A Mutant Collector Quest

Deacon clicks his tongue in mock disapproval, still smiling. "You will see soon enough, sweetie. Rejoice, for you are about to get a front-row seat to my ascension!" His eyes gleam with manic excitement. "Shall we begin?" he asks, turning to the Voodoo Queen.

"As you wish," she responds with a small, eerie bow. Moving away from the group, she floats up to a small pedestal, elevating her five feet above the ground, her candles following behind her.

Nyssa, who has been maintaining a brave front in Deacon's presence, couldn't hold her composure any longer. As soon as he moves away, her expression falters, shifting into one of deep concern. She is intimately familiar with these ruins, but over the past few months, the woman calling herself the Voodoo Queen had made significant alterations, particularly to this Blood Hall—the lowest basement layer of the ruins.

Nyssa wasn't well-versed in magic or the mystic arts, but even she could tell that whatever this madwoman was attempting was both dangerous and forbidden. She narrows her eyes, watching the Voodoo Queen begin a chant in an unknown language atop the pedestal. Every instinct screamed at her to find a way out, but the silver chains binding her drained her strength, and the garlic venom coursing through her veins, along with the other members of her clan, kept them as weak as possible.

Deacon, walking past the pedestal, ordered a vampire grunt to fetch Blade.

As he walks away, Racquel slips closer to Nyssa. "Hey, girl," she says quietly, "I would advise you to stay put and not do anything reckless. Crazy stuff is about to happen, and I wouldn't want you to lose your life here. You don't want the Dasmakinos Clan to end tonight, do you?" Racquel warns, her voice laced with an odd sincerity.

"Keep your advice to yourself, Deacon's bitch!" Nyssa growls at her in annoyance, "You, Deacon, and that mad sorceress will all pay for what you are doing!" She glares at Racquel, hatred burning in her amber eyes.

Racquel shrugs with a sly smile. "Oh, Deacon surely will." She mutters under her breath, giving Nyssa a sly wink before turning and heading towards the platform.

Confused, Nyssa shakes her head and focuses back on the hall. Around her, the chanting grows louder as entranced humans lay in a vast circle on the floor. Grooves traced pathways are besides each of them, all leading to a pit at the center of the circle.

She had counted—there were precisely 100 humans. They lay in strange symbols the Voodoo Queen had drawn around them. As the Queen's chant grows louder, Nyssa glances back at her clan.

The 13 elders were bound behind her, heads bowed in shame. Nyssa sighs; even though they had been the first to invite Deacon into the clan, she had eventually accepted their decision. There was no sense in playing the blame game now. Her only hope was to escape while the Queen was distracted by her ritual; otherwise, the sorceress could restrain them all with a mere flick of her wrist.

The Voodoo Queen's chanting rose to a fever pitch, and the enormous hall seemed to darken further. With a loud cry, she commands, "Come forth, Necronomicon!" She thrusts her hand into a crack that appears in the air, and darkness spills forth, congealing into a floating, skin-bound book.

As Nyssa looks at it she backs away in terror, the silver chains searing her hands. The book's cover is grotesque, its surface resembling human skin, with a human-like face twisted into a permanent scream on its front. Its red eyes, though dead, seemed to stare straight into her soul.

Nyssa blinks, taking a deep breath as she focuses on the book once more. Strangely, it still looks the same, yet now it seems less menacing—just a bizarre, eerie object floating in mid-air, as if the unsettling aura surrounding it had been nothing more than an illusion. Despite this, Nyssa couldn't bring herself to look at the grotesque face again.

In fact, she was the one holding up the best. The vampires behind her were frozen in fear, their bodies trembling with terror.

"I-I-is this... the book? The Book of the Dead... The Necronomicon?" Racquel whispers, barely able to raise her head after just a fleeting glance at the book.

"Yes, fascinating, isn't it?" Deacon says, unfazed by the dread permeating the air. His eyes were fixed on the book with an excited grin, his voice filled with a strange pleasure. "I had heard countless rumours about its power. If I hadn't met her, I would have dismissed them all as mere wild claims."

The Voodoo Queen steps forward, her movements fluid and assured as she reaches out to grasp the rough, skin-like cover of the book. She flips through the pages with practiced ease until she pauses, taking a deep breath before reading the first word: Blood

The candles floating beside her are suddenly extinguished, the very air around them darkening as an unnatural force seems to pulse from the Book. The Darkness spreads, flowing outward in an almost sentient manner, blanketing the entire hall.

The sound of the room seems to cease as she begins chanting. Her voice was low, almost demonic, reverberating with an ancient, otherworldly power. As her hand rests on the book, her other arm extends forward, sweeping downward with a forceful motion, as if slicing through the air itself.

"Sacrifice!" she commands, her voice carrying the weight of the deepest, most forbidden realms.

"Ah!" Nyssa's eyes widen in horror. She saw it clearly with her enhanced vision: a deep, gaping cut forming on every human's neck, their blood spilling out in a gruesome cascade, flowing into the grooves beside them.

As the Voodoo Queen continues her chant, the blood from the hundred humans—eyes still closed, bodies unmoving—flows without resistance. It seems as though their very life force is being drained, the blood advancing steadily through the rock grooves, forming what looks like a hundred tiny rivers. These tributaries converge at the center, all moving in the same direction, as if guided by some unseen force.

"Th-this is madness," Nyssa mutters, her voice filled with rare pity. Despite considering humans as little more than cattle, this feels too grotesque. The sight of their blood being drained in such a methodical, sacrificial way strikes her with a deep sense of unease.

Racquel, on the other hand, licks her lips, intoxicated by the scent of blood in the air. Her eyes gleam as she watches the rich crimson liquid flow, practically shimmering before her. The sight of so much delicious blood pooled before her is almost too much to resist.

Deacon Frost, however, stands unusually still. His expression is one of intense focus, and he seems to be preparing himself for something far beyond what is unfolding before them.

The chant of the Voodoo Queen grows louder, resonating with a deep, eerie power that seems to shake the very air around them. As the blood rivers continue their relentless flow, they reach the pit at the center. The liquid trickles down into it, pooling gradually.

"Wh-what's going on?" Nyssa asks aloud, her voice tinged with confusion. Even as litres of blood drain from the humans' bodies, the flow doesn't stop. The blood continues to pour from their necks, as if an endless reservoir is feeding the rivers coursing through the rock grooves. "Where is all this blood coming from?" she asks, bewildered. The humans still look perfectly fine, their bodies seemingly untouched, as if they are simply asleep.

The Voodoo Queen doesn't respond, her focus unbroken as she turns the page of the book, her chant echoing through the hall. The sounds that emanate from her mouth are indescribable, resonating with the darkness of the underground chamber hall. With a simple, casual gesture, she extends her hand back towards the group of vampires.

Nyssa recoils in horror, the memory of the sorceress's magic still fresh in her mind. The dread of it tightens her chest, but to her shock, nothing happens to her. Instead, it's the Elders who suffer.

"Ahh!"

"What the—?"

"P-put me down!"

The Elders' cries echo as their restraints are automatically undone, their bodies jerking upward against their will. They float, suspended in mid-air, drawn toward the center of the hall, their limbs flailing helplessly.

"Stop! Leave them alone, you witch!" Nyssa shouts, her voice breaking with desperation. She turns to Deacon, her eyes wide with fury. "Deacon, they are not just anyone—these are the Elders of the Dasmakinos Clan!"

But Deacon pays her no mind, his gaze unwavering as he watches the blood pool in the pit, which is now nearly half-filled.

The Elders are levitated into a perfect circle around the pit, staring down at the pool of blood with wide eyes filled with terror.

"Deacon, please—we helped you!" one Elder pleads, his voice trembling.

"Yes, we will support you as the new clan head, we swear it!" another adds, panic rising in his voice.

"Take Nyssa! She is the one who has always been against you!" one Elder cries, desperation evident in their tone.

"Yes, take her! Spare us!" a third Elder pleads, fear and betrayal clouding their eyes.

Nyssa stands frozen, her heart sinking as her own clan's Elders betray her in an instant.

Deacon grins widely as the Voodoo Queen twists her palm downward. At her command, all the elders are forced to flip upside down, suspended in mid-air. She sweeps her hand horizontally in a swift, calculated motion, as though reaping a crop. "Sacrifice!" she commands, her voice echoing throughout the hall.

"N-noo!" Nyssa cries out in horror as the heads of all thirteen Elder Vampires are severed in unison. Their wide-eyed, frozen expressions remain as their decapitated heads float away, landing just outside the circle. Dark blood pours from the stump of their necks, dripping one drop at a time into the blood pit.

Drip... drip... drip...

The headless bodies hover motionless, slowly drying up with each drop that falls. The sound of blood hitting the pit is deafening as the blood river continues to flow, its source the lifeless humans, still in a deep slumber.

After exactly thirteen drops, the bodies crumble into dust, their clothes disintegrating with them. The blood pit is now three-quarters full, the flow from the blood river showing no signs of slowing.

"Thirteen pure-blood vampires as sacrifices," Racquel whispers quietly, her gaze fixed on the grim spectacle.