Yeah, the chill just punched him right in the face when Oban crawled out of the void. Damp stone underfoot, everything heavy with cold. And the sky—don't even get me started, it looked like somebody tried to do both sunrise and sunset at once but couldn't decide. Normally, the system's little gremlin-voice would be yapping in his ear, but now? Total radio silence. Just Oban, his thoughts, and this blank, icy world. Welp. Guess training was over—the system basically booted him from the nest. Not that he felt ready, mind you.
Dead ahead, these freaky, black spires stabbed at the sky. The Castle of Forgiveness (because who needs subtlety, right?) stood all gothic and miserable, wearing a coat of frost and vanishing up into low-hanging clouds. The only real color? Pale blue torches guttering along the main path. As if the place wasn't dramatic enough. And that weight—yikes. Like, Oban knew real quick this next bit wasn't about swinging a sword around. No, this was walking into the big leagues. Power, politics, the works.
Of course, nothing's ever simple. Before he could even think about knocking on that freaky front door, the shadows jerked sideways.
Something exploded from the trees—things with wings, all noise and teeth. The sound they made? Like someone jamming icicles into his ears. Nightbats. And these weren't the basement-variety nuisances. Nah, these things were huge, dragged out of some nightmare. Venom literally dripping, wings big enough to use as makeshift umbrellas (bad idea, by the way). That weird purple corruption painted across their skin? Just lovely.
Oban pulled his Vampiric Nightblade, which really is as over-the-top as it sounds. Blood-red blade, pulsing like it's got its own heartbeat. The sword felt sharper now, which would've been cool if he hadn't been staring down an actual cloud of monsters.
One bat went for him, claws first. Oban's blade came up, cut right through its wing—gross shriek, instant regret. Didn't matter though; two more swooped on him, chunks of muscle and rage, claws sparking against the steel. Oban spun. And yeah, it looked cooler than it felt.
Then—the system chimed in. Real emotionally supportive too.
[Blood Manipulation: Phase 2 unlocked.]
Projection of Bloodness: form barriers at the cost of life essence.
Gee, thanks. Oban gritted his teeth and tried not to hurl. Fire in his veins now, everything moving faster. He clenched his fist, shoved his will outward, hoping he didn't just pass out on the spot.
Blood sprayed from his skin into the air (gross, I know), shaped itself into a jagged red shield. First Nightbat flew straight at it—smack, bones snapping like twigs. Oban nearly dropped. His vision fuzzed at the edges, every breath weighed down with the cost.
But hey, it worked. The barrier freaking held.
Not that the bats were impressed. They shrieked, got angrier, and swarmed again. Oban channeled more blood, dissolved the shield, and fired off bloody spikes like he was some unhinged porcupine. Three bats got skewered right out of the sky—messy business. The bodies hit the stone, sick thuds echoing.
"Come on then!" he yelled, voice half-mangled into a war-cry. Blade up, knees shaking, but dammit—he wasn't backing down.
He launched himself at the swarm, his Nightblade glowing hotter, brighter. With each swing it felt... hungrier? Like it wanted this chaos. One cut—wing gone. Another, and the blade stretched, became a red whip of death. It sucked up every drop of blood from his kills, glowing thick and angry.
Nightbats dropped, one after the other. Frozen ground, black blood everywhere. Oban almost collapsed, drained like old batteries. That blood barrier took a chunk out of him, but—honestly? He'd proved something to himself.
Phase 2 wasn't just about defense or fancy tricks. This was bare-knuckle survival.
Finally—finally—the night went quiet. Only the weird blue torchlight left, swaying like even the castle was giving him a slow clap. Oban shoved the sword home and dragged himself toward those looming gates, barely more than a shadow on the stone.
Hidden in the City of Lumeris—way out past the clean, quiet streets people like to brag about—trouble was humming, just beneath the surface.
You get to the edge of town, where those skyscraping towers throw these moody, stretched shadows over everything, and there it is: a prison that looks almost alive, black stone laced all over with runes that actually glow. Forget iron bars or clanking chains, this thing's stitched up out of pure magic, thick enough to choke the nastiest nightmares. No chance anything dark is busting out.
Inside? Three ticked-off vampires, pale as moonlight and straight-up feral. They press their faces to the light-riddled bars, fangs on full display, but it's useless. They try anyway, hissing and scratching, but all they get for their trouble is a faceful of sparks that burn and fizzle out against their skin.
Then there's Yuji, chilling right outside. Hands jammed in his coat pockets, breath fogging up in the chilly dusk— even looks kind of bored. There's this cocky little grin, but his eyes? Totally mean business.
He mutters, just loud enough for whoever cares to hear, "One of these days, I'm gonna wreck every last one of you monsters."
The vamps hurl curses, probably every filthy word they know, but Yuji just tilts his head, smirks like it's all a bad joke, and strolls off. The prison pulses brighter behind him, magic cinching tighter as the city drowns in night.
The Castle of Forgiveness
He returned to the castle, Oban making his way through the heavy gates. The courtyard was vast, bounded on either side by statues of warriors long forgotten. Black-clad guards stood at watch, their spears glinting in the light of torches.
One of them stepped forward, his voice crisp and authoritative. "Oban. Lord Aijack requests your presence."
Oban's brow rose. "Aijack?"
The guard just nodded, sending him towards the great hall. Though Oban's body ached, he complied. Inside, the castle was cold as well, its walls covered with ancient runes that glowed faintly like veins of ice.
The council chamber was a massive circle, the black polished stone floor. Around it sat the elders, their faces hidden behind tall hoods. At its center stood Aijack, his presence as sharp as a blade.
"You've arrived," Aijack said, his words echoing off the chamber. "Good. Much to discuss."
Oban bowed respectfully, unsure if he should feel flattered or alarmed.
Another elder spoke, his voice dry and crackling. "Mages found one of our camps in the mortal realm. Three of our kind were captured."
A murmur ran through the room. Oban stiffened. He remembered the prison that Yuji had stood in front of, though he didn't yet know the mage's name.
Aijack's gaze became cold. "The circumstances cannot be ignored. Unchecked, the mages will dig deeper into our affairs. Those vampires must be rescued—or killed."
An elder leaned forward. "And whom do you suggest?"
Aijack's gaze moved to Oban. "Him."
Oban blinked. "Me?"
"You've trained. You've survived the hollowness. You've demonstrated that you can handle the talent we placed in your hands," said Aijack severely. "This will be your test beyond training. You will not be solitary. A group of minimal size will accompany you, but you are in command."
Oban's mouth was dry, but he met Aijack's stare. The weight of the mission pressed heavy on him. He wasn't just fighting beasts in a void anymore—this was the real world, with enemies far sharper.
Another elder added, "Succeed, and your place among us will be undeniable. Fail… and the mages will grow bold."
The chamber fell silent, the torches flickering as if listening too.
Oban stiffened, his hand on the pommel of his shifting blade. "Then I shall not fail."
The elders exchanged nods. Aijack's mouth curled into the faintest of grins.
"Good," he said. "Then prepare yourself. The darkness is fast running out, and your travel begins at first light."
Oban's bones chilled with the cold of the castle, but in him there burned something else—a resolve.