of yours are finally failing. By the gods, look at your gray hair,¡± he scoffs, his laughter echoing in the stillness. Yet, his sharp gaze flickers back to me. ¡°Look at him. The maggots are already feasting on his face.¡±


    I feel their gazes drilling into me, their words a thin veil over their suspicions. My heart thunders in my chest, but I keep my expression cold, lifeless. The maggots crawling across my face feel like fire, writhing on my skin. One slithers near my eye. I don¡¯t blink. I can¡¯t blink. My vision blurs slightly as the weight of corpses shifts again, and more bodies roll down the pile, pressing against me like a slow avalanche.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I can barely see Eriksson and the other man disappearing into the mist, their silhouettes shrinking as they move farther from the ship. My teeth bite into my tongue as another body presses against mine, the stench of decay filling my nostrils. I let the weight drag me. Shift me. I push slightly against the pressure, forcing myself to slide down with the rest of the dead, letting the flow of lifeless forms carry me deeper into the pile.


    Cold seeps into my skin, chilling me to the bone. My body convulses slightly, but I clamp my jaw shut. I feel my arms and legs faintly¡ªjust for a fleeting moment¡ªas if my blood is forcing itself through my veins. The sensation is faint but unmistakable. My limbs aren¡¯t dead. Not yet. Something in my blood¡ªdivine, otherworldly¡ªkeeps me tethered to life. I hold on to that thought, clutching it like a lifeline as the weight of hundreds of bodies settles above me.


    The suffocating darkness closes in, leaving only a narrow slit of air. It¡¯s enough. I can survive.


    But why?


    Why am I here? Why was I on that ship? Why are we red-blooded treated as nothing more than meat, discarded like refuse for the brown-bloods to consume? My thoughts spiral, yet I remain still. I am nothing. A shadow in the night. I stare into the void, into the infinite emptiness, and see nothing. Absolute Nothing.


    ¡­


    Eriksson walked beside Markus, whose long, bulbous nose glowed faintly red under the moonlight. The ship¡¯s journey had taken just over a week, and before that, they had waited nearly three to board. Eriksson¡¯s emerald-green eyes glanced up at the red moon hanging high above, its crimson light bathing the world in an eerie glow. He exhaled deeply, savoring the moment.


    ¡®Max... one of your murderers is here. And he will pay. I swear it.¡¯


    His expression darkened, his gaze hardening as he looked forward once more. He and Markus stepped off the ship, leaving the bodies to be loaded onto transports by the workers. Neither man spared the corpses another glance.


    ¡°If you¡¯re lying to me,¡± Eriksson said coldly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, ¡°you¡¯ll have a sword between your eyes.¡±


    Markus flinched, nearly tripping over his own feet as Eriksson adjusted his long coat, revealing short, dagger-like blades strapped to his belt. They gleamed under the moonlight, a warning as sharp as their edges.


    ¡°N-no, Your Excellency,¡± Markus stammered, his hands wringing nervously. His voice quivered, his words slipping out in a half-whisper.


    Eriksson didn¡¯t respond. He simply walked on, his pace steady and deliberate. The red mist swallowed them as they moved farther from the ship, its thick veil obscuring everything beyond a dozen meters. The crimson light of the moon seeped through the haze, staining the landscape in shades of blood. The ocean behind them shimmered darkly, its waves reflecting the faint red glow. Ahead, mountains loomed, their peaks blurred and distorted by the mist.

 Chapter 3: Survival (3)

    My breath comes heavy, each gasp dragging raw against my throat. My face presses deep into flesh¡ªcold, firm, unyielding. My eyes, once a clear azure, now shimmer faintly, hollowed by the weight of despair. Around me lingers a stench, acrid and suffocating, thick with decay. It is a reek that tells stories of those who might have been friends, colleagues, or strangers once, but who now serve as lifeless companions in this macabre mass.


    The faces around me blur into a tapestry of diversity. Dark skin, pale skin. Black hair, blonde, or brown. Young faces and weathered ones, male and female alike, pressed together in a grotesque intimacy closer than any embrace. The press of bodies is suffocating, tighter than my hands could ever clasp.


    And then, my gaze falls on a child. A tiny, unmoving form in the distance, draped in stillness. The maggots writhe over its lifeless body, feasting, their movements like a ritual dance¡ªwild and hypnotic, circling like fire-worshippers at their pyre. My stomach churns. I nearly retch, the bile clawing its way up my throat.


    I bite my tongue, hard enough to taste blood, forcing myself back from the brink of my own collapse. My eyes burn as I swallow down the nausea, veins bulging against my skin as though ready to burst. For a moment, I wonder¡ªif I pressed harder, could I choke on my own tongue and escape this hell? But I dismiss the thought. No. To die here would make me no different from them.


    They are dead. Different in life, perhaps. But now they are all the same. I force myself to confront it: their faces, frozen in agony; their bodies, each carrying a unique story of suffering. Whipped, beaten, violated, burned, shot¡ªendless horrors written on their cold flesh. The torment they endured refuses to leave my mind.


    But I cannot think about it. I must not. My teeth grind as I try to block it out, to stop myself from spiraling into their memories.


    The cart lurches beneath me, wheels creaking against rough terrain. The weight of my fellow captives¡ªno, my former equals¡ªpresses me further into this ghastly pile. Through a narrow crack in the wooden walls, I glimpse the crimson glow of the moon hanging high in a blood-streaked sky. The gallop of horses fills the air, their rhythmic pounding a cruel heartbeat to this nightmare.


    And then there is the laughter. The coarse, mocking laughter of the two men driving the cart. It echoes like a hammer against my skull, searing into my mind. They laugh while I suffer. They laugh while I drown in death.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I close my eyes and try to remember warmth¡ªa soft bed, a steaming bath, a hearty meal. Bread, lentils, eggs, pizza. Anything but this. But the memories elude me, slipping through my fingers like sand.


    The bodies press harder against me, cold and unyielding. Their weight pins me, their stench invades my senses. I can¡¯t breathe. I can¡¯t move. My ribs feel as though they¡¯ll crack under the pressure. My vision dims, and despair threatens to take root.


    But then, something stirs. A flicker of defiance, a spark of rage.


    I cannot die here. Not like this. Not for nothing.


    The thought ignites a fire deep within me. My fingers twitch, a painful tingle spreading through my numbed limbs. I grit my teeth, biting down harder to stifle a scream as my muscles strain against the suffocating weight. My nails dig into the flesh of the bodies above me.


    I will survive.


    A growl rises in my throat, raw and guttural. My vision sharpens, focusing on the crimson moon beyond the crack in the cart. The glow washes over me, painting my world in blood. My body trembles, veins bulging beneath my pale skin.


    And then, I bite.


    I sink my teeth into the flesh of the corpse closest to me. It tastes of rot and decay, maggots squirming between my lips. I gag but do not stop. My teeth grind against sinew and bone, my jaw aching as I tear into the cold, lifeless flesh.


    I do not apologize. I cannot. Not now. I tell myself I will atone in whatever afterlife awaits me, but for now, survival is my only creed.


    The taste of death coats my tongue, but something primal awakens within me. A surge of strength courses through my body, my muscles tightening, hardening. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, loud and relentless. My blood burns like fire, coursing through me with newfound vitality.


    My hands push against the weight above me, trembling with effort. Slowly, inch by inch, the lifeless forms begin to shift. The mound of bodies tilts and slides, some rolling away, freeing precious space around me.


    The cart jerks to a sudden halt, the horses neighing in protest. I hear the crack of a whip, followed by the heavy thud of boots hitting the ground. The laughter stops.


    I press on, my arms trembling as I lift the last of the bodies from my back. My legs shake beneath me, barely able to hold my weight. Sweat drips from my brow, mixing with the blood and grime that coats my skin.


    I rise, unsteady but unbroken. My breath fogs in the cold night air, each exhale a testament to my defiance.


    The men stand silhouetted against the crimson moonlight, their expressions frozen in disbelief. They do not speak, their mouths hanging open in silent shock.


    I laugh¡ªa bitter, rasping sound that sends shivers down my spine. My hair hangs in matted strands before my face, but through it, my eyes burn with an unholy light.


    "I am God," I whisper, my voice trembling but resolute. "God of Creation. Father of All."


    The words hang in the air, heavy and absolute.


    My crimson eyes lock onto theirs, glowing like embers in the frigid darkness. My lips curl into a grim smile as I take a step forward, my body still trembling with exertion.


    "And this night you shall be killed by my hands."

 Chapter 4: Survival (4)

    Darkness surrounds me, and my body falters. My legs tremble beneath me, and my back aches as if carrying a weight far too great. I try to lift my head, but the effort feels fractured, like shards grinding against one another. I do not know if those two figures, bathed in deep blues, see me the way I feel, but if they do, they must think I am mad. Perhaps I am. A fool for the words I just uttered. I would strike myself if my body weren¡¯t burning with pain.


    My muscles scream, heat coursing through them as blood pulses with a fervent rhythm. Oxygen floods my veins, and with it comes a clarity sharp and unwelcome. The numbness fades, replaced by the prickling sensation of needles carving paths under my skin.


    I collapse. Blood spills from my mouth, staining the ground beneath me. My body convulses as I retch, purging the contents of my stomach. Red. White. Yellow. Pieces of creatures I cannot name, mingled with larger, solid fragments drenched in deep crimson.


    ¡°What the hell is this guy¡¯s problem?¡± a voice cuts through the haze, distant and distorted, as though my ears were stuffed with cotton. My eyes, barely open, catch glimpses of the world in crimson hues. I have seen this before but never understood it. Not like this.


    Through the veil of red, the night reveals itself. Blood paints everything. My arms, my legs¡ªmy flesh riddled with holes, swarmed by writhing maggots. They feast, burrowing into me, devouring flesh inside and out. I convulse again, fighting the bile that rises in my throat. The wind, weak and indifferent, does nothing to rid me of the parasites. I strike my arms, my legs, shaking them loose.


    The maggots scatter, some falling away, others clinging stubbornly to my wounds. None, I realize, have managed to burrow deeper as they do with others like me. They feast only on the surface. My skin¡ªravaged, pocked with craters and streaked with rot¡ªreveals the truth. I force myself to my feet, the muffled voices of the two men echoing in my ears. Their once-blue forms now shift to muted violets.


    I spit onto the ground, clearing my mouth of its filth, and dig my fingers into my ears, desperate to scrape away the obstruction. Bloodied and trembling, my fingers press inward, dislodging clusters of wriggling intruders. They fall, leaping from me as if compelled by some unseen force. My hearing sharpens, and their voices grow clearer.


    ¡°Willi, let¡¯s get this crazy bastard to the Browns,¡± one says, his tone gruff, dismissive.


    ¡°Fine, but you¡¯re buying the first round,¡± the other replies, flicking a cigar to the dirt.


    The pair approaches, their forms towering and blurred in the ruddy haze of my vision. I touch my head, the ache there a dull reminder of my fractured state. The world around me is drenched in red¡ªredder than I have ever seen. The moon looms bright, scarlet against the sky, which itself bleeds a darker, blood-like hue. Stars shimmer faintly, flecks of rose in the sea of crimson.


    The air feels warm. Comforting. As though this world, drenched in my color, is home. But that thought unsettles me. ¡®Home¡­¡¯ The word lingers, bittersweet. I want a home. I want so much. But why now? Why here?


    Pain flares anew, maggots dropping lifeless from my flesh. They squirm no longer, their bodies motionless as though death itself rejected them. Yet those feasting on the corpses of my kind¡ªthe brothers and sisters who fell before me¡ªcontinue their macabre dance, thriving as if their purpose is fulfilled in the wake of destruction.


    I study myself, my body marred with wounds ranging from shallow scrapes to gaping craters. Skin peeled back to raw, exposed flesh. Crusts of dried blood clinging to what remains. Yet I forget the pain. My veins thrum, a river of molten red surging within me. Blood divine in its warmth, its power.


    Before me, one of the men steps closer, his figure obscured by the drizzle that begins to fall. Raindrops pelt my skin, each one sluggish in its descent. I can see them clearly, each droplet suspended as though time itself is tethered to my whims.


    I smile¡ªa slow, creeping motion I barely register. The man¡¯s fist rises, his violet form blending with the night yet outlined starkly in the haze. His movements, too, are sluggish, the punch creeping toward me at a pace that borders on absurdity.


    The rain falls, drop by drop, each one distinct. I see them all, none faster than the time it takes me to blink ten times. I wonder if I have gone mad, if the maggots have burrowed into my brain and twisted it beyond repair. But then I remember¡ªthe writhing parasites now lie motionless on the ground, as if flung from my body by an unseen force. My blood burns hot, and my eyes fix on the fist before me.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I have not even moved. I only blink, a faint smile tugging at my lips. It is slow, creeping. My lips rise into a grin, and dimples form on my battered face, sluggishly as if my own body resists. My eyelids close. Slowly.


    ¡®Pow!¡¯


    My eyes snap wide open, the force sending a tooth flying from my mouth. The metallic tang of blood fills my tongue, iron saturating every taste. My nose runs¡ªwet and warm. My body stumbles backward, rain slicking my skin as I fight for balance. My legs tremble again, betraying me. The heat of my blood, the redness clouding my vision, drains away. That violet fist, which moments ago seemed so surreal, returns to its mundane hue.


    The blood-red moon looms above, a stark contrast against the violet sky. The rain accelerates, hammering down as it should, no longer crawling through time. My assailant draws back his arm for another strike. His form is clear now, outlined in shadow and drenched by the storm. And I... I stand there, staring, frozen. But not for long.


    I feel it¡ªmy arms tense, my core hardens, my legs root to the ground like an ancient tree bracing against the wind. I stand like a boxer on his last legs, his final round. My eyes flicker, heavy with exhaustion but alight with something primal. Something unyielding.


    The rain mixes with my sweat, cascading down my battered frame. Darkness nips at the edges of my vision, but I remain standing. Teeth gritted, jaw aching, I press forward, head down. The second blow comes, a straight punch aimed directly at my skull. It crashes into my forehead like a hammer striking stone. My vision blurs, my eyes water. Pain blooms white-hot, an explosion behind my eyes. Every instinct tells me to stop. To yield. To collapse.


    But I do not.


    I push forward. My boots grind against the blood-soaked earth, squelching as they dig into the carnage. Something soft and wet crushes beneath my steps¡ªentrails, perhaps. I stagger into the violet-clad man, forcing him back. His footing slips as he steps into the gore. He curses, his voice venomous as his furious gaze meets mine.


    ¡°End this already,¡± he growls, his words directed at his partner. His voice shakes, either from anger or unease. Perhaps both.


    The other man¡ªalso cloaked in violet¡ªremains silent, his expression twisted with disgust as he gazes at the remains of my brothers and sisters scattered across the ground. His boots sink into them, crushing flesh and bone alike without a thought. I can¡¯t make out his face clearly through the rain and the fading haze, but his intentions become crystal clear.


    ¡®Click.¡¯


    The sound pierces through the downpour, unmistakable in its clarity. My blood freezes. A gun. My body reacts before my mind can process. My veins surge with fire, adrenaline flooding my senses. The hairs on my neck stand on end, and my heartbeat roars louder than the rain.


    I pivot, pushing off the slick ground with every ounce of strength I have left. My boots leave the muck behind, splattering crimson streaks across my tattered pants. I know what is coming.


    ¡®Bang!¡¯


    The first shot rings out. It cuts through the storm like a predator¡¯s snarl. I bolt forward, every step pounding against the earth. My lungs burn as I inhale ragged breaths, and my muscles scream in protest. But I don¡¯t stop. I can¡¯t. A gun. Of all things¡ªa damned gun!


    My mind races alongside my legs. I curse under my breath, each profanity hissed through clenched teeth as I pump my arms furiously. The rain blinds me, streaking down my face and mingling with the blood. My vision narrows to a tunnel of darkness and red, the moon a fleeting companion to my right. The mist hangs low, veiling the distance in obscurity.


    I run faster than I ever have. I run until I am far, far away. Far from the weapon. Far from the violence. Far from death.


    But as the adrenaline ebbs, reality crashes down. My legs falter, and I glance down at my body. The rain has slowed. The mist thickens, shrouding the landscape. The moon is gone, swallowed by the storm. Yet through the haze, a dull, red-light flickers faintly in the distance. My heart sinks as I realize the truth.


    Warmth spreads across my thigh. I reach down, my fingers brushing against something sticky. My heart pounds in my ears as I press against the wound. A bullet. A clean shot. Blood trickles in rivulets, hot against the chill that seeps into my bones. My knees buckle, and I collapse.


    The ground rises to meet me with unrelenting force. My breath hitches as the pain surges, sharp and unforgiving. The cold creeps in, draining the heat from my veins, replacing it with a biting chill. My fingers tremble as I press harder against the wound, but it is futile. The blood flows freely, pooling beneath me.


    I try to rise, to push forward, but the agony roots me in place. My body shudders, teeth clenched as my own warmth abandons me. Tears mix with the rain on my face, the ache in my chest now deeper than the wound in my leg. I bite down hard, drawing blood from my lip as I fight to stay awake. But the darkness is relentless.


    The wall of the cavern presses against my back, a cold and unyielding presence. The emptiness around me is suffocating, infinite. My vision flickers, the world reduced to shadows and whispers of light. I am alone. I am unseen.


    The void embraces me, and I find solace in its cold grasp. My eyes flutter shut, the pain a distant echo as I drift into the void.

 Chapter 5: Viena Minestry (1)

    My eyelids betray me as I gasp for air. Like a fish pulled from the depths, my mouth hangs open, my eyes wide and frantic. It is dark, oppressively so, and I feel as though the earth itself is dragging me down. I am sinking¡ªcaught like an animal in a swamp. Yet I am upright, seated somehow, though my body feels heavier than it should, a crushing weight bearing down on me.


    It is a weight greater than when I was buried under the countless masses, smothered by red. Greater than any human could possibly endure. My bones feel as though they should shatter, yet they do not. My legs, trembling and strained, threaten collapse with every breath, but they hold. My shoulders carry a burden heavier than mountains, and still, I stand.


    Before me lies an endless void, dark yet pulsing faintly with a deep crimson hue¡ªa shade that flickers and fades as I watch. My feet attempt to move, to step forward, but unseen chains bind me. Chains heavier than continents, invisible yet undeniable, dragging at my every motion.


    In the periphery of my vision, I catch a flash of red. Wine-red, like old blood, but it too is fleeting, receding as I edge closer to the void. My foot catches on something. I stumble, and my face collides with an object¡ªsolid, unyielding. My breath hitches. There is no pain, but the force startles me. Blindly, I reach out, my hands fumbling for purchase, seeking an understanding of what stands before me.


    I cannot help but curse myself in the silence of my thoughts. I should have gone to Eriksson. The words loop in my mind like a haunting refrain. What could have gone wrong? Why was I so stubborn? So foolish? But even as I chastise myself, another voice rises within me¡ªa quieter, colder one. Would he have trusted me, after so many weeks? To him, I am nothing but a Red. A human. A slave.


    My hands move across the surface of the object before me, tracing its contours. It is massive¡ªlarger than I am, broader too. Its surface is uneven, some parts polished, others jagged. I press onward, groping in the dark, my balance precarious as I navigate its uneven form. My legs falter under the strain of my invisible burden. I sway, nearly collapsing to the side, my hands reaching out instinctively.


    My palm meets something rough and angular¡ªjagged, like uncut stone. The texture is coarse, neither warm nor cold. For a moment, I feel nothing. No pain, no weight. Just the sharp edges beneath my fingers. The void around me shifts, and suddenly, my vision is overtaken by red¡ªa vivid, overwhelming red that engulfs everything.


    As the crimson haze clears, I see them: crystals. A red one first, then blue, green, yellow, and black. Each is raw and unpolished, their surfaces uneven and wild. My gaze falls on the black crystal before me, its sharp angles catching the faint light. I realize my hand is braced against it, steadying myself. It does not move, as if rooted into the very foundation of existence itself.


    I stare, bewildered, as the redness in my vision fades, replaced by the stark, consuming black of the crystal. In its depths, I see a new void¡ªone darker and more profound than the one I had left behind. A sudden wind rises, harsh and all-encompassing, like the birth of a tornado. It feels as though I could be flung hundreds of meters in a single breath, yet I stand firm.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The world shifts again. The black crystal vanishes, and I find myself staring out at a landscape I do not recognize. I do not know whose eyes I¡¯m seeing through, but the image is vivid and haunting.


    A wasteland stretches before me¡ªdesolate and lifeless. Trees stand like skeletal remains, stripped of leaves and life. The sky is painted with blood, its red hues drowned in a darkness deeper than any night I have ever known. The moon hangs low, its light fading as though consumed by the void.


    I look down at my body, a strange sense of detachment settling over me. I am running, though I do not command my legs to move. The earth beneath me feels foreign as my feet strike the ground with unnatural force. My hair streams behind me, caught in the wind as I soar above the dead trees.


    The wind rushes past, splitting around me like a river around stone. I am high above the ground, dozens of meters up, flying over a barren expanse. The fields below are lifeless, the trees a shadow of autumn¡¯s decay¡ªblack and bare, without even the memory of fallen leaves.


    In the distance, I see figures¡ªsmall, indistinct against the landscape. Their forms blur, cloaked in darkness that blends with the ash-laden ground. Blackened skin and dark robes make them indistinguishable from one another. They move like ants in the shadow of giants.


    My head turns, though not of my own volition. Others fly beside me, their forms sharp and angular. Wings sprout from their backs, spiked and menacing, like the jagged edges of obsidian blades.


    Their voices cut through the wind, deep and resonant.


    ¡°Tonight, we claim victory! Tonight, we defeat the sanctimonious lapdogs of the Gods¡ªthe golden! Tonight, we crush the First Army of Angels!¡±


    The speaker¡¯s voice sends a chill down my spine, its weight heavy enough to make the air itself shudder. My hair stands on end, my body tensing instinctively.


    I glance behind me, compelled by some unseen force, and I see an army. They are like the ones who fly beside me¡ªdraped in black, their forms cloaked in shadow. Their wings, sharp and fierce, stretch wide, blotting out the crimson-tinged sky. And then, there are my wings¡ªsoft and feathered, yet just as black as theirs.


    My gaze returns to the horizon, where silhouettes emerge against the distant, blood-red moon. Their forms grow sharper as they draw nearer, the pale light of their presence casting the darkness aside.


    Angels.


    The First Army of Angels. The direct servants of the Gods.


    Their wings are radiant, soft, and white, glowing with a light that seems to pierce the soul. Their skin is luminous, their garments immaculate. They look like gods incarnate, each step they take a testament to their divinity. Yet they are so few¡ªa mere handful compared to the mass of shadows behind me.


    But it is they who strike first.


    Beams of light erupt from their hands, cutting through the night with blinding speed. The darkness around us evaporates in an instant, replaced by searing white radiance. The world itself seems to tremble under their onslaught.


    I fall.


    Pain erupts in my chest. I look down to see a gaping hole, large enough to swallow my head. Black blood pours from the wound, and as my vision fades, memories not my own flood my mind.


    Viena Minestry.


    That is the name of the one whose eyes I now see through, whose wings carried me, and whose life now ebbs away.

 Chapter 6: Viena Minestry (2)

    I had been falling moments ago, descending into an endless abyss. Yet now, before me, there is an alley¡ªa shadowed pathway reminiscent of those in Tr¨¹ben-City. The air here is thick, cloaked in a veil of fog, though the oppressive cold blue is absent. Instead, this place is steeped in darkness, a deeper black, where the only illumination comes from the faint glow of a white moon.


    Not red.Not gold.White.


    A woman stands beneath that pale light, her hand clasped around that of a little girl. The mother gazes upwards, her clouded eyes fixed upon the celestial sphere, its glow casting faint silver highlights upon the encroaching shadows. The child beside her smiles innocently, her round cheeks flushed with life.


    ¡°Viena, sweetheart," the mother says gently, though her tone is heavy with caution, "we shouldn¡¯t go any further. The borders aren¡¯t safe.¡±


    She hesitates, then sighs. Despite her unease, a tender smile graces her lips as she looks down at her daughter. Her gaze lingers on the child¡¯s innocent face, her plump cheeks bouncing slightly with each step. Both are adorned in black¡ªdark clothes that seem to absorb the faint moonlight. Wings, folded neatly against their backs, shimmer faintly with the same ebony hue as their hair.


    The little girl laughs, pulling her mother forward. Their joy feels fragile, fleeting, as if it could be shattered by the mere whisper of wind. Then suddenly, the world twists. Darkness floods my vision, and I hear a cry¡ªa desperate, piercing wail that tears through the silence.


    ¡°Mama! No, don¡¯t go!¡±


    The voice is small, trembling with panic. Viena reaches out, her tiny arms straining to grasp her mother, but someone else holds her back. She is lifted, carried away as if she were a doll. Her screams grow louder, more frantic, as black blood pools upon the ground.


    A blade gleams in the pale moonlight.


    White. Brilliant. Piercing.


    The sword cuts through her mother¡¯s body with merciless precision. For a moment, the woman¡¯s dull gaze flickers, her life extinguished in an instant. An angel stands above her, their wings pure and radiant, casting a stark contrast against the shadows.


    More figures emerge¡ªangels, their forms glowing like specters of judgment.


    But the scene shifts again, violently, as if my mind is being dragged through a storm. Images flood my consciousness, each one sharper and more painful than the last. It feels as though a hammer strikes against my skull, over and over, splintering my thoughts.


    I grip my head, struggling to anchor myself. The world shifts once more, and I find myself in another place¡ªa cavernous expanse, devoid of sunlight. The air is thick, oppressive, lit only by the dim flicker of candlelight. The walls are lined with skulls, their hollow eyes watching in silent judgment. Beneath my feet, the stone floor feels cold and unyielding.


    It is a tomb.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    A man walks beside Viena, his presence both commanding and weary. His hair, once black, is now streaked with gray, and his wings¡ªtattered and broken¡ªtrail behind him like remnants of a forgotten battle. His frail fingers trace the contours of the skull-lined walls, his voice steady yet somber.


    ¡°Death, child, is no gentle friend,¡± he says, his words echoing in the stillness, ¡°but a silent thief. It takes all you once held dear, leaving you hollow, stripped of pride and possession. It watches, always waiting, inescapable and unyielding¡ªa judge without mercy. Yet within its cold embrace lies a truth we are loath to accept all who live are promised to it. There is no escape, no refuge. It leaves you bare, with nothing but the weight of your choices and the shadows of the legacy you leave behind. Death is not a beginning, my child, but an end¡ªa final punctuation to the story you write.¡±


    The man pauses, his gaze distant, as if peering into some unseen abyss. His voice softens, and his trembling hand brushes against the wall of skulls once more.


    ¡°Do not fear it,¡± he continues, ¡°for it is not the enemy. It is a mirror, reflecting the sum of your life. It is not how long you live those matters, but how you walk the path toward it. Face it with courage, live with dignity, and when it comes, meet it with your head held high. For in the end, child, it is not death but the mark you leave on this world that defines your legacy.¡±


    Viena listens in silence, her head bowed. She is still so young, yet her eyes hold a weight beyond her years.


    The scene shifts again.


    Colors burst into view, vibrant and dazzling. Crystals hang from the walls, their light refracting into a spectrum of hues that dance across the cavern like fleeting spirits. It feels almost absurd¡ªthis kaleidoscope of beauty set against the grim tableau before me.


    The old man lies motionless on the ground, his frail body sprawled upon the stone floor. Viena stands above him, her figure still and solemn. I can feel her grief radiating from her, a silent, unyielding force. She stares down at him, her expression unreadable.


    The sight stirs memories within me¡ªof Bill, as his body was lowered into the earth, of the hollow ache that followed.


    The crystals¡¯ light flickers, casting shifting shadows across Viena¡¯s form. She is no longer a child. She stands tall and poised, her black hair cascading like a river of ink. Her clothing¡ªdark and sleek, woven from nanofibers¡ªclings to her figure, its metallic sheen catching the faint light. Black plates reinforce her armor, accentuating her shoulders, arms, and thighs, giving her an air of elegance and strength.


    Dozens of figures surround her, their wings folded close, their faces shrouded in shadow. Some bear a faint brown hue to their skin, their forms draped in chains as they haul crystals from the cavern depths. Others, pale and spectral, linger in silence.


    Viena remains still, her head held high.


    The old man¡¯s body begins to dissolve into black smoke, his form consumed by the darkness. The light from the crystal¡¯s dims, their colors fading as the smoke swirls upward, hungry and consuming.


    ¡°Andromed will find peace, Viena,¡± a voice says, cutting through the silence. ¡°But we must move. The first army of angels is on its way, and they mean to destroy us.¡±


    The air shifts. The mournful stillness that had gripped the room is replaced by urgency. The gathered figures straighten, their wings unfolding as they prepare to take flight. They ascend through jagged openings in the cavern¡¯s ceiling, their silhouettes stark against the dwindling light.


    Viena remains for a moment, tears glistening in her dark eyes. Her grief is palpable, yet she does not falter. She clenches her fists, her resolve hardening.


    And once more, the scene changes.


    I see through her eyes now, gazing upwards at the sky¡ªa void of black, faintly tinged with red. In the distance, shadows clash against each other: white and black forms locked in battle. The air trembles with the force of their strikes, beams of light colliding with bursts of black fire.


    The battle is distant from within the cavern, yet its intensity is undeniable. My vision blurs, and my eyes flutter closed, the images fading into darkness.

 Chapter 7: Crimson Light

    My vision flickers as I open my eyes, only to find them closed again¡ªor perhaps it is simply the unrelenting darkness pressing down on me. The red glow from before is gone, replaced by an abyss so dense it feels alive. My legs tremble uncontrollably, and the coppery taste of blood lingers on my tongue where I have bitten down harder than I should.


    Pain radiates from my thigh, sharp and wet. My hands instinctively clutch at the wound, cold stone beneath me pressing against my back and hips. My fingers tremble as I accidentally press into the torn flesh, sending a sharp cry tearing from my throat.


    A sheen of cold sweat clings to my forehead, dripping down as I gasp for breath. Every attempt to move my injured leg sends fresh waves of agony through my body, forcing me to clench my teeth. My veins pulse with a maddening rhythm, as though my blood itself is raging against me. The wound feels impossibly damp now, and the sensation chills me to the bone.


    A thought echoes through the confines of my mind: It hurts. I cannot do this. But even as the words take shape, my trembling hand rises, striking my own face with all the strength I can muster. My breath comes shallow, my body cold, yet somewhere in the haze, my eyes flicker with a faint glimmer of defiance.


    Gritting my teeth, I press my weight onto my good leg, struggling to stand. The motion makes my thigh burn hotter, wetter, and the taste of bile rises in my throat. The darkness around me is suffocating, pressing into every corner of my thoughts.


    Isolation is a heavy shroud, the kind that drags you deeper into the void with each passing moment. My left leg trembles as if it no longer belongs to me. The pallor of my skin¡ªthough unseen¡ªis undeniable, felt in the icy numbness creeping over me.


    My fist strikes the ground, over and over, with dwindling strength. I curse under my breath, hot tears stinging as they spill down my face. Each curse feels hollow, an echo swallowed by the vast emptiness around me.


    My chest heaves as my thoughts spiral further. Memories surface unbidden, their edges razor-sharp. Once, I had power¡ªcontrol. I could command blood, even that of others. Even his. Fynn¡¯s blood. But now? It¡¯s all gone. Replaced. Stripped from me and replaced with something alien. Something divine. The crimson blood of a god now courses through my veins, yet it feels like a curse rather than a gift.


    The image of his face rises before me unbidden. Ren. For a moment, I wonder whether my eyes are closed or if the darkness is simply that absolute. Weeks in the void have left me questioning what is real.


    The faint warmth of memories fills the void: Ren at the dinner table, his faint smile as we ate together. The way he¡¯d always been there to pick me up after school. I¡¯d looked up to him. Admired him. Loved him. But it was all a lie.


    The weight of the realization presses down, as suffocating as the dark itself. My vision blurs further, and I hear the first faint echoes of sound. Footsteps. Distant but deliberate. There is a metallic clink to them, a sound that sets every nerve in my body on edge.


    Chains.


    The clatter grows louder, scraping against the ground in a drawn-out, grating rhythm. My body tenses, cold fear coursing through me. My hands and legs tremble. The darkness, once static, seems to shift, alive with foreboding.


    My breath quickens, shallow and ragged, as my heart pounds a frantic rhythm in my ears. The chains fall silent, replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat and the low rasp of my breath. My arms brace against the cold stone beneath me, muscles taut as I struggle to make no sound.


    A pair of eyes pierce the darkness.


    Two luminous orbs glow faintly, amber brown like smoldering embers. The air shifts, a foul stench filling my nostrils¡ªrot and decay. The eyes draw closer, accompanied by the scrape of metal and the faintest whisper of breath.


    ¡°Delicious morsel,¡± a guttural voice rasps, the words thick with a strange, grating accent.


    My body jolts at the sound, instinct taking over. I try to rise, but my left leg refuses to obey, dragging me down like a weight. My blood surges, heart hammering wildly, but cold steel wraps around my neck before I can react.


    The chains tighten, their frigid bite digging into my skin. My throat burns as I gasp, pulling uselessly against the restraint.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Delicious morsel,¡± the voice croons again, closer now. I can feel its presence just behind me, the heat of its breath like a putrid wind against my skin.


    I thrash, my hands clawing at the chain while my heels kick against the ground in vain. The creature moves faster than I can comprehend, dragging me backward with a force that sends sharp jolts of pain up my spine. My arms strain against the pressure around my neck, but the more I struggle, the tighter the chain pulls.


    My lungs burn, screaming for air that won¡¯t come.


    The voice persists, a sickening chant, each word clawing deeper into my fraying composure. My head spins as I wrench my elbows backward, aiming for its legs, but it remains just out of reach. My vision darkens further, the edges of consciousness fraying as the pressure around my throat becomes unbearable.


    And then, like a spark in the void, a crimson light erupts within me.


    The darkness is swept away in an instant, replaced by images so vivid they seem to tear through reality itself. The red moon hangs high, ominous, and unwavering. I see myself beneath it, sprawled on the ground, powerless. A man in golden armor kneels before me, his head bowed in supplication. His voice is distant yet clear, begging for forgiveness, confessing sins I cannot comprehend.


    Blood pools around me, warm and endless, before it is swallowed by the void.


    Voices call out from somewhere far away, unfamiliar, and dissonant. A single name rises above the din: Damian.


    Darkness weighs heavily on my mind, as though the abyss itself seeks to crush me. Yet, in the oppressive void, images ignite, searing into my consciousness like burning brands.


    A name. I know this name¡ªI had forgotten it. ¡®Viena.¡¯ It echoes within me, a whisper of something lost in time. And then I see her¡ªa woman with flowing black hair, her wings soft and as dark as midnight. She calls that name.


    The vision shifts, and other images flash before me, too quick to grasp fully. A man with black hair and burning red eyes¡ªa sword piercing through his chest. His gaze, bitter and unwavering, fixes on me, and I feel tears stream down my face.


    I see a desolate landscape shrouded in shadow. I am standing before an army, the weight of their collective presence pressing against my soul.


    Beside me stands a man, his face marred by burns. Yet, his presence feels steadying, a strange comfort amidst chaos. For a fleeting moment, I feel secure. I feel... happy.


    Another shift. I see myself in an endless red room, gathered with others, my voice offering silent counsel.


    The scene blurs again. I am in a grand, opulent kingdom¡ªone gilded in gold, shimmering with unattainable splendor.


    I see myself before a child. No, two children¡ªboth with faces resembling mine. Tears well in my eyes, an unbearable ache flooding my chest.


    The visions distort, shifting faster now. A cascade of red hair. A severed head rolling across a golden floor.


    Too fast. It¡¯s all happening too fast.


    And then, the final image¡ªmyself pushing Ren away, his eyes opening as mine shut. And all I see is red.


    The visions end abruptly, and I find myself trembling, tears pooling in my eyes. My blood surges, a scorching river coursing through my veins. My muscles strain, the chains binding me trembling as I push against the weight of the frenzied being trying to devour me.


    For a moment, the crimson world around me flickers, a pale, almost white light cutting through the haze. It burns, radiant and vivid, carving a line through the air before me.


    It¡¯s hard to describe what I see¡ªor what my body is doing. It feels instinctual, like a movement drilled into me over countless lifetimes. Millions, no, billions of repetitions culminate in this single moment.


    I press forward, my focus locked on the glowing line. A circle forms ahead of me, moving toward me like a singular, unbroken thread. The blood-drenched world fades, leaving only me and the line. I follow it.


    One moment, I am standing, chained and trembling, and the next, I am free, standing face-to-face with the other figure.


    A muted red aura shrouds him as my own glowing red eyes meet his. At first, his gaze widens in surprise, but then he smirks.


    ¡°Food that fights back?¡± His voice is coarse, his eyes locking onto mine.


    The imprint of the iron chains fades from my skin, their violet bruises dissipating. Even the gaping wound in my leg seems to mend itself. My body burns, my blood heating to unbearable levels as if magma were being poured into my veins.


    Tears stream endlessly down my face, but my gaze hardens, cold and resolute. My glowing red eyes bore into his murky brown ones.


    A brilliant light flare before me¡ªa dazzling red, growing larger, brighter. An eight, formed by two interlocking circles.


    I see it, and my body moves without thought, as if carried by an unseen rhythm. A dance perfected over countless years.


    I weave forward, a predator stalking its prey, as the brown-blooded figure swings his chain toward me. The sound it makes is deafening, sharper than a whip¡¯s crack. One strike could decapitate me.


    But I evade, barely¡ªa hair¡¯s breadth away from death.


    I move fluidly, elegantly, following the glowing lines. Time feels suspended, each second stretching into eternity.


    The luminous red threads guide me to the chain. My hand snaps out, seizing it. I spin, dodging his counterstrike. His movements are swift, but I see them clearly now.


    Wrapping the chain around his arms, I twist, my legs following the threads. A sweep of my foot sends him sprawling to the ground.


    All the lights converge, narrowing into a single point¡ªone destined for my hands.


    The brown-blooded man lies beneath me, his arms bound and pinned under my knee. He struggles, his laughter ringing out despite the pain.


    ¡®Crack.¡¯


    In one swift motion, I twist his head, the snap of his neck echoing in the silence.


    He is dead.


    I killed him.


    My third. No, my fourth, if I count ¡®Samantha¡¯s¡­¡¯


    But I remain calm, my gaze fixed on the brown blood pooling around him. My breath steadies, my focus sharpens.


    It¡¯s time to drink.

 Chapter 8: Yellow Blood (1)

    It was dark, and Eriksson, along with Markus, traversed the labyrinthine underground mountain range, trailing behind a group of Browns. Among the Browns, only three¡ªlike Eriksson and Markus¡ªwore proper attire. The rest were shackled, dressed in filthy rags, or both. The Browns had long, unkempt hair and pale, sallow skin. They looked as if their flesh had turned brown from exposure to the harsh environment. The only light in this dismal district of the miners came not from the surface above, but from the faint glow of crystals embedded in the walls, crystals that the Browns tirelessly mined. Some were fortunate enough to use tools, while others had to rely on their bare hands. The unlucky ones were often beaten, and during their brief breaks, they consumed the red food scraps left behind a grim reminder of their meager existence.


    "This place is huge, isn''t it?" one of the three Browns in decent clothing, the leader of the group, spoke, his voice rough as he glanced over the scene of laborers to Eriksson. Markus stumbled slightly behind, swallowing nervously.


    "Indeed. It¡¯s larger than I imagined," Markus replied, his voice a little strained. "I always assumed the mines were just narrow tunnels, but this... this seems endless."


    One of the other Browns interrupted with a sharp glance, spitting onto the ground as he did so. "You weren''t being spoken to."


    The third of the three Browns added, his eyes cold, "You''re too weak, but your friend... he carries our blood on his hands."


    They fixed Eriksson with a cold stare, but then smiled, their expressions twisted. "Thanks for the favor. They think that by running away, they deserve a better life," one of them said, their voice laced with dark amusement.


    Eriksson remained silent; his face unchanging as he stared into the depths of the mine. In the distance, other Browns were being struck by their own kin. Some ate the lowly red foods, while others continued their relentless labor, digging for crystals or ores. The air was thick with a cold, oppressive tension, broken only by the faint flickering of flames in the dim corridors.


    As Eriksson and Markus stood still, the three Browns halted their shadows, and the oppressive darkness seemed to deepen. Yet even in the near-total darkness, the crystals provided a faint, eerie light, illuminating the twisted paths ahead. The tunnels were wide¡ªdozens of meters across¡ªand the height of the ceilings stretched upwards, giving a sense of immense scale. Ahead of them, the vast cavern seemed to swallow up everything, a vast expanse that could have been mistaken for an entire city. The beginning of this space was slightly clearer, but as the distance grew, the darkness obscured the details, merging with the distant outline of the sprawling city. It felt as though the place stretched on infinitely.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The city was a slum of sorts, houses built from rough stone, stacked one on top of the other, with narrow passageways barely wide enough for a person to pass through. Browns moved through these narrow streets, their postures hunched. Some had only a few limbs left and sat on the ground, begging for scraps. Children, their clothes stained with filth, ran through the streets, stealing from old, fragile men. In the distance, a woman was being forced into a cramped alley by a group of men, but it all seemed like a distant, fleeting moment, barely noticeable amid the chaos, like the wind in the eye of a storm.


    Above them, a hole in the ceiling allowed a faint sliver of moonlight to pour through, but the light was so dim that the red hue was almost impossible to distinguish.


    "The deeper you go, the better the conditions become," one of the three Browns said, his gaze lingering on the children who were swarming over a frail old man. He paused, his hand reaching for the whip hanging from his belt, a threatening gesture. But before he could grab it, he felt a firm hand grip his own.


    Eriksson''s hand.


    "We''re here for business," Eriksson said, his voice low, yet his eyes cold as they locked with the Brown¡¯s, who had glanced down at him.


    The Brown recoiled, jerking his hand away. His expression darkened, but there was something in his eyes¡ªa flicker of realization. ¡®This world¡­ the Browns oppress each other. The weak remain weak, and the strong only grow stronger¡­¡¯ Eriksson thought, his gaze shifting briefly to the back of the Brown¡¯s head, before turning his attention back to the children.


    The moment passed, and the group continued onward, the echoes of their footsteps mingling with the distant sounds of strife and struggle. Their path led deeper into the labyrinth, into the heart of a fragile, crumbling city that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction.


    ¡­


    Far above them, on the imperial battlefield amidst the violet seas beyond any known stronghold, Fynn and the other young men followed closely behind a towering figure. Algar, a massive warrior, strode ahead, the blue sun hanging high in the cyan sky casting an eerie light over the desolate landscape. Behind him, dozens¡ªalmost a hundred¡ªof soldiers from the Great Astor family, along with a few from the lower Leninger and Heston families, followed in formation.


    They moved through the violet desert, the grains of sand striking their yellow clothes with every step. Their uniforms, tight and form-fitting, were composed of a yellow-golden material out of Asphanium, which pulsed faintly through tubes in their suits, pumping the life-sustaining fluid through their uniform. Thin swords were strapped to their hips, and their heads were protected by thick helmets, more akin to masks, designed not just for protection but also to shield them from the harsh winds that whipped across the barren landscape.


    Among them, Fynn stood out. While the others were clad in the same yellow attire, Fynn¡¯s hair was tinged with a brownish hue, and one of his eyes gleamed red¡ªa mark that set him apart from the rest.

 Chapter 9: Yellow Blood (2)

    They all shut their eyes, the violet sand stinging their faces. Sweat dripped down their brows, mingling with the harsh scent of their own filth. Days had passed since they had set out, and the storm had settled into little more than gusts of stronger winds. Fynn pressed on, his right eye squinted shut, the left¡ªalways open, always yellow¡ªfacing the desolate world ahead.


    ¡®Just a few more days,¡¯ he thought, ¡®Then it will be done. Then I will officially be a part of the Astor family. Diana, I¡¯m coming.¡¯


    His eyes locked on the figure ahead¡ªthe towering presence of Algar, his future father-in-law, moving with a commanding stride across the violet desert. A soft smile tugged at Fynn¡¯s lips.


    ¡®Over a month of training... I¡¯ve learned the basics of the Astor swordsmanship, but there¡¯s so much more I need to understand. It¡¯s overwhelming, the weight of responsibility. But I can do it. For Diana... I must do it.¡¯ His thoughts drifted to her. Diana, her golden hair, her soft lips. A faint ache spread through his chest as the memory of their kiss returned to him, fresh and vivid in his mind.


    It had been just over a week since he had felt her presence, and even though it had been nothing more than a fleeting kiss, it was enough to haunt his thoughts. He wasn''t sure if it had been wanted or not, but it had been perfect, the most beautiful kiss he''d ever received¡ªthe only kiss he''d ever had.


    Fynn blinked as the violet sand blew into his open eye, the gritty particles burning his skin, yet he did not flinch. His uniform, yellow and now stained with the remnants of their grueling trek, reeked of piss and shit, but he was beyond noticing it, unlike the others. They cursed and complained as they trudged through the desert, their bodies fatigued, their movements sluggish. Ergon, stumbling behind him, let out a pained grunt as he clutched his shoulder, his yellow blood seeping from a wound. The others were no better. Their numbers, once in the hundreds, were now fewer than a hundred, many of them disfigured, maimed, or too weak to continue. The battlefield outside the temple, the violet sand beneath their feet, was a constant reminder of the war that raged around them.


    As they moved, the violet desert seemed to swallow them, the ground beneath their feet vibrating ominously. Some of their comrades, still standing, carried the fallen on their backs, but most were abandoned to the sands. The violet creatures that lurked beneath the surface¡ªgiant maw-like beasts with grotesque mouths¡ªsnatched up the unlucky ones, dragging them under with a speed and violence that made even the bravest hesitate.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Fynn''s gaze never wavered from the horizon. His thoughts were fixed on Diana, his heart racing with anticipation. ¡®Only a few more days... he told himself, maybe just one more day. Then I''ll be able to see her again. Feel her lips against mine... Hear her voice, hold her close. I''ll take her as my bride, and we¡¯ll laugh together in the gardens. I''ll gather flowers for her, tuck them in her hair, and kiss her cheek as we walk beneath the sun. Diana¡­¡¯


    The yellow blood from his comrades streaked across the sand as they marched forward, but Fynn barely noticed. His eyes, though fixed on the path ahead, were far away¡ªlost in a world of his own creation, where Diana waited for him, her golden hair shimmering in the soft light of their future life together.


    The air was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and decay, yet it did not deter him. His uniform, soaked with yellow blood, melded with the sand beneath him. The distant cries of men filled the air, but they were nothing more than a background noise in his mind.


    "Only a few more days," he murmured, his heart aching. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword, though he knew that it was not the blade he desired to wield. It was her love, her warmth, that he longed for. ¡®Diana, I¡¯ll make you mine.¡¯


    As the violet desert stretched out before him, the air grew thicker, the atmosphere charged with the weight of impending conflict. The sunlight, a brilliant cyan hue, cast a surreal glow over everything, but to Fynn, it was nothing but a reminder of the life that awaited him.


    Suddenly, a loud crack split the air. A gunshot, sharp and clear, followed by a flash of blue-white light. Fynn''s heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening as the world seemed to slow. He turned just in time to see Algar, the leader of their group, sprinting ahead, his face masked in shock and determination.


    But Fynn¡¯s world didn¡¯t stop there. In the blink of an eye, he saw a flash of light, a streak of blue-white that burned through the air like a comet. The sound of the gunshot echoed in his ears as his vision blurred, fading to a dull, almost dreamlike haze.


    "Algar!" Fynn shouted, though his voice barely rose above a whisper.


    The pain came almost instantly. A sharp, burning sensation spread through his head, a burst of yellow blood flooding from the wound as his body staggered, weakened by the force of the shot. He could feel the yellow blood seeping out of him, mixing with the violet sand that began to consume him.


    His legs buckled beneath him, and before he could make sense of what was happening, he felt himself being pulled under, sinking into the endless depths of the violet sea. The world around him twisted and warped as the sand, thick with blood, churned beneath his body. His last thoughts, his final moments, were consumed with her¡ªDiana. Her lips, her golden hair, the way she smiled when they were together.


    But now, all that was left was the dark, the sand, and the endless, hollow cry of a beast lurking beneath. The ¡®grand maw¡¯ swallowed him whole, pulling him into the depths of the violet world. His vision faded to black as he was consumed, his body vanishing beneath the waves of sand, his yellow blood staining the sand.

 Chapter 10: The Red Palace

    I peer into the darkness. My vision is sharper now, though the crimson hue before me has vanished. My eyes have returned to their normal state, no longer filled with that bright, vibrant light. I look down at the arm I hold in my hands, and without a second thought, I cast it aside. Dark, viscous blood drips slowly from it¡ªfar slower than it should. My pale face is stained with it, specks of brown marring my skin, especially around my mouth. My lips, once a pale pastel red, are now stained the same deep, sickly brown. A strange, sweet taste lingers on my tongue. It¡¯s pleasant.


    I gaze down at my hands, slick with the dark liquid. It resembles chocolate, but I know it¡¯s not. It came from a human. My thoughts drift, clouded by the past, but I shake my head, trying to dispel the memories. He tried to kill me. He wanted to devour me. He was a monster! I sniffle, and the brown blood splashes onto my nose. I feasted on the brown¡ªate his flesh, drank from his arm. Not too much, but enough.


    I tremble at the thought, wondering if it¡¯s possible that I might transform¡ªthat my hunger could consume me. Could I become the Golden Reaper? Part of me desires it, yet another part recoils in fear. And so, I continue, wandering through this place, my thoughts inevitably drifting to Ren.


    I look ahead, a distant gaze in my eyes. I think of the images, the flood of visions I saw. Who is this Damian that Viena calls upon? Why must he die? I struggle to grasp more of the fleeting images in my mind¡ªimages that feel as though they have been forcefully struck from my thoughts, chased away by something beyond my control. An army? Who was the burned man beside me, the one who smiled at me? Children? My eyes fill with tears, unbidden, but they glitter like firelight as they spill down my cheeks. I remember those children, but the memories come with a searing, burning pain that won''t fade. Were they my children? Children I will have in the future?


    Then I think of the last image, the final act in the flood of memories. I reach for Ren, push him away. His eyes lock with mine, and he looks at me in shock. As though something terrible has occurred, something he never wanted to happen. I exhale sharply, my fingers pressing into my brows, as if to push away the confusion gnawing at me.


    My leg¡­ it¡¯s healed again. A miracle. The miracle of God. And I am reminded of the blood that runs through me. God¡¯s blood. No. I am a god now. I am a deity. My mind spins with the enormity of what has happened to me. The lights, the vision drenched in red. It felt as though I was seeing things¡ªliving through things¡ªthings that were meant for me. Everything feels wrong, and yet so terribly right. It¡¯s as though the world itself rests upon my shoulders, as though it is waiting for me to steer it toward its ultimate destination.


    But I am still just a human. A human caught in a world that was never meant for me. A world where I wield a power I do not understand. I can enter the bodies of others. I need only drink their blood color, and their forms become mine. Soon, I will also live through the life of one who possesses brown blood, and I will live with them.


    As I walk, unburdened yet trembling slightly, I think about the distant words of God, those words that float vaguely in my mind. He told me that I could summon those whose bodies I inhabit, and bring them to the Red Palace, to the Red Kingdom. But what then? What should I do when they arrive?


    He said I could have my own language. No, he did not just say I could¡ªI already have one. I could hear their prayers, receive them, and answer them.


    For a moment, my thoughts fall back, pulled away by the flood of memories that rushes in again. And then, like a thunderous wave, a new flood overwhelms me. Words fall into my mind¡ªwords I have never heard before. Sounds, guttural and rough, like those of animals or early humans. But I understand them. They are fragmented, broken, but they are a language. A language I can read, speak, and write.


    Voices. They fill my head. Voices I have never heard before, echoing, whispering, screaming. They call to me, their hands cold and bloody. Red, everywhere.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    I feel their bloodied hands on me. Thick, warm hands cover my eyes, my arms, my legs. They fall upon me, their whispers and shouts swirling around me. The voices are too many, too numerous, but I hear each one distinctly. They are pulling at me, crashing down upon me. Red¡ªred everywhere, and the weight of it drags me to the ground. I fall, crushed beneath the weight of the multitude.


    Then, amidst the screams, I hear one voice, calm and warm. It is the only one that apologizes, the only one that does not scream, beg, or shout at me. The others, they scream, their voices breaking, their tears dripping from their mouths. They beg me, their words rasping and desperate, their voices thick with the weight of blood.


    "My dream of a utopia has shattered, and instead, I have created the dystopia I tried to avoid at all costs."


    This voice. The one that apologizes. It is distant, yet warm. It reaches me, gentle hands pressing against my shoulders, my head. I see nothing¡ªonly the blood-red haze before me¡ªbut I feel them, their hands, pulling me upward, trying to lift me, offering me support. And then, in the next instant, all I see is red.


    The endless crimson of a cold, red night beneath the moon. A bloodbath. The red color of the endless Red Palace of God¡ªnow my palace.


    The hands behind me disappear, merging into the red color, and I see only the massive table. Colored crystals¡ªred, blue, green, yellow, brown, and black¡ªwhile the rest are colorless. But this time, they are like before, when I had to hear the words of God. The crystals do not sparkle; they are simply in their color, reflecting the red light of the palace. The echoes sink beneath the immense table, the one I once sat at, facing God. Now, I stand alone. I, the sole ruler, in this red realm. I, a human, and I cannot help but smirk, though I don¡¯t feel happiness. What am I doing here? What happened to my real body? Am I just lying in the darkness, waiting to be eaten by some other brown cannibal?


    I gaze coldly at the outstretched table, the wide and large chairs at each colored crystal, reflecting the hue of blood. They were once normal, stone-colored, gray. I briefly wondered what it would be like if they took on the same color, and in an instant, they had. I continue to stare at the table, which now seems tasteless, yet fitting for the union of other bloods. I think about what it would be like to sit on the largest chair, which, compared to the others, looks like a royal throne. In the next moment, I find myself sitting there. The crystals are with colors, not beside me. I think about how there would be a page in front of me, but nothing appears. I try again, but in vain. Nothing but the colorless, gray table remains before me. I examine it closely and see patterns on every part of it, as well as on the large chairs, which now shine in colors, except for the colorless crystals. The patterns are symbols.


    On the red throne and crystal, there is a heart, torn open. On the blue, a fortress. On the green, a veil; on the yellow, a glowing flame. On the brown, chains of a prison, and on the black, a wing, dark and feathered. Everywhere, there are symbols in patterns, on the chairs of their colors, the same color, blending into each other on the colorless table. I look into the distance and then back in front of me. My hands, and then I think about how my hands are bleeding. Red blood pours out, flowing onto the table, the table turning red with the color, but only on my side of the long table. I don¡¯t flinch and simply speak. I make strange sounds, yet I understand them.


    ¡°Grant me the knowledge of the blood that flows through my veins. Deity of Creation, the one who seeks to establish and maintain balance. Father of all fathers, let me hear you, so that you may heed my prayer. Let me know what gift the blood in me bestows.¡±


    I speak in a language that might sound like foolish shouting to some, but I understand it, and I hear it echoing in my own mind, my ears shutting, and my eyes turning red. Deep red, the table and everything upon it vanishing. I hear a voice, my own.


    ¡°The power to grasp through matter, the power to control minerals and metals, and the power to control darkness. But all in limited amounts.¡±


    I hear my own voice echoing in my mind. Is it my thought, or did I speak to myself? I look puzzled but return my attention to the long table in front of me. I look at the crystals, whether colorless or colored, and I think only of one thing.


    ¡°Come here, my children. My bridge to balance.¡±


    I think it, and I see three men¡ªone sitting closer on the left, the other, one seat over on the right. The one on the left has blond hair, the one on the right has brown hair, and another, further to the right, has dark blonde, almost brown hair. In the distance, further to the left, sits a solitary woman with black hair. All of them look confused, and only one of them screams. Fynn.


    And then the corners of my mouth curl upward.

 Chapter 11: The Meeting (1)

    Fynn screams, his arms flailing as he shields his face, only to stop abruptly and inspect his hands with a mixture of confusion and fear. His dark-blond hair partially obscures one of his crimson-glowing eyes, the vivid red light casting eerie shadows across his face. ¡°What is going on?!¡± His wide eyes dart between his glowing hands and the endless expanse of red around him. His mouth hangs agape in disbelief, his voice trembling with uncertainty. Is this summoning so shocking to him? I ponder this thought as I observe the scene before me with the same neutrality that Eriksson always carries.


    The others¡ªAston, Eriksson, and Viena¡ªremain seated, their gazes fixed on Fynn. The red-blooded and brown-blooded are absent, likely because I have not yet entered their vessels, and the colorless ones¡ªI have yet to drink their blood. My gaze drifts into the infinite crimson beyond this place, my thoughts momentarily lost.


    Fynn continues to look bewildered, just as Aston does. Behind them, the fortress of iron does not reflect their unease. Fynn¡¯s head swivels erratically, taking in the endless scarlet that surrounds him. His breathing is heavy, his movements desperate as his hands grip the broad armrests of his chair. He seems ready to rise but halts the moment his gaze shifts toward me. I sense it in the corner of my eye but do not turn. My attention is fixed on Viena.


    Viena, with trembling hands, presses against her chest, as if trying to reach through the spot where a hole once existed. But her flesh and clothing resist her touch, intact once more. Her puzzled expression shifts as she glances into the vast redness of my palace.


    Slowly, I raise my hand, as if moving mountains, and speak a single word.


    ¡°Silence.¡±


    My voice carries through the boundless warmth of this crimson realm, plunging it into an icy stillness. All eyes turn toward me. My hand, raised slightly above my shoulder, commands their reverence. Though my gesture is calm, its weight is absolute. Their gazes lower; their heads bow slightly. None dare speak. They simply watch, frozen in awe, their breaths quieted by the authority of my presence.


    Placing my hand upon the elevated throne that sits a few steps above the table, I lean forward slightly. The silence is almost deafening, save for the sound of Fynn¡¯s energetic voice breaking through the stillness. ¡°Are you... the God of Creation?¡±


    His voice echoes in the space, shaking the air with its intensity. The others glance at me, their faces marked with various expressions¡ªAston¡¯s head hangs the lowest, his hands firmly planted on his knees. Fynn, however, stares directly at me, his eyes burning like the yellow crystal before him. I meet his gaze briefly before answering.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    My words ripple through the room like waves, filling every corner with their weight. Eriksson is the next to speak, his emerald-green eyes piercing into mine as though searching for answers buried deep within my being. However, he only sees a veil of colorless distortion before my face and body, as in the others but only in colors of their blood color. His gaze falters, confusion clouding his features as he turns his attention to the green crystal before him.


    ¡°God of Creation,¡± Eriksson begins, his voice firm but uncertain. ¡°Why did you vanish? Why have you summoned us here?¡±


    His question lingers in the air, the weight of it pressing down on everyone present. I take a moment to consider his words before responding, my voice low and resonant, as though carried by the very essence of this place.


    ¡°This is a meeting,¡± I declare, my tone unwavering. ¡°A place of negotiation within my palace¡±


    They listen, their gazes lowering further as the gravity of my words settles upon them. Viena¡¯s dark eyes meet mine briefly before she quickly looks away, her expression unreadable.


    ¡°Here, you will gather,¡± I continue. ¡°You will speak and exchange knowledge. You will intertwine your understanding of this world and its blood. The blood will be unified once more¡ªfrom red to gold. And you... you are the chosen ones, selected by me to preserve balance, to ensure that all blood may live in harmony.¡±


    I allow a faint smile to form, though it remains unseen. With a deliberate gesture, I raise my index finger, their gazes following my movements. Their expressions are a mixture of puzzlement and disbelief.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Behind each of them, their chairs rise higher, the symbols upon them glowing with brilliance. Aston¡¯s chair bears the emblem of a fortress; Eriksson¡¯s, a veil; Fynn¡¯s, a blazing flame;  and Viena, a wing. The symbols stand tall, larger than their heads, casting their authority over each figure.


    ¡°In this realm,¡± I say, my voice sharp and commanding, ¡°you shall not be addressed by your names. Instead, you will adopt titles fitting of your roles.¡±


    My gaze shifts to Aston, whose smooth hair quivers as he recoils slightly. ¡°Blue-blooded,¡± I announce, ¡°you shall be Bastion.¡±


    Aston¡ªnow Bastion¡ªlowers his head in acknowledgment, his posture submissive. My eyes move to Eriksson, whose symbol is a veil.


    ¡°Green-blooded, you shall be Veil.¡±


    Eriksson¡ªVeil¡ªnods solemnly, his expression unreadable. Finally, my attention turns to Fynn. Above him, the symbol of a blazing flame glows brightly.


    ¡°Yellow, from this moment, your name shall be Ember,¡± I declare, my gaze fixed on Fynn. His smile broadens, his fiery red and yellow eyes gleaming with intensity. Without waiting for his reaction, my attention shifts, this time landing on Viena. Behind her high-backed chair, etched into the wood, are the intricate shapes of wings. Her pale hands clutch the edges of her seat. She dares to meet my gaze for a moment before lowering her head.


    ¡°Black-blooded, your name shall now be Wing.¡±


    Her lips tremble slightly before she nods, slow and deliberate. With that, my gaze sweeps across the table, lingering briefly on the faces of those whose bodies I have inhabited. Each of them, now bound by my decree, peers back with a mixture of reverence and fear. Their expressions betray the thoughts swirling behind their eyes: to them, I am divine. A God incarnate.


    Fools.


    They cannot comprehend anything beyond their mortal frames. Their necks bow involuntarily, as though my mere presence forces submission. They do not dare to look directly at me; their heads drop instinctively, straining against an unseen weight.


    I let them wallow in their awe for a moment longer before I speak again, my voice echoing with quiet finality. ¡°You may address me as Eos.¡±


    A silence follows, one that stretches uncomfortably as the weight of my words settles. Each of them stares at the glowing crystals set before them on the polished surface of the table. Aston¡¯s trembling hands betray his nerves. Eriksson, as always, remains unreadable, his emerald gaze as cold as it is sharp. Fynn, now Ember, beams, his grin undeterred, his fiery eyes alive with mischief. Viena sits motionless, her lips forming a line that I cannot decipher.


    I break the silence. ¡°But let my presence not be a distraction. I am merely an observer, a facilitator. This is a place for you to negotiate, to bargain. Trade wealth, power, alliances, blood, knowledge, or any other currency you deem fit. Your identities are veiled for your protection. Whether you choose to reveal them is your decision. But here, within my domain, consider me no more than a sounding board, one who ensures balance.¡±


    Their responses vary. Aston swallows hard, his shoulders tense. Eriksson offers no outward reaction, his expression an enigmatic mask. Fynn, unsurprisingly, is the first to break the silence, leaning forward, his energy unmistakable. ¡°Mr. Bastion,¡± he says, his voice warm and vibrant. ¡°Where do you come from, and what is it that you do?¡±


    Aston hesitates, his hand coming up to rub at his forehead before he reluctantly answers. ¡°I come from the continent of Elisia, from the central capital of the Zentria Kingdom. I am¡­ a nobleman. Nothing more.¡±


    His answer is measured, but Fynn does not relent, his grin widening. ¡°And you, Mr. Ember?¡± Aston¡¯s tone shifts slightly, tinged with curiosity and a hint of suspicion. ¡°Are you a fugitive, or perhaps a warrior from the false gods¡¯ ranks?¡±


    Fynn chuckles, undeterred by the subtle jab. ¡°Like you, I am but a nobleman. However, I am currently stationed on the imperial battlefield, fighting against the Violets.¡±


    At this, Eriksson¡¯s sharp gaze cuts toward Fynn, studying him intently. Viena, seated farther away, shifts slightly, her attention drawn to their exchange.


    Fynn turns to Eriksson next, the playful energy in his voice undimmed. ¡°What about you, Mr. Veil? From where you hail?¡±


    Eriksson remains quiet for a moment, his emerald eyes meeting Fynn¡¯s fiery ones. Finally, he speaks, his tone low and even. ¡°I am originally from Elisia, a small village in the Kingdom of Nigil. But now, I dwell beneath the surface, in the underground¡ªamong demons and angels.¡±


    His words hang in the air like a challenge, and their impact is immediate. Viena¡¯s eyes widen, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Fynn, however, leans forward, his curiosity ignited. ¡°A Green¡­ living among demons and angels?¡± His voice is laced with disbelief. ¡°How do you manage such a thing?¡±


    Eriksson exhales slowly, his gaze steady but guarded. ¡°By taking in blood. Black, Violet, and others. The answer should be self-evident.¡±


    The room shifts, the weight of his revelation pressing down on them. Even I find myself curious about the implications of his statement, though I remain silent.


    ¡°Mr. Veil, how long has it been since you first consumed Violet blood? And how much did you take?¡± Aston asks this time, his sapphire gaze sharp and probing.


    Eriksson hesitates briefly before responding. ¡°At least a decade. And the quantity¡­ substantial.¡±


    His answer is deliberate, but the tension it creates is palpable. Aston narrows his eyes, scrutinizing Eriksson as though searching for hidden truths.


    Fynn, unable to contain his curiosity, leans forward again. ¡°Mr. Veil, consuming Violet blood turns people like me into uncontrollable beasts. How do you avoid such a fate?¡±

 Chapter 12: The Meeting (2)

    Fynn¡¯s gaze locks onto Eriksson¡¯s unyielding stare as the man pauses for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Slowly, Eriksson shifts his focus to me. "Mr. Eos, how exactly would these transactions proceed?" he asks, his voice calm yet deliberate. I raise my right hand slightly, resting my fingers under my chin in thought.


    "Let us start with the basics¡ªacross the seas or overland," I reply, my tone measured. I say no more, leaning back into my throne and intertwining my fingers. Eriksson¡¯s attention drifts briefly to the green crystal resting before him. He then speaks, his voice directed at Fynn but loud enough for the entire group to hear.


    "What compensation would I receive in exchange for my information? I can already assure you that these three pieces of intelligence cannot be obtained by conventional means."


    Aston¡¯s sharp blue eyes narrow as he cuts in directly. "That depends on what you desire," he counters, his tone unwavering. Eriksson exhales slowly, his focus once again on the green crystal.


    "What I seek," he says, his voice heavy with intent, "are details about a man who, a century ago, built his fortune trading blood. He operated under the alias ''Juice.''"


    A moment of tension lingers between them. Fynn¡¯s gaze is firm, while Viena remains on the outskirts of the exchange, her expression unreadable. Eriksson shifts his attention again, addressing me directly this time. "Mr. Eos, when will these meetings take place?"


    I allow the silence to stretch deliberately before answering, my voice resonating with authority. "On the first day of every week."


    Eriksson bows his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Then it is agreed. If you can provide these details within eight days, the information is yours. Otherwise, the offer remains open until someone else claims it. To all present, know that my offer holds the weight of black blood, should you not understand its significance."


    The room¡ªvast and bathed in endless red¡ªfalls silent. Fynn¡¯s voice eventually breaks the stillness, his gaze shifting to Viena. "Mrs. Wing, where exactly do you hail from? And do you have anything to add?"


    Viena appears momentarily caught off guard. Her dark eyebrows lift slightly, and her pale skin takes on a faint flush. "I... I come from the Black Continent and am the daughter of the Admiral who served in the War of Demons and Angels." She pauses, her hand instinctively clutching her chest. Her shimmering eyes lower to the obsidian-black crystal before her, her shoulders visibly tense.


    The others remain silent, their gazes heavy with curiosity yet restrained. I lift my hand once more, and their attention shifts back to me¡ªeither directly or tangentially. "I hereby conclude the first assembly of the Divergent Bloods," I declare, my voice steady and commanding. "But before I send you back, I wish to bestow a gift upon each of you."


    Their expressions shift¡ªsome curious, others cautious, and a few unchanging. All of them wait with bated breath for the decree that follows. I do not keep them waiting. Raising my hand, I concentrate, feeling an odd tingling sensation spread through my mind. The moment I sense the connection solidify; I speak.


    "From now on, you will all have the ability to communicate with me. Moreover, you may pray to me and perform rituals as you once did for the false gods."


    Fynn¡¯s brows furrow, his gaze sharpening in a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. The others follow suit, exchanging puzzled glances. Slowly, I lower my hand, my fingers brushing lightly against the armrest of my throne. "Begone, my children," I command.


    In an instant, they vanish. I am alone in the endless red void, the smearing hues thick and viscous like blood. Whispers and screams surround me once more, but this time they are subdued, like a faint breeze on a summer night. The red begins to fade, melting away into darkness. I find myself in the familiar emptiness of the underworld, the air cooler and sharper. My senses feel heightened¡ªevery sound, every scent amplified.


    The taste of brown blood lingers in my mouth, bitter and metallic. Suddenly, a strange sensation builds in my stomach, a sickly churning that forces saliva to pool rapidly in my mouth. I swallow repeatedly, but it does not subside. Pain stabs at the back of my neck and head, spreading to my joints. My knees buckle slightly under the strain. My body feels heavy, rusted, like a machine long overdue for maintenance.


    I tremble violently, the spasms overtaking me until I can no longer hold back. My stomach heaves, expelling its contents onto the ground¡ªa mixture of red and brown, coarse and fragmented, littered with small white specks. Maggots, perhaps. My body convulses again, and bile splatters onto my worn shoes and trousers. I gag, the bitter taste burning my throat. My head spins as though someone has wrenched it sideways. Dazed and disoriented, I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my already stained coat.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Leaning heavily against the cold, jagged wall, I remain still, my breaths shallow and labored. My back hunches instinctively as I try to regain control. The silence is fleeting. In the distance, a faint metallic clatter echoes¡ªa sound that sharpens my awareness. My eyes widen as I strain to focus.


    ...


    Meanwhile, in a place cloaked in impenetrable darkness, Fynn lay motionless. His red eye snapped open, while the yellow one remained shut, oozing blood. A scream tore from his throat, his hands clawing at his head as pain seared through his body. The ground beneath him feels wet and slimy, a grotesque mixture of mud and viscous fluid. He coughed violently, spitting out the sand that scratched his throat.


    His screams reverberate through the space, a haunting echo that seemed to mock his despair. ¡°By the gods, what the hell is happening?!¡± His voice cracked as he yelled, his body writhing against the unyielding ground. Sticky liquid seeped into his hair, sliding into his ears. Blindly, he groped at his surroundings, his fingers slick with the unknown substance. Yellow blood dripped steadily from his eye.


    "Dammit! Dammit, where am I?!" Fynn¡¯s voice was raw, and the strain evident. He blinked rapidly, his vision distorted and dark. Slowly, an image took form¡ªa reflection, grotesque and unrecognizable. His own body, displayed before him, is caught in a horrifying cycle of disintegration and restoration. Flesh tears, veins writhe, and organs pulsated unnaturally before knitting themselves back together.


    His eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold, tears streaming down his face. Despite the grotesque horror of his surroundings, a shaky smile tugged at his lips. His voice trembled as he whispered, "Thank you¡­ Mr. Eos.¡±


    ¡­


    Viena lay motionless upon the cold ground in the suffocating gloom of a sealed chamber. Her body was broken, a dark pool of her blood spreading across the obsidian floor, indistinguishable from its shadowy surface. A yawning wound marred her chest, her skin pale and lifeless, drained of the shimmering darkness that once defined her.


    Her breaths came in shallow gasps, fragile wisps of air struggling to sustain her. Her eyes fluttered weakly, catching faint glimmers of the blackened ceiling above, their light dimming with each passing second. The faintest of murmurs escaped her trembling lips¡ªdisjointed, unintelligible whispers that spoke of her faltering grasp on life.


    As death crept closer, the inevitable seemed certain. But then, a shift.


    The black blood staining the floor quivered, trembling as though alive. Slowly, then with growing urgency, it surged back toward her. Viena¡¯s body convulsed as it forced its way beneath her skin, threading through her veins like molten fire. Pain erupted, an excruciating symphony of agony as torn flesh began to reknit, broken bones snapping back into place. She arched against the ground, her body trembling violently as every fiber within her screamed in protest.


    Her heart stuttered, then roared back to life. The pain was blinding, searing, and all-consuming¡ªbut it was fleeting. As quickly as it began, the torment eased, replaced by an eerie calm. Her chest rose and fell steadily now, the gaping hole sealed, her skin unmarked. Strength returned, though faintly, as her body pieced itself together with unnatural precision.


    She blinked, her gaze drifting upward toward the unseen heavens. A faint smile curved her lips, her voice a fragile whisper. ¡°Thank you¡­ Mr. Eos.¡±


    Her words lingered in the air as her vision began to blur. From the edge of her awareness, she caught movement¡ªa figure approaching in the shadows. But Exhaustion claimed her, and her eyes slipped shut.


    ¡­


    In the endless maze of the underground, I flee through the darkness, the cold air slicing against my skin. Chains clatter behind me, their metallic rattle echoing through the narrow corridors. The sound is faint, but relentless, growing closer with every misstep.


    My head pounds, the pain unbearable, a throbbing, splitting agony that radiates from within. It feels as though my skull is being torn apart, pried open by invisible hands. I clutch at my temples, my legs trembling beneath me as I stagger forward.


    I can¡¯t fight. Not now. My strength is slipping away, and my chest burns with a ferocity that rivals the pain in my head. It¡¯s as if something inside me is tearing itself apart, devouring me from within. My breaths come in ragged gasps, cold sweat dripping down my face as I force my legs to move.


    Each step feels heavier than the last, but I keep running. My pace falters¡ªtoo fast to go unnoticed, too slow to truly escape. I stumble, nearly falling, the darkness around me pressing in. The chains grow louder, the sound twisting with a voice that cuts through the air like broken glass.


    ¡°Food?¡± it hisses, the word drawn out, dripping with malice.


    I freeze, my chest tightening as I fight the urge to collapse.


    And then I see her.


    A woman lies ahead, crumpled upon the ground. Her black wings stretch out around her, broken and tarnished; their once-pristine feathers smeared with shadow. Her hair pools like liquid night, framing a face so pale it seems carved from stone. A jagged hole mars her chest¡ªbut even as I stare, it begins to close, flesh knitting itself together with unnatural speed.


    I stumble forward, coughing violently, blood splattering across her tattered garments. My vision blurs, my legs trembling beneath me. The chains behind me clatter louder, their sound accompanied by a voice¡ªshrill, grating, and filled with venom.


    ¡°Food!¡± it screeches, the word bouncing off the walls, sharp and relentless.


    I glance at the woman, her chest rising faintly as her body mends itself. Then back at the darkness behind me. My instincts scream at me to run, but my legs refuse to obey.


    The chains draw closer, the voice growing more insistent.

 Chapter 13: I Am No God

    I tremble, my vision flickering, the world spinning around me. Before me stands a woman, black blood flowing through her body, and I collapse before her. My steps are unsteady, my sense of balance shattered. I stretch my arms out in front of me, hands bracing against the cold ground, and I hear the persistent dragging of a chain, footsteps in sync with the clinking sound. A shiver runs down my spine, and before my eyes, everything fades to gray. I am before Viena, but my exhausted eyes can barely see her as I try to stumble past. My legs wobble beneath me, my back hunched. The footsteps grow louder, and the rasping voice follows. Slow, but still faster than me. Fear grips me, my body screams in pain, unable to keep up with the demands I place on it.


    I glance forward, my fingers clawing into the rough stones, attempting to pull myself forward, past Viena. I must survive. I have to. My pale blue eyes are clouded, nails cracked, knees scraped. I refuse to die like this¡ªnot now. I crawl, no longer walking, but dragging myself, uncaring of how pathetic I look. What good is pride when I am dead? My legs tremble with each movement, the steps drawing nearer.


    I crawl like a helpless infant, pathetic, but survival is all that matters. I trip, my head growing heavy and dull. My mind begins to slip, my body teetering on the brink of collapse. My head threatens to hit the ground, my chest to follow, but I catch myself just in time, my left arm falling across Viena¡¯s still-closed eyes, my fingers digging into the stone beneath me, veins bulging in my hand. I move, but my scream tears through the air. The pain is overwhelming, far worse than I expected. Blood¡ªwarm, sticky¡ªpours from my body, and yet, I keep trying to crawl forward. But my body betrays me, and I tumble sideways, hitting the cold ground. Reality crashes back into me.


    I look at my left hand¡ªno longer supportive. I scream again, eyes wide, breath ragged, spit dribbling from my mouth. My left arm is crimson, the bone shattered beneath the flesh. I scream until my throat is raw, tears streaming down my face. The agony radiates from the wound, sharper than any of the pain in my chest or head. Blood continues to pour, thick and red. I look at Viena, my hand still resting across her face, red blood staining her skin. She lies motionless, and I recoil, a mere step away from her. What has happened to me? Not long ago, I believed myself to be a god. Before that, I killed another with brown blood, and before that, I endured nearly a lifetime of torment. And now, here I am¡ªscreaming, weeping in terror, and missing an arm.


    I raise my gaze, my body propped up by my right elbow. My weak, fading blue eyes meet the gaze of a man smiling down at me. Dark brown eyes gleam in the dark, black hair framing his face, a mouth smeared with red. I shudder before him, and at the same time, I hate myself for it. I clutch my arm, blood spurting out, and he catches it. His face reddens as he drinks it in, the deep crimson staining his lips. His brown tongue emerges, and I can feel the sharp pain in my limb, yet I can do nothing but watch.


    "Different blood... delicious blood!" His voice is a low growl as he stares at me, his eyes full of hunger and insatiable greed. I am nothing but a trembling vessel of terror. His gaze penetrates my very soul, and I can only stare back in horror. He moves toward me, and before I can react, his sharp teeth sink into my left arm. I collapse completely, my elbow unable to support the weight of my body. His knee strikes my stomach, the pain deep and unrelenting. I cough, blood spilling from my mouth, struggling to breathe.


    Tears blur my vision, and I cannot fight back. The brown creature, his filthy feet pressing into my chest, pins me to the ground. Pain radiates from my joints, my body twisted beneath him. His teeth gnaw at my arm, tearing through my flesh like an animal scavenging meat. The difference, however, is that I can feel every agonizing second of it¡ªevery gnaw, every tear, every drop of blood that escapes me.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    I scream, I beg, but no one hears. Only the grotesque image of the brown creature devouring me remains. A goblin-like monstrosity and I am his prey. I try to think, to strategize, to regain control. I attempt to use the blood¡¯s minerals, to manipulate my surroundings, to extinguish the light and drown him in darkness. But it is futile. Nothing works. I sweat, cold and clammy, unable to summon even the smallest spark of power. I strain against him, my legs desperate to push him off, but he sits so heavily on me that I cannot move. His weight holds me down, and I am helpless.


    I stretch my arm through his mouth, my eyes widening as a grin begins to form on my face. My mutilated arm moves, as if it never existed, slipping through the body of the brown creature before me. He stares back at me, equally stunned, blood dripping from his cheeks as he watches my red, divine blood spill. I clench my right fist, tightening my arm, gathering all my anger, all my strength, and all my hatred into one final strike. I look into his deep brown eyes, the disbelief clear on his face as my fist moves faster and faster toward his jaw.


    A grim smile curls on my lips, my oily, long hair dripping over my cold, sweat-slicked forehead. For the first time, I scream, my voice raw with fury: ¡°Die, you bastard!¡± My fist collides with the side of his face, the impact reverberating through my bones as I feel his head snap to the side. My knuckles ache with the force of the blow, and yet a twisted laugh escapes me. My grin widens. But then, my eyes go wide in horror.


    He spits out my blood, my divine, red blood, and for a moment, I feel a flicker of something¡ªdisbelief, maybe¡ªbefore my body is flooded with the raw surge of pain that only comes from defeat. My breath catches, my fists tremble, my vision blurring. His eyes are now filled with malicious curiosity as he watches me, his face still coated in my blood, as though it is some strange prize. And before I can react, he grabs my right arm and twists it with sickening ease, a loud crack echoing in the silence.


    I scream. It is the loudest sound I¡¯ve made since I lost my left hand, the sound of something breaking that should never break. My face contorts in agony, my body trembling, my vision darkening at the edges. I collapse, my body no longer responding, my head meeting the cold ground with a thud. I cannot feel my arm anymore, just the broken fragments of it splintering inside me. A sharp, terrible pain spreads through me, and all I can do is writhe, helpless to stop it.


    It is the worst thing I have ever felt. It is worse than any torture, worse than the things I have been through. The beast before me tears at my arm, crushing the bones and flesh in ways I never thought possible, and I can do nothing but scream and beg. My tears mix with the blood spilling from my mouth as I fall further into despair.


    The cold begins to spread from my broken arm, my fingers twitching as the feeling starts to leave me. I cannot hold onto it anymore. I cannot feel it. It is like the entire world is slipping away from me, the very sensation of my body vanishing bit by bit. I hear his vile breath, and his twisted laugh as he tears into my flesh, but I¡¯m beyond caring. My breath comes in shallow gasps, my chest heaving as I try to make sense of the chaos swirling around me.


    But my body refuses to obey. I try to fight back, to summon any scrap of energy left within me, but all that remains is weakness. The brown creature, its face now covered in my blood, watches with amusement, as though he is not even human anymore. He is a monster, a beast, and I¡¯m nothing more than prey.


    I feel something warm against my leg, and I blink, confused. Then, I realize, it is urine¡ªhis, not mine. A vile reminder of my helplessness. My eyes blur as I stare at the ceiling, my body trembling, and I cannot help but wonder: was this how it would end for me? Not in glory, not in battle, but here, broken and alone.


    The thought flashes through my mind, a bitter realization. I am not a god. I was never a god. I had let the illusion of power consume me, let it distort my perception until I believed I could control everything, that I could make the world revolve around me. But the truth is, the world does not revolve around me. It revolves around the sun, and I am just a speck in its shadow.

 Chapter 14: Trapped (1)

    My eyes flutter opens slowly, and I find myself seated at a table. I try to make my gaze shimmer, to summon emotions from the depths of old memories, but my body remains still, my hands motionless, my head tilted slightly toward the red hue that fills the room. It takes me a moment to realize it¡ªthis is not my body. I am no longer myself.


    I am Eos. The god I created.


    High above in the crimson palace, my palace, I sit. And yet, I cannot fully comprehend it. How can I remain so calm in such a moment? I should be desperate, clawing to return to my body, to find a way to survive. But no such thoughts cross my mind. Instead, I sit frozen as red-stained hands press against me, pulling and pushing from every direction. My mind should scream that this is a dream, that any moment I will wake up at my desk or even sprawled in the gutter. But I do not think these things. I simply stare ahead at the long table before me, where each crystalline shard glows brighter than the last, save for one.


    The red crystal is dull. Lifeless.


    My eyes move to the brown crystal, and as I fixate on it, the world around me becomes saturated with its earthy hue. The color dominates my vision, swallowing all others. My left-hand rests upon the chair''s armrest, the fingers whole and unbroken, the pain in my chest and head vanished. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, my limbs feel intact. Yet my gaze remains cold and detached as I examine the brown crystal. Unlike the others, its surface is rough and unpolished, its jagged imperfections almost cutting against my palm though I do not touch it directly. Still, I sense its coarseness, its crude edges scraping at the raw nerve of my thoughts.


    The chair beneath me feels vast, a throne carved for a being greater than myself. My left hand hovers over the crystal, and for a fleeting moment, I imagine myself¡ªno, I see myself¡ªseated before it, commanding it. The thought unnerves me. A light wind howls past my ears, carrying chaos I cannot decipher. The harsh glow of the crystal blinds me until, in an instant, the light disappears, and I am plunged into darkness.


    Nothingness.


    I see nothing. I hear nothing. The air is void, devoid of sound or warmth or even cold. It is as if this place exists beyond sensation, beyond reality itself. My senses fail me. There is no taste, no texture, no pressure. Just emptiness. And in this void, I too feel hollow.


    Seconds stretch into hours, perhaps days. Time becomes meaningless as I remain trapped within this borrowed flesh, tethered to a body that is not mine. I try to move, to command these limbs to act, but the weight of stillness keeps me paralyzed. My memories flit like shadows, just out of reach, refusing to coalesce into anything tangible. Desperation gnaws at the edges of my mind, but I cannot even scream.


    And so, I linger. The silence presses against me, filling my head with thoughts I wish to ignore.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    I do not want to be in this body.


    A brown blood¡­ The thought forms unbidden. My experiences with them have been far from kind. Out of the few I have met; none have been merciful. Two brown-bloods have crossed my path¡ªboth sought my ruin, and I am not even certain whether the first succeeded. The darkness offers no comfort, only the bitterness of my self-reflection.


    I am alone in this void, yet the memories creep in regardless. My colleagues. My friends. I try to convince myself that their fates are not my fault, but the truth rings hollow. The lies I tell myself are paper-thin, shredding under the weight of my guilt.


    The black blood¡­ My thoughts inevitably return to it, to the cursed substance and the disaster it wrought. Aston¡­ If only he had found a better supplier, none of this would have happened. Yet even as I think it, I know it is a lie. He may bear some blame, but most of it falls squarely on my shoulders. My greed drove me. My thirst for power led me to seek the black blood, though I had no need for it. My hubris brought this calamity upon us.


    If I could move, I would strike myself for my folly, but my hands remain limp.


    And then, there is Ren.


    My brother.


    Now I understand what he meant. About the future version of me. About the Golden Reaper. I picture myself¡­ or rather, what I could become. The image chills me to the core. Not because I envision myself slaughtering masses, drinking the blood of the fallen, or tormenting innocents without a second thought. No, the cold comes from how vividly I can see it¡ªhow plausible that future feels. The vision of me as a monster is not some distant nightmare but an inevitability etched into the fabric of who I am.


    A dilemma. The word rolls across my mind, heavy and unwelcome. What can I do? I want to scream, to rage against the confines of this body and my fate, but the void swallows my protests before they can take form.


    "Damn it! Move!" I shout internally, my veins pulsing with a futile frustration. Yet my body refuses to respond. It is as though I am no more than a doll, my strings cut, abandoned in an empty theater. The silence mocks me, the endless dark suffocating in its indifference.


    I taste iron.


    The metallic tang dances across my tongue, bitter and sweet, and I find myself savoring it despite myself. Something is intoxicating about it, the essence of life distilled into a single flavor. The memories rush back¡ªof holding that life in my hands, of controlling it, of snuffing it out. It was never just about killing, though that was often the outcome. It was vengeance. Retribution against those who stole my life, my family, my future.


    The world made me this way. Not me. I am merely a product of its cruelty, a construct of the decisions and circumstances thrust upon me. My actions, my thirst for revenge, are but reflections of a broken system. I tell myself this, even as a darker part of me revels in the power.


    And yet, one question lingers. In which future will I kill my brother?


    Up until now, my reasons for killing have been survival or revenge. But what of the day when power corrupts me so deeply that I strike down Ren? The thought lingers, unwelcome, as my pupils dilate, the darkness swallowing the last vestiges of light.


    I lose myself in the void. My thoughts blur, my mouth slackens, and a faint trail of saliva escapes as my mind drifts aimlessly. Time ceases to hold meaning. Seconds and centuries intertwine, stretching endlessly into the abyss. I feel neither alive nor dead, suspended in a timeless state of being.


    When I finally see something, it is not the darkness receding. It is white. Blinding, all-consuming white. The contrast burns into my vision, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, my thoughts align into a single, coherent realization:


    This is not the end.

 Chapter 15: Trapped (2)

    All I see is white¡ªa blinding void swallowing everything else. My pupils shrink to the point of near extinction, my eyes clenched shut against the overwhelming brightness. A hand, not my own, shields my face. It is the hand of the brown figure¡ªone whose presence I had failed to feel until now. Even now, I sense nothing. Instead, I see only a black silhouette, a stark figure breaking the piercing, luminous glow. The image reminds me of the eclipse on the ship. Instinctively, I try to look down, but I cannot.


    ¡°Kaila, it¡¯s time to eat.¡±


    A man¡¯s voice cuts through the light¡ªgruff and gravelly. He wields a staff, the tip aflame, holding it just before me. His figure is difficult to discern, but the faint details emerge: a full beard framing a broad jaw, sharp teeth glinting between his cracked lips. His pale skin carries a faint brownish hue, and his bald head gleams under the light.


    He waves the staff at me, the flames casting flickering shadows. Then, he thrusts the glowing tip closer to the hand before my face. His wrinkled features twist into a grotesque grin, bits of flesh caught between his jagged teeth.


    ¡°Kaila, it¡¯s dinner time. Aren¡¯t you the least bit excited?¡±


    His voice carries a mockery, as if taunting me. His sharp gaze meets mine, though my vision remains blurred. My half-lidded eyes barely register the movement.


    ¡°I said, it¡¯s time to eat, you worthless piece of filth!¡± he snarls.


    Veins darken on his hands, turning a deep brown as he presses the fiery staff against the hand before me. A hiss echo, skin sizzling under the heat. Yet, there is no reaction¡ªnot from me, not from this Kaila he addresses. Not a flinch, not a wince, not even a bead of sweat betrays discomfort. There is no fear, no trembling, no tears streaking down cheeks. My expression remains vacant, eyes fixed on his hateful glare. The man exhales sharply, slamming the base of his staff against the ground.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t fun anymore,¡± he mutters, turning away.


    His broad silhouette moves deeper into the dimming light, the glow fading as he departs. My vision clears incrementally, though weakly, and my gaze shifts downward. The hand before me¡ªcharred and blistered, marred by scars and boils¡ªis unmistakably brown.


    The scent hits me like a physical blow. Burnt flesh. My stomach churns violently, yet no sound escapes my lips. This Kaila does not scream; she does not cry. She stares at the grotesque figure retreating into the darkness. As the light wanes, her gaze lowers to the ground, to the sickening pool of liquid before her. Red and white swirls bubble faintly, an unholy concoction seething like a cauldron. It is not in a bowl or plate but smeared across the filthy floor. Against my will, this Kaila leans forward.


    Every instinct within me rebels. My nostrils flare at the rancid stench, my body convulsing with dread. My thoughts scream for the brown figure to back away, to retreat from the revolting sight. But no, Kaila inches closer. Her hand¡ªscarred, trembling¡ªreaches toward the viscous pool. Thick, congealed liquid clings to her fingers as they dip into the sludge. It flows over her blisters, grotesque rivulets of red and white merging with her flesh. She raises the substance to her lips.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    I do not feel the sensation¡ªneither the texture nor the temperature¡ªyet I taste it. Metallic and putrid, the flavor invades my senses like a sick mockery of nourishment. It is the taste of blood, a crimson echo of the sustenance I once relied upon. My eyes sting with tears, but they do not fall. My body refuses to retch, though every fiber of my being demands release. Instead, Kaila chews, her movements mechanical, detached. The thick, syrupy liquid drips from her mouth, pooling on the floor as she swallows.


    Memories resurface, unbidden and cruel. The taste conjures visions of my own kind, of the unspeakable horrors I endured to survive. I remember tearing through them, their blood staining my hands, and my lips. The realization strikes me like a dagger to the heart: I am no better than the brown ones. I am a monster.


    But I am a monster who will survive. I am the creature destined to stand atop the food chain. I am neither red nor blue, neither gold nor any mortal blood. I am divine crimson¡ªa god amongst men, above even the golden so-called deities.


    The taste shifts, a sickly sweetness mingling with the metallic tang. My stomach twists violently, but instead of retching, I consume more. My hands scoop the vile mixture, shoveling it into my mouth with abandon. Bone shards crunch between my teeth, cartilage sticking to my gums. I recall a time long past, a moment when I swallowed a tooth by mistake. Now, it is not a tooth but fragments of someone else¡¯s body¡ªknuckle bones, ribs, a splintered femur.


    I am a cannibal, and there is no denying it. I loathe it; I despise every bite. But I eat. I must eat. There is no alternative. Darkness engulfs me, yet I continue to devour. The light has vanished, and Kaila¡ªthis fractured identity I have assumed¡ªsits silently, absorbing every ounce of pain and humiliation. She does not lash out, does not seek vengeance. Instead, she endures, swallowing down the horror one grotesque mouthful at a time.


    The viscous blood clings to her throat, the sinewy meat grinding between her teeth. Every swallow feels like a betrayal, every bite a surrender. I hate it. I hate myself. Yet I eat, unable to stop.


    A sudden flash blinds me, a burst of brown light accompanied by a violent gust of wind. It tears through my mind like a storm, leaving shattered fragments of unfamiliar memories in its wake. They claw their way into my skull, forcing themselves into the deepest recesses of my being. I see the light, but just as quickly, it fades. The darkness returns, but now I see¡ªclearer than before.


    Soft, dim light filters into the room. A door creaks open, and I watch as the burly man enters. He is younger now, his beard thinner, his wrinkles faint. His skin is darker, carrying the warmth of life. In his hands, he cradles a newborn. The infant¡¯s body is slick with brown fluid, the umbilical cord still attached. Without hesitation, he rolls the baby across the cold, filthy floor like a discarded bowling ball.


    My heart lurches. The baby does not cry. It lies motionless for a moment before weakly pushing its tiny limbs against the ground, struggling to move. The burly man laughs, a sound so vile it reverberates through my very bones. His pale brown eyes gleam with sadistic amusement as he watches the infant flail.


    I want to scream. I want to lunge at him, to drive my fist into his leering mouth and rip his jaw apart until he can never laugh again. My veins burn with fury, my vision tinged with red. But before I can act, he vanishes, and the infant transforms. No longer a helpless newborn, it is now a small child.

 Chapter 16: Trapped (3)

    A small child, a girl. Her hair barely brushes her shoulders, and her fragile body seems as though it might shatter at a touch. So small, so seemingly innocent ¡ª yet she stares at the wall with an icy gaze. Her eyes are hollow, devoid of life, mirroring those of a corpse. She is so young, yet she has spent her entire existence, from the beginning until now, trapped in this pit. I meet her eyes, and they remind me of my own: extinguished sparks, lifeless embers. But there is a difference ¡ª her eyes have always been this way. She has never known what it feels like to burn with vitality. She does not even know what sparks are.


    I lower my gaze, thinking of the fire that once seared her arm. My chest tightens, pain radiating through me at the sight. My brows knit together, and I stand there, silent, and still, sharing the suffocating void with her. Seconds pass, but to me, it feels as though the world is spinning faster than my eyes can capture. In the next moment, the little girl is gone. In her place sits someone older, a young woman now. Her face and arms are ablaze, her body hunched over the half-eaten remains of another human. Her clothes lie shredded and blood-soaked to the side, forgotten.


    Time accelerates again, memories rushing through my mind in a torrent. My vision flickers and a cold shiver runs down my spine as I fall to my knees. My hands clutch my head, my skull pounding with an unbearable rhythm. The images keep coming, relentless and unyielding. Once, Kaila had been a baby. Then, a small child. Then older, but still a child. And now, she is an adult, her body marked by scars and her spirit buried beneath layers of pain. Not a single day has passed where she has known anything beyond this wretched pit. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms, as a storm brews within me. My eyes, now a mirror of that storm, reflect an uncontrollable rage.


    I do not fully understand why this makes me so furious. After all, I hardly know her. In the past, I might have heard this story and felt nothing or perhaps offered a distant sympathy. But now, I am angry. My blood ¡ª red, unlike her brown ¡ª boils. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing my attention back to the fragile woman sitting before me. Fire licks at her skin again, her arms engulfed. A towering man laughs at her, his lust unmistakable in his gaze. My hands tremble, my muscles taut with tension. I want to strike him. No ¡ª I want to humiliate him. No ¡ª I want him to suffer. I want to see him beg for mercy, and regret his very existence. I want to kill him. I want to break the chains that bind Kaila to this pit, tear open the cage that has confined her life, and reveal the world to her. I want to shatter the malevolence that has been inflicted upon her and erase her loneliness.


    Tears fall before I realize it. I weep without intention, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face. Once again, my vision blurs, the scene before me distorted. Gone is the baby, the child, the young or older Kaila. All that remains is an endless void. Physical and emotional emptiness.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I know now ¡ª I am in Kaila¡¯s body again. She sits alone, trapped in this cold, dark pit. Unaware of the breeze or the scent of the outside world. She does not know what bread is, nor food beyond human flesh. Red flesh. She has never heard birds sing or waves crash upon a shore, nor smelled rain as it kisses the earth. She has never seen her own reflection, no mirrors to reveal her face. Kaila has never felt warmth ¡ª only the biting cold of this endless pit. No, that is not true. She has felt warmth twice before. Once from the searing flames of another ¡ª a fellow of her kind ¡ª whose face she can barely remember. And once from the warm blood of my kind, the red-blooded.


    Through her eyes, I see her emptiness. My gaze burns with fury, but hers remains hollow. She feels nothing. No pain, no sorrow, no joy. Nothing. Even as flames meld with her skin, she does not flinch. I drown in her memories, witnessing the grim smile, the cruel amusement of a man who revels in violating the innocence of a child. Now a grown woman. For countless years, Kaila has endured this torment, a reality I can only half comprehend. Is this why I feel so compelled to fight for her? Because she is crushed under the heel of someone stronger, with no reason or justification? Perhaps. I do not know. But then I hear my voice, speaking words with absolute clarity:


    ¡°Kaila, use your power. Feel the matter around you and walk through the door before you.¡±


    A powerful gust of wind rushes past me, and a faint light pierces the darkness. My voice is commanding, resolute. Like a puppet responding to unseen strings, Kaila moves. She approaches the wall, her blood-streaked, burned hands pressing against the stone. The solid rock parts before her touch as if it were softened butter. The world fades to black for a moment, and when my vision returns, my pupils constrict. The dim light of a small fire illuminates the corridor, its glow as brilliant to my eyes as sunlight.


    Kaila is in control of her body once more. She turns briefly, her expression unreadable, her burnt arms resting against the cold stone. She looks left, then right, her gaze settling on the flame of a torch. Slowly, she approaches it, her steps hesitant, knees bent slightly. Each movement is deliberate, cautious but determined. She stops inches away from the fire, her face bathed in its glow. The flame reflects in her dull, faintly shimmering eyes. She does not recoil. Instead, she leans closer, her head inching toward the flame until it is almost touching. Then, with her burnt, brown hand, she grasps the torch and extinguishes the orange-red fire with her bare fingers.


    Darkness returns. The emptiness envelops me again.


    As my eyes close, so too does my awareness of Kaila¡¯s body. I am back in my palace, seated upon my throne, my arms resting on its carved armrests. I see only red, my vision painted in the hue of fury and resolve.

 Chapter 17: Trapped (4)

    The endless crimson stretches before me, and I find myself wondering why I am here. Shouldn¡¯t I have woken up in my real body by now? Or am I truly dead? I stare blankly at the various crystals before me. My gaze first falls upon the red one, yet it does not shine like the others. The brown, the black, the yellow, and the red¡ªall of them glow either faintly or not at all. Gradually, the crimson hue begins to merge with shades of blue and green. I turn my gaze from the red crystal, shifting between the two. I am unimpressed as the green one challenges the blue light. It feels oddly familiar. My body tenses, a heavy burden weighing on my shoulders, and I fixate on the green crystal.


    In the next moment, my hand is already upon it, my body standing beside the green chair. A gentle breeze brushes through my blonde hair, green light flickering in my blue eyes, and, in an instant, the scene in the crimson palace darkens. A foul stench fills the air¡ªhuman bodies strewn about, either tangled together or lying in disarray. The old, the young, men, women, bastards, and cripples¡ªyet they all share one thing in common. Brown blood. A stinking odor assaults my nose as three individuals dressed far more elegantly than the surrounding masses walk past. Beside me stands another man, and I am within the body of Eriksson.


    Eriksson wrinkles his nose at the stench of the crowd. At every corner, people lie in their own filth¡ªexcrement and urine. Some are even clutching their bodies, smeared in red. One of the well-dressed men in brown speaks, ¡°Because of these lower creatures, the prices for red blood will rise even more.¡± Another adds, ¡°Because of these pale browns, a red blood will soon cost double.¡± The spitting brown man clenches his fist, while another of the trio grabs his whip and impulsively sprints forward.


    ¡°You filthy pale ones! Stop gorging yourselves!¡± he shouts, the crack of the whip resounding loudly as it strikes, leaving brown stains on the back of the devouring brown individuals. They scream, backing away from the crimson corpse lying nearby. Three in number, they continue eating, but now more slowly or not at all. A final lash follows, this time landing on the head. It is a child, no more than twelve years old. Only moments ago, the child was eating, just like the others, but now the child lies lifeless on the ground. A pale brown fluid spills from its head.


    My gaze falls downward. The man beside me trembles and the well-dressed browns laugh, their grotesque dimples showing as they grin, their yellowish-red teeth exposed beneath dark brown gums. I want to disfigure their smiling faces. My hands tremble with rage, my veins pulsate, but I cannot move. It is Eriksson¡¯s body, and he must do as he wishes¡ªmore importantly, such actions should not lead to his death. I remain calm, my cold eyes fixed upon the other browns as they beg for their lives, holding their arms before their heads, enduring lashings to their ribs and arms. A man, a woman, and a child.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    My eyes widen, just as Eriksson¡¯s do. And only now do I realize that it is a family. Their shimmering eyes, in the face of their impending death. The father, trying to reach his child, just as the mother does, perhaps the child¡¯s mother. Only when they see their child lying motionless, when they see their pale brown blood mixing with the child¡¯s blood on the stone floor, do they lower their arms. Tears stream down their faces, and I feel Eriksson¡¯s foot move forward, his hands trembling, but it is too late. A whip-crack follows, and the family lies together on the ground, their matching pale brown blood mixing.


    They lie in tears, but the lashes continue. The murderer laughs, as do the other two browns. They laugh, mutilating the corpses further until a rough and cold voice pierces the suffocating atmosphere of the small space.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± the voice says, its owner a frail silhouette. Despite his small stature, the three browns bow deeply upon seeing the old man in the distance, their faces nearly kissing the ground.


    ¡°Your Excellency!¡± they speak in unison. The old man speaks again, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of piety.


    ¡°Rise, children of the Abyss.¡± And so, they rise, their expressions twisted as they look upon us. Their pristine clothing is dark, as though it were the ruins of a slum-like city, yet they stand with the air of arrogant parasites. Pale brown blood sticks to the whip of the one who had struck the family, and I stare, dumbfounded, into the distance. The man beside me looks down at the ground with a demeaning, acidic posture, while Eriksson¡¯s body gazes into the dark brown, almost black eyes of the fragile old man.


    I can feel his hands tingling, yet he does not move. He listens, just as I do, following the old voice.


    ¡°Follow me into the Abyss. You two as well,¡± the old man commands. The three speak in unison, their eyes wide with surprise.


    ¡°But Father¡­¡± Their voices are louder than they intend, and they immediately recoil, dropping slightly to their knees. Their clean hands touch the filthy ground, and their faces twist in disgust. One of the three speaks again, this time in a more strained tone.


    ¡°But Father, they are of low blood. We were only supposed to bring them to Gent.¡± Sweat pours down their brows, their voices cracking, their faces darkening further.


    The old man looks down at the three with cold authority.


    ¡°I know, but Gent is currently in the Abyss.¡± The three browns lower their stance even further until the old man turns to leave.


    I bite my inner cheek, forcing myself to calm down. The old man is gone, as mysteriously as he arrived, leaving the three browns, now bitter, staring at the ground. Then, before I know it, I feel an overwhelming force pulling me. A warm liquid pours over me, a shiver running down my spine, and I see only darkness, then red once again.


    Once more, I am immersed in the endless crimson sea, drenched in blood. My crimson palace, and once again, I sit upon my throne. I glance into the distance, my shoulders slumping as I notice the blue light flickering nearby. Aston Rosenmahl¡ªand the strange sensation of millions of hands tugging at me fades once more.

 Novel is currently being rewritten

    Hello everyone, I''m currently rewriting my novel called "Origins of Blood" with a better writing style and overall better quality. If you''ve liked it so far, then I can proudly say, that you''ll also like the remake. If you want to read the newer version then join my discord. I''m publishing it in my discord as a beta version because i want to self publish it as a physical book series. https://discord.gg/JHxKTPdMeQ</a>


    Hello everyone, I''m currently rewriting my novel called "Origins of Blood" with a better writing style and overall better quality. If you''ve liked it so far, then I can proudly say, that you''ll also like the remake. If you want to read the newer version then join my discord. I''m publishing it in my discord as a beta version because i want to self publish it as a physical book series. https://discord.gg/JHxKTPdMeQ</a>


    Hello everyone, I''m currently rewriting my novel called "Origins of Blood" with a better writing style and overall better quality. If you''ve liked it so far, then I can proudly say, that you''ll also like the remake. If you want to read the newer version then join my discord. I''m publishing it in my discord as a beta version because i want to self publish it as a physical book series. https://discord.gg/JHxKTPdMeQ</a>


    Hello everyone, I''m currently rewriting my novel called "Origins of Blood" with a better writing style and overall better quality. If you''ve liked it so far, then I can proudly say, that you''ll also like the remake. If you want to read the newer version then join my discord. I''m publishing it in my discord as a beta version because i want to self publish it as a physical book series. https://discord.gg/JHxKTPdMeQ</a>


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Hello everyone, I''m currently rewriting my novel called "Origins of Blood" with a better writing style and overall better quality. If you''ve liked it so far, then I can proudly say, that you''ll also like the remake. If you want to read the newer version then join my discord. I''m publishing it in my discord as a beta version because i want to self publish it as a physical book series. https://discord.gg/JHxKTPdMeQ</a>


    Hello everyone, I''m currently rewriting my novel called "Origins of Blood" with a better writing style and overall better quality. If you''ve liked it so far, then I can proudly say, that you''ll also like the remake. If you want to read the newer version then join my discord. I''m publishing it in my discord as a beta version because i want to self publish it as a physical book series. https://discord.gg/JHxKTPdMeQ</a>


    Hello everyone, I''m currently rewriting my novel called "Origins of Blood" with a better writing style and overall better quality. If you''ve liked it so far, then I can proudly say, that you''ll also like the remake. If you want to read the newer version then join my discord. I''m publishing it in my discord as a beta version because i want to self publish it as a physical book series. https://discord.gg/JHxKTPdMeQ</a>


    -Bloody_Potato