Oban stumbled out of the shadow portal like he'd just gotten off a night bus from hell. Boots hit marble—cold, glossy, super extra, probably imported from the realm of Show-Off Lords. The damn Vampiric Nightblade weighed heavy in his hand: half curse, half "look it, I got a magic sword," and just… weirdly tingly. The blade kept humming—low and creepy, almost syncing up with his heart. Honestly? Kinda unsettling, if you stopped to think about it (which Oban desperately tried not to do).
He laughed—somewhere between a sigh and a bark—before slumping against the nearest wall. Whole body screaming at him. Training had been brutal. His arms, legs, even his hair somehow felt like it needed a nap. Yeah, he just wanted to drop right there and take a proper snooze.
Of course, that's when the system—aka his least favorite disembodied voice—decided to pipe up:
[Warning: Progression Detected. Adaptive Trial Initiated.]
[New Trial: Survive Against Yourself.]
Smile? Gone. Scarier than a vampire at a garlic festival. Eyes wide—he muttered, "What do you mean… against myself?" Pretty sure his voice cracked, which, hey, real manly.
Torches started flickering, walls went wobbly, very Salvador Dalí chic. Darkness slammed over his eyes, total blackout, and then—wham—he's sucked through the void again. No time for dramatic exits, great.
When the shadows peeled away, there he was. Staring. At. Himself.
A twin. Right down to the moody crimson eyes and that sword he'd half wanted to chuck in a river yesterday. The only difference? This version radiated darkness—like, edgelord dialed up to eleven. Basically him on a Monday morning before coffee.
System, being oh-so-helpful, announced:
[Opponent: Blood Construct – Oban Variant]
[Objective: Defeat the Variant to prove your will]
Fun. Real fun.
Oban clutched the sword, knuckles white, sweat already breaking. "So I really gotta fight myself now…" Could someone just turn this whole day off and on again?
No time for jokes—the construct lunged like it'd only ever been programmed for murder. Their blades met, screech of steel, little red sparks flying everywhere. His whole arm vibrated like he'd jammed his funny bone on the world's meanest table. He staggered back, rattled. "Damn… he hits harder than me."
Of course the evil doppelganger pressed the bloody advantage: slash after slash, no mercy, aiming for all the vitals like it'd read the attack guide. Oban blocked most, but a few got too close—left him bleeding, flecking the marble. Nightblade, that thirsty jerk, glowed a shade brighter, feeding off the insanity.
Pushed by equal parts terror and stubbornness, he roared and swung wild—caught the variant on the shoulder, hoping for a win. Nah. The wound oozed black smoke, like some kind of dark magic vape, and sealed shut. He couldn't help yelling, "Of course… it's not that easy." Because yeah, nothing ever is.
Life, right?
Way up from all that emptiness, smack in the middle of the mage city's neon heart, Yuji perched on the edge of this ridiculously tall spire, scoping the chaos below. His cloak? Basically putting on its own show, snap-crackling in the wind like it's trying to one-up the fireworks popping off from all those rookie mages flinging spells nearby.
Out of that noisy crowd, some jittery kid sidled up. "Um, Lord Yuji, uh... about the vampires we snagged… want us to just, I dunno, finish 'em?"
Yuji just snorted, leaning lazy against the frostbitten railing. "Finish? You kidding me? Those vamps couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag. Leave 'em chained up. Maybe if we're lucky they'll shriek something useful, spice up the dungeon with some weird secrets."
He flicked a hand, and—snap—ice bloomed across the metal, sharp and cold enough to hurt if you touched it. His smile? Icy as ever. "Nah, what I want isn't those weaklings. Honestly, I want a vampire who won't fall apart the second I sneeze on 'em. Gimme a real scrap. Bleed a little, y'know?"
His grin stretched, and his eyes lit up this ghostly shade of blue. "Heard through the grapevine there's a new bloodsucker in town. Not the bargain-bin kind, either. If that's not just bar gossip, I'm gonna hunt him down."
The mage kid shrank back a little, eyes wide. "A real… new vampire?"
Yuji's laugh barely made a sound, but damn if it wasn't sharp. "Yeah, kid. And if I find him? Maybe—just maybe—I'll remember what fun feels like."
Castle of Foreverness – Council
Somewhere deep in that vampire madhouse—sorry, "castle"—the Council of Forgiveness just wouldn't stop scheming in the shadows. Aijack sat slumped on that overdramatic throne of his, one hand propping up his head like he was one bored lecture away from eternity.
Klein, all sharp elbows and nerves, leaned in way too close. "Lord Aijack, you can't just brush this off. Oban? The hell even is he? Dude pops up outta thin air, nobody knows his family, nothing. And those powers? Not normal. Are you sure he belongs here?"
Aijack's stare could burn a hole through granite. "Trust me, I can't stop thinking about it."
Some crusty elder in the corner hissed like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "He stinks of…something else. No ancient blood. Maybe not even a proper vampire. So what, he's a lab accident? Something cooked up as a joke?"
Yeah—awkward mood in there after that. The kind where you can practically hear everyone's thoughts screaming.
Aijack finally broke the tension. His voice sounded calm, but anyone paying attention caught the threat lurking under it. "Honestly, I don't care where he crawled out from. Right now, he's fighting our battles—and getting stronger by the day." His eyes flickered gold for a hot second. "Doesn't mean I trust him. Far from it. I'll keep both eyes locked on that guy."
Back in the Domain – The Fight
Oban sucked in another ragged breath, already tasting iron and adrenaline. Holy hell, his arms hurt. Every time he traded blows with his "evil twin" or whatever, it felt like thunder pounding out of nowhere. Not that he had time to dwell—blood ran warm down his skin, sweat running right into his stinging eyes.
And then there was that grin—the other him's grin, just… corrupted. Like someone had taken his face and painted over it in ash and malice. That thing—whatever it was—moved freaking fast. Each swing of its Nightblade was so exact, so surgical, Oban barely dodged. Tripped over his own feet, even—fantastic.
"Damn it…" He spat a little blood, trying to ignore how much his lip throbbed. "I'm just copying him—no, hell, I *am* him. If this turns into mirror combat, that's it. He'll stomp me." That thought was enough to make him want to punch something.
He shut his eyes, for, like, half a second. Enough for the system to kick in:
[Blood Manipulation: Active]
Alright. Time for a party trick. He raised his arm, let the blood pour—honestly, if anyone else had to watch this they'd probably barf. The droplets hung in the air, twisted together, all radioactive and mean-looking. He yanked the whip back—snap!—and flayed the smoky bastard, knocking it halfway across oblivion.
Didn't do much. Shadow-boy popped back together, but Oban was already morphing the whip into a spear, stadium javelin style, and *hurled* it. Bullseye, straight through the shoulder. The shadow hissed, melted, tried to reform again.
Every time he did it, the pain amped up—like his body was chewing itself from the inside out. Didn't matter. He just grinned, teeth bloodstained and a little unhinged. "If I've got to bleed for this, fine. My blood, my rules."
Then the shadow came charging. Oban didn't back up. Didn't step aside. He slammed into it, blade meeting blade, both of them glaring hard enough you could probably start a fire. Oban's voice was nothing but gravel and spite: "You're not me. You're not even close. Just an echo."
And bam—he funneled everything, every dying flicker of blood power, into his Nightblade. The whole blade went nuclear red, pulsing with something hot and dangerous. With a yell that was more rage than human, he brought it down, sliced shadow-boy clean in two.
The thing howled—then splintered into rolling wisps. Poof. Gone. The world just… stopped making noise.
[Trial Complete – Blood Construct Defeated]
[Reward: Stat Upgrade – Strength +5, Endurance +3, Skill Awakened: Blood Manipulation Phase 2]
Oban hit the deck, knees screaming, breathing like he'd run a marathon with bricks in his shoes. The Nightblade buzzed quietly, almost smug about it. His vision tunneled in and out. But at least he was alive, right?
"Phase 2, huh…" he wheezed, cracked a pathetic smile. "Bet it's not a vacation."
Light exploded, the void tore apart—dramatic, as always. Suddenly he was sprawling on cold stone, back in his castle room. Blade beside him, quiet this time. The silence made everything feel fake. Or maybe he was just dizzy.
He shut his eyes and muttered, "If that's just the warmup… seriously, what fresh hell's coming next?"
Somewhere out there, Yuji's laugh echoed—distant, annoying as ever. In the heart of the castle, Aijack watched, golden eyes sharp and searching.
Like it or not, things were shifting. And Oban—bloody, battered, grinning like a lunatic—was smack in the beating heart of it all. No escape now.