Rose arrived on a paved mountain path framed by red ornamental gates which led into the mists above. Down the mountain a landscape of hills poked through an eerie fog, barely visible through the trees. But it felt silent. Too silent.

The gate behind her no longer showed the forest she had first been in, and the sound of birds and bugs had disappeared. A stillness hung in the air as if the place was disconnected from reality. Rose eyed the path ahead warily. The way back is closed; probably need to clear the dungeon first.

She had a feeling the exit would be at the top, but her instincts told her to take a more measured route, circling the mountain gradually to make sure she missed nothing. But she didn’t have all day—the bloody vortex around her was rapidly losing power. Feels like… a minute, two?

Her blood really didn’t maintain its potence long—she needed to find a fight, fast. Rose began running forward, following the path straight up the mountain.

Her footsteps against the paved rock were loud and echoed off into the mountainside, but she wanted enemies to come, so she let it be. There wasn’t time to appreciate the surroundings. Rose barely perceived the countless gates of red-painted wood she ran under, as her senses solely focused on finding enemies. Up up up—where are they waiting?

Then, finally, she once more felt that same sense of wrongness. Her blood had under a minute left. Instantly, she turned from the main path and started towards the side shrine from where the sensation came. It was… stronger than before? A different variety of monster? Or rather—

One sensation split into many. Rose veered to a stop, just as she arrived to a quiet graveyard where flowers had diligently been placed on each grave and the smell of incense wafted into the air. It was a tranquil scene—instantly broken as three monsters lumbered from the shadows behind the graves.

Paslamm Shrine Guard

One of the honoured who were selected to guard their people’s sacred shrines. Even though it was mainly a decorative job, they took great pride in maintaining their training.

The system said they were all the same as the last one had been, but each was unique in its profane construction. The first was like an eerie scarecrow, moving on two feet with elongated hands tipped by sharp claws. One was bloated with plague pustules, staggering on its feet, barely staying upright. The last was on all fours, skin tearing off as bone spikes poked out like cruel armor.

But each one had those same spider-web burn marks, and each one had a red-tinted glow to their eyes. They were all staring at Rose, drool dripping. For a brief moment, she pitied them—men reduced to such a state were a sad sight. But she knew only one cure. She brought her blood pool in front of her.

“Come. There’s only one mercy I can give.”

They moved faster than they should have been able. For a moment, the fat one had looked as if it could barely stand upright, but then the next it was suddenly charging at her with the strength of a bull. It and the spiked hound charged right at her, while the scarecrow hung back, skulking in the shadows.

Rose pointed her hand forward and summoned a petal storm against the charge. The two didn’t care and went right in. Rose sensed hundreds of papercuts open up as her razor-petals tore against skin. She began to pull blood out, but—

The monsters broke out of the cloud, not slowing one bit. The petals did not cut deep, and the blood loss had barely started. They were almost on her. So fast!

Her feet were already moving her back, to keep the distance from the two as she siphoned them dry, but when Rose turned she saw the third—how was that one so fast?

The scarecrow had gotten behind her already, standing under a gate and blocking off the path of retreat.

Concerned, Rose pulled the blood she had gathered from the others forward and kept running at the scarecrow. It wasn’t moving yet, just bending its neck at unnatural angles and scraping its claws against the ground. One eye was on her while the other jittered about. It was waiting, but so was Rose.

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Only four paces away, she suddenly threw her hand out and directed her blood, not into an attack, but into a thin screen to block off its view. It took the gamble, and a vicious claw-swipe burst through the center of the blood, aiming for where her center mass had been.

But Rose had already jumped. The screen of blood splashed down on the monster, and Rose followed, summoning a thorn through her leg as her boot struck it in the face. She felt it pierce through into the forehead, just a bit, but she didn’t have time to push it in further. Her blood siphon made sure she was very aware of how close the two behind her were.

Right as the others jumped towards Rose, she kicked herself off the scarecrow’s face, rotating in the air and soaring above them. Their momentum was locked, and the three collided together, cracking a wooden gate’s pillar right through. Blood was starting to gather. Rose backed away into the graveyard, summoning her next petal storm. She cast it at the grounded trio and she cut cut cut.

It was barely a second of cutting before the bloated and bone-spiked ones were up—dashing at her again, but the scarecrow stayed down. Good. That one felt the most dangerous. But these other two…

They were showing no signs of slowing. True, the petals did not cut deep, but by now hundreds of tiny trickles of blood were streaming out, connecting into a larger and larger current as they all flowed towards Rose. How much blood is there in a body, anyway?

The bone-spike guard pounced on her, and Rose dodged backward, not getting into melee range with it. It felt like a wild hound, it would be best to goad it into tiring. But while the hound had jumped, the other had stayed back and—

Rose’s eyes widened. Its cheeks were bulging out, far far too much, and its mouth was tracking Rose’s motion—aiming. A black clump of spittle shot out like a bolt from a ballista. She barely managed to take cover behind a gravestone, but the spittle sprayed out from the impact, sending sizzling goop flying. Rose felt herself losing control over any blood it mixed into.

Instantly, she sent all her blood at the bulger, summoning petals and thorns to cut and slice through its skin, and kept dodging through the graveyard—hound right behind her. Even with a vicious cutting swarm on it, globs of toxic spittle kept flying at her at an accelerating pace. The hound was snapping at her heels, but it was starting to waver.

Rose was only getting faster.

She kept up her dance amongst the tombstones, constantly just one step ahead, waiting for the victory from attrition. Her every step went right where it needed to, blessed by a newfound grace born from new instincts and power. How long had she been smiling? More and more blood was gathering, and her heart thumped faster and faster with anticipation.

Finally, right as she broke out from behind the last gravestone to the open, she heard a collapse from the bulger’s direction. It had finally succumbed to the bloodloss, pale and withered on the ground. Rose stopped her flight and turned to face the hound, summoning all the blood she had towards her hands. Snarling, it jumped.

Two thorns impaled it through the skull, like what happened to wolf jumping a phalanx. It stilled, and Rose let it collapse to the ground, dismissing the thorns from her hands. Finally, the fight was over. A proper fight.

Rose’s hands were shaking. Her mouth had been in a grin since her kick off the scarecrows face but it had grown wider and wider. Finally, she swept her hands out in a circle and pulled all the blood she could sense towards her, letting it flood into her veins. She couldn’t stop herself, the feeling was euphoric. As her veins thrummed, Rose laughed.

I had no idea I could move like that! Jump off the face, rotate in the air, land and dance amongst the tombstones! She had felt graceful, powerful, as if she could actually match what she wanted to do with her body, instead of always lagging behind. And with every pulse of blood flowing into her core, she felt herself growing even stronger.

Blood: 3/100

It was only the start of it, but she could feel the sinews in her muscles strengthening and her bones thickening. Some of the blood went right to her veins and some of it she drank, and it tasted like the sweetest drink in the world. It was a mania she had never felt before, only dispelled once her heart calmed and her sharpened senses could feel it again, that scent in the air.

Incense.

Instantly, Rose’s mind snapped into focus and her head whipped towards the humble shrine standing in the middle of the graveyard. It alone was unmarked by the battle, a piece of calm amongst the violent streaks of blood that dotted the graveyard, all the blood Rose had used which had lost its power.

On the shrine were three sticks of incense—just three. But they were burning, smoke trails rising up and carrying through the wind.

They were only a third used up.

Hesitantly, Rose turned to look at the drained corpses of twisted men around her. They had no sanity left—they would not be lighting incense here. But they had been people before… whatever had happened here. Before it had become a dungeon.

Just how recent was this calamity? Was it even an hour before? An eerie sensation fluttered in Rose’s guts.

Does the integration cause all this?

The dungeon which had once been a shrine lay around her—silent as a tomb. As if the shock hadn’t even begun to set in yet.