My Blood Legacy: Reincarnated as a Vampire

"This is impossible…" Lucifer murmured, his voice trembling with disbelief as he fell to his knees. His sword, once a symbol of absolute power, was reduced to shards, and his once-invincible body was now marred with deep cuts, blood streaming in scarlet rivers.

"That's enough of this nonsense," Astaroth said coldly, her voice void of any mercy as she pointed her sword directly at Lucifer's head, the blade gleaming menacingly. "Just die already."

The silence that followed was thick with tension. Hell itself seemed to hold its breath, as if the very plane knew something monumental was about to unfold. Lucifer, however, didn't immediately respond. Instead, a low, unsettling laugh began to escape his lips.

"Fufufu…" The sound grew, disturbing and filled with malice, enough to make even Astaroth falter.

"What are you laughing at, you bastard?" Astaroth snarled, pressing the blade closer to him. But before she could act, a chill ran down her spine. She felt something cold and deadly at the back of her neck. A hand.

Slowly, with wide eyes, Astaroth turned her head to see what she hoped wasn't real. A female figure stood behind her. Her presence was overwhelming, as powerful as it was seductive. Her purple hair cascaded like a nocturnal river, her crimson skin stark against the dark, demonic aura that enveloped her. She wore a blood-red dress that seemed to be crafted from coagulated blood, every stitch enhancing her voluptuous and lethal form.

But it was her eyes that held Astaroth captive. Two gleaming rubies set against an abyssal black, they pierced into the soul, exposing secrets and weaknesses no one could hide.

"Qliphoth?" Astaroth managed to whisper, her voice trembling in shock. 'How is she back so soon? She shouldn't even be here!'

The woman tilted her head, a malicious smile curling her deep red lips. "Oh, dear Astaroth, have you forgotten me so quickly?" Her voice was melodic, yet each word cut like a blade. "That's disappointing."

Before Astaroth could react, Qliphoth's hand tightened around her neck, lifting her off the ground effortlessly. Astaroth struggled, her sword clattering to the ground as she tried in vain to break free from the unrelenting grip.

"Lucifer… you're as pathetic as ever," Qliphoth said, turning her burning gaze to the fallen angel. "Always so predictable. Always fighting against your fate, only to crawl back to me in the end."

"I… I'm not…" Lucifer tried to protest, but his words faltered. He knew he didn't have the strength to defy her. Not now.

Qliphoth released Astaroth, who crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, and began walking slowly toward Lucifer. Every step she took echoed through the air, as if Hell itself trembled in rhythm with her stride.

"Look at you, Lucifer," Qliphoth said, her voice laced with contempt and satisfaction. "The great King of Hell, reduced to this. Pathetic. And to think I once considered helping you free me from this place."

She knelt before him, grasping his chin with a deceptive gentleness, though the strength in her touch was undeniable. "You should be grateful that I'm here to put an end to this."

But even in his miserable state, Lucifer found the strength to meet her gaze. "I… am still… the true King… of Hell."

Qliphoth let out a chilling laugh, equal parts charming and cruel. "Ah, poor Lucifer. You've clung to that pitiful lie for so long, haven't you?" She stood, her black wings unfurling in a display of absolute dominance. With an elegant motion, she raised her hand. A black flame began to form in her palm, swirling and growing, pulsing with a dense, destructive energy.

"Now, allow me to ease your suffering," she murmured, her voice dripping with mockery. "I'll take care of you the way a Queen deals with a useless servant."

Yet, as everyone braced for his imminent demise, something unexpected happened. Qliphoth didn't unleash the destructive energy upon Lucifer. Instead, she directed it at him in an entirely different way. The black flames began to envelop Lucifer's body, not destroying but restoring him. Every wound closed, every cut vanished, and the glow of his strength slowly returned.

"Stand," she commanded, her voice as cold as ice. "Keep fighting until I'm done recovering. I have no time for these childish games."

Lucifer, still dazed, looked at her with a mix of confusion and hatred. But before he could say anything, the air shifted. Qliphoth froze for a moment, her ruby eyes narrowing. A terrifying sensation cut through her like a blade—something she hadn't felt in eons.

"Damn it!" she shouted, her voice booming like thunder. In an instant, she vanished, leaving only the echo of her presence behind.

Qliphoth reappeared in a distant place, at the base of her true form: the colossal Qliphoth Tree that anchored her existence. Her once-confident expression now showed pure disbelief. She quickly merged with the tree, feeling its energy flow into her, expanding her consciousness and amplifying her power.

"This can't be right… Can it?!" Her voice, usually so steady, was now laced with a mix of disbelief and panic.

As she connected to the core of her body, she felt it. It was unmistakable. A presence that should not exist in this realm. A presence she believed had been consumed by Hell itself.

She felt him.

"The impossible…" she whispered, her words trembling with dread. Qliphoth sensed the man she had underestimated—the one whose resilience she had deemed incapable of surviving even ten minutes in Hell. And yet, he was here. Not just alive, but leaving destruction in his wake.

This man had just purged a divine soul. He had eliminated a god. More than that, he had annihilated Infernal guardians, beings thought invulnerable as they protected the layers of Hell, consuming entire circles in his relentless march.

"He's coming," Qliphoth murmured to herself, her tone wavering between fascination and sheer terror. "That damned… Dante."

The entire Qliphoth Tree seemed to shudder at the mention of his name. Enjoy more content from empire

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The atmosphere around Dante shifted dramatically as he crossed the threshold into the Fifth Circle of Hell. The air was dense, almost solid, as if each breath required immense effort. A suffocating heat mixed with clinging humidity, creating an environment oppressively stifling. The ground beneath him was a blend of black sand and boiling sludge, while the horizon was obscured by a crimson mist that seemed alive, writhing and twisting like furious serpents.

Dante took a step forward, his spear resting on his shoulder, his expression cold and calculating. The Fifth Circle was known for punishing the wrathful and uncontrollable. The echoes of screams filled the air—screams of rage and pain from souls locked in endless combat, clawing, biting, and tearing each other apart in a boiling mire of pitch.

"What a pathetic sight," Dante muttered, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene before him. He knew this was only the beginning. Each layer was more brutal than the last, but nothing had managed to stop him so far. His presence exuded an unnatural aura, as if Hell itself recognized him as something foreign, something that did not belong but could not be ignored.

As he pressed forward, a figure emerged from the crimson mist ahead. It was tall and imposing, with coal-black skin and eyes that glowed like embers. The being's massive frame was clad in crude, twisted iron armor, and it wielded a gargantuan spiked mace, each spike dripping with a glowing green liquid that hissed as it fell to the ground.

"You dare to advance into the Fifth Circle, mortal?" the figure thundered, its voice reverberating like an earthquake. "I am Azazel, guardian of this circle, and you will be crushed like all those who came before me!"

'So, you were here… the Sin of Wrath.'

Dante stopped, tilting his head slightly as he studied the demon before him. A cold smile curled his lips. "Azazel, is it? You look big, strong… and incredibly stupid. Don't disappoint me."

Azazel roared, his fury exploding into a wave of heat that distorted the air around him. He raised his massive mace and brought it down with devastating force, shattering the ground and sending shards of stone and molten lava flying. But Dante had already moved. In the blink of an eye, he was at the demon's side, his spear spinning in a lethal arc.

The spear's tip found the edge of Azazel's armor, tearing through it effortlessly. The demon roared in pain but reacted quickly, swinging his mace in a wide horizontal arc. Dante ducked, the massive weapon whistling past his head and obliterating a nearby stone pillar.

"You're quick for someone your size," Dante remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But not quick enough."

He surged forward, his spear glowing with pulsating black energy. Azazel tried to block, but Dante was relentless, unleashing a flurry of rapid, precise strikes that carved deep gashes into the demon's flesh. The guardian staggered back, his breathing heavy and ragged.

"Is that all you've got?" Dante taunted, twirling his spear as he prepared for the finishing blow.