Kiss of the vampire
"The Girl with a Sharp Sword"
Mission 42 : two Souls
The sheer cosmic presence of Xexaria—the smell of ten billion rotting graves, the grinding sound of her voice—was a physical force. Deyviel and Ben were trapped, the Outer God towering behind a wall of grotesque, transformed humanity.
"Ben, focus on the big ones! I need a clear shot at the altar's root!" Deyviel yelled, his Greed-ki flaring blue-hot. He didn't wait. He launched forward, his body moving like a human cannonball.
The horde was terrifyingly fast despite its appearance. A Lust zombie—a mass of exposed, pulsating flesh—lunged first. Deyviel's guard went up, his forearms catching the creature's strike, not to absorb the force, but the rot. The Mark of Greed flared, sucking the corrupted ki from the zombie's body, leaving behind only desiccated husks.
Meanwhile, Ben was in his element. Against the horde, his pure Royal Guard training was devastatingly effective. He used their own mass against them, redirecting the momentum of a dozen Gluttony zombies into a pile, creating an opening. He was a whirlwind of controlled violence, but for every zombie he reduced to dust, three more crawled from the shadows.
The Black Knights Regroup
On a higher level of the catacombs, away from the immediate chaos of the altar, the remaining Black Knights were fighting a desperate rear-guard action. They had managed to barricade a choke point, but the horde of newly infected Sin Zombies—and worse, their own mutated vampire nobles who had succumbed to the Miasma—pressed relentlessly.
Denver J. Siege snapped awake, his breath shallow, a raw wound where the Mark of Greed had been. He pushed himself off the stone floor, his body shaking with weakness.
"Deyviel… where is he?" he gasped, his eyes frantically scanning the blood-soaked corridor.
Mizuno Martin, the Vice Captain, slammed his broadsword through a shrieking Sin Zombie of Pride (a former vampire noble) and shouted back, "He's at the altar! Ben is with him!"
A sudden, ear-shattering screech ripped through the catacombs, silencing the battle for a split second. The ground vibrated, and chunks of centuries-old ceiling rained down.
The Black Knights looked towards the source of the noise—the massive, impossible form of Xexaria filling the deep shaft.
Ethan Allen froze, his sword dropping slightly as his brain struggled to process the sight. "What the hell is that… thing? Or is that a thing?"
The question echoed among his remaining squad: Andrew, Christine, Cymac, Emily, Alicia, Yumi, Kliev, and Maya. Every face was a mask of terror and disbelief.
Then, from a shadowed corner where he had dragged himself to recover, Lancer—his new Mark of Pride throbbing—let out a booming, triumphant laugh.
Ethan's training instantly overcame his fear. He moved like a striking viper, grabbing Lancer by the throat and slamming him against the cold stone wall. He lifted Lancer, exposing the new Mark.
"What is this?" Ethan demanded, his voice a low, lethal growl. "Tell me what you did or how we can stop it!"
Lancer only laughed harder, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Hahahaha! You simply can't! If they have already fully materialized, nothing can stop them!"
He spat blood, his eyes shining with mad, arrogant delirium.
"That, Black Knight, is Xexaria, the Outer God of Rot! She is one of the Twelve Outer Gods, beings from beyond the dimensions who have set their sights on this planet. Why? Because you are a godless world! A world whose original divine guardians were sealed away long ago."
Lancer's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, meant to break their minds.
"Xexaria is the God of Rotting Flesh. She rules over untold billions of grotesque monsters, ghouls, and Sin Zombies. But she is small fry! There are eleven others!"
He pointed at his Mark of Pride and sneered. "These Sin Marks are the anchors! Each one of the Twelve Gods is linked to a corresponding Cardinal Vice. We, the Sin Users, are simply the conduits to breach the seal!"
He started listing them off, his voice laced with venomous pride:
* Azaroth: The strongest among them, the true God of the Abyss. He is the ultimate, incomprehensible force that the others serve, often connected to Ambition/Acedia.
* Yzug Nigghuwrath: The God of Endless Gluttony and Consumption, whose presence promises to devour all matter and ki, linked to the Sin of Gluttony.
* Malphas: The God of Burning Fury, who seeks only to ignite all ki into chaotic, destructive flames, linked to the Sin of Wrath.
* Ythra: The God of Possession and Desire, who twists all beauty into monstrous need, linked to the Sin of Lust.
* Harthon: The God of Jealousy and Imitation, who desires to corrupt what others possess, linked to the Sin of Envy.
* Pazuzu: The God of Indolence and Stagnation, who seeks to end all movement and life, linked to the Sin of Sloth.
"And now, Xexaria is here, the God of Decay and the gateway to the others, linked to the Sin of Greed!" Lancer bellowed, mistaking his own Mark of Pride for the mark Deyviel still bore. "They were the beings who fought and sealed away your world's pathetic, original gods. And now they return to harvest! You cannot stop a god, Ethan Allen! The world is already over!"
Ethan's grip tightened, but he knew Lancer was telling the horrific truth. Their fight for Paris was just a skirmish against a cosmic invasion. His eyes flicked to Denver, then back to the chasm.
"Vice Captain, take Denver and the others," Ethan commanded, his voice now dangerously calm. "Get them out of the city. I'm going to buy Ben and Deyviel time."
Mizuno shook his head fiercely. "Captain, no! We fight together!"
Ethan slammed Lancer's head against the wall, knocking him unconscious, then dropped him. He looked at his Vice Captain and his remaining Black Knights, his gaze holding the weight of the world.
"The Royal Guard is a wall," Ethan said. "And the wall doesn't break. Protect the Mark of Greed. It's the only chance we have left."
He turned and leaped into the chasm, plunging into the rotting darkness below.
Ethan's body cut through the darkness like a falling spear. For a heartbeat, he almost looked like salvation—a lone knight diving into the maw of hell. But the abyss had no mercy. Xexaria's vast, ulcerous face tilted upward, and her laugh was the grinding of coffins dragged on stone.
Deyviel saw him fall and screamed, "CAPTAIN!" His ki flared wild, but it was already too late. A dozen arms—stitched together from corpses—rose from Xexaria's bulk and snatched Ethan midair. The knight fought like a rabid lion, his blade severing arms in sprays of black rot, but every cut only birthed two more limbs. He was dragged into the mass of putrid flesh, swallowed whole in seconds.
Ben froze, his guard faltering for the first time. The weight of hopelessness struck like a hammer. "No… not him…"
Deyviel's rage surged. The Mark of Greed pulsed violently, its hunger overriding sense. He ripped through three Lust zombies, draining their corruption until they withered like dried husks. His sword burned azure as he charged the altar again.
But Xexaria noticed.
The Outer God's attention was suffocating—a hundred hollow eyes focused only on him. The wall of rot shifted, her grotesque bulk lowering, and a shriek of laughter clawed at his ears. The ground itself decayed under her presence, stone turning to slush.
Ben pushed forward, cutting a path, his arms slick with ichor. "GO, DEYVIEL! THE ROOT!"
Deyviel leapt high, blue flames exploding around him. His blade came down like judgment—
And stopped.
The altar's root pulsed with black veins. From it, a second presence was leaking out—slow, deliberate, cold. A voice that wasn't Xexaria's whispered through the catacomb, quiet as a knife sliding into flesh:
"Mine… all of it… will be mine."
The shadows lengthened unnaturally, every flicker of torchlight snuffed. The Sin Zombies froze, their twisted bodies spasming as if possessed by another will. The stench of jealousy—like vinegar and rust—flooded the chamber.
Maya, who had fought her way down the corridor with Emily, suddenly staggered, clutching her head. "No… no, not him… not this one…" Her voice cracked, terror in every syllable.
Lancer, half-conscious against the wall, laughed weakly. "Harthon… you feel him, don't you? The God of Jealousy comes… he follows the scent of Greed."
Deyviel's strike faltered as the altar's veins bulged. A skeletal hand, thin as shadow and jagged as broken glass, began to press through the stone. The mere emergence of its fingertips split the catacomb walls, like reality itself was being pried apart.
Ben's instincts screamed. He grabbed Deyviel midair and yanked him back just as the hand lashed out, gouging a trench through where Deyviel had been standing.
The second Outer God was crawling through.
Xexaria reared up, shrieking with glee at her sibling's arrival. The horde surged again, now double in ferocity, empowered by two presences feeding them.
Deyviel's face twisted with fury and despair. "Two of them…?! We can't—!"
Ben silenced him with a glare, steel in his bloodied eyes. "Then we fight until we have nothing left. That's what a wall does."
But even he felt the truth. They weren't holding the line anymore. They were being erased.
The altar split wider, the abyss deepening. Xexaria's form loomed, Harthon's creeping jealousy reached, and the Black Knights above were already breaking under the pressure.
The war for Paris was lost.
The war for the world had just begun.
The altar cracked like a bone under pressure. From within, Harthon's hand stretched farther—long fingers jagged with envy, reaching not for stone, but for hearts. Every living soul in the chamber felt it clawing at them.
The Black Knights above faltered. Cymac dropped his shield, eyes going glassy. Christine clutched at her chest, her Mark of Sloth glowing faintly against her will.
Maya screamed. Her own Yamato trembled in her hands, the blade quivering as if pulled toward the altar. She staggered back, blood weeping from her nose. "He's… choosing… one of us!"
Ben gritted his teeth and forced her behind him. "Ignore it! Don't let him in!"
But it was too late.
Harthon's shadow spread across the floor, slick and oil-dark. The jealousy seeped into the ranks like poison, probing for the weakest spirit, the most fractured will.
And it found one.
Denver J. Siege—already broken by the loss of his Mark of Greed, weak and stumbling—let out a choked gasp. The shadow clamped onto his chest like a parasite, burning a symbol into his flesh. The Mark of Envy erupted there, jagged emerald light crawling like veins up his neck.
"NO—!" Ethan's voice thundered from within the abyss, muffled and distant, but it was drowned by Denver's scream as his body convulsed. His eyes burned green, pupils dilated to nothing, his voice a warped echo:
"Why him? Why does Deyviel get the power? Why not me?!"
Deyviel froze. His sword dipped for the first time. "…Denver…"
The newly-forged Mark of Envy pulsed, linking Denver to Harthon. His body jerked like a puppet on strings, muscles tearing as black veins spidered across his skin. He reached for his former comrades, snarling.
"Kill him!" Alicia shouted, tears in her eyes. "We can't let another Mark spread!"
"No!" Deyviel's fury flared. His Greed burned blue as he dove between Denver and the others, clashing blades with his own corrupted brother-in-arms. Sparks flew, the noise a nightmare symphony of brotherhood breaking.
Ben, panting and blood-soaked, saw the altar widening. "We're out of time!"
And then, salvation tore through the abyss.
The ceiling above exploded inward. A torrent of silver light rained down like a storm. For a moment, even Xexaria recoiled, shrieking. The horde stumbled as though blinded.
Through the breach descended a figure cloaked in white radiance, carrying a banner inscribed with an ancient seal. Their voice was clear, commanding, ringing like a bell in the rotten dark:
"Stand if you still draw breath! By order of the Divine Vanguard, you are not yet forsaken!"
It was Seraphiel, one of the Divine Guardians long thought sealed away. His wings flared, slicing apart zombies by presence alone. With a sweep of his hand, a barrier of holy light encircled Deyviel, Ben, Maya, and the shattered remnants of the Black Knights.
"Fall back!" Seraphiel commanded. "This is not your war to win today!"
Ben grabbed Deyviel, who still struggled against Denver's claws. Tears blurred Deyviel's vision as Seraphiel's light ripped Denver's body away, sealing him within chains of radiance.
"LET ME GO! I WON'T BE LESSER!" Denver's shrieks echoed as the Mark of Envy writhed.
But Seraphiel was merciless. "Your envy will consume you. Better to be bound than to spread." With one strike, he dragged Denver's form into the barrier, imprisoning him.
The survivors had no choice but to retreat. Seraphiel's barrier flared brighter, repelling both Xexaria and Harthon's creeping hand. For the first time, the Outer Gods hesitated.
As the Knights were lifted through the breach into the moonlight above, Deyviel looked back one last time. He saw Ethan's sword, discarded in the rot, and heard his Captain's fading voice echo from the abyss.
"The wall doesn't break… it holds."
Then the light swallowed them, and the catacombs collapsed.
Paris was lost.
Denver was damned.
And the war of the Twelve Gods had only begun.
The Mark of Greed didn't just flare. It ruptured.
Deyviel staggered, clutching his head as white fire ripped through his veins. His scream tore across the chamber—but when his eyes opened again, they weren't the same.
They were cold.
Predatory.
Hungry.
His lips curled into a smile that didn't belong to him. "Finally… free."
None of the Black Knights noticed the change—not through the madness, not through the flood of Sin Zombies. To them, it was still Deyviel, power overflowing, finally awakening. But it wasn't. It was something darker—his other self, wearing his skin.
With a snap of his fingers, "Deyviel" launched forward, blade whistling. His power ignored resistance, ripping through flesh, miasma, even stone. Every strike of Bypass All erased matter from existence.
Zombies crumbled to dust.
Walls of rot shattered.
And even Xexaria reeled back when her grotesque mass was carved open in a single stroke.
The abyss trembled. Harthon's claw froze mid-reach, his voice rippling with intrigue. "Impossible… a mortal… cutting through us?"
Xexaria's chorus of rotted voices shrieked in delight. "How delicious! A boy who bites at gods!"
Evil Deyviel laughed, feral and unhinged. "Not enough to bite. I'll tear you apart." He hurled himself at the altar, slashing into Harthon's glass-like arm. The blow split the limb down the middle—shards of envy spraying across the cavern.
The impossible had happened: an Outer God bled.
But the victory was short-lived.
Xexaria's massive appendage crashed down, catching Deyviel across the chest. The Bypass All cut through part of the blow, but not all. His body crumpled, ribs shattering, blood splattering the ground. Harthon followed, his fractured claw spearing into Deyviel's leg and pinning him to the altar.
The boy's laughter cracked into a gasp of pain. Still, the smile lingered. "Stronger than I thought. Good… don't disappoint me."
But his body couldn't keep up. The power gnawed at his flesh, tearing him apart from the inside.
Ben and Maya screamed, charging through the horde to reach him. Alicia, Yumi, and Kliev fought desperately to carve a path, but the swarm pressed harder, empowered by their gods' fury.
"Retreat!" Ben bellowed, his voice cracking. "Get him out of here!"
The Black Knights moved as one, dragging the unconscious, bloodied Deyviel away from the altar. But the path was collapsing, the horde drowning every corridor.
That was when Andrew and Christine made their choice.
Christine shoved Alicia into Maya's arms, her face streaked with blood but blazing with resolve. "Don't look back. Take him and RUN."
Andrew slammed his shield into place, locking the path behind them. "We'll hold them. Go!"
"No—!" Maya screamed, thrashing in Ben's grip. But he dragged her away, teeth clenched, tears streaming down his face.
The last sight of Andrew and Christine was their silhouettes standing together in the collapsing darkness—his shield raised, her sword blazing. Then the horde fell on them, and the tunnel shook with their final cries.
The survivors burst into the burning streets of Paris, carrying Deyviel's broken body. He was unconscious now, his face peaceful—as if the other presence had slipped back into hiding. No one realized the boy who had stood against the gods wasn't their Deyviel.
Only the Outer Gods knew.
Deep in the abyss, Xexaria's grotesque laughter echoed, shaking the ruins of the altar. Her hollow eyes gleamed as she licked the gaping wound carved into her form.
"Interesting…" she crooned, her voice like graves splitting open.
"I think the boy has two identical souls."
To be continued