DARK_KING75

Centuries ago, the Bloodmoon Clan reigned as protectors of balance — feared for their unmatched power and cursed bloodline. But power breeds enemies. Betrayed by those they once defended, the clan was wiped out in a single night… or so the world believed.

Now, in the year 3000, war looms again. Kingdoms rise and fall, hunting the last echo of Bloodmoon’s power — a hidden heir with a blade forged in ancient blood. Hunted by kings, haunted by his past, and unsure of his destiny, one boy must awaken the blood within… or watch the world burn without him.

But the Bloodmoon does not rise without a cost.
And this time… it won’t set without vengeance.

BLOOD MOON : THE LAST LINEAGE

Chapter 14 – The Blood That Dreams

The night was quiet, but Min's eyes shot open. The stillness of the room clashed with the storm brewing in his chest. Sweat rolled down his temple. He sat up in bed, heart pounding like a war drum. He hadn't dreamed in years.

A pressure dragged him back. Darkness swallowed the room. In an instant, the floor beneath him cracked like broken glass, and Min found himself in the middle of a blood-soaked battlefield, moonlight spilling red from the sky.

Opposite him stood an army of twisted figures, their bodies malformed, blood pulsing visibly through their pale skin, mouths stretched too wide, eyes glowing white. They were failed experiments—abandoned Blood Moon creations.

Min's fists clenched, blood swirling around his arms like a serpent.

With a snap of his fingers, Blood Needles rained from the air, impaling the first wave. But they didn't stop. One clawed his shoulder, another struck his jaw, and Min staggered back, his mouth dripping crimson.

He unleashed a scream, and the blood from the dead pooled into the air, forming a massive blade—Crimson Fang. In one sweeping slash, he cleaved through twenty at once.

"YOU DARE to face the Blood Vampire?" His voice echoed with ancient fury.

The monsters melted, and a single figure stood ahead. Clad in shadows, crowned with horns of bone, its chest marked with a glowing red sigil. Min's own sigil.

The figure raised its head. It wore his face, only twisted, darker, primal.

"You forgot what you are," the thing said, stepping forward, dragging a blade made of black flame. "You fear your past. You hide behind that boy… Patrick."

Blade met blade, blood met flame, sky roared open. Every strike from the dark Min felt like memory, shame, and power combined. He was losing ground. He grunted as he was slammed into the ground, bones rattling.

"When the blood stirs… I shall awaken."

Back in his chamber. Gasping. The moonlight still red.

He looked down—his hand was bleeding, even though nothing had touched him.

A mark glowed faintly on his palm.

And in his mind… the voice lingered.

the blood that dreams