Vampire: World of Blood

Bloody Warfare Galore, a massive chain blade, black as midnight, its jagged edges soaked with the blood of countless spawnlings and spawns.

It shimmered faintly in the light of the Formless one, as they called it, casting an eerie glow that shifted like the colors of an oil slick on the ground below. The scythe-like blade deeply curled and fused with the spinal cord of the great Dark One, long fallen by its hands of course.

A figure looking up in the sky, it's menacing glowing eyes look at the inhuman beauty of a monster above.

She had no hands, no legs, stumps at all four corners; its skin was grey, its body petite but sinful nonetheless, small; it was on the top, but the curves of the bottom were to die for.

She had thick thighs and a soft ass worthy of being called a bubble butt, yet her body was as durable as a black hole; the beauty had no eyes, no nose, only eerie but black-colored and seductive pucker lips. The mouth itself opens up to reveal what can only be called a thick black tongue with a drill-like stinger.

If it had legs, it would be 5"1 in height, but without them, it looks small to everything else. At the center of its stomach was a giant eye that opened up, revealing a swirling black vortex, and from that vortex, countless insects made from darkness emerged, swarming around the humanoid-like monsters in the air.

Around each stump and its loins, something that looked like a metal cover was over them. The woman in question kept a float high in the air by a large pair of four glowing red pixi wings.

But that aside, its entire body was covered with brutal flesh wounds, as if it were sliced and stabbed with a series of jagged and curving blades.

It had no hair but rather a crown of black worms around the figures heads, each with red eyes for a head, and each worm pointed their vision directly at the enemy below.

This was a Lesser Spawn of Level 2, Child of the Great Rakiish, a Greater Spawn from the Lineage of 12th.

The lesser spawn, ancient and weathered, appeared to be nearing its limits. Yet spawns do not retreat; for them, bloody conflict is the only resolution and the strongest always claim the right to say.

The female spawn, hovering high above, gazed down at the armored figure below. Her voice carried the word of a long-forgotten language, crackling with ancient fury as she spoke.

"Þīn fācn wiþ mīnum cynne bið blōde āgylden. Þēah ðēos dæg bēo mīn ende, ic þē mid mē tō niþerdrage."

Her words were brief, but they held true; on the other hand, the Spawn below remained silent, saying little back in the same language.

"Cym þā... Uton þis āfullian."

A declaration of war, though couched in other terms, but regardless, it mattered little. The sheer scale of their power was immense, fueled by anger and purpose. Both had their reasons for the fight, and neither was willing to back down.

Their Spawn Energy, or internal corruption, began to leak from their bodies. As a result, one of the many constructs, or rather just the set area within the Primix Dimension began to shake. Fortunately, this was one of the few where time held no meaning and no jurisdiction. The creator of this construct had long since abandoned it, yet it remained one of the most sacred among all constructs.

Since time had no relevance here, any passage of time from the perspective of those who understood its flow would translate to nothing across the broader expanse of creation. As such, the concept of time here was akin to a stasis zone. Moving within it was like existing in a timeless void; if you returned from it, time would reset as though you'd never left.

Imagine this: you depart from your home on Tuesday at 9:30 AM, 2030, in order to travel to this construct, spend ten years there, and then return home. You'd realize, to your astonishment, that time outside the construct had not passed at all since you left.

The first to strike was the limbless spawn above. With no legs and only wings, it moved with extreme agility, accompanied by a swarm of insects that flitted alongside it. The Nameless Spawn advanced, ready to use her authority to deal with the enemy.

Her authority, derived from the 12th lineage, granted her the unique ability to unify her emotions. The stronger her emotions, the more powerful the manifestation created from the vortex-like eye that she summoned.

If her hatred for something grew strong enough, those emotions would merge and form something to confront or destroy what she despised. If she sought new power, those same emotions could combine with others to give birth to a force that would grant her the desired abilities.

Her authority allowed her to bring anything she desired into existence. This power functioned in a way that defied logic, operating purely on the commands of her unified emotions. But there was a catch.

The authority of a Spawn is tied to their lineage, each authority unique and aligned with the aspects of their bloodline. In her case, she hailed from the 12th bloodline, known as "The Unity." Authorities are typically considered miracles of creation, bending or breaking the laws of existence. This makes them akin to cheat codes in a game, and only another authority can counter an opposing one. In that case, the strength of the authority determines which one prevails, as this is the privilege of the Spawn race.

For this reason, Spawns are considered to be the strongest race in all of creation.

Their privilege was unmatched, and for this very reason, when one becomes a Spawn, any God they once worshiped loses all power over them. The origin of their blood becomes the foundation of their being.

In simple terms, any fate that existed before their transformation into a Spawn becomes irrelevant. Only Gods born from the Spawn race can influence their fate from a higher realm.

To make it even clearer: Spawns need not fear man-made Gods from higher realms, created by the collective unconscious, because these Gods cannot harm or even influence them. However, the Spawn, regardless of their own power in relation to these Gods, can sense when something not of their blood or race is watching them.

But they should fear other Spawns, for the Spawns are the true powerhouses of existence, and these two understand that vividly.

The insects glowed red, each imbued with the power of negation. They were created to erase all things. Both physical and immaterial, by negating their existence.

As the swarm floated toward the armored figure below, he held his chained crescent weapon steady, his eyes locked on the female and her swarm. To him, this spawn was weak; it gave it many warnings to back off, yet it did not. For that, his second warning came in the form of genocide; as such, he killed all her spawnlings, reducing her army to infiltrate this place to zero; after all, mere diluted blood was no match for his power.

"Ic weorðe þearfþ tired of þys."

The mysterious armored figure responded with an unsettling calm. The scythe-like blades along the chains of its spine rattled ominously as it began to twirl its weapon. A menacing blue glow enveloped the blade, casting an eerie light as the swarm closed in.

With a sudden, fluid motion, the figure swung the weapon, the blade carving through the air in graceful yet deadly arcs. A condensed surge of energy radiated from the armored figure's being, building to a crescendo. When released, the force carried with it a ripple that seemed to tear through the fabric of space itself; or perhaps, more accurately, to paint reality anew.

The weapon's crescent arcs moved like whips, their trajectories slicing through the swarm. Wherever the blade's path touched, it rewrote existence, blending the swarm into the very fabric of reality around the figure.

The insects, stripped of their essence and form, lost all context of their being. In that moment, they were not merely destroyed; they were erased entirely, reduced to nothingness as if they had never existed.

This was one of the Spawn's three authorities, the weakest of them all yet still potent beyond measure. It wielded the power to transform a being's form into that of its surrounding existence. As such, the act of erasure was not destruction in the conventional sense but a seamless rewriting of the victim's essence to match the fabric of reality around them.

Corruption, the sky, the distant horizons, the glow of the Formless One, all elements of the environment were drawn into this transformative process. The insects, once a distinct swarm, were stripped of their individuality and made singular, repainted in the likeness of the world they inhabited. They blended flawlessly into their surroundings, becoming indistinguishable from the natural elements of the area.

Everything they had been, every shred of identity and form, was reconstituted into the very fabric of the environment. The insects were no longer distinct entities but fragments of the world itself. From the armored warrior's perspective, their erasure was absolute, seamlessly integrated into the reality he had reshaped with his overwhelming authority.

Defense was irrelevant.

Information, is futile.

Even the most potent of attacks were meaningless.

For as long as he could perceive an adversary attack or move, even in the faintest sense, or was aware of their existence, his authority would not fail. Negate as she might, create as she desired; her authority, rooted in the act of creation, was no match for his authority.

His gift rewrote anything she brought into being, bending it back into the likeness of what had existed before.

Spiritual essence, energy, physical form, nothing was exempt.

He would restore the sacred grounds to their untouched state, erasing the stain of intrusion and defilement the wing harlot unfit of grace brought upon these grounds. While all other Spawn bloodlines might have forgotten the true greatness and power of the Primordial Twins, turning their worship instead to the corrupted Origin, the Foolish End, the Selfish Almighty, the Enslaved Darkness, the Wise but Cowardly Sovereignty, the Quiet Supremacy, the Undependable Unknown, the Lawless Time, the Traitorous Truth, and the Delusional Unity, he acknowledged none of these beings as fit creators of existence.

All-powerful though they might be, but lacking in many aspects they were.

The Primordial Twins, mind and body incarnate had long since forsaken the need much less the interest for divine worship. They had risen beyond the need for veneration, concerned only with the highest realms of creation and their own interest.

Yet this construct, this last bastion of their legacy, awaited their return. And so, he, their sentinel, remained vigilant.

Long he has been here, so much so, he himself has no other memories but here.

Weak though his connection to the pure lineage of the Mother's blood might be, his loyalty to his origin was undeniable. He trained, he fought, he defended, time and time again.

A lesser Spawn he was, yet coursing through him were countless enhancements, a product of the powerful authority granted by his long-absent master, a being of the Greater Lineage of the Corporeal. He awaited her return from her divine mission.

He would wait.

He would defend.

That was his purpose.

Years had passed, or so he believed, but time held no meaning in this place. Even so, only purpose remained within him. He had proven himself the sole loyal protector. Before his master departed, there had been fifty.

Of those, forty had abandoned their purpose, forsaking their duty. The remaining few stayed resolute, though weak they were, and in time, they perished.

Now, he was the last protector.

The armored figure stood firm, a sentinel against the heretic of the delusional line. His resolve was unshakable. These sacred grounds, the land of Eregore, would not be defiled by some outsider.

The relics housed here were too precious, too sacred. No one unworthy, unfit, or impure would be permitted to cross the threshold, not while he stood guard.

The blood of Mind and Body, the greatest treasure left by the Info Mother and Vessel Father, lay upon the altar. It was their final gift to this world, the very power source of this construct, legend says to whoever wields it, can be sired, and re-sired into their line.

In a way, the blood here was a test for the un-sired, but many Spawn who discover its existence try time and time again to enter this place to purify their blood and ascend as children of the Primordials.

But for Spawn, the teaching he had received from his master, last of the ancient stated clearly no Spawn was meant to have it, as such it should remain untouched by the hands of those blights. The thought of these pretenders, these desecrators, laying hands on such a relic boiled his blood.

His emotions surged, a roiling storm that fed his authority. A second power stirred within him. His purpose, unyielding and absolute, unlocked a new transformation granted by this authority: to reshape his form into whatever was necessary to defeat the enemy before him.

His second authority was brutally effective in its simplicity: he would always be stronger than the opponent he faced. It granted him the ability to transform, reshaping his very being into a form specifically designed to counter his enemy. Each new form was tailored with precise countermeasures, making him the perfect foil to whomever he fought.

And now, he had taken on the countermeasure form for the limbless Spawn before him.

Both were Level 2 Lesser Spawns, each wielding three unique authorities as befitting their place in the hierarchy. The Spawn leveling system ranged from Level 0 to Level 7, with each step granting increasingly devastating powers or rather new authorities.

The battlefield pulsed with their clashing energies. His transformation was not just an adaptation, it was an announcement. No matter her strength, no matter the might of her three authorities, she would find herself outmatched. His second authority ensured that.

The two beings locked eyes, or, in her case, the black void of her featureless face met the burning gaze of his new form. Neither spoke, for words were unnecessary. Their powers would do all the talking that was required.

The heretic and her swarm pressed forward. Her limbless form darted through the air with frightening speed and precision, her insect minions swarming in unrelenting waves. He had held his base form until now, a towering figure, ten feet tall, cloaked in shadow and plated in dark, medieval armor.

His glowing purple eyes and the jagged purple horns protruding from his helm gave him the appearance of a nightmare knight from a twisted fantasy. His weapon, a scythe-like blade fused to a spinal cord, had torn through countless enemies. But it would not be enough for this battle.

As the enemy surged, his body began to compress. The darkness shrouding him shifted and coalesced. His towering frame shrank, folding inward, the armored plates reshaping themselves. The transformation was both grotesque and beautiful, a display of his raw purpose made manifest.

When the change was complete, he stood no taller than eight inches. His form now resembled a tiny, hairless humanoid with skin black as midnight and long, flowing white hair. His once-empty eye sockets with the glow of purple now burned with blazing intensity, like twin stars ready to incinerate anything they gazed upon.

Though his body was naked, it bore no human gender.

His weapon, too, had transformed. No longer a scythe bound to a spinal cord, it had become a levitating cloak of armor that floated around him. The armor shimmered and twisted, distorting the very fabric of space in its vicinity.

And right then and there, that was when he began, to end this farce.

He floated forward, raising a single finger toward the heavens, his cruel smile glinting with sharp, predatory teeth. The massive swarm that spilled endlessly from the eye embedded in the woman's chest churned like a living tide, yet his calm demeanor made it clear, he wasn't fazed. If anything, he seemed amused.

Above them, reality began to shudder, bending to his will. A black speck formed in the sky in the very spot he pointed, so small and unassuming at first it seemed insignificant. But in an instant, it swelled, tearing the heavens apart with a deafening roar.

*BHOOOOOMMMM!!!*

The speck exploded outward into an impossibly vast black hole, its presence consuming the horizon. The world itself seemed to tilt under its weight. The sheer size of it defied logic, swallowing the sky and blotting out even the light of the Formless One above. Darkness fell like a shroud, plunging everything into an oppressive, suffocating void.

She reacted instantly. The Spawn's wings flared, her body moving with blistering speed, faster than the eye could track, faster than the speed needed to escape many galaxies in mere seconds.

Yet no matter how fast she moved, the black hole's pull seemed to grow stronger as if mocking her desperation, or rather it was like this cosmic behemoth was outstating her, the faster she became, it became faster than her, the stronger she became it became stronger than her.

As such the more she tried, the further behind she found herself in the struggle, as this black hole was only getting stronger, as such every beat of her wings was futile.

The swarm, once an overwhelming flood of grotesque, writhing forms, began to vanish. One by one, the creatures were pulled into the black hole, their shrieks silenced as they were unmade.

And somehow, despite its impossible scale, stretching to as far as the eye can see, and beyond what the eye can see.

Because of this, the black hole targeted only her and her creations. The ground below, the sacred relics, and even the winds remained untouched. It was as if the void's very concept had been rewritten to target only her, and things made from her.

She screamed in defiance, her voice echoing through the darkened sky as her swarm disappeared into nothingness. Her wings beat harder, faster, but the gravitational force only laughed at her efforts. The harder she fought, the quicker her fate seemed to seal itself.

The figure lowered his hand, his smile never wavering as if certain of his victory.

As the last remnants of her swarm disappeared into the abyss, she was left alone, her form dragged upward, inch by inch, toward the consuming void. The battlefield fell silent except for the low, ominous hum of the black hole overhead.

For a moment, it was as if the world itself held its breath. Then, with a final, resounding snap, the darkness claimed her entirely, as she was pulled into the singularity.

And moment's later, the battlefield, the sacred land was quiet once more, and seeing the enemy was gone, so too did the giant black hole begin to fade.

As such the Spawn returned to his original form, towering once more in front of the immense cathedral doors.

The doors themselves were massive about 10 meters high, crafted from alien-like stone. Tendrils of greenery wrapped tightly around the door's surface.

Behind those doors lay the altar of his gods, the sacred place where the last of their physical essence lingered.

He stood unwavering, his dark form blending into the shadowy ambiance of the cathedral's entrance. The passage of time meant nothing here. Whether days, decades, or centuries passed, it was irrelevant to the construct and to him. His purpose was fixed, carved into the very essence of his being.

Until the day came when one truly worthy could pass through these gates, he would remain. Unyielding.

Eternal.

Bound by duty and faith, he would defend this sacred place for as long as existence endured.

For he knows nothing beyond Purpose.

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"Okay, hold up! So you're tellin' me that on your little adventure, you somehow snagged the power to just... waltz through the framework of the Primix Dimension? Like it's your own personal playground?!"

As Merciless and Lucy began walking together through the desert sands, Ophelia walked on his left, while Lucy stayed to his right. Ahead of them, Ana led the way, quietly listening to her master and the Jahad woman converse. Meanwhile, Merciless responded to Lucy's remarks.

"Pretty much, yeah...

Merciless said as he continued.

"The other side is wild, you know... the shit one can find in the Neutral Vault of the Great Stich is just pure insanity... Spawns although more rare to run into... one shouldn't sleep on their Spawnlings either way."

Said Merciless.

Ophelia on the other hand, just looked at Merciless, with a side glance, as if checking him out as she said to herself.

'Eos above... is it just me, or is it way too hot for a vampire right now? Height be damned, he's like a completely different person, tall, muscular... and that aura, sniff—ahhh, his scent. Gods, it's so intoxicating. This might actually be dangerous. It's been ages since I've lusted after someone this much just from their presence alone.'

'And those tails... they remind me of my own. Four of them, but why do they feel so... kitsune? Ahh, I get it. They're part kitsune, aren't they? Normally, male kitsune show off their tails to attract females, and the more tails they have, the more irresistible they are. No wonder I'm feeling like this. Without even knowing it, he's hitting all the right instincts, seducing me just by being... him.'

'How unfair. This is dangerous. Really dangerous...

Ophelia said to herself, her mind going off the rail, to say she was crushing would be an understatment, on the other hand Merciless could here her mind clearly as he said to himself as well.

'She really is a horny kitsune... hehe, no biggi though, this just makes my job easier. But Lucy? She's a whole different story. My looks and vibe might be enough to mess with Ophelia's head, but Lucy? She's tougher... she is holding up quite nicley.'

Said Merciless as the group continue to take their walk, and have their private discussion.

But Merciless was resolute, he would make them his no matter what.

'I don't mind, though... taming them is very hobby oriented for me. And when I do tame her and Ophelia she'll fit right in with Substance and Anastasia hehehehe... ahh now I sound like Michelle.'

Said Merciless, on the other hand though he went back on a more serious topic, as he stop, and look around, Lucy, Ana, and Ophelia looked at him, Avorora was here too, but still in his her off mode, oly following Lucy, so she is talkless robot.

But that aside, Merciless scratch the back of his head as he looks up, the overseers were definatley watching this exam, and with a lot of them die no doubt atention was on them, even now he could feel ther gazes, or that what you would you think.

He had no business with them directly. Using his Living Lie, he had long since trapped his and Substance Ceridwen in an illusion, separating her essence from himself and transferring it to Substance, while Substance Ceridwen is trap in an illusion locked away in its own mind for extra security.

Ceridwen, despite being part of a hive mind with a degree of independence, remained oblivious to the deception. If one instance of her got trapped, the others wouldn't notice, as they were still tethered to the central consciousness overseeing them, ensuring continuity in case of disconnection.

He employed the same tactic on Lucy Ceridwen, Ophelia Ceridwen, and Anastasia Ceridwen. In the realm of the mind, he was unmatched. Ceridwen, not being of the Alteration family but rather a creation of Vincent from the Fifth family, was no exception. Tricking this cosmic AI was simpler than it seemed, at least for him.

With Substance adopting his form, even the Overseers were fooled, believing her to be him. His illusions, bound by the rules he meticulously followed, were eternal, ensuring that his deception held firm without fault.

But that aside, he walk up infront of the ground and looked at them, as he turn to face them, and said.

"Alright, Lucy, like I said earlier, I don't want to waste too much time in this construct. So, here's the deal, are you in or not? Walk away from this joke of an exam with me, and we'll traverse the Primix Dimension together. I can help you find a solid Spawn, one that's actually worth your time. I've got the right to move through this higher plane of existence, something I earned on my journey."

"I already know the exact bloodline you're compatible with, same goes for Ophelia. Stick with me, and you won't end up with some Lesser Spawn as a parent. With me, you'd have a real shot at becoming a Greater Spawn, or hell, even an Outer Spawn."

Said Merciless, as he end this conversation with.

"So, what's it gonna be? Take the shot at becoming something far greater, or pass it up and settle for the short end of the stick?"

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