Defeat Cassian the Bloodmon Vampire!
> Your reward will be halved for certain time!
> You will be face a evaluation process after you finish next quest!
Ice clawed at my lungs, a frozen fist squeezing the life from me.
The searing pain in my chest – Rhaegar's blade, my father's blade – pulsed with a rhythm that mirrored my failing heart.
The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, a bitter counterpoint to the coppery taste of fear.
My vision swam in crimson, blurring the triumphant sneer I knew was etched on his face. Defeated.
By him.
Not just defeated, but gutted, left for dead.
This cursed system, a parasitic entity leeching the very essence from my being, had dealt its cruel penalty.
But even the system's icy judgment paled beside the bone-deep chill that gripped me, a prelude to oblivion.
My breath hitched, ragged gasps tearing through my ravaged chest.
Darkness, a welcome oblivion, beckoned.
Was this the end?
The final, ignominious curtain call?
Then, his voice, a viper's hiss in my ears, cut through the encroaching darkness. "Raise up, Alstair. Don't you want to help your mother? Arlene?"
Rhaegar.
That venomous word, a brand seared into my soul.
Even in this extremity, his cruelty was a blade twisting in my wounds.
The hatred, a burning coal in my gut, was powerless against the crushing weight of my injuries.
My lips trembled, my tongue too thick and weak to form even a silent curse.
Damn it!
The scream was trapped, strangled in my throat.
But the fury, a white-hot inferno, ignited a desperate will within.
I need to live!
A raw, primal scream clawed its way from the depths of my being, a silent roar against the encroaching darkness.
Get up, body!
Soul, rise!
The fragile remnants of my strength strained against the crushing weight.
And then… a flicker of hope.
A system notification – a lifeline thrown from the abyss by the very thing that sought my destruction.
A chance, a desperate gamble, offered by a system I despised, a chance to defy even death itself.
> Warning, your Health Power reached 4%!
> Last Resort Item Automatically activated!
> Health Regeneration Optimized!
A tidal wave of recovery crashed over me, a sudden, violent surge that reignited my life force. My vision swam back, blurry at first, then snapping into agonizing focus.
Each ragged breath hitched in my chest, a bellows struggling to rekindle a dying fire.
My consciousness flickered back, a fragile flame in the tempest of my pain.
Critically injured, yes, but the tide had turned, however briefly.
But as I dared to examine myself, a cold dread seized me.
My blood… it wasn't red.
It was black, inky black, flowing in my veins like a river of midnight.
No coppery tang, no metallic stench – just the chilling absence of what should have been.
Was this delirium?
The fevered dream of a dying man?
Before I could answer, Rhaegar's gaze, cold and predatory, locked onto mine.
His voice, a rasping whisper across the desolate chamber, sliced through the haze of my pain.
"Don't succumb to the darkness, Alstair. Prove your worth. Save your family."
The contempt in his tone was a physical blow.
This sorcerer, this… thing, was the embodiment of everything I despised.
A twisted reflection of the father I never knew, a darkness that gnawed at the edges of my soul.
Was this his legacy?
This… abomination?
Rage, raw and incandescent, ignited within me.
"You haven't won, sorcerer!" I rasped, voice a strangled croak. "I've faced death before, stared into the abyss itself – Zeta Maurer's cursed touch – and I lived!" I pushed myself to my knees, gasping for air, the agony a burning brand in my chest.
Driven by that furious fire, I ripped the black dagger free.
No blood welled.
No crimson stain marred the wound.
The pain was a searing brand, yet my body defied logic, defying gravity.
The sheer, white-hot fury propelled me, fueled by a desperate, unwavering need to defy him, to prove myself worthy, even if it meant death itself.
My pride, my family's salvation – these were stakes worth dying for.
Rhaegar remained unmoved, his eyes narrowed, observing me with clinical detachment, as if I were some grotesque specimen under his dissecting lens.
"The black blood flows smoothly now," he observed, his voice devoid of emotion.
"Your mana… adjusted. Rise, Alstair. Keep the dagger. You'll need it."
"What in the hells are you talking about?!" I demanded, my voice a guttural roar.
He pointed a long, skeletal finger at the fractured, artificial sky above. "Grip the dagger. Look. Soon, you will understand the truth of the Abandoned Tower."
Despite the rage that still burned, there was something… different about his words.
A strange absence of the usual manipulative charm.
It was unsettling.
The taste of my own blood – or rather, the lack thereof – lingered on my tongue, a metallic phantom.
The weight of the black dagger in my hand was unnerving, heavy with an unknown power.
My gaze followed his finger, drawn to the fractured sky above, a silent promise of something terrible, and terrifyingly… true.
The obsidian gleam of the Imperial Scepter felt cold against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the feverish sweat prickling my skin as I scanned the heavens.
Then I saw it – a fracture in the celestial tapestry, a jagged rip revealing an abyssal black that smelled of ozone and tasted of ash on my tongue.
Before I could fully comprehend the horror, a cold tendril snaked around my soul, a phantom grip squeezing the breath from my lungs.
It wasn't just a visual assault; the void pulsed, a sickening hum vibrating through my very bones, a cacophony echoing in the silent chambers of my skull.
From that suffocating blackness, something stared.
Not a passive gaze, but a malevolent scrutiny, probing, judging, stripping away the fragile veneer of my being.
Then it opened.
A cyclopean crimson eye, vast and hateful, burned through the darkness, a searing inferno against the backdrop of infinite night.
Its gaze was a physical blow, a crushing weight that sent agonizing splinters of pain through my essence.
The air itself crackled with its power, a silent scream of cosmic dread.
My very existence felt devoured, atom by atom, as its gaze burrowed into my core.
Darkness.
A suffocating, absolute black that swallowed even the echoes of my thoughts.
The Scepter, Rhaegar, my own identity – all vanished into the void.
A chilling emptiness filled the space where my soul once resided, a testament to the monstrous hunger that had consumed me.
What unholy abomination had done this?
What… was that?
***
A crimson tide washed over my vision as I awoke, the colossal red moon a malevolent eye in a sky bleeding scarlet.
The stench hit me first – cloying, metallic, the reek of a thousand butcheries.
My stomach lurched.
This wasn't just the familiar scent of the red moon's influence; this was something…else.
A visceral horror clinging to the air, thick as the blood itself.
I remembered the red eye glinting in the shattered remnants of the Abandoned Tower, but this… this was a cataclysm.
A lake, vast and unending, spread beneath me, a churning sea of crimson.
The Air Walk held, impossibly, over its viscous surface.
No land in sight, only the endless, horrifying expanse of… blood.
It wasn't just the color; it pulsed with a sickening rhythm, a grotesque imitation of life.
I felt it; the raw, agonized essence of countless slain creatures, a testament to unspeakable carnage.
How?
What monstrous slaughter had filled this infernal basin?
Rhaegar's twisted game?
My gut twisted with a cold dread.
Then, the ripple.
A tremor in the abyss, announcing an arrival.
He materialized in the north, a silhouette against the hellish backdrop.
Tall, impossibly muscular, silver hair a waterfall against his pale, almost translucent skin.
Clad only in what looked like enchanted trousers, his torso was bare, revealing a physique both breathtaking and horrifying – inhumanly sculpted, etched with the shadows of untold power.
His eyes burned crimson, twin embers in the infernal landscape.
Fangs, sharp as obsidian shards, gleamed in the reflected moonlight.
He wasn't human.
Not orc.
Not elf.
Something…older.
A black aura, palpable and suffocating, pressed down on me, a weight of immense power that spoke of ages spent in shadow.
He was not merely strong; he was ancient. A creature born of nightmare itself.
His voice, when it finally broke the silence, was a silken rasp, laced with a chilling amusement.
"Can you smell it? The tempting water of immortality, sought by all who dare enter this cursed tower…"
My own words, bitter and laced with contempt, were a stark contrast. "All I smell is blood. The blood of a legion of the damned. Disgusting."
His gaze locked onto mine, a cold appraisal that stripped away any pretense of civility.
It was a gaze that had witnessed millennia of suffering, a gaze that promised more.
I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that this was only the beginning.
"Such a rare answer, from a champion of this Abandoned Tower, which surprisingly is a Zeta's curse-bearer."
His gaze, a glacial pool reflecting nothing but contempt, bored into me.
The metallic tang of blood, a phantom scent from his ravaged past, clung to the air.
"Vengeful, resentful... no wonder." His sneering voice dripped with a poisonous blend of condescension and knowing.
My breath hitched.
I knew the truth of his words, the chilling truth of his identity. A monster of the deepest shadows, an S-rank threat, one the Knight Association hunted with a fanaticism born of fear.
His presence, a palpable weight of malice and ancient power, pressed down on me.
I felt the cold grip of his gaze, like icy fingers tracing the scars on my soul.
He leaned closer, his eyes, twin chips of obsidian, gleaming in the dim light.
"Still enslaved, darling? Still clinging to Zeta's… system?" The word was spat out like venom.
The stench of his breath, a cloying mix of decay and something indescribably ancient, threatened to overwhelm me.
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I controlled my tremor, preparing the surge of magical energy, a silent counterpoint to his taunts.
"My fate is mine to bear," I said, my voice a low growl, the words a shield against his insidious pressure. "And I have no time for your games."
The air crackled with the silent promise of unleashed power.
He threw back his head and laughed, a sound like shattered glass.
The laugh echoed in the chamber, bouncing off the cold stone walls.
"Foolish pride! These Zeta apprentices… such volatile creatures I've encountered on the battlefield." He paused, savoring the moment, then continued, his voice a silken caress masking a predatory hunger. "Immortality, boy. Do you crave it? A mortal shell containing such power… a pathetic cage. Orcs, elves, dragons – they all hunger for the immortal blood. And you?" The allure of the words, thick and seductive as the blood itself, nearly broke through my defenses.
My voice, steely now, cut through the air. "I will not bathe in the blood of the dead." The threat in my tone was unmistakable. "Tell me where to find the miracle water. The cure." Each word was sharp, a blade against his arrogance.
His smirk faltered.
He knew I sensed his power, felt the tremor in his unnatural strength.
The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the frantic hammering of my own heart.
Finally, he spoke, his voice dripping with false concern. "Miracle water? So naive. Don't you see? This red water… this lifeblood… it's the cure for your family. Why this hesitation?" His words were a poisoned dart, aimed at the most vulnerable part of me.
The coppery tang of the blood, heavy and rich, filled my senses, almost overwhelming the power I held back.
It whispered promises of healing, of salvation.
A savage hunger gnawed at my resolve.
But my will, tempered in the crucible of loss and Zeta's curse, would not break.
"I will not drink it," I said, my voice unwavering, "nor will my family. Your attempts are futile."
The vampire exhaled slowly, a defeated sigh that barely masked the simmering rage within.
Disappointment, raw and palpable, twisted his features.
The weight of his gaze lessened, replaced by a simmering darkness that was far more frightening.
"Why," Cassian hissed, his voice a rasping whisper that clawed at the air, thick with the cloying sweetness of rot and iron, "do these pathetic mortals refuse the gift of eternity? I've tasted centuries within these cursed walls, yet they cling to their fleeting lives like flies to shit. At least the elves and orcs still understand the primal thrill of slaughter. Your refusal, human, is an insult to the very concept of survival!" His eyes, twin pools of crimson malice, bored into me.
"Proof, then," I countered, the Imperial Scepter humming with barely contained power in my grip. Its weight felt strangely comforting against the sickening stench that permeated the chamber – a coppery tang, laced with the acrid bite of decay. "A battle will reveal who is truly worthy."
His laughter, a grotesque parody of mirth, echoed off the damp stone walls.
The sound scraped against my sanity, each syllable a barbed insult.
That metallic tang… I recognized it.
The reek of carnage, the stench of death clinging to the 444th, 666th, and 999th floors… the battlefields of those perpetually warring races.
This pool of blood… it wasn't just blood; it was a testament to their endless, pointless conflict.
"You dare challenge me? Zeta's insignificant sorcerer, daring to face Cassian, the Bloodmon? Pathetic! A weakling, clinging to a mortal existence, starved for the blood that grants true power!" His voice cracked, a terrifying blend of rage and manic glee. "I know it was you! You, who orchestrated the cessation of the orcish and elven wars after the 1111th floor! You've choked the flow of immortal blood!"
The truth hit me like a physical blow. This wasn't just a pool of blood; it was the lifeblood of the tower itself, a grotesque harvest of war, sustained by the ceaseless slaughter of elves and orcs.
I scanned the air, sensing the pulsing mana, a chaotic torrent, undeniably elven and orcish in its essence.
My assumption solidified, a bitter pill to swallow.
Cassian's wild-eyed frenzy confirmed it.
This wasn't his blood; it was the stolen life force of countless victims, fueling his unnatural existence.
"That blood isn't yours, Cassian," I ground out, the Fire Storm spell already taking shape, a furious maelstrom of incandescent energy forming in my hands. "It's the blood of the damned, sacrificed on the altar of this twisted, artificial war."
The heat of the spell mirrored the inferno that burned within me.
This was more than a duel; it was a reckoning.
Cassian, a nightmare sculpted in bone and shadow, loomed over me.
His eyes, twin chips of obsidian, burned with a manic glee.
He knew.
He knew I'd deciphered the ritual playing out on this crimson lake, a lake reflecting the hellish sunset in its churning depths.
"So you know," he hissed, each syllable a venomous drop. His voice, a rasping whisper that scraped against my sanity, echoed across the blood-soaked stones. "You, a mortal, a pathetic speck of dust, presume to understand the price of immortality? The ceaseless war, the brutal, endless fight… the death! This tower, a monument to our ambition, dripping with the mana of fallen warriors, a harvest gleaned from the very marrow of their bones! All for our immortality! For our heaven! You… mortals… you can't comprehend!" His spittle, a hot, stinging rain, landed on my cheek.
The metallic taste burned.
The urge to end him, to shatter his vile confidence, surged through me, a white-hot inferno that threatened to consume me.
It wasn't merely rage; it was a righteous fury, fueled by the weight of his arrogance, the stench of his centuries of bloodshed.
Thankfully, the System agreed.
This wasn't just a fight for survival; it was a System-sanctioned quest, a divinely ordained cleansing.
This wasn't just about me anymore; it was about ending Cassian's reign of terror and the slaughter that stained this cursed lake crimson.
> Quest Activated: Defeat Cassian The Bloodmon Vampire!
The instant my fingers tightened on the trigger, unleashing the Fire Storm, Cassian blurred.
A crimson phantom, faster than thought, a visceral violation of my senses.
The air itself screamed as the inferno erupted, a searing tide of fire that consumed the crimson lake, boiling the blood-red water into a hellish mist.
But before the storm could fully detonate, he was there.
A brutal, bone-jarring kick, the raw power of it shattering my magical barrier like glass, throwing me back into the churning chaos.
The Fire Storm fizzled, a pathetic whimper against his might. "Amusement for an immortal?" Cassian's laughter, a chilling rasp, echoed across the ravaged landscape. "Is this the best mortals can offer?" The blood around him, slick and pulsing, writhed, drawn inexorably to him, a grotesque tide feeding his insatiable hunger.
His movements then accelerated, a terrifying doubling of speed.
One moment he was there, a predator poised to strike; the next, a phantom crossing the distance.
Another blow, the impact a physical blow to my soul.
My barrier, already fractured, buckled under the onslaught.
I was hurled back, the taste of blood – my own, I feared – filling my mouth.
With this impossible speed, any spell requiring a fraction of a second to cast was suicide.
Panic clawed at me.
I scrambled to my feet, desperate, whispering the incantation for Magical Magnification.
As Cassian lunged, fangs bared, ready to drain the life from me, I unleashed Return to Earth. The earth itself groaned under the spell's power.
A titanic force dragged Cassian down, ripping a chasm through the blood-soaked lake, the tortured groan of his bones a sickening counterpoint to the earth's shuddering fury.
His back, grotesquely twisted, snapped under the crushing weight.
Victory, fleeting and fragile.
I launched myself skyward, the Air Walk spell carrying me above the devastation, a desperate bid for escape.
I started to prepare Magical Magnification for a preemptive strike.
But as I prepared, a shudder of fear ran through me.
Cassian emerged from the abyss, a terrifying sight against the crimson waters.
The blood around him, no longer a simple flow, coalesced into razor-sharp blades, aimed squarely at my heart.
He drank deeply from the lake, the crimson liquid renewing his ravaged body with unholy speed.
The grotesque repair was instant, bone knitting back together, flesh reforming, the power of this immortal predator sickeningly clear.
"Pathetic attempts!" he roared, his voice echoing with maniacal glee. "Taste my wrath, mortal!" Hundreds of blood blades streaked towards me, a storm of crimson death.
I countered with Strengthened Ice Javelins, amplified by Magical Magnification, a hail of glacial spears meeting his bloody onslaught.
The collision was deafening, a maelstrom of ice and blood, a terrifying spectacle of equally matched power.
But even as the ice and blood shattered, the fragments reformed, sharpened, hundreds of new projectiles hurtling towards me, a horrifying, relentless rain of death.
The fight wasn't over.
It had just begun.
The crimson torrent – Cassian's blood-spell – erupted, a maelstrom of lethal projectiles too fast to track. My magical barrier, a shimmering shield of desperate hope, buckled under the onslaught.
A searing pain, the metallic tang of blood in my mouth, the sickening *thunk* of impact against my gut.
Each bullet felt like a hammer blow, pulverizing my defenses, tearing gaping holes in my very being.
The stench of iron filled my nostrils, a brutal counterpoint to the acrid bite of the mana potion I choked down, its fiery burn a temporary solace against the agony.
Magical Magnification screamed in protest as I frantically rebuilt my barrier, a frantic dance against oblivion, a desperate prayer to buy myself time.
The world swam in a blurry haze of pain and terror; my breath rasped in ragged gasps as I gulped down a health potion, the sweet, sickly liquid doing little to ease the nauseating wave that threatened to drown me.
Silence.
A terrifying silence punctuated only by the frantic hammering of my heart.
The crimson barrage ceased.
Cassian, too, needed a moment to replenish his unholy arsenal.
His voice, when it came, was a chilling caress, laced with venomous amusement.
"I sense no desperate yearning for immortality in you, mortal. Odd, for one who braves this charnel house. What, then, draws you to this sacred – or should I say sacrificial – wellspring of miracle water? Is it a lover's desperate plea? A child's fading breath?" The words dripped with a cruel, calculated mockery.
"My reasons are my own," I snarled, my voice raw with defiance. "And I will have the miracle water."
A chilling smirk played on his lips. "So, you'd sacrifice countless lives – elves, orcs, humans – for your own selfish gain? You'd willingly bathe in the blood of innocents?" His eyes, ice-cold and predatory, bored into mine.
The truth, a bitter pill, settled in my gut. The shimmering pool of miracle water – it wasn't a gift from the gods; it was a grotesque harvest of death.
This abandoned tower – a macabre arena where Cassian's twisted ambition played out.
He, the self-proclaimed guardian, had orchestrated this carnage, feeding on the very lifeblood of his victims to fuel his own twisted quest for immortality.
His swift recovery, the terrifying power of his blood-spells – they were the undeniable proof.
He possessed everything but the prize he craved.
His next words were a chilling paradox, a deceptively casual offer laced with sinister undertones.
"I could give you the miracle water, freely. Even the gate back to your world. A simple exchange. No need for this...bloodbath."
His gaze, though seemingly relaxed, held the predatory gleam of a serpent.
The air crackled with an unspoken threat; a promise of something far more terrifying than the bloody battle that had just passed.
His offer was a poisoned chalice, and I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that accepting it would be an even greater folly than refusing.
The acrid stench of decay clung to the air, thick as the vampire's lies.
"A gate back to Earth," Cassian purred, his voice a silken whisper that scraped against my raw nerves. "A generous offer, wouldn't you say? A deal?" His eyes, twin chips of obsidian, glittered with predatory amusement.
The image of my mother, her breath shallow, her skin paper-thin, burned behind my eyelids.
Arlene's pale face, her whimpering silence echoing in my ears.
The miracle water, the only hope, shimmered just out of reach.
But the sweetness of his words curdled on my tongue.
His smile, a grotesque parody of hospitality, hid a hunger that gnawed at the very foundations of the Abandoned Tower.
I felt the prickle of his malice, a chilling presence that vibrated through the stone floor.
This wasn't generosity; it was a trap, sprung with the precision of a viper's strike.
"Your 'generosity' is a joke, vampire," I snarled, the taste of bile rising in my throat.
My hands throbbed with the power surging through me, a tempest brewing within.
Raging Tempest and Flame Storm coalesced, a maelstrom of fire and wind taking shape behind me.
This wasn't just a spell; it was a scream of defiance.
Cassian's smirk widened, a cruel, knowing curve of his lips. "Greed? You accuse me? You, who forced alliances, crushed opponents, and climbed this tower on the backs of others! Sylvana's fear, Elanor's despair – they fueled your ascent, didn't they? Azhog's desperate hope, a pawn in your ruthless game. You're no different, a monster cloaked in the guise of righteous fury. You just call your greed 'love'." His words, like icy shards, pierced through my carefully constructed facade.
"What are you playing at, Cassian?" I ground out, my voice a low growl.
"This miracle blood," he hissed, his voice dripping with a venomous confidence, "is the Tower's lifeblood. Destroy it, and you destroy the cure. My existence, this accursed place… they are the price of its creation." He paused, his eyes blazing with a terrifying certainty.
The weight of his words slammed into me, the horrifying truth of his twisted factory searing itself onto my soul.
The promise to Azhog, to Sylvana, to Elanor – the weight of their broken trust pressed down on me like a physical burden.
Freedom, a promise I'd shattered in my desperate pursuit of survival.
Greed?
Fuck greed.
I'd trade my soul for the miracle water, for my family's survival.
The cost be damned.
With a guttural roar, I utilized the dragon casting spell.
The magic flared, a colossal dragon's head of fire and wind materializing behind me – a breathtaking spectacle of raw, destructive power magnified tenfold. The earth trembled beneath the impact of my fury.
This wasn't just a fight for survival, it was a war for redemption, waged in a hellish tower, against a vampire who mirrored the darkest parts of myself.
> Utilized Dragon Casting Spell!
> Fire Storm Spell Imbued!
> Raging Tempest Spell Imbued!
> Combination Spell: Wheel of Inferno ready!
>Active Skill:
Lightning BoltGaia EndowmentDivine ThunderFire StormMana DrainIce JavelinFrost BiteReturn to EarthMagical MagnificationInvisible
>Passive Skill:
Fire Pillar - Fire PilgrimMana RegenerationHealth RegenerationThe Eye of SorcererAir Walk
> Dragon Spell Casting:
Dragon Beam BreathWheel of Inferno
The incantation ripped from my throat – Wheel of Inferno! – unleashing a screaming vortex of fire and wind.
The crimson lake, Cassian within it, shrieked as the spell tore through, a searing, slashing gale that evaporated the blood to a suffocating red mist.
The heat blasted my eyes, a blinding, infernal furnace that choked the air with the stench of burnt flesh and ozone.
Even as the lake became cracked earth, hissing with residual steam, the acrid tang of blood clung to my nostrils.
My gut twisted.
Rhaegar's ghost echoed in my mind – this was the lesson, etched in the reeking earth: even annihilation wasn't victory against an enemy this… cunning.
The system notification had been a cruel grace; I'd tasted defeat before and the bitterness still lingered.
Then, a miracle.
Pure, crystalline water welled up from the scorched earth, replacing the bloody mire.
Its cool aura, a phantom caress against my burning skin, promised healing.
A shimmering hope bloomed, a chance to create the miracle cure my family so desperately needed.
But the illusion shattered.
Within minutes, the pristine water recolored, the purity corrupted by a creeping crimson tide.
A sickening wave of dread washed over me as I traced the mana flow, its rhythm a perverse heartbeat mirroring the celestial horror above: the malevolent red moon.
Cassian's power wasn't blood… it was the moon itself.
Before the realization fully formed, a blur of motion, a feral snarl – Cassian.
His teeth, needle-sharp fangs glistening under the infernal light, tore into my barrier.
A primal rage fueled his assault; claws, fists, and feet pummeled my defenses, each blow a sledgehammer shattering my carefully crafted wards.
The stench of blood – his blood – filled the air.
Panic clawed at my throat.
The Magical Magnification barely held; those teeth could cleave my throat with ease.
Return to Earth!
Gravity's crushing weight slammed him towards the earth, but his final strike, a desperate, rabid bite, tore through my weakening barrier, latching onto my robes.
We plummeted, the world a blur of red and black, into the re-formed pool of blood.
Suffocation choked me.
The foul liquid filled my mouth, burned my lungs.
The taste of blood, thick and metallic, filled my senses, a final horrifying communion with my nemesis.
I was drowning in his power, his cursed, lunar blood.
> Warning! The Blood of Vampire had disrupted your flow of mana!
> Some Active Spell will be weakened due to the disruption!
"THE FUCK?!"
The cursed blood—a searing tide of crimson—wasn't just overwhelming; it was consuming me.
My senses, amplified to a shriek, recorded every frantic heartbeat, every ragged breath, every icy prickle of fear.
The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, a coppery scream against the bitter taste of betrayal.
My own blood roared in my ears, a furious drumbeat against the onslaught.
"How's the blood, mortal?" Cassian's laughter, a chilling rasp, slithered into my ears, a venomous serpent coiled around my sanity. His eyes, twin chips of obsidian, glittered with a manic triumph. "Good, isn't it? The power! The lust! The intoxicating rage! Immortality! Eternity! Mine!" His words were a whip, each syllable a searing blow.
This wasn't just a vampire; it was a predator, savoring his kill.
Fury, raw and untamed, ignited within me.
A brutal kick to his sneering face, a desperate bid for freedom.
I burst from his grasp, the crimson lake a swirling vortex of pain and power.
Each gasping lungful of air burned like fire in my throat.
Air Walk—a desperate incantation ripped from my soul—a desperate scramble for air.
The spell tore at my already ravaged body; a searing agony that threatened to shatter me.
Reaching the surface, the silence was a deceptive calm, a lull before the storm.
A cold dread washed over me.
Cassian's absence was a more terrifying prospect than his presence.
Then, the shadow—a vast, malevolent eclipse—consumed the moonlit sky.
The wave of blood, a towering crimson tsunami, crashed down upon me.
I clawed, I struggled, a pathetic insect against a monstrous tide.
The taste of iron filled my mouth, overwhelming even the lingering coppery tang.
I was tossed, tumbled, shredded, the churning blood a vortex of agony.
Then, an icy grip—the blood froze around me, a crystalline tomb.
Only my head and one hand remained free, exposed to the freezing night air, a macabre tableau.
Cassian hovered before me, a silhouette against the frozen crimson landscape, his smirk a cruel masterpiece.
"Spellcasting? So…pedestrian," he sneered, his voice laced with condescending amusement. "The blood… it awakened something within you, mortal. A brutality you never knew you possessed. A hunger…"
He traced a cold finger across my neck, his fangs glinting. "Join me. Embrace your destiny. Your greed, your strength… they're a treasure I can't resist. You will be mine, eternally mine." His fangs tore into my flesh.
The rush of blood, the surge of adrenaline, the obliteration of pain—all faded into a void of pure, terrifying agony.
My heart hammered a final, frantic rhythm against the encroaching darkness, as the chilling promise of eternal servitude filled my soul.
Defiance surged, a desperate invocation of Gaia's Endowment blessing – a futile attempt to shatter the icy crimson bonds constricting me.
The spell, corrupted by the vampiric taint, proved impotent. My frantic struggle against this cursed, frozen blood was a pathetic, hopeless dance.
> Warning! The Blood of Vampire had disrupted your flow of mana!
> You no longer can use Active Spell!
> Warning! Your Health Power significantly decreasing to 20%!
>Active Skill:
Lightning Bolt
>Passive Skill:
Fire Pillar - Fire PilgrimMana RegenerationHealth RegenerationThe Eye of SorcererAir Walk
> Dragon Spell Casting:
Dragon Beam Breath
NO!
My spells, *gone*!
The searing taste of betrayal burns my throat – how could I be so helpless?!
This… this bloodsucking fiend will make me his puppet, I can feel it!
The Imperial Scepter slips from my numb fingers, the weight of its loss a crushing blow.
My Last Resort, shattered.
Empty.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?!
Fragments of memory, sharp shards of agonizing defeat, pierce my mind.
Rhaegar, my father, alive, but a ghost.
A callous, indifferent specter who almost killed me with that cursed black dagger.
The image of his sneering face, the icy chill of the blade…
The rage, a volcanic eruption fueled by vampire venom and incandescent fury, boils my blood.
But wait… the black dagger… the one he used to leave me for dead…
My hand trembles as I access my inventory.
There it is; The Black Dagger.
The cold, slick metal a familiar, horrifying comfort.
Even with my weakened grip, I wrench the dagger free, replacing the useless scepter.
The vampire's blood – a tide of corrupt power – surges through my veins, strengthening my muscles, sharpening my senses to a razor's edge.
The dagger bites into Cassian's flesh.
A guttural snarl escapes him, his mocking laughter cut short by a choked gasp.
The crimson flow from his wound… it's turning black.
The stench of decay fills the air, a sickeningly sweet perfume of death.
He claws at his neck, his screams a raw, animalistic howl as his veins darken, mirroring the horrifying transformation of his blood.
With a wrench that tears at my flesh, I pull the dagger free.
The frozen red tide of his cursed blood, the source of his power, begins to crack, the icy grip releasing its hold.
I thrust the dagger deep into his chest, silencing his agonizing cries.
The crimson flood ebbs, the black blood draining the unnatural power from his veins, leaving behind only the dull, weak pulse of a dying creature.
The frozen blood shatters, melting into ordinary water.
The color returns to his blood, a grim reminder of his fading power.
This cursed blood… it hasn't broken me.
I stand, dripping with his black ichor, my breath ragged but triumphant.
Rhaegar, I whisper, the name a venomous curse.
You will pay for this.
I will escape this hellhole and hunt you down.
I will have my vengeance!