Monster?
Sherwin froze. A jolt of primal fear surged through both his bodies as his gaze was forcefully drawn to the figure standing at the edge of the theater roof, dark coat flapping in the wind. For a moment, his connection to his physical vessels frayed, control slipping from his grasp like blood through open palms.
Then he realized—the "Wolf of Suffering" had descended.
The divine presence he served—no, worshiped—had chosen to personally inhabit his body. The horror in his heart was instantly washed away by reverence. He dropped his resistance and offered himself up in full devotion, the cracked smile on his lips stretching wider as he let go of everything.
A hundred blood-red eyes blinked across his misshapen face, all locked onto the newcomer—tall, wind-swept, and watching from the rooftop like a judge about to pass sentence.
Lorrian.
The so-called "Vampire King."
The monster.
Lorrian wrinkled his nose slightly. The swarm of twitching crimson eyeballs made his skin crawl. "Being ugly isn't your fault," he muttered under his breath. "But dragging that mess out in public should be a crime."
The occult world of this city was indeed something else. Cultists bursting with parasitic gods, monstrous flesh-warped hosts, dark rituals that called forth "gods" with names only whispered in madness… and all of it so chaotic, so grotesque. He was still getting used to it.
Fortunately, it was all still within manageable limits.
With a dramatic sweep of his coat, Lorrian summoned his shadow-wings—long and bat-like—and launched himself into the air. The winds howled as he dove down from the theater's roof.
"Next time you call someone a monster," he called out, "maybe take a long look in the mirror first."
He crashed into the street with an explosion of cracked pavement and swirling smoke. Shadows billowed around him like living things. Reaching instinctively toward his waist, his hand paused, then lowered with a sigh.
His revolver—the old Sheffield model from the black market—was outdated. His power had grown too fast. The weapon simply couldn't keep up.
Time to find a proper weapon. A king needs a crown—and a blade.
Behind him, a tall, armor-clad silhouette rose from the shadows. Jack Arnold emerged from the darkness like a war-forged phantom, his eyes glowing with solemn, chilling light.
"Shall I purify this blasphemer in your name, my Lord?" Jack's voice was low, reverent.
If this had only been Sherwin alone, Lorrian thought, Jack wouldn't even need to lift a finger. Hell, even Bansen could've handled it. But now?
"Looks like someone's god is cheating," Lorrian said. "I'll take this one myself."
Sherwin—no, the being now controlling his body—turned its attention to Jack. The mass of red eyes all shifted in unison toward the warrior standing behind Lorrian.
"…Worm."
Lorrian stiffened.
Worm?
The insult wasn't aimed at him—but at Jack.
His eyes narrowed. That word echoed with strange familiarity. It triggered something—a memory, a warning. Jack's inhuman affinity for vampiric power. His evolution. The way the vampire blood had awakened something ancient inside him. The reactions from other entities. Was this part of that mystery?
He filed it away for later. Not the time for riddles.
The creature didn't speak again. It simply dropped the chain of blood-curse symbols from its hand and began advancing—one monstrous step at a time.
Lorrian exhaled through his nose, cold eyes flashing. "Let me show you how a real blood curse is used."
The pavement cracked beneath him as a ring of glowing crimson script spiraled out from his feet. The glyphs twisted into chains of seething power, slashing toward the twin bodies of Sherwin like red lightning.
Boom!
Flames spewed from Sherwin's stomach cavity as one body leapt away while the other launched a retaliatory inferno, trying to stall Lorrian's approach. It didn't work. Lorrian conjured a thick veil of shadows, which swallowed the fire with barely a flicker.
The cursed chains slammed into the ground around Sherwin like hunting hounds. Dodging them only pulled him further into the trap.
Lorrian charged forward. Smoke curled in his wake.
CRACK!
His fist smashed into Sherwin's jaw with a thunderous impact, launching the heretic backward like a rag doll. But before he could crash, the blood curse chains yanked him back—violently—dragging him into a waiting storm.
Lorrian reached into his shadow again.
A great sword erupted from the void—five meters long, black and red like forged obsidian—and with a single swing, he cleaved Sherwin's body in half from head to groin.
"AAARRGH!"
Sherwin's screams echoed down the street. Both his minds felt the agony. Neither body was spared the pain.
From the theater's back door, a certain trench coat-wearing man peered out with wide eyes.
"Damn!" Constantine gasped. "The boss just dropped him like a sack of rotten potatoes!"
He pumped his fist. "The Vampire King knocks the heretic to his knees!"
Lorrian didn't even flinch. He snapped his fingers, and the shadows surged like a tidal wave. The two halves of Sherwin's mutilated body were ensnared in a net of dark webbing and crushed beneath the tightening chains of cursed script.
This wasn't just overkill—it was execution.
The second Sherwin staggered, the remaining body was drenched in the crimson flood spilled from its counterpart. The blood writhed. The body changed. Its back arched violently, jaws splitting open, teeth becoming fangs, muscle tearing and regrowing into twisted, bestial shapes.
A crimson-furred beast with a dozen glowing red eyes now stood in the firelit street.
The Wolf of Suffering had fully emerged.
Lorrian narrowed his eyes. "Phase two, huh?"
The creature growled low, guttural and inhuman. Still, behind those beastly eyes… fear. The original Sherwin—buried deep inside—was beginning to realize a terrifying truth:
Even with divine blessings…
Even with monstrous transformation…
He still wasn't enough.
Lorrian strode forward.
Behind him, the chains of blood-cursed glyphs formed into a massive crucifix of seething crimson light—taller than the theater's second story, pulsing like a holy relic in mockery.
It was judgment time.
And in this trial, there would be no mercy.