A strand of blood sliced through the air, severing the blonde Marquess's arms and one leg in a single, precise motion. Another strand coiled around his remaining leg, lifting him off the ground, leaving him dangling in midair.
The Marquess blinked, stunned, a mixture of shock and frustration flickering across his face. “This… this isn’t right.”
“Coagulate Blood into Threads?” He stammered, his voice tinged with disbelief. “That requires control on an almost surgical level! Like threading a needle. Even most vampires can barely manage that!”
Shino, however, moved with practiced finesse, his control of the blood threads rivaling the skill of an experienced tailor. He approached the Marquess, expression calm.
“It looks like you have something you’d like to say to me,” he remarked.
The Marquess’s lips twitched. “This is like watching a live performance. You don’t have to be so… eager.”
Shino remained silent, merely sighing in response.
The Marquess glanced down at his limbs, which were beginning to regenerate—but then, with a flick of Shino’s hand, a blood thread shot out, severing the newly grown leg before it could fully form.
The Marquess’s frustration peaked as he dangled helplessly. “Two days. You learned blood control—that’s one thing. But coagulating blood into threads?” His eyes narrowed. “Only the five royals and the True Ancestor can manage that. You can’t have just been transformed. Who are you?!”
Unperturbed, Shino pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the Marquess. “Maybe I’m just really talented at being a vampire?”
People often said that there was no skill too challenging to master. Shino agreed wholeheartedly. Ever since he was young, he’d been a prodigy. Whether it was academics, sports, art, music, or games, he’d always learned faster and with greater mastery than his peers.
The Marquess bit his lip. 'Talent? Talent as a vampire?' He studied Shino carefully, then muttered, “Fine, suppose you’re unusually talented. But where did you get enough Blood Energy for this? It’s been two days; you shouldn’t even be halfway full yet.”
“Unless…” He trailed off, his thoughts turning dark.
'Unless he drank vampire blood.'
While vampires could sustain themselves on the blood of other creatures, drinking another vampire’s blood was different. It was more than nourishment; it was the transference of blood essence.
The vampire’s unique transformation process refined and condensed ordinary blood into potent, personal blood energy—just a single drop was as powerful as thousands of drops from another source. This was high-grade blood. Yet, blood-sharing came with its own complications, for it was more than mere sustenance.
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In cases where a lower-ranked vampire drank the blood of a higher-ranked one, they would fall under the higher vampire’s control. A transformed vampire, for instance, would obey the one who had converted them. If a ninth-generation blood slave drank the blood of a royal, they would be elevated to a duke but remain subservient to that royal.
But there were other possibilities.
If two vampires of equal rank exchanged blood, neither would evolve, yet each would fall under the other’s sway unless one killed the other, consuming their blood and flesh.
Then there was the case of a higher-ranked vampire drinking a lower-ranked one’s blood. This would grant sustenance but not subjugation.
Finally, if a lower-ranked vampire drank the blood of a higher-ranked one who was already dead, they could potentially assume the rank of their donor, even rising to royalty if the other had been a royal.
But each of these paths was fraught with danger, and all carried a risk—Blood Disease.
The blood each vampire transformed was deeply ingrained with their own essence. Turning another vampire’s blood into one’s own was no easy feat and could lead to sickness and instability for the drinker.
If a vampire were to drink the blood of eight dead vampires, they’d inherit eight distinct blood essences that wouldn’t merge or submit to them. Instead, the rogue blood would clash, causing havoc within their body. Even without the former vampires’ consciousness, the blood’s inherent resistance would lead to Blood Disease: a devastating disorder where the vampire’s healing slows, their skin decays and itches, and their blood spins out of control in a torrent of twisted symptoms.
Yet Shino, despite his unnatural strength and rapid progress, displayed no signs of this dreaded Blood Disease. That, in itself, was strange.
The truth lay in the Blood Energy he’d amassed. Blood Energy conversion was a lengthy ordeal, and the most efficient way to gain it was to absorb the blood of other vampires, draining their energy completely. Shino had done just that—but the blood he drank came from vampires within a game, mere copies created by 079. Lacking true consciousness, they were no more than lifeless machines, their blood replicated from a single template. Because of this, Shino remained untouched by the illness that would have plagued him if he’d absorbed true, conscious blood.
However, the blonde Marquess didn’t know any of this. All he could assume was that Shino had found a miraculous way to overcome Blood Disease. Fear began to swell inside him as he lifted his gaze. Shino’s form seemed to loom larger, his very presence radiating an unfathomable terror.
“Uh… please don’t eat me!” the Marquess whimpered. “I’ll serve you—forget Faerûn! He’s nothing, not even worthy of your pinky finger! From now on, I’m part of Lilith’s retinue. I swear my loyalty!”
Shino lowered his phone. “If I had begged you like that, would you have spared me?”
The Marquess blinked, nodding fervently. “I would! Absolutely! There’s no need to kill when someone can simply be guided toward loyalty. Isn’t mercy the greater strength?”
But Shino shook his head. “You’d betray Faerûn to save your own life. How could you ever swear true loyalty to anyone?”
“A person with a probability of betrayal is bound to betray again. Because when it comes to probability, loyalty doesn’t exist.”
At that, Shino spread his blood into a shimmering net that arched toward the Marquess. In one swift motion, the net sliced him to pieces. Aiming for the heart, Shino thrust out his right hand, crushing it in his palm and dispersing every thread of Blood Energy—just as Faerûn had done to Lilith. But where Faerûn had left Lilith’s body intact, Shino’s strike left the Marquess shattered beyond repair.
The severed remains fell to the ground in fragments that twitched briefly before fading, their essence draining away.
Shino turned and moved into the shadows, where countless crimson eyes glowed, watching him.
“So Faerûn doesn’t intend to let me go,” he muttered. “Well, that’s fine. I don’t intend to let him go either.”