"Rucain is dead!"
"The Regent King is dead!"
"Fight back, everyone! We can win this war!"
The cries rang out one after another, echoing through the battlefield like a chain reaction. As soon as Rucain fell, the shockwave of that mont spread across the field. The soldiers who had been running for their lives stopped in their tracks, their eyes widening with disbelief — and then, with renewed courage, they turned to face the monstrous abominations before them.
The Resistance had finally found their light—or at least, the illusion of it.
Honestly, they should have kept running. Those things weren’t about to die that easily. But hey, let them have their mont.
I sighed slowly, looking down at Trinity Nihil, still humming faintly in my hand.
As expected, there were consequences for forcing divinity into sothing not ant to hold it. The weapon trembled, and even without words, I could feel its resentnt toward .
"Yeah, yeah. You’ll get over it," I muttered while putting it away.
I turned my attention to Amaya.
Up above, the sky was split open — a massive portal, bleeding red light. Streams of blood flowed upward in defiance of gravity, spiraling into the vortex. She wasn’t done yet. Judging by that blood ritual, she was preparing to summon sothing... much bigger.
And if that thing ca through?
Sancta Vedelia would fall—without question.
My gaze dropped back down to her.
The ground trembled. Two of her giant abominations erged before . Countless crimson eyes blinked across their bodies, oozing thick blood that dripped and hissed when it hit the ground. The massive central eyes on their faces locked onto , filled with sothing that almost resembled intelligence.
But I didn’t stop. My focus was only on her beyond them.
"Amaya," I called out.
No answer.
Instead, blood gathered around her—spiraling until it ford a solid crimson sphere, sealing her within.
I clenched my teeth and dashed forward.
The giants swung their grotesque limbs, but I was already airborne. Landing on one of their heads, I t that unblinking eye beneath my feet.
"You can’t kill , Amaya," I said quietly.
They didn’t even try to. Their movents lacked intent, almost chanical—guided by Amaya’s unconscious will rather than malice.
I stomped down hard, using the recoil to propel myself forward—straight toward that swirling orb.
Without hesitation, I plunged in.
And imdiately, the world shifted.
Darkness swallowed everything. The battlefield, the screams, the sky — all gone.
I felt weightless, like I was floating in ink. The silence was suffocating... until sothing touched — a single droplet of blood against my skin.
Then, I fell.
The world inverted, and I crashed down into a crimson lake, its surface rippling beneath .
"Amaya," I called again.
For a mont, there was nothing.
Then, faintly a whisper.
Soft. Fragile. Almost like a sigh.
I turned toward the sound and began to walk, each step sending gentle ripples across the blood.
And then the whisper multiplied.
Countless voices rose around —all feminine, all identical, echoing and overlapping until it beca an eerie, haunting blend.
It wasn’t just Amaya anymore.
It was all of them.
The voices of every Vampire Witch.
"What are you doing here, Darling?"
The voice ca from nowhere and everywhere at once.
I turned around, but there was no one. Only the endless, rippling red lake beneath my feet.
Then I saw a reflection.
No, not a reflection... a mory.
The surface of the lake began to shimr, and before I could react, sothing tugged at — hard. My vision blurred, my balance broke, and I felt myself falling, spiraling down through the blood-red surface into darkness.
When I hit the ground, the world shifted again.
I was standing in a town, quiet and misty, with cobblestone streets glistening beneath pale moonlight.
Valachia.
Or at least... it felt like Valachia. But not the one I knew. The architecture was older, the streets narrower, the air thicker. This was centuries ago even before the Blood Moon War, five hundred years, maybe more.
The mory or whatever it was pulled toward a small wooden house near the edge of town.
Through the walls, I drifted inside, weightless, unseen.
A family of three sat around a modest table: a father, a mother, and a lively young girl with bright eyes and black curls. They laughed softly, shared bread, and passed a single candle between them to keep the darkness at bay.
It looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Because I could feel it that wrongness beneath the warmth.
The scene shifted.
The father rose, taking a half-loaf of bread in one hand and a small lantern in the other. Without a word, he descended into the basent, each creaking step echoing like a heartbeat.
The air grew colder.
Damp.
Even from where I stood, I could sense the chill sinking into my bones.
When he reached the bottom, the man lifted the lantern. Its light flickered, revealing movent—a small figure huddled in the corner.
She flinched at the sudden brightness.
A girl, no older than ten.
Her long, tangled purplish-black hair hid most of her face. Her fra was frail, her skin pale and starved of warmth. She wore only a thin, torn dress, and her crimson eyes glimred faintly through the strands of hair, trembling as they lifted toward him.
Her lips parted. The sound was broken, weak.
"F— Father..."
The word seed to wound him—not with guilt, but disgust. His expression twisted as he threw the bread straight at her face.
"...!"
She didn’t even cry out. Just recoiled.
"I told you never to call that," he spat, disgusted. "You’re no daughter of mine. You’re a monster."
He turned away briefly, muttering under his breath, then pointed at the bread with the lantern.
"Eat."
The girl’s small shaking hands reached out for it. That’s when I iron shackles biting into her wrists, stained with dried blood.
She ate silently, eyes wet but empty.
When she finished, her father stepped closer.
He grabbed her arm roughly, pulling her toward a bucket beside the wall. The lantern’s light trembled as he set it down beside them. Then he reached into his coat... and pulled out a knife.
The girl’s eyes turned fearful.
"Fa—"
She didn’t finish. The blade sliced into her wrist, and a raw scream tore from her throat as blood spilled freely, dripping into the bucket below.
The man’s face was cold. Detached. He didn’t flinch at her cries, didn’t even look at her. He just worked thodically—cutting, collecting, repeating.
Each ti the wound closed knitting itself back together by her natural regeneration; he reopened it, carving deeper, faster.
Her small body trembled violently, her voice breaking as she begged, whimpered, pleaded for him to stop.
But he didn’t.
For ten long minutes, the basent echoed with her cries—the sound of flesh tearing, blood dripping, and a father’s silence.
When one arm ran dry, he grabbed the other.
And started again.
The bucket was half-filled when the little girl finally collapsed.
Her frail knees hit the cold stone floor, her hands trembling as the knife slipped from her father’s grip. Her breathing ca in shallow gasps, crimson eyes half-lidded as tears slid silently down her pale cheeks. Blood still trickled from the last cut, mixing with the pool beneath her.
Her small body swayed once and then went still.
That’s when the door creaked open.
"Father?"
The second girl stood in the doorway, younger than the one on the floor. Her long dark hair was neatly tied, her skin warm and unblemished, untouched by cruelty or darkness.
For a brief mont, the man’s expression changed. The coldness vanished, replaced by a tender smile so genuine it almost looked like another person entirely. He quickly wiped his bloodstained hands with a rag and crouched before the new arrival.
"Selene, my dear," he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "I told you not to co down here. It’s cold, you’ll catch a chill."
His voice was light, affectionate, completely at odds with the knife lying near his feet and how he acted earlier.
Selene’s eyes wandered past him, drawn to the figure trembling in the shadows.
"Elizabeth?" She whispered calling to her chained sister.
The girl on the ground lifted her head weakly. Her crimson eyes were hollow and shimring t her sister’s for a heartbeat.
"Hya!" Selene gasped, clutching her father’s sleeve in fear. "Father!"
The man imdiately wrapped his arms around her, soothing his frightened child.
"It’s okay... it’s okay, my dear," he muttered softly, patting her hair. Then his gaze flicked coldly toward the chained girl in the corner.
"Oh, sweetheart did that little pest scare you again?"
Footsteps echoed behind him.
The mother stepped into the dim light, crossing her arms with visible annoyance.
"Honey, take Selene upstairs. She shouldn’t be here," the Father said.
"Of course," the Mother nodded.
"Mo... Mother..."
Elizabeth’s weak voice ca again.
The woman froze, then turned sharply. The gentle expression she’d worn for her younger daughter vanished in an instant.
Her eyes burned with pure disgust.
"Who’s your mother?" She said dryly, before turning away.
Elizabeth’s trembling gaze followed her—lingering on the sight of Selene’s small hand, gently held by their mother’s. The light from the lantern caught their silhouettes as they disappeared beyond the doorway.
And then the light was gone.
The father turned back, expression empty once more. He picked up the bucket, its surface rippling with his daughter’s blood.
"You’d better regenerate quickly," he muttered coldly. "We’ll need a full bucket tomorrow, useless thing."
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. She didn’t answer. She just sat there, silent.
The man walked out, closing the door behind him with a slow creak. The last sliver of light disappeared.
"N–No... please..."
Her voice was fragile, trembling and pleading.
No one answered.
Only the sound of her quiet sobs filled the silence.
And then, the vision shifted.
I saw how it began.
When Elizabeth was four years old, her father had discovered the miraculous nature of her pure blood—how it could accelerate the ordinary regeneration of vampires, rejuvenate skin, make a man feel stronger and younger. At first, they had drawn it gently, disguising cruelty as care. But when the pain beca unbearable, when Elizabeth began to resist—the kindness vanished.
At six years old, she was locked away.
Every day since, the sa ritual repeated.
Her voice echoed faintly through the shifting haze of mory:
"H–Help ..."
"Please..."
"Father... it’s cold..."
"Mother... I’m scared..."
I felt sothing twist inside . Rage, yes—but deeper than that was a hollow ache, a helplessness that gnawed at .
No amount of power could change this. It had already happened.
Now, she was twelve.
While Selene celebrated her birthday upstairs her sister bled below in the dark. Tonight, the blade had found her arms again, carving into the sa flesh that had already healed a thousand tis.
But she no longer scread.
She no longer begged.
The tears ca without sound, her crimson eyes dull and unfocused.
Cold. Lonely. Afraid.
That was all she knew.
I stepped closer. My heart pounded as I reached out instinctively, uselessly, and extended my hand toward her.
But my fingers passed through her face like smoke.
It was only a mory.
That’s what I told myself.
And yet—
"W–Who..."
Her voice broke the silence.
My eyes widened.
Elizabeth’s gaze—those sa hollow crimson eyes—lifted, staring straight at .
That shouldn’t be possible. She couldn’t see . Not here. Not in this illusion.
"Elizabeth," I whispered.
Elizabeth’s crimson eyes widened.
"W–Who?" She whispered again, turning her head slowly. Her gaze sliced through the darkness, those eyes could see what others couldn’t yet even so, she saw nothing. Only shadows. Only emptiness.
"I’m here with you," I said quietly.
My voice echoed faintly across the crimson lake of mory, threading through her consciousness.
And so, I stayed.
Even as the years began to pass in a blur of visions, the monts shifting like pages torn from a nightmare I remained by her side.
By the ti she turned fourteen, the world above finally took notice.
The King of Valachia, along with his soldiers, ca to the house. They discovered the truth.
Justice was swift.
Her parents were executed on the spot. The girl who had lived in darkness for a decade watched the scene unfold from the basent floor—her expression hollow, her body trembling but her heart long since numb.
When the door creaked open, sunlight touched her for the first ti in years.
Elizabeth blinked against the brightness. Her steps were slow, uncertain, as she climbed up and out. The bodies of her parents lay across the floor lifeless and twisted but she barely looked at them. There was no strength left for hatred or sorrow.
And then she saw her.
At the entrance of the house, sprawled in death, lay Selene her sister. The beloved daughter. The one they cherished until their final breath.
Sothing flickered in Elizabeth’s gaze—a strange calmness, cold and quiet.
The King, a man in gilded armor and crimson robes, knelt before her. His smile was warm, almost fatherly.
"You’re free now, child," he said softly. "What’s your na?"
Her eyes drifted to her sister’s corpse once more.
And when she finally spoke.
"Selene."
The King chuckled.
"Selene, then. Co with ," he said, extending his hand. "I will give you everything you need. Comfort, safety... but in exchange—"
His gentle smile twisted.
The vision warped again.
Now we stood in a dungeon, beneath the royal castle.
Elizabeth hung from chains, her body pinned to a cross of black steel. Dozens of needles pierced her skin, glowing faintly as they drew blood through thin tubes that pulsed with crimson light.
Compared to that damp cellar, the room was warm; clean, even. But the cruelty was the sa.
Behind glass, nobles and scholars watched intently, whispering notes, sipping from crystal cups filled with the very blood being drained from her.
Elizabeth didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
She simply stared into the distance, empty and hollow as if her soul had already fled.
I stepped closer, reaching toward her.
This ti, my hand didn’t pass through. I felt her cold skin beneath my palm, trembling faintly at the contact.
Elizabeth shivered.
"W–Who are you..." She muttered, her voice fragile.
"Darling," I whispered.
She blinked, lips parting.
"Da...rling?" Shee repeated softly, as though tasting the word.
"I’m here with you," I told her again.
The world shifted once more.
Elizabeth was older now sixteen, her beauty matured but her eyes unchanged, still red and lifeless. The King stood before her, smiling with vile hunger.
"She’s grown beautifully," he said, licking his lips. "Bring her to my chambers."
Servants moved quickly. They washed her, dressed her in silk, and led her into the royal bedroom.
But that night... things changed.
When I looked again, the room was painted in blood.
The King’s body lay shredded, unrecognizable, torn apart from throat to abdon. His heart was missing, his insides scattered across the carpet.
Elizabeth stood in the center, her figure trembling but smiling faintly, blood dripping from her fingertips.
She raised her hand to her lips and licked her fingers, eyes half-lidded in eerie calm.
"She killed the King!"
"Kill her!"
Soldiers stord in, weapons drawn.
Elizabeth turned her head slowly, regarding them with mild curiosity making them all shiver in sheer fear.
And then she whispered:
"Darling."
The word left her lips softly, almost lovingly—the sa word I’d spoken to her in the darkness.
"Where is my Darling?"
The soldiers hesitated.
"What is she saying?!"
"Who cares?! Just kill her!"
"Wait— what about her blood?! We can’t just—"
"Capture her, idiot!"
Those were their last words.
That day, the Vampire Witch was born.
But Elizabeth’s tale didn’t end with her revenge. Death ca for her again—and again. Each ti she sought to return, she bound herself to vessels, forcing her soul into other shells. Each ti, she lived anew.
And each life ended crueler than the one before.
"What are you doing, Darling?"
Elizabeth’s voice drifted softly beside , her presence materializing in a crimson mist.
The Original Witch, tiless and perfect.
I didn’t turn toward her. "Looking at your mories," I said.
"That’s not good... I didn’t want Darling to see them again."
I finally faced her, brow furrowing. "How is that even possible?"
"mories are passed through blood," she explained, stepping closer. "Every Vampire Witch inherits them—the pain, the rage, the love. Everything carries over between the last and the next."
My eyes narrowed. "Then... am I the reason you—"
She cut off, her lips curving faintly. "No. I did whatever I wanted, for myself. For my vengeance, Darling. You wouldn’t have co into my life for a long ti—maybe never. So until then, I took what I wanted and made them suffer."
For a long mont, I said nothing. Then quietly, "And now? Have you had enough?"
Elizabeth tilted her head, her crimson eyes narrowing with knowing smile. "What do you think, Darling?"
It was the sa smile I had seen countless tis before on the future Elizabeth I knew but right now it pulsed a frightening coldness, a ruthlessness never seen before. I was truly seeing Elizabeth now, stripped of all her masks. Sohow, that made smile.
"Finally," I said. "I see you."
"Darling~"
Before I could react, she moved. In one fluid motion, Elizabeth pushed down, straddling my waist. Her grip tightened around my wrists, pinning them easily. She leaned close, her breath brushing against my skin, her nose tracing along my neck before her tongue flicked across it.
I sighed. "The world’s ending outside, and you’re here doing that?"
"Who cares?" she whispered. "Let it burn. Let them all suffer for eternity. That’s what they deserve."
Then, without hesitation, she sank her fangs into my neck.
A sharp sting cut through , followed by warmth spreading through my veins. I could feel her feeding—hear the faint gulp as my blood coursed into her. Her body trembled faintly, as though savoring sothing forbidden.
"I don’t care about Sancta Vedelia," I said through clenched teeth.
Elizabeth withdrew, licking the last drops of crimson from her lips, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Really?"
She leaned closer, gaze sharp enough to pierce through . "Then... help , Darling. Let’s do it together."
"But if you destroy it now," I countered quietly, "I won’t be able to see Celeste... or the others in the future."
Her expression darkened instantly. Her nails pressed against my chest, digging into my skin.
"At worst, Alicia won’t even be born," I added, staring back at her, refusing to flinch.
"You’re going to abandon again, Darling?" She asked.
I t her gaze. In her eyes, I saw both the past and the future, the sa pain, the sa longing. A smirk tugged at my lips as I shifted, reversing our positions and bringing her down beneath . Our fingers intertwined, her soft hand trembling against mine.
Elizabeth stared up at , a faint smile ghosting her lips.
I leaned down, brushing my lips against hers in a slow, tender kiss. "I’m not going to abandon you, Elizabeth. You belong to . The question is..." I whispered against her lips, "I won’t leave you, Darling."
My breath brushed her ear as I whispered, "What’s more important—, or your vengeance?"
She sighed, voice trembling slightly. "Darling..."
"Sancta Vedelia will pay for what they did to you. That’s my word," I said, locking eyes with her.
A faint shiver ran down her spine.
"Until then," I continued coldly, "you’ll stay by my side. You’ll listen to . And you’ll never leave again."
Her cheeks flushed, eyes widening slightly as the slits in her pupils pulsed with intensity.
"Darling~" She breathed, almost lting beneath .
"No one will ever touch you again," I said. "No one will hurt you. No one will cast you into darkness or leave you alone. Forget the misery outside. Our future..." I smiled faintly, brushing a strand of her hair aside. "It goes far beyond all of this, don’t you think?"
Elizabeth’s hand rose to my cheek, her touch a bit strong as she looked at —that obsessive, adoring gaze that could burn worlds. "You won’t regret it, Darling?"
"I regret many things," I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. "But you’ll never be one of them."
Elizabeth’s lips curled into a wide, radiant smile.
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