Ranni…
Ever since she lost her battle against Moyako, and her body reverted back to its aged state, she had hidden herself in her room in isolation right until the end.
Yet when she heard that even the master of the Nøkkran, Moyako herself, was defeated in battle, she felt that very same spark of ambition and hope light within her.
The indomitable, unstoppable, nigh-undefeated, undisputed strongest woman in the world was finally brought down before the eyes of thousands of men and women from all across the world.
The legend of the Immortal Phoenix, brought to its knees from the might of a single warrior.
Though Ranni’s joints were old and creaky, her muscles sore and weary, and her breathing labored from forcing herself to continue striving for greater things beyond her years, she emerged from her seclusion in the inn and danced in the streets.
Her aged voice crackled and became hoarse as she laughed with joy in her heart that her dreams for greatness had not yet faded after all, despite Moyako’s best efforts to crush them into dust.
But just as she was enjoying the feeling of her second wind lifting her up, she could feel the crushing weight of reality weighing her down as she knew that most avenues of strength were lost to her as a consequence of her manipulation of fate over the years.
That much Moyako had been right about.
Abusing Nøkkra’s power over fate has led to Ranni’s body deteriorating and aging rapidly to the point that she needed to reinforce her body with spiritual energy just to move around properly.
Of course, there were other methods for gaining strength aside from forcing fate to bend to one’s will, but none of them were suitable to the state that Ranni had brought upon her self.
Dragon consumption had resulted in Rosanne losing her sanity and being killed by Sarah, and with Ranni’s weak constitution, she would not survive the transformation of her body that came with it.
Arcane resonance was also out as her body was physically very close to the point of dying of old age. Trying to tip toe over the border of life and death for strength was like tempting fate and not worth the immense risk.
Of course, Ranni could attempt to make an offering to a rebirth shrine and regain the youthful years she lost to buy herself time, but she had little to offer.
Despite the spark of hope for greatness being reignited within her, she was still out of meaningful options to achieve it.
“Perhaps I am nothing but an old fool…,” she muttered to herself as she fell to her knees and laughed, ignoring the pain of her kneecaps cracking from the impact.
The gritty wetness of the stone alleyway she knelt upon stuck to her skin as she looked up at the starry sky, hoping for a sign to give her an answer as to what she should do with her life.
She was sick of teaching students the way of the sword that Moyako had taught her. She never liked being a teacher in the first place as she had always dreamt of standing upon the same mountaintop of greatness that Camilla, Moyako, and even Nadalia herself stood upon.
A person of renown and legend.
Of course, all of the Nøkkran Assassins were figures of legend, but for Ranni, she was the odd one out. The weakest of the bunch, the runt of the litter.
In the face of her betters, she was a speck of dust to be brushed off of their shoulders without a second glance.
She wanted to show the world that she could be something of greater reverence than the shriveled weary hag she had turned out as.
But how could she possibly manage to accomplish that?
While lost in her tumultuous thoughts, she failed to notice the approaching footsteps of a tall young man passing through the alleyway.
She turned her head to look at him with an apologetic look on her face as she said, “Oh dear…I’m making quite the scene of myself aren’t I? I apologize for the disruption.”
The young man looked at her with a pleasant smile as he said, “Oh not at all…But I must say, for such an elderly woman to display such youthful energy…it is admittedly surprising. I am curious as to what could have brought about such a reaction?”
Ranni struggled back on her feet, brushing off the grit rocks on her skin as she said, “Oh, nothing more than a fleeting delusion of grandeur in my old age.”
The young man’s eyes narrowed with curiosity as he said, “Oh…? Do tell.”
Ranni chuckled as she explained, “I am certain you have heard the stories of the Nøkkran Assassins during the Brunhildt/Duranell war, and the few that fought in the Mordrinite War?”
The young man tilted his head slightly as an air of familiarity flashed across his face.
“I do…are you perhaps, Ranni of the Mist Blade?” he asked as the light of the moon fell upon his face and revealed his pale skin, black hair, and red eyes.
Red eyes…? That is unusual.
She decided to ignore the unnerving features and said, “I am indeed, but I must admit defeat that my glory days have long since passed me. After all, the cruel reality is that my best years have left me.”
The pale young man smiled thinly as he locked eyes with her with a disturbing kind of intensity and said, “What if I told you that there was a way you could pursue that greatness once again? That you could shed your aging body and regain your lost youth?”
Ranni waved her hand at him dismissively and said, “I’ve exhausted myself thinking of all the different avenues in which I could try to achieve that, but to no avail. I have heard no stories in which I could regain what I lost without risking my death in the process.”
Rather than be insulted by her dismissal, the young man chuckled as he said, “Oh my dear Ranni…have you never heard the tale of Dracula, the Vampire King?”
Hearing that made her curious as she indeed had not heard of such a name, and stopped to listen.
She turned around slowly as she asked, “Dracula you say? No, I cannot say that I have. Who might that be?”
The young man then took one small step closer to her as he said, “Dracula is a name that was said to be erased from history as King Dagon’s greatest shame. An insult upon his name, and his lineage, but only due to the great machinations that Dracula himself concocted.”
He then took another step towards her as he continued his story and Ranni felt a growing sense of unease towards him, yet her curiosity got the better of her as she lent him his ear.
“In truth, the Legend of Dracula has three stories. In the first era, his true name was Vlad Dracula, The Impaler, Voivode of Wallachia. A great warrior and commander of his land that, upon the threat of invasion of an enemy nation, decorated the borders of his kingdom with the sight of forty thousand men impaled upon spears, akin to a cornfield of rotting corpses.”
He took another step towards her and faced her completely, his eyes glowing dimly with blood red light as he said, “In the second era, the grand legend of Vlad Dracula, resonating with the masses for nearly six hundred years gave birth to a demonic entity named Count Dracula. The warped perception of the masses transformed the history and identity of the original. What resulted from this was a demonic entity, a creature that could only exist within the night, for the sun would scorch his flesh to ashes if the light struck his skin. Through feasting upon the blood of the living, Count Dracula cleaved a warpath of misery and bloodshed within the timeless world of Babel.”
The young man’s piercing, glowing eyes seemed to bore a hole into her as he took one more step towards her and said, “In the third era, after the world of Babel fell at the hands of the Goddess of the Moon, shattering the tower that contained it, the being known as Count Dracula found himself in a world known as Erebus. It was foreign to him in its entirety, yet it offered much in the way of conquest. Yet Count Dracula found his strength to be lacking in the face of the legends that presented themselves before him. To combat this issue, Count Dracula took the life of the most beautiful woman in the then infant nation of Mordran and implanted his soul within her. However, the curse of the scorching sun remained as Dracula could only remain in the cover of night, so traversing the land was difficult. In spite of that, Dracula reached the great nation of Amaskia and presented himself before King Dagon with the intent to seduce him and produce an heir.”
Feeling entranced by this fantastical story, Ranni asked, “And? What happened next?”
The young man smiled as he said, “King Dagon was taken by the woman’s beauty that Dracula had weaponized against him and took him as his second wife. King Dagon knew right away that Dracula, even within a woman’s body, contained great strength within him, and sought right away to produce an heir with him. Before too long, Dracula’s womanly body began to bear a child, but in the process of doing so, he had slowly and subtly transferred the pieces of his soul into the infant child while it was still in the womb. When the time came for the child to be born, the entirety of Dracula’s soul had taken root within the infant child’s body in the womb and cannibalized the soul that was meant to inhabit it. The woman’s body died before the child could be delivered, yet still the baby survived. In a matter of seconds, the infant baby within progressed through the years of age within the womb and erupted from it in a display of abhorrent violence, right in front of King Dagon himself.”
The young man then reached out his hand, with its palm facing upwards as he was reaching the end of his tale and said, “In truth, Dracula’s goal was to feed off of the soul of Dagon’s offspring through a woman’s body he would inhabit and be reborn into greater strength. Disgusted by the horror of Dracula’s scheme, King Dagon wiped his name from history and attempted to kill Dracula, yet failed as he escaped into the night.”
The young man then closed his hand into a fist as he said, “Ever since that day, Dracula has been secretly building an army of vampires, of warriors he has turned, so that a great conquest may sweep over the world, and build upon a mound of bloodless corpses, a great vampire kingdom.”
Swallowing nervously, Ranni asked, “How is it that you came about such a story?”
The young man then took a graceful bow, as if to finally introduce himself as he said, “It is because I, my dear Ranni, am the very same Count Dracula, and I intend to offer you a choice, if you would choose to listen.”
Ranni said nothing as she took in the fact that a self proclaimed child of Dagon had spoken of an unheard legend regarding the mightiest king and god the world of Erebus had ever seen.
The story he spun together was too fantastical to absorb all at once for her to respond with any amount of rationality.
“I-I’m listening,” she replied.
“I would like to turn you into the very same creature, a vampire, an ageless creature of the night that holds within them, immense strength and power. If you say yes, then you will have nothing more to fear than the scorching heat of the sun, yet as an assassin who works in the shadows and the cover of night, I’m sure that is not unfamiliar to you,” he said with a tone of voice that was oddly enchanting to her.
For some reason, she could not find it within herself to refuse him.
“Could I...become a figure of reverence? A symbol of power and wonder, like my betters? Could I achieve that as a vampire?” she asked.
“Who am I to decide? I am here only to serve as the bridge that grants you another chance at greatness,” he said to her as he reached out his hand to her in an inviting manner.
Although a part of her hesitated to accept his offer, her greater desire filled the forefront of her mind as she reached out to accept his hand.
Her fingers only barely brushed against his fingertips as he lunged towards her, taking her hand firmly in his own as he sunk his teeth into the side of her neck and punctured her skin.
She let out a pained gasp as he fed upon her blood, draining it quickly from her body while pressed roughly against the stone wall of the alleyway behind her.
Yet as she felt her life being drained from her, at the same time she felt refreshed, reborn, reinvigorated. The saggy wrinkled skin dripping down the side of her face began to smooth out, her breathing eased, all the joints and muscles in her body became stronger, tighter even, like steel wires.
When he finally pulled away, Dracula’s face did not share the same alluring handsomeness from before, but rather held the appearance of a ravenous animal licking their lips over a fresh kill.
Ranni’s body slid down the length of the brick wall as dizziness set in from the loss of blood and sudden transformation.
“Stand Ranni, my newest blood kin, as a vampire sired by Dracula himself. Rise and achieve your dreams of greatness and reverence,” he said in that same enchanting voice.
As if being levitated by his words, she found the strength to stand once again as she rose to her feet and took in the first smooth breath in a very long time.
The high of her youth being returned to her was unlike anything else she had ever felt in her life.
It was intoxicating as she spread her arms open wide and took in the sight of the stars once more, gleaming with a newly refined brilliance as her eyesight was enhanced from her transformation.
“This is…this…is such an incredibly gift you’ve delivered unto me, Count Dracula,” Ranni said as she relished the moment.
“Now that you are a fellow vampire, you will address me as Lord Dracula...but perhaps that can wait. Come with me, and I will show you what it means to be a true vampire,” he said as he reached out his hand once again, inviting her to follow along with her.
Without a second thought, or a moment’s hesitation, she took hold of it and was swept along with him into the night.
Layla…
For every blasted waking moment since she lost at Marcus’s hands and tried to catch a glimpse at the nature of his soul, her left eye had been burning constantly with the flame of madness.
It was like a curse, this yellow flame.
One that seemed to punish her for looking into matters of which she had no business messing with.
To make matters worse, the burning yellow flame seemed to cause hallucinations that she could not understand.
For some reason, she would find herself walking down the street normally as she always would, but then she would suddenly run straight into a wall in an area she was entirely unfamiliar with.
She felt like she was losing time as she moved across town to her home, yet for some reason, when she checked the time, only mere seconds had passed between each moment of the hallucinations.
What could possibly be causing this to happen?
Was she well and truly losing her sanity?
Then, as she could see the Inn she was staying at only a few streets down from her, a hallucination struck her once again as she appeared elsewhere, in the basement of a room she was not at all familiar with, behind a man in blood red armor.
This very same man turned around to look at her with confusion in his eyes as to how she ended up there.
Yet just as quickly as the confusion had set in, an unusual smirk flashed across his face as he said, “What fortuitous timing this is…for a Vulcara woman to appear before my eyes in my time of necessity.”
“Who...are you?” she asked as she winced through the pain in her left eye.
The armored man knelt down to meet her eyes as he said, “I am Kayron, the Blood Knight, and you must be Layla Vulcara, if I am not mistaken?”
Kayron?! The Duranell soldier that turned traitor in the Mordrinite War?! This man is the very same?! How could I have come upon this man?!
Her panicked thoughts rushed through her head as she tried to make sense of the matter, but Kayron did not seem troubled by the suddenness of her arrival as he stood back up and walked over to a table across the room.
“You must be incredibly confused as to the situation you are in, as to how you got here, and to the reasoning for your...hallucinations I assume?” he asked as he opened a drawer and pulled out a book.
“Y-Yes...how did you know?” she stammered.
“There is a tale of those who survive the flames of madness brought upon them by Raime, God of Madness. In truth, he is not a god at all, but rather one of few Dragon Kin children of the Archdragon Malthael, whose flames burn across higher dimensions of existence. They seep into the minds and souls of its victims and forces them to suffer a realm of thought greater than their minds can withstand. Yet at the same time, perhaps it is a coincidence, those that attempt to peer into greater realms of thought have their eyes scorched by the very same flame as a consequence. You tried to sneak a peak into Marcus Wright’s soul, which exists in a higher plane of existence, and now you are cursed with the same flame of madness,” he elaborated.
“W-Will I be stuck like this forever?” she asked.
“Maybe…the few people that do survive the flames of madness, many of which lose their sanity forever. However, there are some that manage to hold on to whatever scraps of clarity within their minds and make use of the flame to their advantage,” Kayron said as he turned around and walked towards her.
“The so-called hallucinations that you are suffering, in which you lose your sense of time and suddenly appear in random locations on your way to your destination, are not that at all, but rather a side effect of that flame. Your mind is teetering on the border of higher planes of existence. You are passing through time and space randomly because you cannot control this newfound power that was given to you, but perhaps...I can assist you with that,” he said as he knelt down once again and held out the book in his hands to her.
“W-What is this? Why are you giving this to me?” she asked as she slowly reached her hand out to it.
Just as her fingers wrapped around the cover, Kayron said, “I aim to see if perhaps you can be the vessel for Freiren’s power after all.”
The moment he let go, the book opened up on its own violently and the very same sensation Layla felt upon being seared by the flame of madness seemed to intensify even further as her left eye erupted with heat and information flooded her mind.
Throughout the screams of agony from receiving this power, she could hear Kayron’s disappointed voice as he said, “Another failure it seems...what a waste.”
But then, just as it seemed her body was about to be torn apart at the seams, it began to stabilize and she felt a sense of calmness flood through her body that quelled the agony of the flame burning in her left eye.
She breathed heavily as her fingers gripped the book in her hands before she realized that she was still holding onto it.
As if on reflex, she tossed the book across the room and scrambled away from it in terror.
“Ah…it seems that we have found a successful vessel after all. How fascinating,” Kayron said as he looked at her curiously and approached her once more.
“What do you want with me?!” Layla screamed.
“I only wished to find someone who could withstand the might that the Tome of Freiren possesses, and it seems that I have finally found someone who does. Yet I must ask, now that you have taken that power within you, what do you intend to do with it? Will you run away from here, without even attempting to administer justice upon the same man who burned your home to the ground and cursed you with that flame of madness?”
A sharp intake of breath echoed in the room as Kayron had reminded her of how she had ended up in the situation she was in.
“Yes indeed…it was Marcus Wright who had slaughtered your family and friends in his reckless battle against the dragon. The very same who scarred your soul with that flame, is that right?” Kayron asked, prodding her thoughts.
“It…it was. It was Marcus who did this...but why does that matter to you?” she asked.
Kayron frowned as he said, “It doesn’t, but it matters to you doesn’t it? With that in mind, I think we could help each other. I can help you control this newfound power so you can seek out justice against that very same man, and in return, you can help me achieve my goals for this world.”
Although the offer was tempting, she did not trust him just yet as she asked, “What kind of goals do you have for this world to make use of someone like me?”
Kayron smiled as he said, “I wish to rid this world of gods and monsters. To make humanity the dominant species, and true masters of the world. All of the greatest tragedies and curses that has riddled this world are the work of such beings. Without them, humanity will flourish and we will reach the apex of our existence.”
He then reached out his hand to help her stand as he said, “If not for my sake, then for the sake of justice, will you join me?”
Julian…
In the days since he was taken to the Brunhildt prison, he had been beaten and tortured by the Valkyrie women.
But in spite of the agony he felt, he gave no reaction whatsoever. His face displayed no emotion as he lived only as a lobotomized, emotionless husk of the man he was before.
With his soul gone, he could not speak, or move, or even eat. All the motivation that came from his soul that fostered the need to prolong his life was vacant from him.
Of course, he still retained all of his memories, and intelligence, but he could not seem to act on any of it.
The very thing that made Julian Romano the man he was had been completely annihilated before his eyes as punishment bestowed upon him by Marcus Wright, the God of Wrath.
As a result of this, the torturers quickly became bored with him as they gave up their efforts to torture him as he showed no reaction and thought it best to let him rot in his cell.
He thought that infinite isolation would be his fate, but as time went on, there would be days in which some Valkyrie soldiers would walk in and use him as a means of taking out their anger.
Once they were satisfied, and Julian fell into a fresh pool of his own blood, they left his cell as many of them complained about the new stains on their clothes.
Then one day came where a guard spoke to him from the other side of the cell door, “Julian Romano, it seems that you have some visitors.”
Of course, he did not react, not even did he move his eyes, to see the faces of who would walk into his cell, but he did know exactly who it was.
Kayron’s voice echoed through the cell as he said, “Look at the sorry state you’ve been left in… Take a good long look Layla. This is the result of Marcus’s fury upon this man. He took his soul from his body and destroyed it, yet kept him alive.”
“T-This is…Julian? He doesn’t look anything like how he did during the contest?” said an unfamiliar voice, likely the ‘Layla’ he spoke of earlier.
The guard then spoke up and said, “His face is like that because his body heals so slowly, so all the beatings and torture he receives are still visible.”
“Ah…I see. Well then, it was quite a pity to lose someone as powerful as you Julian, but it seems that this is the end of the line for you. Farewell,” Kayron said as the door to his cell closed and he left, with Layla following after him.
What days that would follow would be full of isolation, beatings, and pain for this man. Days that would stretch on for eternity it seemed.
But long after Kayron and Layla left Julian to rot, and the day turned to night, an unusual object seemed to catch Julian’s eye, and whether it was his own will, or some involuntary reaction that caused it, his eyes moved to follow it as it fell slowly to the ground.
The object that captured his attention was a single black feather, landing next to his face against the stone floor of the cell.