what if I'm an undead! then so what?-Chapter 31: What the hell happened?

Mikazuki Mansion, once a place of eerie elegance, had become a labyrinth of whispers and darkness. Masaru sat in the center of a ritual circle, an octagon inscribed into the cold, polished floor. The blood-red symbols glowed faintly, casting a soft but unsettling light that flickered as if alive. This had become his routine — night after night, he performed this ritual, his blood swirling in the air around him, gathering strength, feeding the undead hunger within. It was an old practice, one that Akane had taught him. According to her, it was essential for low-ranking and mid-ranking vampires to perform such rituals to amplify their blood, their powers, and fortify their bodies. For Masaru, it was a necessity, an unspoken burden he now embraced in the absence of a human life.

The faint glow of the symbols shifted as his thoughts meandered. The ritual had become almost meditative, a constant companion to his existence. He could feel his strength growing, his body strengthening, but beneath the surface, a strange unease lingered. Something was off, something he couldn’t shake. But for now, he pushed it away. There was no time for weakness, not in this world. Not for someone like him.

Suddenly, his reverie was broken by the unmistakable sound of his name — a voice, soft, almost musical, echoing from the doorway. It was Akane’s voice, or so it sounded. But something felt wrong. She hadn’t returned yet; he knew that much. Her voice came again, faintly, as if carried by the wind, yet it was clear enough to send a shiver down his spine.

"Masaru..."

The call lingered in the air, reverberating through the stillness of the room. His eyes narrowed. Something wasn’t right. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he cautiously rose from the blood circle. He glanced toward the door, heart pounding, pulse quickening. Maybe it was her, after all. Maybe she had come back earlier than expected.

With hesitation, he approached the door, his mind racing. He reached for the handle, his fingers trembling slightly. The atmosphere felt suffocating, the air heavy with something more than just the usual silence. As he swung the door open, the emptiness beyond greeted him. There was no one. Not a soul in sight.

Masaru frowned, a knot forming in his stomach. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, his eyes scanning the shadows, searching for any sign of her. It was a cruel joke, he thought. A prank perhaps? Maybe a trick from one of the other vampires or servants.

But as he stood there, contemplating, an icy chill crept down his spine. It wasn’t the coldness of the mansion, nor the usual eerie draft. No, this was different. This was the cold that gnawed at his very bones, the kind of cold that made his very blood freeze in terror.

And then it hit him — the smell. The stench of rot. It was as if a rotting corpse had been left to fester in the air, the decaying remains of something long dead, forgotten. The scent overwhelmed him, choking the air around him, thick and oppressive. He fought the urge to gag, instinctively stepping back toward the door. His eyes darted behind him, but there was nothing. Still, he could feel it — something was there. Something was watching him. He didn’t need to look to know.

No... it didn’t need to be sensed. The atmosphere was wrong, alive with something monstrous. Something evil.

His blood began to stir, an ancient hunger awakening in him, driven by a deep, primal instinct. He couldn’t shake the sensation that something was behind him — lurking, waiting, creeping closer. But Masaru didn’t dare look. Not yet.

Instead, he focused on releasing his blood energy, unleashing it outward, as far as it would reach. It was a desperate attempt to alert Hinata, or maybe even Eve. He had no time to waste, no time to second-guess himself. If they could sense his distress, perhaps they’d come. Perhaps they could save him.

But then, he felt it. A presence materialized in front of him.

He turned slowly, his body frozen in place. His eyes went wide, heart pounding in his chest as the unimaginable horror unfurled before him. The creature, no, the thing before him wasn’t human. Not even close. It was a grotesque, nightmarish vision of something far worse than anything he had ever seen in his life.

A little girl. Or at least, she resembled one. Sitting on the very spot where he had just stood, she stared at him with an unnerving stillness. But she was no child. The girl’s hands were monstrous, stretching far longer than they should have, the fingers elongated and broken, twitching like the limbs of some wretched insect. Her nails rattled, scraping together like rusted metal.

Her face was obscured by a porcelain mask, split down the center into two hideous expressions. One half was weeping, the other twisted into a maniacal grin. The mask cracked, dark, twisted sinew dangling from the exposed spine like ropes of blackened flesh. The scene before him was straight out of the most horrifying nightmares — the kind of fear you couldn’t comprehend, a fear so pure it burned into your soul.

Masaru felt his blood freeze. Fear gripped him, paralyzing him like never before. He had faced fear countless times, but this — this was something beyond even his understanding. The sensation of powerlessness was overwhelming. Every instinct in his body screamed to flee, but he knew, deep down, that running was not an option. This thing was faster than he could ever hope to be. If he turned his back, he would never get another chance. It would be over.

Fight.

His mind screamed, and without thinking, his body moved. He reached deep into his reservoir of power, pulling everything he could into his hands. Blood condensed, coalescing into a weapon — a bullet, larger and thicker than anything he had ever created. It hummed with energy, rotating at an impossible speed, the friction with the air igniting the space around it.

Without hesitation, he let it fly. The bullet sped toward the creature, a force so strong it felt as if the very air around him was being torn apart. The bullet screamed through the air, faster than sound, its velocity so great that it sent Masaru himself stumbling backward, crashing into the doorframe with a sickening thud.

But it was all for nothing.

The bullet grazed the girl’s mask, and instead of crumpling, it deflected like a droplet of water against glass. It was as if she had been nothing more than a barrier — a barrier that was impervious to his power.

And then the laughter began.

It was soft at first, a quiet, unsettling giggle that seemed to echo through the chamber. It made Masaru’s blood run cold. The little girl — or whatever she was — stood up, her hands scraping the floor with a terrible screech as she moved with unnatural grace, her body contorting as she inched closer.

But then, as if in a blink of an eye, the creature’s form began to shift. The monstrous visage twisted and turned, melting away before his eyes. What replaced it was the face of a girl from his past. Sakura — the childhood friend he had lost long ago. Her innocent face, the same look she had worn the last time he had seen her. The face that made his heart ache, filled with memories of laughter and the warmth of simpler days.

Masaru hesitated.

It wasn’t an illusion. No, it wasn’t that simple. The creature wasn’t even trying to manipulate his mind. It had merely shifted into her face, and that was enough to make him falter. His body shook, his hand trembling as he reached for the sword of blood that had materialized in his palm. But as he stretched out his arm, an excruciating pain ripped through him. His vision blurred.

The world around him seemed to slow.

He looked down in disbelief. His hand — his entire arm — was gone. Blood sprayed from the stump, pooling around his feet like a fountain of crimson.

"Hahhhh!" Masaru’s scream tore from his throat, ragged and desperate, as the last dregs of his strength drained from his body. His limbs felt heavy, like stone sinking into the abyss. He tried to speak—to cry out for help—but his lips merely parted in silence, trembling with defeat. His vision blurred, edges darkening like the closing of a curtain. He had been arrogant. Drunk on the illusion of power, clinging to scraps of strength he thought sufficient. But now... now his life bled away before his eyes.

If only I were stronger... If only I had more time...

A bitter thought. A cruel wish.

As his consciousness slipped further into the void, a hazy figure stepped into view—a silhouette bathed in fury. Akane.

Her presence hit the room like a collapsing mountain. The very air trembled around her, and her suffocating aura sent Severine stumbling back instinctively. The little girl’s distorted form flickered, and with a crackling shimmer, she reverted to her true shape—a twisted thing hiding behind a child’s mask.

««Vareth’na, silen threl’shara!»»

"Greetings, delicate one crowned in grace!" Severine’s voice rang out in a haunting giggle, her mask beginning to fracture like delicate porcelain. Thin cracks webbed across its surface, revealing slivers of the monstrous thing beneath.

Akane said nothing. Her crimson eyes locked onto Severine’s with glacial intensity. They stood there, frozen in a silent standoff—two forces, worlds apart in nature, yet tethered by fate.

Without warning, Severine vanished from sight—blinking behind Akane with a twisted grin, her elongated arms slashing through the air in a death strike meant to sever Akane’s neck.

But Akane didn’t flinch.

In less than a breath, the air split with the crack of sudden motion. The positions reversed.

Severine stood dazed—Akane already behind her, blade extended, the echo of the impact still lingering in the room. Blood sprayed in a thin, elegant arc as Severine was hurled across the chamber, crashing against the far wall. Her mask shattered into fragments, exposing her pale, delicate face beneath the horror. It was almost beautiful. Almost... human.

««Severine vel Ny’hail’thra»»

"Severine, the Hollow Child," Akane murmured, voice low, as she approached the girl with slow, deliberate steps.

««Vael’shun ek tairan vosh’na’lith!»»

"Let me put you out of your misery."

Akane’s figure blurred—vanishing in a burst of speed—and reappeared before Severine in the blink of an eye. Contrary to her horrific body, behind the mask the girl looked up, tear-streaked cheeks shimmering softly, lips curled into a strangely warm smile. Despite the grotesque body that twisted and reshaped itself beneath her, her eyes were filled with pain... and pleading.

But the horror was far from over.

Severine’s limbs contorted with an otherworldly screech. Fingers split into mouths filled with needle-like teeth. Eyeballs sprouted from wrists. Some arms split into feet, some grew twisted claws, others had bone exposed as if her skin had rotted away—but her face... her face remained untouched, wearing that sorrowful smile. She looked almost grateful.

With a maddened cry, Severine lunged, jaws unhinging until her mouth extended to her chest, aiming to consume Akane whole in a single monstrous bite.

But Akane stood her ground.

Her voice cut through the madness, cold as steel:

"Michael Viremonthe! You and your entire bloodline have betrayed the noble lineage of the vampires, casting aside honor in the blind pursuit of strength! Your experiments... your unholy rituals... have birthed only misery and ruin!"

A crimson blade flashed into existence in her hand—sleek, ethereal, gleaming with wrath.

"Your only atonement—"

She swung.

Once. Twice. A dozen times in a heartbeat.

Each movement painted the air red.

"—is total damnation in the ruins of hell!"

Severine’s body was ripped apart, sliced into dozens of twitching chunks, raining blood across the floor in a gruesome torrent. The room fell silent, save for the dripping sound of flesh and blood sliding down the walls.

Akane stood among the carnage, bathed in crimson.

She turned toward Masaru, his body lying limp and bloodied on the ground. Her breath caught.

A sharp pain stabbed her chest—not from battle, but from guilt.

Her voice trembled, a whisper not meant for anyone but herself.

"...It’s all my fault."

Her eyes darkened as she knelt beside him.

"He was right... I stopped caring. I stopped pushing him to grow stronger... and now... now I almost lost him."

With a swift motion, she bit her finger, letting a drop of blood fall onto his forehead. The crimson light enveloped him, his body mending itself, the wounds closing, the stump regrowing. A symbol, a mark, appeared on his hand — the crest of the vampire vassal, the mark of servitude, of power, a black spire encircled by two bats.

And as Akane collapsed onto him, exhausted, her last words were barely a whisper.

"From now on, I’ll make you stronger... stronger than you ever wanted to be..."

And with that, she too succumbed to her exhaustion, her body falling atop his, soft and warm. The crimson light from her blood still lingered, a silent promise.

Soon after, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the halls. Hinata and Eve burst into the room, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.

"What the hell happened?"