The Vampiric Trial

Arin stood motionless in front of the now silent vampiric head. Various thoughts—those about this world's history—raced in his mind.

In the game's lore, many graphic details had been added by them to make it more realistic and lifelike. One such detail was the vampires.

In the primordial era, only humans and spiritual beasts lived. Initially, there were peaceful relations between the two species, but everything changed on that one fated day.

It was said that something—something that could defy anything and everything in existence—had happened to land in humanity's hands. The two races, who once lived in synergy, turned into bete noires.

A fight for survival broke out between the two sides. Entire countries turned to ruin, and rivers of blood flowed everywhere they fought.

The humans of the past were weaker than those of the present; they couldn't use magic. This fatal weakness had started to turn against them, and for some reason, they didn't use the fate-defying item they had chanced upon.

Tardily, humankind dwindled, its territories being captured one after another. In a desperate attempt at survival, a sealed technique was reused. It could turn humans into a being much more powerful—and extremely deadly creatures: Vampires.

Fearing their own creation, the humans afflicted several restrictions on them. And as the war ended, the very vampires who had allowed them to live were treated like devils, bound and tortured.

Forced into chambers lower than those of mounts, starved of the very blood that fueled their lives, and suffering brutalities whose mention could chill the most stoic hearts. In an attempt to seal the vampires, humans had turned worse than them. In dread of the dreaded, they had become a source of dread.

---

Arin wanted to think that this was only a game—but his heart betrayed his mind. As someone who had endured similar torment, a profound sense of empathy dominated his heart. This was only sympathy, however.

The vampires of today were just as heartless, punishing the present because of the past, which was in no way acceptable.

"Now is not the time for this," he said, diverting his mind from the topic and focusing on getting out of this place.

Assuming it was still a non-combat trial despite the abnormalities, the vampire's words most likely were a hint to solving the puzzle.

"Only with their vitality shall my soul attain fleeting peace," quoting the vampire's words, Arin pondered on them.

"Theirs means humans', so is he asking for a human's life? No! Vampires don't EAT humans." Arin disregarded his conjecture.

While his brain raced through various thoughts, he noticed the walls of the room closing in, ever so slightly. Their pace mocked his psyche.

"Vampires need....." Arin repeated the words in his mind.

"Blood!" His face lit up. "Of course, it's blood. Why did that take so much time?"

Retrieving his hairpin, Arin used it to prick a tiny wound in his finger. Immediately going near the statue's mouth, he aimed the lethargic blood flow into it.

A sigh seemed to escape the vampire's mouth, his entire face contorting and turning into bloody mist. A symbol revealed itself below and began to emanate sharp light, the wall opening like a gate in disguise.

---

In a room that seemed like the carbon copy of Arin's trial room, someone who looked like an adolescent boy opened his eyes tardily, the vision in front concealed by pure darkness.

He saw orbs of light appear from nowhere, revealing the chamber's appearance and the vampiric head. But its terrifying appearance had no effect on the spirit's mind, an expression of detest showing on his face instead.

His purple gleamers shifted to an unseen hue, vestiges of soft sky-blue rays pierced out of his orbs of sight, invading the creature's eyes.

The creature, once wrathful, had turned passive—to the point where his harrowing fangs were hidden away by him, and pernicious gestures now ceased.

A cadence of chants in a foreign tongue escaped the spirit's lips, causing sudden trepidation, fear, to consume the vampire's face. His visage elicited resistance, his countenance screamed unwillingness, but it was futile. The beast's figure converted into crimson mist, diffusing into the area.

This was another skill of the spirit, Infatuation's Ruin. A technique that first turned the target into the caster's pawn, making his heart, soul, and body submit to the caster. And when the target's infatuation was at its peak, the hex would force the intended target to end his own life.

It could work on any gender, any race, and any person, providing he doesn't exceed the caster's power level. It was a ruthless technique, something that should be utilized if and only if the target deserved such an end.

After the mist disappeared completely, the wall opened in the middle, and the spirit walked into the next place.

---

Inside another room, sounds of clashes could be heard. A group of insanely fast vampiric beasts could be seen going neck and neck with a scythe's offensive barrage. Their dim black bodies covered in silver fur resembled the Necrowolves, but the gleaming horns that reflected the orb's light and their fangs, which were a foot long, indicated otherwise.

Nocterin wasn't aware of the rules of this place and directly slashed the vampire. While the appalling creature died, these monstrous wolf-like creatures took its place.

Their bodies bespoke eternal stamina, as if they were utterly indefatigable. Their numbers also seemed inexhaustible; his scythe had probably decapitated tens of wolf heads, yet their throng still appeared daunting.

Wanting to clear this place as soon as possible and ensure the prince's safety, Nocterin decided to put his scythe aside.

His sudden heroic stance, a threat to the already cautious wolves. The warrior's eyes closed, his hair changing color, from mahogany to silver. The entirety of the surrounding quaked as if this sudden shift afflicted too much weight for it to bear, shockwaves went off—in both air and through the ground.

Ripples of pitch-black energies coalesced into a blade's outline, streaks of burgundy beleaguering the wolves. A sudden attraction pulled them instantly to the vortex of energies around the blade. Their bodies struck each other as they grasped at straws to escape the predicament.

The blade started to rotate rapidly on its axis, giving birth to chaotic ripples that appeared to tear the air itself. Shrieks sounded as the wolves turned into mush, their remains nothing more than paste of meat and bones.