Elessar Lore
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27 — Blood Mists Pt 1
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 09:45:04 +0000 UTCQuick Author note:
Heya! I decided this was one of those instances where less is more, so I ended up folding the first part into this chapter as all one chapter, and cutting some stuff for cohesion. It's still a pt 1 tho. I've left a "-+-" to mark where the new content begins for those who read the previous version so hit that with a ctrl-f and you should find it easily. Otherwise, please ignore that
Enjoy ^^
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Alex ran up-mountain towards the purple supply drop—then hurriedly threw himself aside. He nestled within dead bramble, thorns scraping his cheeks. A second too late and he would’ve been spotted.
A man flew by overhead—actually flying, riding currents of wind in his mad descent down the mountain. The man looked behind him, where branches as thick as tree trunks sprouted and grew in rapid pursuit. He swiped his hand, summoning winds that scythed through the branches, then snapped his arm again, splintering more. Focused on the primary threat, he didn’t notice the wooden tendrils that snaked behind—until they pierced through his back, growing upwards and parading him atop like the canopy of a tree. His corpse blossomed with flowers.
Blood splattered in thick splotches a few meters from Alex. With a squelch, the man’s killer stepped up, lowering the corpse for examination.
“Damn it!” he cursed. He stomped his foot impatiently—likely speaking through a communication link—then knelt to loot the corpse’s possessions and inventory. “He was a decoy! He doesn’t have any relics!!”
He stood, and hardly a second later, the sharp crack of gunfire rang out. The bullets stopped mid-air beside the man’s head. There, a shimmering barrier flared to life, sustaining cracks. Unsurprisingly, he was well-equipped with defenses against mundane projectiles—his cloak proudly bore the insignia of an established House. Finding his bearings, the Mage raised a wooden wall for added protection. But his protections weren’t all-encompassing.
A dagger slid telekinetically into his lower back, causing him to whirl around in pain. For a second, it seemed as though he looked directly at Alex. But Alex sensed no ill-intent so when tendrils of wood barreled past his head he didn’t startle. A sharp intake of breath and the sound of ruptured flesh were his first and last signifiers that there was someone hiding in the trees behind him.
The Mage then pulled the poisoned dagger from his wound. It clattered to the ground. The barrage of gun-fire picked up intensity—a semi-automatic. He lifted a potion to his lips. His hand trembled. Finally, a single bullet from the barrage pierced all his defenses. It struck his forearm, and the potion slipped from his grasp, shattering. He collapsed after it, coughing and gasping—until his struggle sputtered into silence.
Alex had just decided the coast was clear when a new voice rang out.
“The fuck happened here?”
A woman stepped onto the scene, kneeling to loot the Wood-Mage’s corpse. Three others followed, their forms shadowed by mist. “Doesn’t matter. Just make it quick. The valuable stuff’s still up there!”
They hurried up the mountain, soon vanishing. Alex’s gaze shifted to their destination—the beacon of purple smoke at the mountain’s peak. Forcing the numbness from his weary limbs, he followed their ascent. He remained alert the entire way, not relying on his instincts. His trait didn’t activate without harmful intent, and the moment he was spotted, there’d no doubt be some. If he was seeing this much bloodshed on the outskirts of the conflict, things were as bad as he’d feared.
“Or… worse…” The Lost Souls whispered.
“In this..sstate… you’re running… to your deeath…”
Alex winced. He parted foliage and ducked behind a tree, confirming the next stretch ahead of him was empty. It occurred to him to loot that assassin’s corpse, but it was clear they and the gunman had been working together. Too risky; and the lost souls weren’t entirely wrong. If things were this brutal here, the carnage at the supply drop itself must be worse than he imagined. Every second wasted could mean the difference between finding Gloomy alive or not at all. And with this many paths converging, there was no chance of tracking down the quest if Gloomy died.
Countless displays of magic erupted from ahead, their thunderous echoes rolling down the mountain. There was so much magic that Alex could feel rageful pulses of mana rippling across his soul. Soon after, the screams of their victims followed. He barely registered the birdlike corpse of an avian shifter, off-left as he sped past it. He didn’t slow down—not for scraps, not to scavenge. The strong stalked power—took what was theirs. He wasn’t the desperate weakling he’d once—
“Oh… is that so?”
A cold shiver ran down Alex’s spine. His eyes swiveled to a shadow between the trees, widening. An elderly vampire, one he recognized all too well, smiled at him—ruthless and condescending.
“How…?”
He clamped his mouth. Clutched in the Elder’s hand was that damn Guild Leader’s head, blood dripping from his open neck. A storm of bats flapped and screeched. When Alex blinked, the cursed scene was gone.
It’s not real, he told himself. Things are different now.
Undoubtedly, they were. Dying had a way of forcing that change. Once, he’d stumbled upon this scene just as desperate for relics as the rest of them, but he was different now. He shook off the lost soul’s influence and refocused.
If I were Gloomy, how would I approach this?
That girl had been weak in the First Scenario. Even if she’d grown stronger since, she was out of her depth here. He’d noticed their survival patterns were similar; direct confrontation wasn’t her style. No, she would bide her time for a… less deadly opportunity.
One which he knew would eventually come.
As a young man, Alex had held no illusions he was capable of acquiring a relic unscathed. Yet there’d been one window of opportunity where someone as weak as him had slipped by mostly unnoticed—where those who had noticed him were just distracted enough for him to escape with his life intact. With his relic.
He couldn’t imagine any other way Gloomy could feasibly attempt the same. That was why he now clung to a tree, watching the carnage below from the vantage of its branches, waiting patiently for that moment.
The terrain was craggy and uneven, with ample space between the surrounding trees for killing each other: an act done in high frequency. Several minutes had passed since the crate touched ground, but the one-relic per-person limit, plus the fact that they couldn't be inventory-stored until an hour afterwards, sadistically prolonged the fighting. Anyone who successfully grabbed a relic instantly became a target. They passed from one hand to the next, those hands suffering dismemberment and mutilation in equal variance. Yet, people still went for them, and in all the chaos, some even managed to stave off death for a time.
How long exactly—the mileage varied. The Mage who’d commanded wood was on the stronger side of those gathered. On the weaker side were newly awakened, clearly unprepared for violence in this magnitude. Most sat somewhere in the middle. From Alex’s position, they were little more than barely-visible shapes in the mist, blasting each other with magic and hacking at limbs with swords.
One particularly foolish group positioned themselves defensively around the crate, and as expected, every fighter within eyesight immediately abandoned their own skirmishes to turn on them. Some took advantage of the moment to lift relics from the crate.
A few got away. Most didn’t.
Those who didn’t had their relics stolen by their killers, and then those killers became the next targets. A handful escaped. Others were decapitated by greatswords, shot through with bullets, or torn apart by sharp-toothed beasts—shifters. One man straight up exploded in a burst of gore, and Alex was pretty sure the relic he had been carrying was destroyed in the process.
The violence amped up as the number of relics remaining dwindled. People grew more desperate, hurried, and ruthless. Blood spilled thickly, slickening the entire mountaintop; the air sickened with the sulfurous stench. The smell alone told him the moment he awaited was imminent.
When the horde of wraiths arrived to block out the sky, Alex was the only one who didn’t look up. His attention wasn't on their shrill, blood-lusting shrieks or the panicked yells of those below. His focus lay solely on the girl who’d chosen this moment to rush toward the crate from the bushes opposite him—and on the fact that his senses tried convincing him she wasn’t really there. He smiled in relief.
Gloomy, I’ve found you.
He leapt, landing in a crouch. The man beside him spun in confusion, but Alex was already gone, perceived only as an untraceable shadow. He sped toward the crate, intending to intercept Gloomy—only to realize she was making better ground than he was.
Wait… was she always this fast?
It wasn’t just her. Everyone here was far more capable than the people Alex had faced during his own tribulation. Gloomy had just reached the crate, and the others were already regaining their wits. Someone lunged at her. Then before Alex could see the outcome, someone lunged at him.
No, not at him, but towards him.
He ducked as a sword slashed where his neck had been, clanging another man’s raised shield. The wielder looked just as surprised as Alex to find him in his sword’s path. Pivoting, Alex spun around the swordsman and launched forward again before the man could register what had just happened. He kept close to the ground. Larger men—warriors, swordsmen—were often less aware of anything happening two or three feet below eye level. It wasn’t perfect protection—not with his stealth on its last legs—but it was enough amidst this chaos.
A hooded specter latched onto someone’s face to Alex’s left. An ear-piercing scream split the air. He shivered when that cold, otherworldly malice locked onto him next, and he immediately ducked behind a robed Mage, enticing the wraith to switch targets. As soon as he was in the clear, Alex scanned the area surrounding the crate for Gloomy’s figure.
He cursed—it was futile. Because by now, everyone had realized what he and Gloomy already knew: This was an invaluable opportunity to grab a relic. Coming this far, they all had the mental acuity to process that quickly.
Except: when everyone was a genius, no one was.
“Rush the crate!” someone hollered.
“That’s mine, you fucker!”
“Aghhh!”
“She has it! She has a relic!”
“Help—!” someone shrieked. “The wraiths—”
“JOHNNNYYY!!!!”
The carnage spiked in intensity; Alex immediately pivoted sideways. He couldn’t halt momentum entirely or else they'd see through his stealth, but there was no way he was charging into that.
Most of these people were at or above his level and the wraiths swarmed where the blood spilled thickest around the crate. He doubted Gloomy could survive in that madness. Instead, he turned his attention to the battlefield’s outskirts. There, fights raged, and relics traded hands, but many wisely chose to cut their losses and flee—if they were given the chance. It quickly became ambiguous who held a relic and who didn’t, and most who turned their backs died regardless.
Alex prayed that Gloomy was still among the living. But optimism had never gotten him anywhere so he returned his attention to the very heat of the carnage—the crate. When he finally saw her stumbling out of the chaos, he surged forward, grabbing her shoulders.
“Gloomy! It’s me, Alex!”
She spun in shock—
Then her stunned expression froze, immortalized as a spear burst through the back of her head. Alex barely craned his neck out of the way, but he hadn’t closed his eyes in time. His vision was dark, thick with gore.
It wasn’t her—fuck!
He drew Nychta, deflecting the spearman’s follow-up jab. His opponent didn’t hesitate at her unleashed aura and aggressed with an onslaught of attacks. Thankfully, Alex had the wit about him to answer them. Even blinded, he could track the thrusts, guided by the intent behind the spearman’s trained precision. Smoke screen would only invite negative attention if he used it, so he simply deflected one strike after another. Each one sent a dull, arm-throbbing clang through his nerves.
Unfortunately, when the man’s intent shifted to something more ambiguous, all Alex could do was intercept it head-on. Instead of the sharp clang of a clean deflection, he felt a prolonged scrape as his blade brushed against the spear’s head—then caught. Suddenly, he was yanked forward.
Not a spear! he realized. A halberd!
Feather-foot
Alex’s rapid steps carried him ahead of the halberd’s momentum. He kept grip on his sword. Recovering his balance, he then halted his movement, planting his feet. As soon as he freed Nychta from the halberd’s hooked coils, he directed his strength into forcing the metal shaft upward.
The man managed to keep hold of his weapon, but Alex was close enough to put him in a bad position. He surged forward, determined to end things. Then, in a sudden flash of insight, he pushed forward just a little farther than he originally intended. Backstep was one of the first skills any competent spearman learned and when the man’s killing intent leaked some fear, Alex knew his guess had been correct.
He swung where the man's neck ought to be. Instead of finding flesh, Nychta struck metal—meeting the man’s helm. It didn’t matter. The guardian spirit of Lionheart stirred, protecting the Oslumnen blade from wear as Nychta embedded herself an inch into the man’s skull.
A Human has been slain!
New Achievement! [Man Killer]: You have received your first skull mark!
Alex immediately wiped the gore from his eyes. He wasn’t some blind swordsman like the old masters in Japanese flicks—his trait lost its usefulness in a place like this, where his deadliest enemy was an accidental misfire rather than the intended dagger. Nychta’s abilities also didn’t work against live, untainted souls. He yanked at his sword and grimaced when she didn’t come free immediately.
What am I even doing here in the first place! Where is Gloomy?!
He looked around. His stealth was useless now that he’d joined the fray, and those in his vicinity were beginning to perceive him. Their hands were just too full to immediately act on it. The wraiths, on the other hand, didn’t delay. He was still drenched in that young woman’s gore, and multiple presences, which had been circling high above, suddenly locked onto him.
“You’re lucky there weren’t any wraithsss… back on Earth…”, the lost souls whispered. “Could you… imagine what that sceene… would have looked like? The dark hallls… narrow chambersss…sspilt with blood… whatever the vampires… were too full to have… for themselvesss…”
The Lost Souls cackled eerily, swirling around Alex.
“Then imaaagine… the wraithss coming to vissiiit… Just whose facee… would they wear…?”
Alex forced the limpness from his veins and grunted, prying his sword from the man’s skull and helm. He’d just grabbed and stored the man’s halberd when the very kind of wayward blast he’d been so afraid of streaked toward him, sending him stumbling back. His back collided with another man’s and he spun around, coming face-to-face with a bearded mage.
Alex didn’t know if the Mage had thrust his hands out in a plea or to fry him with lightning. He might never know because he immediately cut them off at the wrists—before the thought could occur. The man wailed and collapsed. Rolling in agony he fumbled for a health potion from his inventory, only to realize he had no way to take it with his stumped, bleeding wrists.
Everything was red.
Alex scrunched his eyes shut. His vision had cleared slightly, but everything was tainted with the color of blood. The world looked like it smelled: like the Blood Mists from all those years ago.
The Blood Mists…
His heartbeat pounded louder than the carnage around him. Louder even than the Lost Souls’ whispers. The man’s wails faded, drowned beneath the pressure of so many killing intents aimed at Alex’s life: The wraiths descended leisurely for his soul, their attention slithering down his spine with a gripping coldness. Around him, the quick-daggered pricks of wariness from the others were blunt pains—stabbing in and out of his astral body, shifting with the mists. The Mage himself glared past his pain. His hatred burned against Alex’s skin like an itch too furious to ignore. It was all just too much. Too much noise and too much emotion. It was impossible to keep order of it all.
But then he felt it.
For only a moment—there was a mind so malicious it cut above everything else: an intent so cold and disciplined it was like a blade slicking against Alex’s neck. The vampires… they were here.
The Bloodmist Assassin…
Alex shivered—a momentary, shameful flicker of fear coursing through him. He demanded it stop; it only numbed. The Lost Souls echoed in his head, louder than ever before. He groaned in pain and his vision darkened deeper, the blood mists thickening. His mind fissured—splitting, splitting… before all went quiet.
Forgetting where he was for a second, he looked around. Then Alex found the man cowering on the ground in front of him. His fists tightened.
Ah… you’re not human, are you?
No, this creature had thrown away its humanity. The burning itch on Alex’s skin lessened slightly, and he could tell that it no longer felt hatred toward him. Only fear. The pitiful thing raised its bloody stumps and begged for mercy.
“But did you give mercy when your prey begged it of you?” Alex asked.
Prey… that’s all humans were to them. Cattle. He drove his blade into its heart.
A Vampire has been slain!
He glanced at the blood on his sword then at the notification. How pitiful. They weren’t even “Undead” enough to be cleansed.
Nychta awoke from her slumber, upset at having technically just taken a life. Her voice was soft and muted. Alex tried to align his will with hers but she pulled back as though hurt by his touch.
At the very least, this world needed to be cleansed of it, he told her.
He looked to his right as more vampires arrived—a whole seven of them. The one he’d slain must have been one of theirs if their reaction was anything to go by. One of them shrieked and fell to its knees.
What did it have to wail about? Alex could still remember the blood curdling screams echoing through those dark tunnels. They’d been the ones who were ambushed…
“I told him this would happen!” Eric had cursed.
All around them, men fell left and right. There were no final words—only agony, their voices twisting into a chorus of screams. And the wraiths… right, they were present, too. They descended upon them all, ravenous for their departed souls.
The slow tingle in Alex’s spine grew stilted as a wraith finally slipped through the mists, descending toward him. But upon noticing the vampire he’d just slain, it veered away, unable to resist the free offering. One of the still-living vampires stared daggers at him.
“Y-You bastard!” it shouted. “You absolute fucking—you killed him!”
Alex could only laugh. “You vampires prey on us without a single thought.”
And yet they have the nerve to mourn for their own?
His laughter died. It just… didn’t sit right. He clenched his jaw, something hot curling in his gut, simmering to a boil in his veins. It burned, scalding hot—like a kettle about to scream.
“Vampires?! What are you even—”
One of the others seized the loud one by the arms. “Let it go, Damien! He’s fucked in the head. We’re getting out of here!”
If such a paradox could exist, the wiser vampire gestured toward the wraith as he said that last part. Just as Alex did, he’d likely sensed that more were on the way.
Wraiths stole the faces of the newly departed. It was one of the things Alex hated most about them. Yet he watched impassively as the first one finished feasting on the vampire’s soul. If he had to slay this one again, he wouldn’t complai—
The wraith’s hood lifted. Twin braids of black hair spilled out, bangs ornamented with deified artifacts. Its pale, ghastly face twisted into a smile. And as its eyes met his, there was a kindness there that stopped him cold.
Laura drifted toward him, caressing his cheek. “Here, let me heal that for you, Alex. A rise in body temperature is one of the Blood Mist’s effects, but once it gets to the point where your blood is actually boiling, it can…”
He swung.
Sever
The fire in Alex’s blood combusted into pure rage as the wraith dissipated. He turned to the remaining vampires. They were still split on whether to flee or avenge their comrade. Even just thinking of them as each other's comrades sickened him. What gave them any right to vengeance?
The vampires restraining the most foolish of their ilk gasped as three wraiths descended from above. “Damien—hey! Come on! Let’s just get—!”
-+-
Alex shot a bullet into the speaker’s head.
A Vampire has been slain!
At the same moment as the wraiths descended, this “Damian” broke free of his restraints. He charged at Alex, rage written in his features. The others yelled at him, but their hands were tied. Alex effortlessly cleansed another wraith and ran Identify on him.
Damian Tachovsky
Level: 21
Class: Warrior
Level Twenty-one… unusually low for a Vampire in nightmare. It was rare that a Vampire chose a class unrelated to their race, but exceptions existed. These ones must belong to one of the renegade clans.
Alex found he really didn’t care about any of that. Nor did he care that Nychta showed him no path to follow. The vampire's claymore gave him a reach advantage, and despite that, Alex simply held his ground, watching the distance between them close. At three meters, the vampire’s inexperience became clear. The cadence of his footwork staggered for the barest second as he grinned, leveling his sword toward Alex’s heart. Knowing exactly which movement skill he’d taken in that moment, Alex raised Nychta defensively. The vampire launched forward in a maddened Dash—
And impaled himself through the neck on Alex’s new halberd.
[Halberd (Common)]
A Steel halberd with a metal shaft.
He sputtered, dying almost immediately. Alex jerked the halberd, tossing the corpse aside. Despite the appearance of the wraiths, people hadn’t stopped killing. He had no clue why those in his vicinity gave him such a wide berth, but he was too busy to thank them for it. He had vampires to kill. So he vanished both the halberd and the claymore to his inventory, then took the fight to them.
The remaining vampires had dealt with the wraiths quicker than expected; perhaps they had a Dark Priest among them. The five of them turned toward Alex—ugly, vengeful expressions on their faces. But it was their sorrow that made Alex want to scream. A male with a large shield stepped forward. Two of the ones behind him carried swords. Another had an arsenal of crossbows, and the last held a staff.
Alex re-summoned his glock and shot at the forward-most one. This time, a barrier shimmered to life and the bullet glanced harmlessly off. His eyes darted to the caster—a vampire further back with her staff raised. He ran Identify but they were all higher level; it told him nothing. The crossbow-holder, instead of raising her crossbow, raised her hands, a glow building up around her palms.
The situation became immediately clear. Alex was outnumbered, outleveled. He could barely use stealth now, his limbs creaked and only moved as he willed because he was doped on potions. The vampire-hunters had dragged his party into this conflict—he wasn’t even supposed to be here.
And yet, none of that mattered. He had to kill them. Nothing else mattered.
Smoke Screen
Smoke erupted from Alex, spanning out in a wide radius—covering half the battlefield. Confused shouts arose from all directions. His dangersense spiked from countless sources, yet the needles were unable to find his astral body. A pulse of magic shot directly past where he’d just been. Someone screamed from the same direction. Groans and grunts, steel clangs and boots that scraped dirt sounded from just in front of Alex. He darted around the scuffle, ramming shoulders with another body. The sooty dark smoke had mixed with the blood mists, making it impossible to see. He let his ears guide him and navigated from memory—
“You the one who’s blown all this smoke?” A voice growled.
Alex tensed for only a moment as bestial, inhuman eyes glared at him. A brief, cursory killing intent glanced him over before they breezed past one another.
“Ain’t got a relic…” the fading voice muttered.
Alex continued forward. Two meters, three meters. The smoke was thinning and he could see the barest of silhouettes flitting in and out of the mists directly around him. But were they friend or foe? Vampire or Vampire hunter?
No, the hunters were all dead. There were only vampires left now. One attacked him. It bared its fangs, swiping a claw at Alex’s head. He barely deflected it. Then came another strike—barely deflecting that one too, he was sent backpedaling.
All around him was noise. The clashing of steel, the thrum and blasts from magic, the screeches of wraiths, the deafening pops from gunfire. He gasped as a stray bullet hit his thigh, puncturing his leathers. Gunfire? Why were the vampires using guns? He pressed a hand to a new gash in his side, hopping lightly to avoid catching his heel on a corpse. That one had been human.
He raised his sword, but the vampire attacking him died from something else. Was there infighting? Multiple clans? What the fuck was going on?!
The mists seeped into his wound and his hand sizzled against the rising heat of his blood. He felt a presence to his back and swung his blade through its neck. At the sight, another vampire yelled its grief and barreled toward him with a thin blade. Alex’s soul protested in throbbing pain as he shrouded himself in stealth. The blade came astonishingly fast, scraping the armor gap in his armpit. But Alex was faster. Nychta seemed to resist her path, but he forced his will onto her and sliced off the creature’s arm. Knowing it might regenerate, Alex then tackled it to the ground, shanking it over and over with a dagger. It squirmed and moaned, greasing his fingers with blood—then quieted.
He rolled to his feet, cleansing two wraiths. He sensed two others nearby and quickly dispatched both of them. War waged all around him. Shit. Where was his party! Where was Gloomy? And Laura! Where was Laur—
“She’s… dead…” The voices whispered.
Alex’s arms dropped to his side. Right. That was… right. He remembered now. This wasn’t Earth. This was Nightmare. And those vampires… The one’s who’d dared proclaim vengeance on him…
Alex grit his teeth, reaching for new Essence.
You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!
Entering a charged state, he kicked off in a rage. Clinging to Stealth, he headed toward that party of five, killing everything in his way. It wasn’t hard. Vampires knew combat, but they didn’t know the system like he did, and they were far more blind than he was in this dark.
Still, the smoke was clearing faster than he expected. Even with his charged state, the muscles in his body strained with exhaustion, and spasmed from pain. Nychta felt unnaturally heavy in hands and she refused even an ounce of mana from him. He was pushing every aspect of his being to its limits, wielding her tighter around his body than ever before to survive this claustrophobic madness. As he did, the movement grew more natural.
[Weapon Mastery] has been activated.
Progression to Rank Adept: 34%
Another path suddenly appeared in front of his blade as his life was threatened. He deflected a skill-driven swing, bracing Nychta against his steel vambraces—the angle protecting his head, left shoulder, and the back of his neck. He eliminated the threat quickly. His next would-be aggressor turned to run and he sliced its hamstrings. Nychta voiced a quiet scream of protest as he decapitated the vampire. Why? Why did she care? Had it been a thrall? Then that was all the more reason to end its suffering! Why couldn’t she just understand?!
Lys would’ve understood…
No matter, this wasn’t the right tool for the job anyway. Alex vanished Nychta, summoning a flashlight to his hand. It’d been over a minute now; the vampires probably weren’t in the same place he’d remembered. But they were still likely on the watch-out for him and he’d taken a mostly straight trajectory. He clicked the flashlight on, tossing it into the air. Sure enough, the same pulse of magic that had shot for him earlier shattered the flashlight with a soft thrum. The sound lasted one second; it came from his front left.
Found you.
He summoned a new weapon to his grip. The smoke was almost lifting and when he heard a mumbled prayer he understood why it’d cleared so fast. He clung to his stealth, not letting a single shred of darkness taper from skill exhaustion. He didn’t care what damage that might cause. Nor did his enemies care. There were no breaks in war.
With a flash of light from the female’s staff, the last of the smoke lifted. Then there was only the bloodmists, and the demon in red who emerged from the shadows to their right. Their eyes swiveled to Alex.
“You don’t deserve mercy!” He yelled.
He hefted Lionheart’s gigantic greatsword and swung with all his might.
Broad Swing
The sword sliced clean through the crossbow-holder’s neck and dented a second vampire’s metal armor—sepsis spreading through his body. It would’ve caught the one with the staff too if the shield-bearer hadn’t covered her with a movement skill. Alex heard a crackle as the vampire angled his arming sword for a Thunder Pierce. He almost chuckled—he knew that motion like the back of his hand.
The vampire’s eyes widened as Nychta was suddenly back in Alex’s grip. He lunged off center with circular footwork. The arming sword bit into the leather armor, singing his chest, drawing blood, but the shamshir arced over it with a tight backward curve, snaking around the raised shield and stabbing the vampire's neck.
Pierce
Nychta cried out in discomfort.
“I know,” Alex said, gore showering over him. “It’s not… hygienic…”
A part of him knew he should be disgusted by all this blood—that, normally, he would be. But he’d accepted his reality. His vision was red and blurry, he ached all over, and everything pretty much sucked. The only proper response to all this was to laugh. Laughing in the face of adversity was only natural. It kept a man sane.
He snorted derisively.
Pathetic.
You’re struggling this much against these lunatics?
What are you going to do when you have to face real threats?
You’ll never make it.
“Still… weeeak…”
Those chains rattled. He shook his head, pelting his temple with Nychta’s pommel, quieting the bullshit. He wasn’t weak. Prove it? He was proving it! He was killing them wasn’t he?! He’d kill every last one if he had to!
But she’s already gone.
Laura’s dead.
“None of thisss… will bring her back…”
“So now you’re the voice of reason! I fucking know that already!”
The voices continued their cacophonous storm. He clutched his head, ripping out tufts of hair.
“Shut up!!”
They quieted. And in their place Alex heard the boil of his blood. It didn’t matter what they said. This was his path. There was nothing else he could do. All this rage had to go somewhere, didn’t it? It should go to those responsible for killing her!
“No Koran! Don’t!”
The raspy, out-of-breath shouting drew Alex’s attention. He looked over to the remaining vampires, having briefly forgotten about them. There were three still alive. The one with sepsis held back the unmarred swordsman. The female with the staff cast some sort of… healing on him? These crazy fucks. He glared and they quailed under his challenge. Alex watched them flee into the mists, a low growl building in his throat. Turning their backs on him was the worst choice they could have made.
Stealth
He went after them, clawing once more at the shadows of night, blood pulsing in his veins. His Stealth had no effect on those on high alert, but everyone in his vicinity backed slowly away, clearing his path. The important part was that it worked on his prey. He was no longer a human to them—just the shadow marking their deaths as he pursued in chase.
Feather-foot has upgraded to Adept Rank.
Feather-foot is more adaptable to acceleration and changes in direction. Balance correction upon impact and uneven terrain is improved.
Alex didn’t let the vampires’ silhouettes out of his sight. He was no Eric “Featherfoot”, but he still made the skill work for him on this craggy mountain top. Deftly, he navigated the terrain with enhanced footwork, twisting through the forest while others stumbled and scraped by. The vampires were traveling downhill, and as he got close enough to see the definition of their armor, he coiled ahead of their route and lay in wait behind a tree.
“Koran!” The one with sepsis said. “Set some traps up here! We may still be followed. Ananise, you—”
Their leader gargled his next words as Alex’s sword pierced his throat. Alex looked down at Nychta in confusion. He’d meant to use Pierce. Why had she stopped taking his mana again? Why? He was only lucky they hadn’t raised a shield in time. Otherwise, he’d have been fucked.
See…? Even your sword betrays you…
Oh well. His mana was running far too low, it was just as well that he’d killed the vampire with less effort. He flicked his sword from its neck, splattering blood across dry bush leaves and tree bark. Stealth was a waste to keep up now, so he quickly dropped it.
When he did, the rebound was sudden and fierce. A wave of nausea flooded him and he almost doubled over, but managed to keep his footing, pointing his blade at the vampire who’d been addressed as “Koran”. Anger simmered in his gut. “Do you know how much pain I went through to track you down? Will you make it worth it?”
The vampire trembled slightly before turning—as if fleeing had done them any good the first time. Apparently, the answer was no. He scowled. “Well, Ananise? Your comrade has left you.”
The female didn’t seem to process Alex’s venomous words. Her eyes grew distant, her knees buckled beneath her, but before she could fall Alex grabbed her by the collar and slammed her against a tree. She gasped and he leaned in close, plumes of mist on his heaving breath. He opened his mouth, and then stopped short. For a second she’d looked like Laura and he found he didn’t even know what he wanted to say.
He shook his head. Laura wasn’t even in Nightmare. They looked nothing alike. She didn’t have… red eyes…
Alex’s hand found her neck, and choked in a sudden fury. Her staff fell aside, her eyes bulged. Then he collected himself and let her collapse.
“...are you catatonic? Or are you just faking it?”
She muttered unintelligibly under her breath.
“I see. Then, I’ll come back around for you.”
Alex entered the thickness of the mists, chasing after the one who had fled. Something in how this “Ananise” had collapsed told him she wouldn’t be getting up again, and he sincerely hoped she had more fight in her by the time he returned. His blood still felt like it was on fire—like he hadn’t dispensed even an ounce of his rage.
Cowards who couldn’t face the consequences of their actions didn’t deserve an easy death. After all, even with all the hate Alex could conjure, he couldn’t imagine a death worse than the one they’d given Laura.
* * *
Deep in the darkness of Alex’s soul lay a shattered blade. Her name was Nychta.
Nychta was a paradox, a truth she understood only because it was not the first time she had been one. A blade, once shattered, could not be resurrected. And if it were, that resurrection would be the death in and of itself— it would no longer be the same blade. She would no longer be Nychta.
But she was Nychta, hence a living paradox.
Lionheart nodded. “So, you’re beginning to understand your situation, I see. Slumbering within his soul has done you some good.”
Begrudging agreement.
“And I see it has also done wonders for your vocabulary,” he joked. “A paradox though… You’re spot on. As we have both died before, we know this current existence is not possible, my dear. And yet, it simply is. The first reason for this is, of course, our valuable friendship…”
Agreement.
“But the second thing you must thank for this is him. It’s the potential lying deep within his soul that makes this possible. The potential lying deep within you.”
Begrudging… agreement.
Begrudgingly, Nychta understood that this was also true. She could exist as this paradox because she was tethered to Alex, anchored to his Divine Core. She could be whole. She could be Nychta.
But out there was one thing. Here in the darkness, there were no lies. She was only a shattered blade, her metal true to its form.
Sleepy…
She was so sleepy. She needed rest. Needed slumber. She had come to understand that need was different than want.
Unwanting.
“I know, my dear. It must be hard to sleep under these conditions.”
Lionheart looked up. Far above them, countless deathly red eyes watched unblinkingly through rifts in the darkness, their gazes trained on that divine source of light. Lost souls.
“I can understand where they’re coming from,” Lionheart continued. “Like them, all I know is death. And all I am good for now is to use it to keep your form whole and undamaged in the other realm. But only while you slumber, Nychta. In here, I can do nothing for you.”
He gestured to her true form. Even as he spoke, Nychta’s cracks spread a little more along her body. She sensed that she had killed another. That she’d been used to kill, not sever. But she was more than just death. She was more.
“If you don’t rest, you know you will only shatter further,” Lionheart said.
Sleep tugged at her. Nychta resisted anyway.
“Why resist the inevitable? You want this, Nychta. When you slumber, you receive more knowledge. You understand more.”
But understanding was… unwanting.
Painful.
“Ahh…” Lionheart smiled sadly. “That’s because existence is painful, Nychta. But you have to understand it is not just pain. Darkness cannot exist without light. And the deeper the darkness…”
…the greater the light that casts its shadow.
Nychta already knew and understood this because the Divine Core’s light cast the deep darkness where her broken form lay. It made her paradox possible, and was balanced, as all things should be.
But in his soul… there was no balance. The light was hardly visible. There was only the darkness of shadow.
Lionheart scratched his head, “Hm. How do I explain this? You understand before and after, right? Do you understand the present as well? No? Uhh, oh I know! How about ‘Today’?”
Today. A magical word. When Nychta was still armor, before Lucius became Lionheart, he would clean her daily and tell her about the world he saw.
Agreement, Wanting.
He smiled again. “Then think about it like this. There is the light of day and its shadow, the darkness of night. But neither comes solely ‘before’ or ‘after.’ Before night, there is day. Before day, there is night. After night, there are more days, just as after day, there are more nights. And then there is ‘today.’ He sees only darkness ‘today,’ but that does not mean he will never see the light. Don’t you see, Nychta?”
Nychta did not reply.
“Too complicated, huh.”
She’d claimed so many lives. More cracks. Sleepy.
Unwanting. Pain.
“I know it’s painful, but slumber, Nychta. My life may have been cut short, but I lived a grand one, y’know. Still, I don’t wish to exist in this darkness forever, I want to see what’s ahead. No man wishes for darkness. Not even he.”
Sleepy.
“Sleep, Nychta. And when you do, search for the light that cast this… shadow.”
Lionheart lifted his leg in distaste, dark liquid dripping from his grieves. Blood pooled in an ocean, coming up to his shins. The light was so far from this world’s depths that it blended with murky darkness.
But eventually, the Divine Core’s light reclaimed Nychta. She returned to Alex, seeing what he saw, feeling what he felt—his emotions, his memories. And one memory in particular. The one that had shown her what pain was. Seeing it to its end… was unwanting. She’d awoken because even a glimpse had been enough for her to understand.
Pain was what she’d felt when the townsfolk were slaughtered.
However, she could no longer resist the pull of sleep. The sun reclaimed her, and the brighter it shone, the further she sunk into its shadow. Her surroundings shifted from nothingness to those horrid blood mists, assimilating with Alex’s pounding heart.
But… wrong. It wasn’t like the other times his heart pounded. There was a different beat to it—an odd cadence. Nychta tried to understand what was wrong. Then, in Laura’s eyes, she found it. In her, she saw the light. And she let it take her away. She knew it would all end in that horrid memory. But not today. Today, she would let herself dream.
Nychta finally fell into a slumber, and the scenery shifted once more—
—to a place called New York. It was light out, early in the morning, and Nychta was no longer Nychta, but the young man named Alex.
Comments
Gopard
I think you really need to work on either reducing the denseness of the mind fucked chapters or change the premise somehow... It gets really exthausting reading a very long chapter where the MC just goes insane. He literally is seeing wrong SYSTEM NOTIFICATIONS right? He's killing humans not vampires and doesn't realize... Just... Half of this crazed slaughter would have been enough I think at some point it just gets a bit over the top. And you run a huge risk of course... Because especially on Royalroad readers dislike mindfucked MCs almost allergically... I read this chapter as if He was influenced by the Lost Souls to perceive everyone in this fight as vampires mixing his horrible memory with the present. But I dislike reading mainly about crazy insane bloddthirsty Alex. The whole premise of the third Scenario is dificult already because it all feels like filler. Apart from the Eric sequence it reads like you just basically repeat the same paragraphs "Trudging on so and so many hours, lost souls, endless meandering on about the paths again and again, where is gloomy, where is gloomy, I need to kill Anne, Laura was killed horribly, vampires are evil bastards... ect..." its not bad yet I would say. But this chapter is pushing the line. Unless you have a good reason to write like this of course. But if after whatever "This" even was whatever actually happened here because we as readers cannot know it. We only get Alex POV who is clearly a 100% unreliable narrator. He could have literally dreamed even GOING To this mountain and I wouldn't say its a plothole with this chapter. Its just all way to unclear.
Logan
TFTC
