System Reset: Forged in Nightmare

Gregorian Calendar, 1903
Southern Carpathian Mountains, Hungary
135 Years before System Reset

As far back as the girl could remember, there'd been chains. They wrapped her wrists and ankles, trapping her to this dark cavern. They wormed beneath her mind, looser there, but that darkspawn was keeping them loose on purpose. So that they inflicted their cold on the deepest recesses of her mind with every thought. So that she perceived each moment. Each second. Each minute. Each day. Each…

Footsteps.

The girl scrambled to hide the knife. Once, they'd been foolish enough to bring her a dull one with her meal, and filing it against the link connecting her chains to the wall had become second nature to her. She wore no clothes, she hid it in a hole in the corner where the rats traveled from. The metal-barred door creaked open temptingly. They didn't even lock it when they left.

Then the doors closed and the masked man entered. He collected her untouched plate and set a fresh one in its place, a goblet beside it. Mutton. Wine. She gulped. Her throat begged. On her soul, she was thirsty.

She convulsed, reaching out, then effortfully pried her eyes from the devilish offering, spilling shameful tears.

She didn't know why she resisted that darkness. But it was important that she did. Someone had told her that. Someone important.

When the man wordlessly left, she reached for the knife and continued filing away at the chains. They were cold, so cold, and clanked when they wriggled in her mind. Almost, she liked the sound, liked the chains. Filing away at them gave her something to do. When she listened closely, the sound could fill her thoughts.

She listened, and almost didn't notice the masked man the next time he came. She quickly hid the knife behind her back. Had he seen it? If he did, he didn't question it aloud. He just took the untouched meal, set a new one down. Mutton. Wine. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine it such. And these chains that were so cold—if she but let them hug her tightly, surely they'd fill her with warmth.

She reached for the meal. Then the girl's eyes unclouded.

"You must not let darkness touch your heart, child," a voice echoed.

She looked at her hand in horror. Claws grew from her nails, her veins bulged. A knife impaled it—her knife, she had done that. She'd remembered something, from someone important. And the knife—

The pain hit her all at once.

Yet, even impaled, her hand still reached for nourishment and she bit her lip to cover the scream. She clutched her arm to her chest and groaned, sliding the knife out. If she screamed they'd know she was up to something. She was a quarter way through the chains by now, she couldn't let that happen.

She needed to escape. Her stomach bore needles into the rest of her like a sunken black pit of agony every time she looked at the offering. If she stayed here much longer…

She forced herself to think, as painful as it was. It was so cold. The masked man visited again. Again and again.

Mutton. Wine.

Severed hand. Blood.

Mutton. Wine. She could be so warm right now. If she let herself be.

The girl cried. She no longer slept. She filed away at her chains constantly, trying not to listen to the sound.

She needed to get away. If she didn't she might give in. If she didn't, her village would suffer. Old man Avran and the other elderly could only last so long without an herbalist's care. It would be winter soon.

She was only halfway through her chains.

"Datura stramonium," she muttered, "ash from an old hearth…"

"Comfrey root… wormwood, stems removed…"

She'd recited every recipe she knew, countless times over. Two-thirds of the way through now.

"Wormwood, wormwood, wormwood…"

These recipes came to her even when nothing else did. How did she know them? All she'd known for so long were the chains. They wrapped her mind, her wrists, her ankles, her…

"Grandma…" she muttered.

A quarter of the way through, the girl stopped filing. For a brief second, she knew her name. Her hands went to her face, skin wrinkled like she'd aged decades. Her nails dragged. Grandma had been wrapped in chains of blood, looking at her like she… like she'd…

The girl screamed, her shriek rising in pitch then evening out to a low, continuous moan. She laughed, then slammed her head on the stone ground. Her head was back up, looking at the mutton, then down again. She cried. Wailed. And slammed until she heard no thud and instead a wet crack. Then again—

"Oh deary me," a soft voice lilted, "she's finally broken."

A warm hand touched the girl's cheek, wiping away tears.

"You did well, child. Four months… I can't imagine what you must have gone through. No one else ever lasts that long, it must've been so painful. I'm… truly touched. And I don't say that lightly. I have a feeling we'll be companions for a long, long time, darling."

Blood streamed down the girl's split face. She rasped a single word.

"Please…? Oh yes, of course." The woman lifted the goblet to her lips, pausing. "But you've held off for so long, it's almost a shame to… Mh, alright. Let's let this just be a dream, love. A brief tryst with your new nature, a respite. Then let this darkness fall to the recesses of your mind."

The woman took a swig from the goblet. Then the girl's lips pressed something soft, and warmth glided down her throat.

* * *

The girl filed away at her chains, her stomach a pit of agony, her throat a scorched desert. She'd blacked out and it had been better for a while. Somehow, she'd summoned the will to resist again, for a time. But time continued and denied her the mercy of looking away from it. Now, her hunger was back with an all more biting desperation.

Her thirst stayed her tears, as though any drip of moisture could be the last drop separating her from a withered husk. A whole arm sat on the plate. The goblet threatened to spill with blood. She no longer had to imagine it otherwise to find it appetizing.

But she was almost done now. Choking back a sob, she stopped filing with her knife, grabbed her chains in both hands, and with pleading desperation, tugged. They snapped—more easily than she'd expected.

Shakily, she stood. The dark passage outside her cell was always empty. She was still cautious though when she peered around the stone-laid corners. It was still empty, as though they couldn't even imagine she might escape.

Almost, she couldn't imagine it herself. She'd worked so long, so hard for this. But just how long had she spent in this dark? What even awaits me out there?

Was it even worth it?

Her eyes darted back to her meal. Then her knees buckled and she collapsed, backing away from it in fear. She had to leave this place. The masked man had just just come and gone. This might be her only chance.

Supporting herself against the walls, she wandered the dungeon's dank chambers. Each limping step seared a cramping pain throughout her entire body. Twisted things were in the other cages. Things she knew were beyond saving, regardless of how her heart tugged. She didn't know the layout of this place well. She'd been in a fugue state when they'd taken her here… perceiving, but not thinking. Trapped.

She shuddered, recognizing now that there was no true warmth in that existence. Curse her to be damned, she'd be better off in the unclean one's hands than with these wicked creatures…

She hurried herself, quietly grunting through the pain. She didn't have the wherewithal to listen for voices and could only pray she wasn't caught. She came around a bend—then froze.

There were corpses. A young woman, her age. A man. They were freshly killed, sometime in the last few hours. In the dark, without her tools, she knew she shouldn't have cause to be so certain, but she could smell it. On her twisted soul, she could smell it. And she was suddenly so, so cold again.

Her fangs grew out. Her nails sharpened.

Then she bit down and pushed off the walls, running. Tears did fall then—her throat so parched, so constricted, that she could hardly breathe.

Her chains clattered noisily behind her, still tied to her manacles. If the bodies were fresh, then there must be others here. Strigoi. But she was awake again and the memories of that mindless state she'd been in came back in horrid floods, allowing her to navigate the corridors. Luckily, this place wasn't a maze, and before long, she came to an opening.

Fresh air.

The mountain-side cave opened up to a forest. She didn't stop. It was night, she stubbed her toes and scrambled over uneven ground. She didn't even know where she was, where she was heading, but she couldn't stop. She couldn't let herself be taken back there.

She collected gashes across her entire body in her rush. Her skin hugged her bones, her ribs now had twice the depth of her stomach, and yet she pushed herself. She ran for what felt like ages.

Until a small whimper caught her attention. A soft hic.

Her eyes darted. She had the instinct to run and hide, but what she saw had her stepping out from the bushes instead.

"...Children?" she rasped.

Two boys and three girls, still in their night-wear.

"What are you doing here? Yo-you can't be out here! You need to—"

The girl stopped. They looked at her—naked, chained, grimy—and one started crying. The others looked around in confusion, scared. They muttered something in hungarian.

The girl panicked, she didn't know what to do. Grandma would've known what to—But Grandma wasn't there. The girl… she had to be strong in her place.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and knelt down, trying to smile. She took the crying child's hand between both her own—shocked and taken aback at her succulent warmth—and said, "Trust."

She pointed back the way she'd come saying "Danger", then repeated "Trust", pointing at herself, leading them away. They were young enough that her limited vocabulary did the trick. She herded the girl and the rest slowly followed after. But too slowly.

Time slowed down, cold and painful again as they waded through the forest. It made the girl think. Made her question. Why? What were these children doing out here in the middle of the forest? Why now?

Vaguely, she began to remember that she'd been visited before she'd blacked out. It was the wicked one. She must have seen her knife. But if she'd seen it, why would she let her keep it?

Thinking hurt. It made the girl so cold. She was frigid now. Something rustled in the bushes the way she'd come from, farther than her ears should hear. The child she held the hand of screamed, and the girl looked down to find the veins on her hand bulging.

She gasped, letting go. "I—I'm sorry, I…"

The child's hand was ripe, bruised purple from her grip.

Wait— ripe?

The girl started backing away from the child in horror as her stomach squirmed. Then she heard the sound of that "something" fastly approaching again, and quickly snatched the child by her wrist.

"We need to hurry!"

They couldn't understand her words. The others backed away from her in fear.

"Please!" She begged.

The child in her grip strained to be let go of. Her flesh was so warm—

No.

The girl hurriedly let go. She folded over, so cold, her stomach cramping and collapsing in on itself. Looking up, she saw fear in the children's eyes. But also… was that pity?

Thinking became hard but it didn't matter because now the girl knew, with cold certainty. That in the same way the chains in her head had been intentionally loosened, so too had the chains in her cell. She groaned, trying to fight it.

"Run!" she screamed.

She didn't know the Hungarian word for run.

"Danger!"

She thrashed her arms wildly, claws growing out from her nails. Her vision started to redden and they finally turned to flee. That presence that had been rushing toward her was only watching now. The girl could sense it. It was her master.

One of the boys tripped and scraped his knee, oozing red.

Hunger panged—too much to resist.

Finally, the girl found warmth.

* * *

Integration, 1st Year
Nightmare, Misting Valleys, Path of Buried Ghosts
16 Days After System Reset

The girl glanced behind her at stalker number one, meditating without a care in the world. Then she looked in front of her at stalker number two, with the most fucked-up face she'd ever seen. Her blood boiled at the thought of ripping it from his skull.

Can I last a minute against this freak?

She remembered the look in Alex's eyes when he asked that. Full of dismissal, like she was an insect, and that more than gave her her answer. She didn't fear this asshole. But she could tell from his expression that he thought she did. That he thought she was powerless.

"Yeah… let's go back to square one. Maybe we can—"

"I'll do it," she had said. "I'll fucking do it, so don't you say another word! If you think I can't even do that, then just leave me in this hole and be done with it!"

She had thought he might protest or try to probe for more information, but he had left it at that. Now, there was no turning back. She shifted in front of Alex, guarding him. In her left hand, she held the dolls of both her stalkers. Her third stalker perched on a branch off to the side. Filthy crow. Is this what she wanted?

The girl squeezed the dagger in her right hand, feeling it pulse disgustingly. Then she stared at the assassin. His hand still rested on the wound on his neck, and he was staring past her at Alex. Ignoring her, even now.

"Cause I'm just a powerless thrall, is that it?"

His gaze moved to her, still blank.

"You were always there. Always at her side. Every time she woke me, you were just—"

The assassin disappeared.

the girl cursed, trying to track him in the mists. So much for buying time with her words. Was her voice really that grating? Why didn't anyone ever want to let her say her piece? After everything they did?!

"I'll kill you, you asshole!" she screamed "Stop hiding and—"

A shadow blurred from her side. Did he really think she would keep falling for—

the girl shrieked, rolling as the assassin's blade scraped her ribs through her leather armor. She severed her link with Alex immediately, but the assassin kicked her mid-roll. She gasped, the air knocked out of her, and skidded across the ground, quickly recovering. But it was already too late. He stood over her, emotionless, like always.

"Always…"

The assassin had always been there, no matter the reason she was woken. Sometimes Anne was bored and just wanted someone to talk to. Other times the girl was only a body to torture. But the worst… the worst were the times Anne was truly lonely and wanted the girl's emotions too. Her comfort… her agony. She remembered that night in the forest, reawakening to blood on her hands and the corpses of massacred children. Their taste was thick on her tongue. Anne's laughter had echoed, and right beside her… he was always there, watching impassively.

But…

the girl wheezed, hearing his footsteps stop. She looked up.

"But were you always… so hideously ugly under that mas—"

The assassin's blade blurred.

Muscle Lock

It stopped mere inches from her, his arm straining against her skill's hold. Her own muscles froze too, but her nails sharpened on her left hand where she held his doll. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep him in place.

To a point, there was nothing she could do. His will was too strong and it shattered her hold in a second flat. His blade pierced through her skull. Or it would've but she turned immaterial, letting it phase through her as she lunged in with her dagger, yelling out her rage. She wanted it to hurt. She wanted to twist it in his gut.

Neither of those things happened. The assassin summoned his own knife. It slid effortlessly against hers, and with a flick of his wrist, the Demonic Dagger was suddenly flying through the air—along with three of her fingers.

Blood squirted, and his blood invaded the wound like a parasite. The girl bit down on her lip with fangs to stop herself from screaming, piercing them through entirely. She swung with her other hand, unrelenting, her sharpened nails closing in on his throat.

With the speed of a pure-blood vampire, the assassin just whipped his hand up and effortlessly shattered her wrist. the girl scrambled back, screaming in pain and fury as his blade chased after her. It stabbed through her gut, forcing blood to well up her throat. She choked, reeling backward as he ripped it free, lining it up to take off her head.

No! It couldn't end like this. It couldn't—

Her two-fingered hand found something metal on the ground beside her—her Demonic Dagger, consuming even her own blood like a wolf lapping up prey. She had to have known she stood no chance with just her own power. So why—when her dagger had been taken from her, why had she felt relieved?

"No… this isn't what I…"

The sword came for her neck, and the girl's vision blurred. Then it stopped.

Almost the assassin seemed to hesitate. He knelt and picked up the doll she had made of him. He stared at it, his face spasming where there shouldn't have been muscles. Then he saw the other doll—the one of Alex—and his gaze flicked to where he stood, undefended.

"Wait just a…" the girl wheezed between breaths. "...look at me! Don't ignore—"

He stepped past her like she was nothing. Just a powerless thrall, a stupid slave who couldn't even take the first step toward revenge. Powerless. Weak. Nothing but a flesh bag for them to violate.

"Wait…"

She crawled toward him, her innards spilling over dirt and dry grass. She wanted the pain to stop, but if she used the potion now, the healing wouldn't take effect.

She watched the assassin through blurry eyes. Wait, no… what are you doing?!

A thin blade appeared in the assassin's hand, and his arm blurred. Her wrist was still mangled, but in panic she desperately gripped the fabric of his pant legging. The throwing knife he sent went off course, shooting straight through Alex's shoulder with incredible momentum. His eyes twitched beneath their lids, and the girl's blood boiled.

She found his doll in the grass and pinched it with her bloody hand. Her dagger in the other, she groaned as she forced herself to her feet, placing herself between the assassin and Alex.

The assassin's eyes finally saw her. She stared back, defiant, pissed beyond belief. Her eyes were probably as red as his right now, weren't they? Vampires… Every single one… she needed to…

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The girl steadied herself then re-tethered her link with Alex. She gritted her teeth as a hole appeared in her shoulder, matching the one in his. The assassin faded into mist again, and she bared her fangs with a bloodstained sneer.

* * *

While Gloomy held against the bloodmist assassin, Alex was focused inward, on the core of his being. He'd emptied his mind of all his worldly senses and concerns, focusing solely on his objective.

He was slowly getting used to the assassin's swordsmanship, but his initial instincts had been correct. As he was now, he couldn't defeat him in a straightforward fight. He'd needed something else—not necessarily a new technique or runic formation, but something he already had. Something simple…

Yet devastatingly effective.

Core recognized.

…

Requirements to upgrade Enchant to Adept Rank have been met.

Enchant has upgraded to Adept Rank.

Enchantments can now be activated from a distance

His focus was spread over the entire mountain, on all the engraving he'd left in the barks of its trees. It helped that they were all the same rune—and didn't require a formation—but tying them together to a single activation strained him thin.

Suddenly Alex winced in pain, his focus crumbling. Something sharp had pierced straight through his shoulder. The killing intent he had been ignoring penetrated his consciousness. Threads of mana fled from his grasp.

Shit. He'd been wrong to trust this to Gloomy. I need to—

Right when he was about to leave this state of concentration, a hand rested on his shoulder. Alex looked up and saw Laura. She smiled sweetly, shaking her head. Then her form shifted, and Nolan, his company's healer, stood there. The wound on Alex's shoulder began to close, and Nolan shot him a look that said, Let me handle this.

Or more accurately, I'll kill you if you don't.

Leaving himself open like this made Alex feel exposed, but it wasn't just Laura and Nolan. When he looked behind him, he saw his first-ever party raising their weapons with eager acceptance—Douglas, Oscar, and Julia. Beside them were Eric and the others, and before long, the darkness was filled with familiar faces. Yara. Kieran. His stealth team. The entire company he'd led.

Then it was Jordan, with his sword molten red and burning fiercely. He smiled back, lackadaisical.

"What kind of leader would I be if I didn't have my adventurer's backs? Give me a break, Alex."

When his form faded, only the silhouette of a small, beaten-down girl remained, her anger unmatched. She was the last person Alex would have expected to find even a shred of trust in, but he shook his head, refocusing and grabbing at the dissipating threads of mana with renewed vigor.

He remembered the girl's expression when she'd volunteered for this task. He didn't know why she'd worn it or for what reasons, but it was the look of someone who had resolved to sacrifice something that couldn't be replaced.

* * *

The wound on the girl's shoulder finished healing, and then the potion's potency was entirely depleted. The rip in her stomach yawned open, and her blood dripped onto the grass. Her mutilated fingers bled over her demonic dagger which she held with both hands.

The assassin launched from the mists on her left, aiming for Alex. She moved in that direction, but a glimmer of metal whipped through the air from the opposite side. Throwing herself into its path, she raised her dagger to deflect it.

The throwing knife ricocheted, embedding itself in her eye.

She screamed, yanking it out with her eye still skewered on it, optic nerves ripping free. Blood dripped from her socket, and a throaty growl vibrated in her throat.

She had thought she'd resolved herself already, but the second she started wondering if she could do it on her own—with her own powers—she had already lost her will. Was that really the full extent of her hatred? Did she really have anything left to lose?

The assassin appeared before her again, just standing there.

the girl staggered forward, her vision flickering in and out. She swore she saw a spry old woman standing on the veranda of a home, calling out a name.

Her name.

It had stopped feeling like her own, and eventually, she couldn't even remember what it had sounded like.

"[ ]!" Her grandmother cried, "[ ]! You have to run!"

No… she didn't want to leave her.

A woman had stood beside her, in a dress and heels. Her lips were full and she was as beautiful as the maidens in the village plays.

"[ ]?" she murmured, licking her lips. "Why, that's a lovely name. I think I'll have it for myself."

With those words, the girl's freedom had been taken. Her mind. Her body. None of it belonged to her. Every inch of her had been violated. She had lived as though in a dream, perceiving every moment through a timeless haze. All shreds of her identity were ripped away, one by one, until nothing was left that was hers.

Now, she had her revenge. It was the most precious thing she had ever been given. And yet, what—was she just going to throw it away over a moment of hesitation? Let everyone remember her as that powerless, flesh-bag of a thrall?!

She stomped forward, blood squirting from her gashes as she steadied herself. She heaved for breath, her lungs burning.

How long has it been?

Thirty seconds? Less than that? Not long enough.

The assassin stared at her, his facial muscles twitched. His throat croaked.

"...Why?" he asked.

It was the first word she had heard from him in over a century. Why?

The girl didn't immediately have an answer. She looked back at Alex, his expression peaceful, as though sleeping. She remembered him appearing before her just a week ago, and suddenly, the urge to just let the assassin kill him sounded alluring.

She had just won her first taste of freedom in over a century when the demon appeared, soaked in blood. "What do you know about Soul-Oaths?" he had asked.

He wore an unassuming smile, all while making a slave of her once again. A part of her still wanted him dead. He'd deserve it, anyway.

But then…

She looked back at the assassin, smiling through her anger.

"Why… do I protect him? Isn't that… obvious? I mean, look at me." She coughed, blood spilling from her mouth. "I'm not… enough. I tried to do it on my own, and I failed. But that creep… he's different. Don't you understand? Don't you… see the way he looks at us? I… hate him. I hate the way he makes me feel. But even that… it's nothing compared to my hatred for you!"

The assassin tilted his head, his voice a hollow rasp. "...Is it… not… love?"

Hah?! What part of all that made him think she—

The girl paused, thinking about it.

The vampires had enslaved her and made her kill her grandmother. There was just one thing they hadn't taken, and if she closed her eyes, she could still hear it. The creak of a rocking chair going back and forth. The sound of her grandmother's voice as she told the stories of their ancestors.

"Your mother, my mother, and the woman in our family, going back for generations, have all had a sacred duty…"

Tears formed in the girl's eyes, dripping from her bloody socket. "No… you're right. It is love."

Then she raised her demonic dagger.

The moment she had reached into that supply drop and found a relic other than the one she'd meant to grab, she had known this would happen. That this was what the crow wanted.

Shame rose like a torrent inside her. Her blood bubbled where it dripped from the empty socket.

After breaking free from Anne's control she'd fought so hard against the hunger. But the sickly sweetness of Alex's blood had taken her to the very edge.

If she did this…

The Demonic Dagger Extends its Offerings.

Accept?

The girl licked her lips. She hated the shudder of anticipation that coursed through her. It sickened her. She almost plunged the dagger into her throat as her answer, doing all her enemies a favor.

Instead, the blade glowed crimson, and she was flooded with elation. Blood surged through her veins in a feverish rush—Ghoul blood, Human blood, Chimik, blood from all manner of sick creatures. Every last drop her dagger had sapped over the past week was consumed, and there was no going back anymore.

She didn't even want to go back. This kind of power, this intoxicating pleasure—it was heavenly. It was the best she'd ever felt in her entire life.

The girl laughed, savoring every last drop of the offerings. Her fingers flew back onto her hand. The wound on her stomach closed. Her eye regrew in its socket. The simmering of her own blood no longer bothered her. What reason had she ever had to resist this? Was she stupid?

"...for… love?" the assassin questioned, almost innocent sounding.

"Hah?" the girl scoffed. "What are you…"

She touched her eyes. They were wet. And when she closed them, she heard the creak of a rocking chair and felt the warmth of her grandmother's lap.

"My mother too?" the girl had asked excitedly.

"Yes, I said all the women in our family, and that includes your mother, my sweet daughter Elena."

The girl hummed, and her grandmother smiled, ruffling her hair.

"...You see, [ ], your mother was a natural healer. Yet, the women in our family have always held other responsibilities too. Sacred responsibility, passed down from each generation, to which Elena gave her life to uphold."

"She did?"

"Yes, she did. You're too young to understand. But there's a darkness that pervades our world, and those who let themselves be touched by it forsake their humanity. I pray you never have to see it. You have your mother's healing touch, [ ]. If you could just live a full life as the village herbalist, my heart would be fulfilled."

"Hmph!" The girl pouted. "I'm not too young. Aren't you talking about Strigoi?"

Her grandmother suddenly stopped stroking her head. "Where did you hear that word?"

"I heard the adults whispering…"

The girl trailed off, her grandmother's voice growing suddenly distant. Her movements became rigid and unfamiliar, filling the girl with a deep cold.

"Strigoi… Oh, how I wished you'd never know. Creatures touched by darkness, who walk the night in our skin, who feast on our blood, who strike fear in the shadows of our hearts…"

The girl touched her eyes. They were wet. Something was wrong. "Grandma?"

"Oh, [ ]... why, my sweet [ ]..."

Her grandmother's tearful expression began to shift. Horror and revulsion twisted her features as she looked upon the girl.

"[ ], Why have you become one of them?"

"Huh?"

ERROR's race has been changed from Human to Vampire.

The girl touched her fangs and felt them elongate and sharpen. Her vision sharpened as well. Her muscles shifted beneath her skin, taking on a different composition. The veins in her hands flexed. Her nails grew out longer than ever before. Her ears become pointed beneath her hair and power coursed through her entire body, healing her.

Her voice quivered, joyous intoxication warring with the unshakable feeling that she'd been further violated. She cut her bond with Alex before it could touch him.

This power carried a toxicity she both loved and hated. She raked her nails across the flesh of her arms, only to watch the wounds heal instantly. Pain, an emotion that should have been negative, now brought her a sick joy. Her dagger fed her a constant supply of blood, flowing like a river.

The assassin just watched her, taking a step back. His stitched mouth gaped. For a moment, his eyes showed a flicker of emotion before his placid, soulless self returned. He disappeared into the mist.

It's too late, Grandma. I can't go back. Even if there was a way, I…

the girl wiped her eyes, setting her jaw and biting back the tears. This body hadn't belonged to her for a long, long time. Her feelings weren't new, just different now. She was, and always had been, her hatred. The only thing that had changed was her ability to exact vengeance.

She cut a deep wound across her palm, one that refused to heal. She watched her lifeblood spill.

Grandma, even if you couldn't love me after this… if there's just a chance that you'd still count me as family…

"Then I swear on my tainted blood," she murmured. "I won't rest until these Devil's spawn are dust and ash!"

A shadow moved to her left, heading straight for Alex. The girl bolted toward it, faster than she'd ever been.

But even with emboldened senses, she couldn't distinguish the assassin from his blood shadows. She couldn't risk it being the real one. She extended her dagger and leapt forward—only for the shadow to suddenly pivot, heading straight for her instead.

Alex had never been the assassin's target.

The girl reeled, raising her arm on instinct.

His blade arced through the mists, slicing it off at the wrist. Precious blood bubbled and poured.

Her dagger didn't drop though. She had tossed in the air mere moments before it was too late. The Demonic Dagger yearned indiscriminately for blood. It praised the spilling of it, no matter whose blood it was, and she roared, catching it in her other hand, absorbing the offerings from her own stumped wrist and swinging down.

The assassin's eyes tracked her dagger's movement. He stopped her swing with the hilt of the knife he summoned in his other hand. He tried to flick the dagger from her grasp, but before he could, she stabbed the flap of his cheek with her regrowing wrist bone—dragging and ripping it through his mouth.

"Are you shocked you're not the only freak at this show?!"

She laughed, salivating as his throat lay exposed. His arms were tied up and she was ready to tear in and rip the bastard's gullet out. If she hadn't already lost enough limbs to her impulses in this fight, she probably would have.

But she'd learned from her mistakes.

She jumped back. A shallow slice crossed her neck, a reminder that even she wasn't invincible. If she'd been decapitated, everything she'd sacrificed would have been for nothing. And once her dagger's supply of blood ran dry, even a wound like this might kill her.

Yet, while her wounds closed quickly, she noticed that the assassin's didn't regenerate nearly as fast. He disappeared again, his shape flickering as shadows to her left and right.

She wanted to chase him. To expend all this energy inside her in rapid movement—to utterly pulverize him. She'd make his face so hideous that Anne wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot spear—let alone allow him to give her foot massages.

But instead, she guarded Alex. Because even though she was less powerless than before, it only made her understand more. She still wasn't enough.

Three throwing knives flashed. She moved instinctively, putting herself in harm's way.
She deflected the first one with her dagger. The second knife whizzed past her shoulder, missing Alex's head by inches. The third skidded past her dagger and plunged straight into her gut.

It's been more than a minute, you stupid ox!

She grunted, yanking the blade free and hurling it at the nearest shadow. It flipped wildly through the air and—surprisingly—struck with a dull chink. Immediately, she gathered blood from the cut on her palm and fired a barrage of blood bullets in that direction.

Did I get him?

The moment she had the thought a shadow she hadn't seen moved toward her, its sword aimed for her neck. She yelped, swiping her dagger—only for the strike to splash against a plume of blood.

She turned around on instinct, slashing through thin air. Nothing.

Panicked, she turned back in the original direction—dodging just in time to keep her head.

But not her arm. She screamed in growling pain as it severed at the shoulder this time. She rolled aside, evading his next attack. But when she looked up…

He was between her and Alex now.

Once more, the assassin barely spared her a glance, stepping over her severed arm on his way toward Alex.

No… this wasn't what she'd agreed on. No, no, no!

She'd forsaken it—all for this. He couldn't just treat her like any other powerless thrall. This was his fault too. After all those years by her side, was he really going to act like he had nothing to do with it?

"You made me like this, so take some responsibility!" The girl snapped. "I didn't become a vampire so you could treat me like nothing!"

She was a monster now—like Anne, like him.

Her blood stirred, boiling up. She raised her palm, summoning the purest terror her imagination could conjure and making it hers.

She heard the sound of metal rattling. Then blood shot up from both open ends of her mutilated arm on the ground, wrapping around the assassin's body, binding him in place with a clink.

A new skill has been learned!

[Blood Chains]

The assassin's eyes widened in recognition. The girl rushed in, furious, a blood bullet already forming on her palm.

Before she could fire though, the assassin's muscles bulged beneath the chains. He spun in place, whipping the girl with her own severed limb as the chains unraveled.

She spat a tooth and kept charging, accepting the bloody invitation. The mists thickened in front of her, obscuring the assassin's form, but she was beginning to understand how he operated—how both of these fuckers did.

"You think you can look down on me because I don't know how to grip my weapon?!" the girl yelled.

She ducked. The assassin's sword swung for her neck—because of course it would. It was the fastest way to end things and the wind of it whipped at her face as it passed by. She cackled.

"You think swinging a stick around all day makes you better than me?! That I'm just a dumb little girl?!"

Of course that's what he thought. Her anger always got the better of her. She'd done nothing but charge in blindly with her dagger this whole fight, and the assassin did nothing but punish her for it. Creating fake openings. Exploiting her mistakes. Retreating when things got too dangerous. It was all too clean for someone whose blood was churning the entire forest into rot-wood!

Oh, this wasn't good. Maybe anger really was getting the better of her.

All she could see was red as her dagger lunged forward. But this time, she wasn't the one gripping it. And when the assassin's sword deflected it, she yanked on her blood chains, using the dagger's weight to wind them around his arm.

She tightened the chains and the assassin's sword clattered to the ground, her dagger following. She was weaponless. But so what? Now that she'd already drained all the blood from it was just a lustful scrap of metal.

She stalked toward him in a rage. "Your smug attitude!" she spat. "Your stupid techniques! All this uppity ox shit! Do you even know what we are?!"

The assassin tried to slip free into the mists but she yanked and he couldn't break free from her chains. Then she flew at him. He feinted his knife toward her neck but she wasn't watching. He stabbed her in the gut, but she didn't care. They tumbled, rolling over and over one another in the chaos, but the girl's eyes stayed locked on his neck where the wound Alex had made bled so appetizingly.

The assassin had fangs. Why didn't he see this coming?

I'm a vampire now, idiot!

She bit into his neck, madly in love with the taste—chewing fibers and tissue, snapping sinew. She wasn't a thrall. She wasn't powerless. She was a monster! But so what?

She'd lived in misery for so long. Couldn't she enjoy it now? Who said revenge had to be suffering? Why couldn't she relish her hate? None of this was her fault, so why should she hate this form she'd taken? Hadn't she had enough?!

But it wasn't enough. He hadn't suffered enough.

His knife slid in and out of her side, and she didn't care. She didn't stop. He shanked her with it until eventually, it just stayed there. She gobbed and smacked her lips, her fangs chipping on bone, crunching it beneath her jaw. More blood. Him, and then all the others who had belittled her. Who had made her feel worthless. More. More. More…

She loved this. This… was what she lived for.

Then the power that had flooded her began to fade. The taste soured on her tongue. Like metal. Blood had tasted like metal once.

She'd forgotten that. Her hatred had made it taste so good that she'd forgotten…

As the red in her vision cleared, the girl found herself hunched over a mangled scrap of meat, and looked up to find a sword swinging to take her head off.

Another blade intercepted it, a purple sword with a tip shaped like death's sickle. The assassin hopped back, eyeing it warily, his neck a bloody mess. The girl stared, dazed.

The assassin…? But she had killed the assassin. She'd been devouring him just a second ago, gorging on his flesh…

Then she looked at what she held in her hands—her own mutilated arm, gnawed on and oozing with crimson ambrosia. Her lips were smeared with her own blood. Alex was looking at her. In horror and disgust… and pity.

Mutton. Wine.

Oh…Grandma… Was this the last thing you saw when you died?

The girl dropped the meat and stood shakily. The pleasures from earlier had fled her, but she wanted it again. Yet it was the last thing she wanted. She forced a laugh.

"Took you long enough. That was longer than…"

She took a step, then stumbled. Alex caught her. Looking down, she realized she was covered in blood. A dagger was still lodged in her side.

"Yeah… you did good," Alex said. "He senses something is wrong, but he doesn't know what yet. I left a gap to the west. Can you get there on your own?"

She shoved him off. "What do you mean… I'm not—I can…"

"Gloomy," Alex snapped gently. "You would only get in the way."

He wasn't even looking at her anymore. His eyes were locked past her, on the Bloodmist Assassin. The assassin's gaze swept over the forest, searching. Then it landed on only Alex.

None of them were looking at her. She was nothing. Just a weak, stupid, powerless thrall. A vampire now.

She gnashed her teeth and pulled the dagger from her side. The wound didn't close.

"Kill him," she said.

Alex nodded. Then the two of them raised their swords.

Stupid… stupid vampire, she thought.

Didn't he realize, already? Alex might be weaker than him, but his eyes… He looked at the assassin the same creepy way he looked at her. The way he looked at everyone he met. As though they weren't living, breathing things.

And maybe she wasn't.

***

Alex watched Gloomy saunter off into the mists, understanding exactly what she had sacrificed to buy him the time he needed. He touched his right shoulder, where a piercing wound had closed and was already beginning to scab over. His trust in her had proven worthwhile, but he had hesitated, seeing her like that—devouring her own arm with such hunger. If he had acted a second too late, she would've died.

He wasn't sure saving her was really the gift he made it out to be.

No matter how twisted the logic, it had been the first time in a long, long while that he had trusted someone like that in battle. Yet seeing her so weak, on death's door, had reminded him of something else. It was the fact that everyone he had ever trusted either died or failed him. Eventually, without fail, it always ended that way.

But he wasn't alone. He had Nychta, and he leveled her at the assassin, promising vengeance not only for himself, but for what the bastard had just forced that girl to go through. He gritted his teeth, watching as the vampire scanned the forest, as though still expecting an ambush. He must have sensed the mana from Alex's enchantment earlier and was keeping alert.

It wasn't that manner of attack.

Alex licked his finger and held to the wind. "It's afternoon, dumbass. I know you can't feel the sun through all your mists, but it's still out there. It's shining down on the southward slope. That's why we've got this nice uphill breeze. Perfect weather, don't you agree?"

The assassin cocked his head, glanced south, then stared blankly back at him. Alex sighed, deciding to let the hapless idiot in on what he'd done.

"I set fire to the mountain."

As soon as he uttered those words the assassin disappeared into mists, and something told Alex it wasn't to arrange an attack. He turned to the south and could already see smoke rising.

Too late asshole.

Smoke was rising from the east and west too. Hopefully, Gloomy had made it out in time. He'd started the fire near the base of the mountain, and by now, the wall of flames must have been a kilometer thick.

Maybe the assassin could still make it through, but not without sustaining heavy burns, and not without failing his mission. And the Bloodmist Assassin did not fail his missions.

Alex savored the brief moments in the thinner mists, where his blood had a chance to cool. Then sure enough, the killing intent returned. He approached front and center with a deadly seriousness, and Alex rolled his shoulder.

Even with just one arm, he was beginning to adjust to the assassin's sword mastery and speed. Strangely, fighting handicapped had forced him to wield Nychta in ways he might not have considered otherwise. Not that it gave him much advantage.

The assassin rushed him, and he only barely managed to deflect his blade in time. The short exchange ended with Alex kicking him back while he was distracted by the rapidly approaching wall of flames.

"Look here, you bastard!" Alex yelled. "If you think you're ugly now, imagine what you'll look like burnt to a crisp! You don't want that? Then consolidate your mists! Make them thick enough to stave off the wildfire!"

Frankly, he didn't care that he was an open book right now. He was sweating fiercely. His hands might not burn, but the rest of him damn well would, and he didn't want his hands to be the only thing anyone ever found of him.

But probably, neither did the assassin. The bloodmists thickened like Alex had never seen. He pulled up his cloth mask, trying not to breathe it in too much but his blood was already burning again. His movements would be severely limited now, and it was only a matter of time before the boil became too much.

Just like it was only a matter of time before all this blood evaporated. The assassin had an incomprehensible amount of it, but there had to be a limit to how much he could replenish. Alex of course had a contingency that would hopefully allow for his escape after the assassin died. But still, this was easily one of the worst plans he had ever made.

"Now what will kill us first," he said. "Your blood or my fire?"

Funny, Nychta said.

Alex's smile didn't reach his eyes. Her weapon master was 99% towards Adept Rank and he had a feeling he knew what it would take to rank it up. Yet he quickly hid his worry from her as she reached out to understand it.

File this one away for later, Nychta. It's called a trick question.

Of course he would let her have the finishing blow.