Vampire: World of Blood-Chapter 130: Journal Entries & And New Changes Within The Proximia

Journal Entry - Day 42 in the Primix Dimension

I have come to learn many things on my journey here, though I have only scratched the surface of this bizarre and unfathomable realm. My interactions have been limited to but one spawnling race of the 5th lineage, yet these encounters have been illuminating in ways I had not anticipated. The Aristaeus, as I have learned through my abilities and relentless observation, are a species both intricate and profoundly enigmatic. Their biology, culture, and the very essence that drives them are labyrinthine puzzles, each discovery a piece of a vast, incomprehensible whole.

However, my insights into their nature have not come without cost. To date, I have expended over 232 points, primarily in the pursuit of information. It is a curious thing, to trade something as tangible as points for the nebulous commodity of knowledge, yet it has proven invaluable. Among the most curious pieces of information I have acquired is the concept of time within this dimension. Time, as I once understood it, is meaningless here. The very notion cost me 108 points, a hefty price, yet the knowledge gained was worth far more.

The Primix Dimension is a truly bewildering place. It is not merely a metaphysical plane but an amalgamation of the minds of all originators, clustered together in an indescribable unity. This realm defies the very fabric of reality as I know it; it is a place where the concepts of higher infinity, dimensionality, and even the differences between dimensions are stripped of meaning. These ideas, which once seemed so grand, are reduced to mere trivialities here, akin to mundane expressions.

To put it simply, this place is an incomprehensible structure—a non-existent, yet ever-existing paradox that is more real than reality itself. For a human mind, it would be nothing more than a dream, a fleeting image glimpsed but never understood. Distance here is a mere expression of all and none; it is a place where limits do not exist. Uncertainty reigns supreme, and reality itself feels like a carefully constructed lie, one that I have begun to unravel.

This place, this dimension, is the true birthplace of existence within this fruit. Naturally, time as I once perceived it does not exist here, at least not in the typical sense. I find myself currently underground, within one of many different imaginary space-time continuums—bubbles, perhaps, infused with the concept of time to prevent outsiders from becoming lost in the incomprehensible expanse of this realm.

This particular space was created by Keziah Maddison, and it is known as the tutorial zone. Imaginary time flows here, relative to the time flow of Hellmora although in the sense that 10 months in this time space is nothing more but 1 second on planet Hellmora, ensuring that those who enter can keep track of the passage of time, however futile that may be.

Yet, even within this structured chaos, there is a hierarchy. The Primix Dimension is the second highest plane of existence within the fruit, a place where the lower and higher beings of different planes can comprehend one another. Time lineage spawns, for instance, have their own space-time continuums, their domains existing outside the reach of the fruit’s laws within their own space of imagination. And so, this plane is not merely a home for the spawn race but a meeting ground, a place where the incomprehensible becomes marginally less so.

In my current predicament, I have reached a wall—a literal barrier composed of various energies. I am certain that the queen lies behind this obstacle, yet at present, I am unable to breach it. It is a formidable construct, its complexity growing with each passing day. I have tasked Anastasia with analyzing it, and she has found a way to break through. However, it will take another day and a half before she can gather the necessary energy to overcome its defenses. The wall is an evolving entity, its strength increasing daily, and I can only hope that our window of opportunity does not close before we are ready.

For now, I wait and watch, my mind ever turning, contemplating the secrets that lie beyond this barrier. The knowledge I have gained thus far is but a drop in the ocean of mysteries that this dimension holds, and I am eager to uncover more, no matter the cost.

Merciless Minerva Elderblood II.

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Merciless paused, rereading the entry before nodding in satisfaction. He signed his name at the bottom of the page, the letters bold and precise: Merciless Minerva Elderblood II.

As he set the quill aside, he leaned back in his chair, contemplating the journey that had led him to this point.

Currently Merciless found himself in his office, within the vast expanse of the Proximia Dimension, a realm that had once served as a prison under the dominion of the Azamite royalty. Originally governed by the Sephiroth family’s most talented ichormancers who held authority over such domains, it had then been sold off to Michelle, who eventually passed it on to him.

As such the Azamites had once specialized in controlling these spaces, but now, this realm belonged to Merciless.

But that was before—before he had embraced the aspect of nothingness, before the ring he had donned fused with his very being, transforming into a permanent mark on his finger, a tattoo that symbolized the union of his essence with the realm at the time, making concept reign supreme once within.

This reality was no longer just a prison or a realm ruled by outside forces. When the ring became a part of him, the Proximia Dimension underwent a significant transformation. It was no longer constrained by the norms and restrictions established by its previous masters.

Instead, it had been irreversibly transformed by the idea of correspondence, which was an essential component of Merciless’ power. This notion stated that whatever became a part of him was subject to his volition, or essence. Thus, the Proximia Dimension was now inextricably tied to his null blood, essentially becoming an extension of himself.

Simply put, this place had become his personal domain, over which he had complete control. It was no longer under the Azamites’ rule; it was a subjective reality created by his will, a world of fiction shaped by his imagination and aspirations. Merciless was the solitary monarch of this space and the primary source of all that was there. His essence commanded the entire plane, shaping everything to his will.

Unfortunately, the same weakness of prime essence applied here as well; in layman’s terms, his absolution had limits in the sense that stronger chaos and nothingness entities or aspects could still beat him, if not outright kill him, even in this space.

But the trade-off was better, sure the proximia became weaker since it now equalized to his being, but he could now do things he was not allowed to do within it at first due to the condition set upon it by the previous owner.

The nature of his Prime Essence increased his dominance over this place. This essence, which was at the heart of his being, enabled him to mold reality in the Proximia Dimension, bending the very fabric of existence to his will. The dimension was limitless, having no beginning or end, with the only restriction being Merciless’ imagination. This was his subjective reality, where fiction became a reality and the impossible became feasible.

Furthermore, Merciless held the wereones race’s specific powers, the power of the Bane or Klaw, which he received from Hector’s first and most devoted servant, a formidable figure with the unique ability to manipulate boundaries. Hector’s power enabled him to imagine and build anything inside his reality, with the caveat that whatever he made may be up to five times as powerful as himself.

Merciless inherited a reduced version of this power, yet it was still formidable. He could create and bring to life anything within the Proximia Dimension, but his creations could only be up to twice as powerful as himself if not vastly lesser.

This made the Proximia Dimension a place where Merciless’s will was law. He could conjure entire landscapes, summon creatures, and manipulate the very laws of physics within this realm. It was a space of infinite potential, where his imagination reigned supreme, and where he could experiment with his powers without constraint.

In essence, the Proximia Dimension had evolved into more than just a prison realm; it was Merciless’ own domain, a representation of his power and will. An imaginary location where he could push the boundaries of his abilities, mold reality to his will, and discover the full potential of his Prime Essence and the inherited capabilities of the wereones. This realm was a representation of his inner self, a limitless, ever-changing landscape created completely for him and entirely controlled by his will.

As limitless as it may be, this was by far Merciless strongest ability outside Crimson Dawn. He could also project his rule outwards as well, but the limit be the range of Crimson Dawn as well.

"I gain so much, but my limits have not changed at all, well range-wise that is, given the fact that I am still being equalized by vampirism level units. This is understandable since I am only a level 4 vampire... either way, this queen Aristaeus’s energy barrier is preventing me from reaching the heart of her nest, and no matter how many laws I infused, it will not budge... sigh... Hopefully, Anastasia pulls true."

Merciless muttered to himself, his voice echoing softly through the grand office he had meticulously crafted within the Proximia Dimension. With a wave of his hand, he summoned yet another cigar—this time honey-flavored, a subtle acknowledgment of his mounting frustration.

His personal office and also room was a Nu-Gothic masterpiece, combining dark elegance with meticulous workmanship. The walls were ornamented with deep obsidian stones and carved with patterns of intertwined vines and strange figures, each of which appeared to wriggle and twist as if alive.

Tall, arched windows flanked the room, yet they did not expose the emptiness outside but rather opened into views of Merciless’ creation—endless crimson skies with dark clouds swirling and crackling with red lightning.

The floor was polished black marble, so smooth it reflected the dim light from the chandeliers above. These chandeliers were masterpieces in their own right, forged from black iron and adorned with crimson crystals that bathed the room in a soft, eerie glow. Each crystal flickered with a light that seemed to pulse in time with Merciless’s thoughts, casting dancing shadows that added to the room’s somber atmosphere.

A magnificent ebony wood desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with silver and gold filigree depicting ancient battles and forgotten gods, basically hector memories of Michelle and Scathach killing gods, in the age of the gods via the use of hieroglyphs. On the center of this desk, It held his codex, a tome wrapped in black leather with pages packed with his meticulous notes and ideas.

The chair behind the desk was a throne in its own way, high-backed with dark velvet cushioning and silvered spikes along the edges, serving as both a seat of authority and a reminder of the dangers that came with it.

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As he sank into the chair, the honeyed smoke from his cigar curled slowly upward, blending with the subtle aroma of incense in the air. His eyes, which were slightly lit in neon blue and dark purple, surveyed the room as he took in his surroundings. This area was his creation, a reflection of his mind—a safe haven where he could ponder, prepare, and, if necessary, command the forces at hand.

Merciless was a little stressed at the moment; he had been so busy that he hadn’t completely acknowledged it yet. His time is largely spent learning, documenting, and practicing in preparation for his showdown with the queen.

The incident of the last encounter with the golden warrior still lingered on his mind, it was the first time he was unable to copy another genetic code for his own.

As a result, if he wants to kill the queen and take her soul, he must confront this predicament head-on. The dilemma, however, is whether he can genuinely do it.

But as he began to ponder, a knock came at his office door.

*Knock!!... Knock!!...

Merciless did not need to ask who it was, he already knew, as he could sense every living being in this place.

From there the tip of his tail began to shapeshift into a hand similar to before, as the hand took the cigar from his mouth. As he inhales and then exhales, the smoke leaves his mouth as such, spreading the honey aroma once more.

As such he simply said.

"You may come in!"

After those words were spoken, the doors creaked open, and Substance, a vision of gothic appeal, entered as silently as a shadow. She held a bottle of exquisite wine and an ornate, gothic grail, its deep red contents flowing with a dim, seductive fragrance. As she approached, the faint clinking of her heels against the smooth floor echoed across the otherwise quiet room.

Substance stood just 5’3", yet her presence commanded attention. Her new work uniform clung to her sumptuous physique, the black cloth emphasizing every curve, especially her large chest, and fat ass, clearly showcasing a body made for sin.

Her snug and cut blouse strained against the sheer fullness of her bust, creating an almost sexual tension in her outfit. The high neckline and puffed sleeves stood out against the form-fitting waist and hips, giving her an aura of dark sophistication.

Her golden hair cascaded down her back in beautiful waves, framing a youthful yet unearthly face. Her lips, painted a rich, almost unnatural black, parted slightly when she met Merciless’ stare.

Naturally Merciless questioned his creation.

"Hmmm, your visit here was not expected Substance, I thought I made it clear, that I wish to be left alone once im inside my office, or has Anastasia broken through the barrier as of yet, is that why you are here"

Merciless asked as he took another pull at his cigar.

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