Kiss of the vampire
" The Girl with a Sharp Sword"
Mission 43 : Last stand!
The ruins of the battlefield stretched like a graveyard of broken wills. The air still trembled from Harthon's earlier descent, and every step of the Black Knights was heavy, their breaths ragged, their numbers already cut in half.
Yumi staggered as she channeled what little mana she had left, her palms glowing faintly green as she moved from knight to knight. Her healing was barely enough to stop the bleeding, but it gave them the strength to keep running. "Don't you dare fall here," she whispered through clenched teeth, sweat streaming down her brow.
Behind them, the shadows of the Outer Gods loomed closer, their distorted voices crawling across the night like claws scratching steel.
Deyviel's body convulsed on the ground. His eyes fluttered open, and for a heartbeat, relief washed across the group—until they saw the crimson veins snaking across his face, the strange, twisted smirk forming on his lips.
"Ah… you guys are hopeless." The voice that came out wasn't the Deyviel they knew. It was rougher, accented strangely, carrying a weight of arrogance. He pushed himself up, movements jerky yet filled with unnatural strength. "And this body—tch. Pretty damn weak."
Ben's heart sank as he realized. This wasn't their Deyviel. Not fully.
The sinister Deyviel—the other one—raised his hand, blood energy twisting unnaturally around it. The wounds that had torn into him stitched themselves shut, bypassing flesh, logic, and even time itself. A sickly red glow enveloped him, and within seconds, he was standing again, exuding a presence none of them could comprehend.
But just as the aura surged, Deyviel's own voice broke through, raw and desperate. He forced control back, gritting his teeth as if shackling a monster within. "Captain Ben!" he shouted, his eyes flickering between his true self and the other. "You… you need to kill me now!"
The Black Knights froze at the words.
Ben stepped forward, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as the weight of the boy's plea hit him. His voice, though stern, trembled faintly. "No, kid. We can't."
"You don't understand! He's—"
"I do understand," Ben cut him off, his tone suddenly sharp. His eyes bore into Deyviel's. "If I could kill you, I would've done it the moment that thing woke up. If I still had my full power, I wouldn't have waited this far—I'd have ended it before you became a threat. But the truth is, we can't. You're the only one who can still fight. The only one here with a power that bends every law, every rule—'Bypass All.'"
Deyviel froze, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face.
Ben took another step, his voice dropping lower, grim. "I don't know if it's a blessing or a curse, but it looks like you dragged something out with it. Something nasty. But that's the least of our worries right now." His gaze hardened, steady as iron. "So listen to me—can you two bad boys switch? I need to talk to him. Now."
For a moment, silence. Then Deyviel exhaled shakily, his body trembling as if at war with itself. Slowly, he nodded. "…Fine."
The aura flickered again, that twisted presence pressing against reality like a shadow behind glass.
And the battlefield grew colder.
The world shook again. From the abyss behind the Outer Gods, six figures emerged, each radiating a suffocating aura that bent reality around them. Their bodies bore warped marks, glowing with the power of ancient sins.
The Sin Series had been unleashed.
Pride — Lancer, the Vampire King himself. He stepped forward clad in blood-stained royal armor, his gaze burning with cold arrogance. His presence alone bent weaker creatures to their knees. "How amusing," he murmured. "Even in this wretched pit, they force me to lower myself against gnats."
Envy — Alex, his youthful form twisted, eyes seething with restless hunger. His hands warped into jagged claws of green flame, shifting endlessly like living envy itself. His lips peeled back in a jealous snarl. "Why does he get that power? Why isn't it mine?!"
Wrath — The Pope. Once holy robes now dripped with molten corruption, his staff blazing with chains of red lightning. His face was twisted with rage, every step cracking the stone beneath him. "Heretics," he hissed. "Burn."
Sloth — A gaunt figure known only as The Sleeper. Shackled in rusted iron, his steps slow, yet every motion warped gravity. Debris floated and crashed around him as though time itself struggled to move him forward.
Greed — A merchant lord from the old empire, now warped beyond recognition. His body shimmered with jewels and gold fused into flesh, every gem screaming with stolen souls. Each breath he took clinked like coins.
Lust — A veiled courtesan, once human, now a phantom draped in silk and shadow. Her voice slithered like honey, and invisible chains coiled from her fingertips, tightening around the wills of those who looked too long.
They advanced in unison, their combined presence alone forcing the battered Black Knights back a step.
Yumi's face drained of color. "That's… that's Lancer. Alex. And the Pope…" Her voice trembled. "This… this is suicide."
Ben didn't let the fear show. He raised his sword, barking orders. "Form up! Protect the wounded! Keep moving!"
Behind him, Deyviel's body jerked, aura flaring violently as the evil within stirred. His lips twisted into a cruel grin.
"Pathetic. If I leave it to you, you'll all be corpses in minutes."
With a flick of his wrist, a dome of distorted red energy sealed around him and Ben, cutting off the noise of the battlefield. Silence pressed heavy as Evil Deyviel smirked.
"There. Soundproof. Now…" His crimson eyes glowed with malice. "Convince me, Captain. Why should I bother saving you?"
Ben's voice cut like steel. "You know why. Because you want to live too. This body—this boy—is our only shot at breaking through. His ability bypasses everything. Even time. We can still reset. Loop back. Fix this."
Evil Deyviel leaned lazily against the cracked wall, amused. "Loop back? Reset? Don't make me laugh." His tone was mocking, almost sing-song. "I already took your precious trick once. And look where it's gotten you."
Ben's jaw tightened, but he pressed forward. "Then help us anyway. Not for me. Not for him. For them." He jabbed a finger toward the Knights outside the dome—Yumi shielding with shaking arms, Christine bleeding as she dragged Andrew, Alicia barely holding her blade upright. "They're still fighting. Still buying time. Even against monsters like that."
For the first time, Evil Deyviel paused. His smirk faltered for half a heartbeat as his eyes flicked to the team.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue and looked away. "You're a pain, Captain."
The dome quivered as Lancer's Pride aura pressed against it, black cracks spidering across the barrier. Outside, Alex's shrill laugh echoed as his claws slashed at the Knights. The Pope raised his staff, Wrath boiling across the field in molten chains.
Inside, Evil Deyviel's grin returned, sharp as a knife. "Fine. I'll play—for now. But not because of your pathetic little speech. I want to see their faces when they realize how hopeless they really are."
Ben's eyes narrowed, but in them was the faintest glimmer of relief. "…Then buy us time. That's all I ask."
Evil Deyviel chuckled low, crimson aura rising like fire. "Don't blink, Captain. You might miss the fun."
The dome shattered—just as the Sin Series descended on them.
The dome shattered into shards of red energy. The battlefield's roar came rushing back—screams, steel clashing, and the endless tide of Sin Zombies crashing against the Knights' defenses.
And waiting for them stood the six Sin Series users.
Evil Deyviel smirked, crimson veins burning along his arms. "Six against one? Heh. Finally, something that might keep me awake."
Lancer stepped forward first, his Pride aura crushing the stone beneath his boots. "Don't mistake this for a battle, child. This is execution."
Alex darted at his flank, claws mutating into jagged spears. "I'll shred you apart! That power will be mine!"
The Pope raised his staff, Wrath boiling out in a wave of molten fire. "All of you will burn!"
Chains of Lust cracked the air, Greed's jewel claws glinted sharp, and Sloth's suffocating gravity dragged the ground itself toward collapse.
Evil Deyviel lunged first. His blade cut through Alex's mutated claw, reducing it to ash, then cleaved the Pope's firestorm in two. His laughter echoed like broken glass.
For a heartbeat, it seemed he could manage them.
But then Lancer's blade struck—Pride against the impossible. The blow smashed into Deyviel's chest, launching him through a pillar in a spray of blood.
"Too damn weak," he spat, dragging himself up with a manic grin.
Before he could recover, Sloth's crushing gravity pinned his legs. Lust's chains coiled around his arm, yanking his blade back. Greed tore across his side, embedding jeweled shards deep into flesh.
Even with Bypass All, he couldn't keep up. His body was breaking.
That was when Ben Rayleigh charged in, his greatsword gleaming with desperate light. "Get up, kid. You're not the only one bleeding tonight."
Denver hurled himself forward, axes hacking through the swarm, colliding with Lust's chains to buy space. Maya's Yamato flashed, forcing Alex back in a whirl of sparks.
Yumi dropped to her knees, hands glowing faint green as she patched Deyviel's wounds just enough to keep him upright. "Stay with us—just stay with us!"
Then a scream tore through the Knights' line.
Everyone froze.
From the sea of Sin Zombies, two twisted forms emerged. Their armor was shattered, their faces half-rotted—but there was no mistaking them.
Andrew.
Christine.
Their eyes were hollow pits, their mouths dripping black sludge. They had returned as Sin Zombies, mockeries of the comrades who had given everything so the others could escape.
"No…" Maya's sword arm faltered, her voice cracking. "Not them… not—"
The corrupted Andrew bellowed, slamming his shield into the wall hard enough to crack stone. Christine raised her broken sword, its edge dripping rot instead of steel, and shrieked as she led the horde forward.
The Black Knights' morale buckled.
Ben's jaw tightened as his greatsword met Lancer's again, sparks raining between them. His voice thundered over the chaos. "Don't stop! They're gone—we honor them by surviving!"
Evil Deyviel laughed bitterly, even as blood poured from his side. "Hopeless fools… even your dead come back to spit in your faces. Pathetic."
Still, he dragged himself forward, blade howling with void. "Fine then. Let's carve our way out."
The battlefield erupted into hell—six Sin users pressing in, a swarm of corrupted dead, and at its heart, a boy with two souls tearing himself apart just to keep standing.
The battlefield stank of blood and rot. The crimson haze of the Crimson Palace still loomed, snow falling like shards of glass.
Deyviel—no, the twisted thing he had become—snarled, his once-golden eyes now pits of black flame. The Yamato in his grip pulsed hungrily, drinking the madness around him. His every swing split stone, blood, and flesh alike.
But even he was slowing.
Ben's blade clashed against his, sparks screaming in the frozen air. "Deyviel—damn it, fight it! This isn't you!" His teeth clenched as their weapons locked.
Denver came from the side, shield raised, slamming into Deyviel's ribs with enough force to make him skid. "We can't let him run wild—hold him down!"
Catherine's ice blossomed around them, jagged spires locking the terrain into a death cage. Her voice was sharp, but her eyes betrayed something—pain. "Don't hesitate. If you falter, we all die."
Before they could press forward, the ground split open with a wet crack. Rotten hands clawed free.
Andrew. Christine.
But their faces were hollow masks now, flesh torn and purple veins crawling with cursed mana. Their eyes burned the same as the other zombies—a mockery of their old selves.
"Andrew… Christine…" Monica's voice cracked, her staff trembling in her grip.
The two lunged forward, not as comrades, but as puppets of sin.
"Move!" Ben barked, intercepting Andrew's wild cleave while Denver caught Christine's clawed hand on his shield. The strength behind her blow rattled his bones, forcing him down to one knee.
Sin zombies poured in around them, the air thick with the screams of the damned. The others—Baltazar, Ethan, Monica, and what remained of their allies—formed a desperate ring, holding back the horde while the core six faced the Avatar.
Deyviel's lips curled in a grin, half-pain, half-madness. His body trembled as if he was splitting apart. "Yes… YES! STRUGGLE MORE! Feed me… with despair!"
Ben pushed against him, his eyes burning with defiance. "Then choke on ours!"
And the fight exploded again—six blades, wills, and magics converging on the fallen Deyviel, while the corrupted bodies of their old friends clawed at their backs, forcing every strike to count.
Deyviel slammed Ben into the ice, the Avatar's corrupted grin stretching ear to ear. Yamato rose for the kill.
Ben spat blood but twisted, ramming his knee into Deyviel's side. The strike barely budged him.
Denver, coughing against shattered ribs, hurled his battered shield like a discus. It cracked across Deyviel's cheek, breaking the suffocating grip just enough for Ben to roll free.
"Hold the line!" Catherine's voice was steel, though her ice dome walls were spider-webbing with cracks.
The horde surged again—dozens of sin-zombies, their skin warped with grotesque symbols, claws stretching longer than blades. Andrew's husk shrieked as it ripped through Monica's barrier, forcing her to recoil. Ethan darted in, daggers flashing, carving through two at once, but the third barreled into him, dragging him down.
Denver staggered back into position, axe raised, blood dripping from his chin. He hacked another zombie in half—but Christine's corpse leapt onto his back, gnawing, her teeth breaking against his armor. He roared and threw her off, burying his axe in her chest again and again. His eyes burned, but his voice cracked.
"Forgive me, sister…"
The horde's weight was unbearable. Dozens more pressed through the ice dome's cracks, their collective shrieks rattling the battlefield. Catherine's magic faltered. Baltazar was drowning under sheer numbers. Monica's staff glowed faintly, mana almost drained.
And then—
A thunderous whine split the sky.
Everyone froze—just for an instant—as a crimson flare of energy blazed across the dark heavens. The horde hissed and shrieked, heads turning upward.
From the clouds descended a mechanical shadow, enormous and blazing with runes of steel. A man with a matalic dark red prosthetic arm and then the arm transform shift into Gerbera Mod unfolded in the air, its canon blast module priming with a hum that shook the bones of everyone below.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" a zombie screeched—right before the sky opened.
The golden haired man fired.
A pillar of incandescent plasma rained down, tearing through the horde. Dozens of sin-zombies were incinerated on the spot, their bodies turning to ash mid-scream. The blast carved a molten trench across the frozen field, detonating with a deafening boom that sent shockwaves rippling outward. Ice cracked, undead bodies flew apart like ragdolls, and the suffocating tide finally buckled.
But before the smoke cleared—
BRRRRRRTTTT!
Gunfire ripped through the chaos. A Red hair man landed like thunder beside the golden haired man, a grin plastered across his face, a summoned mini-gun already spinning.
Brass casings clinked and scattered as a hailstorm of bullets shredded the oncoming sin-zombies. Heads burst. Limbs tore. The closest wave disintegrated into chunks before they could even reach the heroes.
The white haired man dropped from above, Jawbreaker in hand, steam hissing from the weapon's vents. His boots slammed into the ice, fissures crawling outward from the impact.
The red haired guy, smoke rising from his gun barrels, stomped forward like a juggernaut, mowing down anything that moved.
The battlefield went still for half a breath—heroes staring wide-eyed, enemies recoiling in instinctive fear.
Two shadows stood against the inferno's glow, weapons in hand, smoke and ash swirling around them.
And though no one knew their names yet—the moment they arrived, hope itself shifted.
Volume ends
To be continued. . .