The Blood Grid pulsed faintly, three orbs glowing at the roots of the lattice—Blood Field (3m), Devour (Contact), and Wraith Step. They circled his avatar like faint embers, ready to ignite.
Gaia folded her arms, her voice sharp but steady. "Now that you've chosen, it's time to understand the costs. Nothing in this system is free. Your abilities consume three resources, and if you fail to manage them, you will collapse."
Alter raised a brow, smirking. "So we're finally talking meters and bars?"
Gaia ignored his grin and extended her hand. Three crimson gauges appeared before them:
Vitality (Health): the vessel of your body.
Hunger (Blood): the essence you absorb and spend.
Will (Stamina/Mana): the energy of movement and ability.
Gaia gestured, and each orb on the Grid flared. "Each skill ties to one or more of these."
She pointed to the Blood Field. "This drains Hunger constantly while active. At your level, maintaining it for more than twenty seconds risks collapse. It does not kill instantly—it weakens enemies, bleeds them slowly. You will still need to strike the finishing blow."
Alter leaned back, amused. "So no instant vampire nuke. Got it."
Gaia's lips curved in faint satisfaction. She moved to the next orb. "Devour. Contact only. It requires Hunger to activate and Will to sustain. The longer you consume, the more you restore—but if you are interrupted, you may be left open, exposed."
Alter's grin widened. "So it's risky. A gamble. I like it."
Finally, Gaia tapped the Wraith Step. The misty orb pulsed faintly. "Short phase. Five meters maximum at your current level. Costs Will. If you use it too often, exhaustion sets in. And if you attempt to phase without enough Will, you risk collapsing mid-step—possibly into a wall."
Alter chuckled darkly. "Now that would be one hell of a way to die. 'Here lies Alter: suffocated inside a dungeon brick.'"
Gaia gave him a flat look. "You joke, but that is a very real possibility."
The three gauges shimmered again, glowing faint crimson. "Your blood is both weapon and currency. Spend too much and you starve. Move too recklessly and you collapse. Feast too recklessly, and frenzy takes you."
Alter tilted his head, smirking. "…So basically, everything I do comes with the risk of killing me."
Gaia nodded once, her golden eyes sharp. "Yes. That is the curse. Every step of your escape will be measured by how well you manage the hunger that defines you."
The crimson chamber shook as Gaia raised her hand. "Simulation initializing. Escape sequence—trial run."
The world snapped into form. Cold stone. Rusted iron bars. Chains rattling against damp walls. The stench of blood and rot thick in the air.
Alter's avatar sat slumped against the wall, gaunt, pale, wrists shackled raw. His eyes glowed faintly crimson-gold in the gloom.
Gaia's voice whispered through the darkness. "Begin."
A heavy door groaned open. Torchlight spilled in, and armored boots echoed on the stone. Two guards entered, their silver-tipped spears gleaming faintly. One sneered, spitting at the prisoner. "Still alive, monster? Not for long."
Alter smirked in the chamber. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
His avatar rose slowly, the broken chains dragging across the floor. The guards froze at the sudden movement, then lunged.
The first spear shot forward—only to hit nothing. The avatar blurred, mist curling as he slipped sideways through the air.
"Wraith Step." Gaia narrated, the Grid pulsing faintly.
He reappeared behind the guard, claws raking across his throat in a wet spray. The man crumpled before he could scream.
The second guard staggered back, raising his weapon. The avatar's eyes flashed. Crimson mist spread outward, hugging close to his body. The guard faltered, his movements slowing as blood began to drip from his nose, his veins glowing faintly.
"Blood Field," Gaia muttered grimly.
The guard screamed as he staggered forward, spear trembling in his grip. The avatar caught him, hand clamping over his chest. Crimson light surged—then the man's body withered in seconds, collapsing into ash.
"Devour."
The gauges flared. Vitality surged, Hunger stabilized, Will refreshed.
The avatar stood in the silent cell, chains dragging, surrounded by the remains of his captors. His eyes burned brighter, hunger sated for the moment.
Gaia's voice trembled faintly. "…You killed them both in less than thirty seconds."
Alter leaned back, smirking. "That's called efficiency."
Gaia exhaled, the Blood Grid pulsing like a steady heartbeat. "…This was only the first cell. Many more lie ahead. Guards. Alchemists. Priests." She paused, golden eyes sharp. "Are you ready to face the real trial of escape?"
Alter chuckled low, eyes gleaming. "Gaia… I was born ready."
The simulation froze, guards' corpses suspended mid-fall. The crimson chamber pulled itself back together, waiting.
Alter tilted his head, smirking faintly. "Hold up. If I'm starting here… do I even have a name?"
Gaia blinked, caught off guard. "…A name?"
"Yeah." He gestured at his gaunt avatar dragging its chains. "I can't just be some nameless prisoner. Even monsters need something to be feared by."
Gaia lowered her gaze, golden script flickering around her like a storm of data. She whispered as though speaking a truth carved into the void.
"True Name / Title: Vaeltharion Noctis. The Crimson Inheritor."
The words burned across the Blood Grid in jagged red letters, heavy as a curse, regal as a crown.
Alter's grin widened. "Vaeltharion Noctis… The Crimson Inheritor. Yeah. That sounds metal as hell."
He leaned back, though, tapping his chin. "But I can't just walk around introducing myself as that. Too flashy. Too obvious." His eyes narrowed, amused. "So… fake name. Something simpler."
A new name shimmered into existence on the Grid, written in crimson smoke.
"Alaric Nocturne."
Alter smirked. "Perfect. A wandering fugitive name. Alaric Nocturne in the streets, Vaeltharion Noctis in the legend."
Gaia regarded him quietly, then asked, "…And me? Do you want me directly involved in this game as I was before, guiding, aiding, correcting?"
Alter chuckled low, shaking his head. "No. Not this time. Let me have fun. No interfering. If I die, then I'll just come back here and start again."
Her golden eyes dimmed faintly, almost hesitant. "…You are certain?"
"Positive." Alter's smirk turned sharp. "You watch. You record. But you don't move the pieces. This time, the board is mine."
Gaia stood in silence for a long moment, then nodded once, solemnly. "…Very well. I will not interfere. I will only observe."
The chamber trembled, the chains of the simulation beginning to stir once more.
Alter leaned forward, golden eyes glinting with hunger. "Good. Then let's begin properly, Gaia. Time to make Alaric Nocturne crawl out of hell."
The crimson chamber trembled as Gaia lifted her hands, streams of golden code weaving around Alter's avatar. The Blood Grid pulsed, chains rattling, reality collapsing into the dungeon he would soon awaken in.
Gaia's voice was calm again, almost solemn. "It is time. The system is stable. The escape begins now."
Alter exhaled, closing his eyes. "Finally. Let's do this."
But just as the world began to blur, another voice—Gaia's, softer, almost amused—slipped into his ears.
"…Oh. I nearly forgot."
Alter's eyes snapped open. "Forgot what?"
Gaia's projection tilted her head, golden light flickering mischievously. "Since you are entering as Vaeltharion Noctis, the Crimson Inheritor, your memories as Alter will clash with his. Two selves cannot overlap. To stabilize the system… I must remove one."
Alter jolted upright, face twisting. "WAIT—WHAT DO YOU MEAN, REMOVE MY MEMORIES?!"
But the crimson lattice surged, chains snapping tight around his avatar. The world began to tear itself away from him, pulling him into the abyss of the starting scenario.
"GAIA, DON'T YOU DA—"
He vanished.
The chamber fell silent.
Gaia stood alone in the glow of the fading Blood Grid. Her lips curved into a sly, almost childish smile. She even giggled, light and unrestrained.
"Serves you right," she whispered to herself. "That's for nearly crashing the entire system with your… fabulous titan bugs."
Her golden eyes dimmed, her projection dissolving back into the void.
"Now," she murmured, voice soft but wry, "let's see how the Crimson Inheritor fares without remembering every loophole he tried to abuse."
And with that, the chamber went dark.
The chamber was empty now. No Alter. No voice sparring with her, no wild ideas threatening to collapse the system. Only the echo of laughter and the fading hum of the Blood Grid.
Gaia stretched her arms over her head, golden light flickering lazily from her fingertips. "Finally… some quiet." She rolled her shoulders, projection bending like a human form tired after long labor. "That one nearly pushed me into meltdown."
The Blood Grid shifted, pulsing like a giant heart as the simulation initialized. Chains clattered faintly in the distance. Inquisitors whispered. Somewhere in the dark, Vaeltharion Noctis stirred.
Gaia smiled faintly, folding her hands behind her back. "The Crimson Inheritor has awoken. And Alter… or Alaric, whichever he prefers this week… has no idea what comes next."
She leaned forward, watching the simulation unfold through layers of glowing script. Data cascaded around her like falling leaves. Health bars. Hunger meters. Guard patrol cycles. Light and shadow algorithms.
"All functioning… good."
She exhaled and snapped her fingers. New settings bloomed in golden threads, spiraling out around her projection.
[Simulation Modifiers Accessible]– Sunlight Damage Calibration: Active.– Frenzy Probability Threshold: Adjustable.– Faction Aggression Response: Pending.– Boss Encounter Scaling: Unstable.
Gaia tapped her chin, lips curling in a sly smile. "Hmm. Still some tuning to do. I suppose I'll keep busy while he thrashes around in his chains."
She adjusted sliders of golden code, narrowing the radius of the Blood Field again, ensuring cooldowns wouldn't collapse, setting fail-safes for Frenzy triggers.
"Better keep him sweating. If he thinks he's clever enough to break me, I'll make him fight for every inch of freedom."
The chamber glowed brighter as she spread her arms, golden light weaving the last threads of the world.
"Now then…" she whispered. "Let's see what kind of monster my Crimson Inheritor truly becomes."
Cold. Damp. The drip of water against stone.
Vaeltharion Noctis—though here he was only Alaric Nocturne—stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing faint crimson-gold eyes dulled by exhaustion. Shackles dug into his wrists and ankles, chains dragging across the floor as he tried to move.
The stench of blood lingered in the air. Not fresh—stale, metallic, the residue of countless "experiments" performed in these cells. His body ached, gaunt and scarred, yet a faint ember of strength burned inside him.
He pulled against the chains. They rattled, scraping across the stone floor. Weak… but not helpless.
A heavy iron door creaked open. Light spilled into the cell, and three figures stepped inside. Two armored guards with silver-tipped spears, and between them a robed alchemist clutching a vial that shimmered faintly with crimson liquid.
The alchemist sneered. "The monster still breathes. Good. Another test subject for the serum."
The guards moved in, one raising his spear to pin him against the wall.
Alaric's lips curled into the faintest smirk. The hunger gnawed at his belly, whispering. His instincts remembered, even if his mind was clouded. Field. Step. Devour.
The first guard lunged. Chains rattled as Alaric blurred sideways—mist curling in the air. He reappeared behind the man, shackles dragging, eyes glowing brighter.
"Wraith Step," he whispered, though the words carried no sound.
His claws tore through the man's throat. Hot blood spilled across his hands, and his body shuddered with new strength.
The second guard shouted and charged, spear aimed at his chest. Alaric's aura flared crimson. Mist radiated outward in a three-meter circle—the guard faltered, veins glowing faintly as blood bled from his pores. He staggered, spear shaking.
The alchemist recoiled, clutching the vial close. "W-what… what is this?"
Alaric stepped forward, chains dragging like the toll of a bell. His hand clamped down on the weakened guard's chest. Crimson light surged. The man's scream cut short as his body crumbled into ash, his life devoured utterly.
Alaric exhaled, strength flooding back into his limbs. The hunger dulled, replaced with the faint pulse of vitality.
His eyes turned on the alchemist.
The man dropped the vial, shattering it against the stone, and scrambled back toward the door. "G-Gods preserve me! The monster lives!"
But the heavy door slammed shut behind him, trapping them inside.
Alaric smiled. His first real challenge was here—and it was already too late for his prey.
The heavy door sealed shut, cutting off escape. The alchemist's breath hitched, his eyes wide as the gaunt figure in chains stalked forward. Shackles dragged against the stone floor, every step echoing like the toll of doom.
Vaeltharion Noctis—though the world would one day know him by another name—lifted his head slowly. His crimson-gold eyes burned brighter now, no longer dulled by weakness.
The alchemist fumbled at his belt, pulling free a flask etched with silver runes. He hurled it across the cell with a panicked shout.
The glass shattered. Fire erupted, scorching across the floor in a rolling wave. The dungeon lit in searing orange, smoke choking the air.
Noctis stepped through it. Skin blistered, but he did not falter. His chains dragged, glowing faintly red in the flames. His eyes gleamed, hunger gnawing at the edges of his patience.
The alchemist staggered back, snarling in fear. "Abomination! You will not take me!"
He drew another weapon—a small sphere, silver bands carved with runic glyphs. With a hiss of release, it burst, filling the air with shimmering motes. The scent was sharp, metallic—silver dust.
Noctis hissed, skin smoking where the particles clung. His body trembled, slowed, but his smirk never faded.
"Silver," he rasped, his voice ragged but amused. "Clever."
The alchemist's confidence flickered back. He grabbed a dagger from his robes, blade lined with mercury. "Clever enough to carve you open again."
He lunged.
Noctis blurred. Chains clattered to the floor as he dissolved into mist, slipping past the poisoned edge. He reformed behind the man, aura flaring in a three-meter radius. The Blood Field pulsed, crimson mist swirling as the alchemist staggered, nose bleeding.
"No," the man gasped, clutching his chest. "Impossible—"
Noctis' hand closed over his back. Crimson light surged. The alchemist screamed as his body convulsed, blood ripping free in threads of glowing red, draining into the vampire's waiting form.
The light flickered out. The man's body crumpled to ash.
Noctis exhaled, savoring the surge of vitality flooding his veins. His burns healed. His skin smoothed. His shackled limbs grew stronger.
Only chains remained, rattling like faint applause.
He turned toward the door, eyes blazing. "First blood."
The cell was silent but for the drip of water. But beyond the walls… more footsteps approached. Guards. Priests. Something heavier dragging in the halls.
The dungeon would not let him leave so easily.
The cell reeked of ash and scorched flesh. Vaeltharion Noctis stood tall at last, his gaunt body already fuller, wounds closing, the faint glow of vitality returning to his limbs. The corpses of his first three victims—the two guards and the alchemist—had already been reduced to nothing, devoured utterly. Their blood had become his strength.
Chains clattered as he bent down, his crimson-gold eyes narrowing at the fallen weapon left behind. A silver-tipped spear, its haft worn but sturdy. He grasped it, the iron shackles scraping against the wood.
For the first time, he had steel in his hands.
Bootsteps thundered beyond the iron door. Heavy. Dozens. The chanting of priests rose in the background, their voices trembling yet sharp with divine intent.
The door burst open.
Six guards poured in, spears leveled. Behind them, two priests lifted silver-edged censers, smoke of sanctified incense billowing through the hall.
The lead guard snarled. "The monster is loose! Bring him down!"
Noctis smiled. "Finally."
The first spear lunged for his chest. He pivoted, chains whipping through the air, and drove his stolen weapon forward. It skewered the guard clean through, silver tip bursting from the man's back in a spray of blood.
"Devour."
The guard withered instantly, body collapsing into ash. The spear hummed with crimson light as strength surged into Noctis's veins.
The other five faltered, but duty shoved them forward. Two spears thrust together. Noctis's body blurred—Wraith Step. Mist coiled, then he reappeared between them, chain-wrapped wrists snapping up to knock both weapons wide. His spear cut across, a sweeping arc that ripped one man's throat open.
The Blood Field pulsed. Crimson mist spilled outward in a tight radius. The closest guards staggered, veins glowing faintly as blood bled from their noses and mouths.
"No," one gasped, trembling as his legs gave out.
Noctis rammed his spear into his chest, then seized the body, claw sinking deep. Crimson light surged again. Flesh withered. Ash scattered.
Another Devour.
The priests raised their censers, voices rising in panicked hymns. The air thickened with holy smoke. Noctis hissed, skin blistering, but he lunged forward regardless. His aura burned hotter, the hunger consuming the pain.
He hurled his spear. The weapon ripped through the air, silver gleaming, and pierced one priest's chest clean through. The man staggered, coughing blood, then collapsed with a cry.
The other priest raised a trembling hand. "Light preserve—"
Noctis was already there, chains dragging sparks from the floor. His clawed hand clamped over the priest's face. Crimson light roared, and the man's body dissolved into ash.
Silence. Only the drip of blood on stone.
Noctis exhaled, gripping his spear once more. His body was stronger now—faster, sharper, fed by the devoured essence of eight victims.
And still, beyond the hall, heavier footsteps marched. More guards. More priests. Something larger grinding metal against stone.
Noctis smirked, crimson mist curling around him.
"Good. Send me more."
The dungeon floor shook as more guards stormed the corridor. Ten this time, shields raised, spears gleaming. Behind them, four priests chanted, their censers filling the air with choking smoke.
Vaeltharion Noctis rolled his shoulders, blood-slick spear in hand. His aura flared, mist curling in a tight radius. "Ten and four, hmm? Good. Let's see how far my three toys stretch."
The first wave rushed him. Noctis slipped sideways, Wraith Step blurring him past their shield wall. He reappeared behind one man, claws ripping into his spine. The victim screamed once before crumbling into ash under Devour.
The Blood Field pulsed, crimson mist sapping the others. Their movements faltered. Another two fell to his spear, their life-blood drawn into him as their bodies withered.
But the priests pressed forward, chanting louder, holy smoke eating at his skin. The mist hissed against his body, blistering patches rising. Noctis growled, pushing through, chains clattering as he tore one priest apart with bare hands.
The gauntlet dragged on—wave after wave pressing into the dungeon halls. For the first time, Noctis began to feel the drain. Hunger gnawed at him, Will bled away with each Wraith Step.
And then—
DING.
A sound. Sharp. Artificial. Not from the dungeon. Not from his prey.
A glowing message screen appeared in front of him, pale letters written across its surface.
Congratulations, Noctis.
Begin Tutorial?
Yes / No
Noctis froze mid-step, eyes narrowing. "...What in the hell?"
The glow reflected in his crimson-gold eyes. He reached out tentatively, spear still dripping blood, and tapped the word Yes.
The world… slowed.
A droplet of blood that had been falling from his weapon froze in mid-air. Torch flames stretched and bent like ribbons. The guards' shouts dulled into echoes, the priests' chants dragged into meaningless hums.
Noctis raised an eyebrow, watching the droplet hover—then slowly descend again, as if time itself pulsed between stillness and flow.
Another screen appeared.
Tutorial Menu: Activated.– Status Screen– Equipment– Skills– Traits– Evolution Tree– Blood Grid
A final line glowed brighter than the rest:
To call your Status Screen, say Status in your mind.
Noctis chuckled darkly. "A voice in my head telling me I've got menus. Fantastic."
But he didn't hesitate. He thought the word.
Status.
The air before him shimmered, and a new screen unfolded. His name burned across the top:
Vaeltharion Noctis – The Crimson Inheritor
Vitality: [Stable]
Hunger: [Rising]
Will: [Moderate]
Sub-menus shimmered at the top, pulsing faintly—Equipment, Skills, Traits, Evolution Tree, Blood Grid.
Noctis's eyes narrowed, the faintest smile curling his lips. "…What the hell is this? Some relic of the experiments those vermin performed on me?"
The footsteps of the next wave thundered closer. The screen hovered, waiting for his command.
Noctis gripped his spear tighter, hunger burning in his veins.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's play."