A Mutant Collector Quest

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.

The chant grows louder, more frantic, as the Voodoo Queen quickens her pace. The sound becomes more unnerving, almost inhuman. Suddenly, she thrusts her hand toward the center wall of the vast hall.

"No, no, no!! Not him, please, not him!" Nyssa cries out in horror, her voice cracking as she realizes where the Voodoo Queen's hand is pointed.

A small partition appears in the massive wall, its edges parting with a low, eerie groan. The Voodoo Queen beckons with her hand, and from the space, a pitch-black coffin emerges, its surface studded with gleaming, expensive gems.

The coffin floats gracefully through the air and positions itself near the circle. With another wave of her hand, the coffin opens, and a shrivelled man's form rises from within.

The figure is a tall, ancient man, his skin a sickly bluish hue, his cheeks hollowed and his body entirely hairless. His features are so gaunt and unnatural that he appears more like the mummified remains of some long-dead, alien creature than a human.

"H-how did you find him?!" Nyssa gasps, her voice filled with disbelief and shock.

"Do you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" Deacon sneers, his mocking grin aimed directly at Nyssa before his attention drifts back to the blood-stained pit. "This entire ruin is a sanctuary for your father, Nosferatu Dasmakinos, the head of the Dasmakinos clan—a place for him to 'rest'."

His words strike her like a thunderclap. Up until now, Nyssa had held on to the fragile hope that they might have simply missed his resting place. She had been in denial, refusing to acknowledge the truth. But now, with his revelation, the horror sets in—finding her father here is the worst possible outcome. He is at his most vulnerable, weakened from lack of blood, trapped in a deep, unyielding sleep.

These Ancient ruins were not just a secret resting place. They were a stronghold, meant to protect him as he slumbers in his hibernation, often for decades at a time, until he awakens once more!

The Voodoo Queen raises her hand, directing the floating body to the center of the blood pit. With a swift motion, her palm faces downward, and the body follows her command, its lifeless form hovering over the pit. Panic claws at Nyssa's chest, her breath hitching in desperation.

"N-no, you can't! Please, don't do this!" she cries, her voice cracking. "Please, spare my father!" Her pleas are frantic as she strains against the burning silver shackles, her pain forgotten in the wake of the terror that seizes her.

The Voodoo Queen's chant grows louder, more guttural, almost demonic in its intensity, with her face twitching as if in pain. The very air seems to tremble as the darkness deepens around her, cheering her on.

Realizing what is about to happen, Nyssa shifts her focus, gnashing her fangs together in fury. With all her strength, she bites into her own hand, using her sharp teeth to tear at her flesh. She hopes to sever the silver shackles, desperate to free herself before it's too late.

The blood pit below the floating body nears its peak, the river's flow slowing as it fills it almost to the brim.

At that moment, the Voodoo Queen speaks a single word, and the very darkness in the hall reverberates with it. "Sacrifice!" she calls out, her voice ringing with power. As she swipes her hand through the air, it moves as though cutting through something invisible, her fingers trembling with the effort. Blood drips from her hand as her fair face contorts in pain.

A nearly invisible line appears on the floating body's neck, and suddenly, the corpse's eyes snap open. They are pure black, void of any human warmth. He gasps for air, his hand instinctively reaching toward his throat, struggling to grasp at the invisible wound.

Before he can make a move, the Voodoo Queen's voice rises again, louder and more commanding than ever. The ancient book in her hands glows with blood-red light, its eyes seeming to burn with malevolent intent.

A dark, ink-like droplet forms at the side of the corpse's neck, and before he can react, it detaches from his body, swirling away. The shriveled, blue-blooded body begins to disintegrate, the man's mouth opening as if to speak, but no words escape. Instead, his form crumbles faster, his body turning to fine dust as he dissolves into nothingness.

Nyssa slumps down on the ground helpless to stop what had just occurred in front of her. Her father, her maker … is no more.

Meanwhile, a black droplet falls into the blood-filled pit, spreading through the red, like ink in water. The red blood darkens turning black, as though the darkness itself is being absorbed. A black haze begins to coil above the blood pit, shrouding it in an aura of eternal darkness.

Just then the Voodoo Queen halts her chant, collapsing to her knees, still clutching the open book tightly as she breathes heavily.

"An Ancient vampire… one of the firsts… died tonight, just like that," Racquel whispers, glancing back at Nyssa with pity. Nyssa is sobbing, her tears flowing as dark blood from her eyes.

"Is it done?" Deacon Frost asks, taking a deep breath. The river of blood has vanished, along with the hundred human bodies, as though they were mere illusions. But the pool of inky black blood serves as proof of all that has occurred here.

Instead of answering, the Voodoo Queen reaches for a floating candle beside her with shaky hands. Flicking it open like a bottle, she drinks the red liquid within deeply. "Haaa!" she sighs in relief, the candle vanishing from her grasp as she rises, her feet leaving the ground.

"It is nearly complete… I underestimated how intense the last part would be," she says, glancing at her bloodied right hand. "We just need one more thing." She shifts her gaze to the right, where the vampire prisoners are kept.

"Ah, I almost forgot the VIP of tonight's spectacle," Deacon says with a grin, his eyes settling on a bound figure at the back. His minions stand frozen in terror at the sight of what has transpired, and in their midst, chained to a stone mechanism, is a man glaring straight at Deacon with hatred.

"Eric, sweetie… It's your time to contribute!" Deacon says, laughing ecstatically as he relishes his nearing success.

The Voodoo Queen floats towards Blade, her presence making the vampire lackeys back away in terror. "The infamous Blade… the Daywalker! Oh, how long I have searched for you," she says, her gaze gleaming with insatiable greed.

"You will also taste my blade… witch!" Blade retorts defiantly, undeterred by the horrors he has witnessed.

"Hihihihi, sure, darling," she replies with an amused chuckle. "Deacon, don't forget our agreement," her tone firm as she turns to him. "The Daywalker is mine once I help you finish the ritual."

Deacon grins widely, his voice dripping with confidence. "Yes, you can have him. I, Deacon Frost, am a man of my word!"

"Hihihihihi Alright!" The Voodoo Queen cackles, clearly pleased, before turning back to Blade. "This might hurt… a lot," she warns with a smirk, pressing her uninjured left hand to Blade's bare chest.

"Ughhhh!" Blade groans in sudden pain, his face contorting in agony.

As the Voodoo Queen presses her palm against his chest, a small cut forms on Blade's skin. From the wound, a single drop of blood emerges—bright, pure red, almost glowing with intensity.

"Haa… what did you do?" Blade asks, breathing hard as the wound closes on its own.

"The Blood essence... straight from the Daywalker's heart—how precious," the Voodoo Queen murmurs, her eyes fixed greedily on the droplet floating in her palm. "But why be greedy for the golden egg when I already have the golden goose?" She smiles, then gently caresses Blade's chest, her fingers lingering as she adds, "You will lay many more eggs for me, won't you, darling? Hihihihi …" With a sinister laugh, she floats away, still holding the blood drop in her hand.

"Crazy... witch!" Blade mutters weakly, his face drained of colour, but oddly, he feels as if his strength is returning.

While laughing the Voodoo Queen floats before the Blood Pit, its contents now a deep, ominous black. Deacon and Racquel approach her, their eyes fixed on the eerie pool.

Racquel tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach, but the sight of the black blood in the pit turns her appetite to ash. She knows, with a sick certainty, that drinking it would mean death—it's poison, and no amount of power could save her from it.

Deacon's voice cuts through the tension, his tone filled with fascination as he eyes the floating red blood droplet. "This is the last piece?"

"Yes," the Voodoo Queen replies, her gaze hardening. She holds the open Necronomicon in front of her, the pages glowing faintly. "Once the surface of the Blood Pool turns red, you must enter it immediately. Don't miss that moment—it is crucial."

Deacon grins, his excitement palpable. "I am ready."

The Voodoo Queen begins a low, deliberate chant, her voice steady as she raises the red blood droplet above the Blood Pit, positioning it precisely at its center.

With a swift motion, she brings her hands down, and the blood drop falls, plummeting into the stagnant black liquid. The moment it touches, the black blood begins to churn, transforming into a vibrant, bright red. The red blood in the pit seems to be boiling, the blood seems excited! and the air itself seems to crackle with magic, thick with power!

Deacon's crimson eyes track the transformation, his focus sharp. As the red blood consumes the black, reaching the edges of the pit, he wastes no time. He steps forward and places his foot on the newly-formed surface of the red blood.

At first, it feels like stepping onto solid ground, but in the next moment, the red blood surges, crawling up his leg as though it's alive. The Voodoo Queen's chanting grows more intense, and the blood responds, moving faster, pulling him deeper.

"This is it!" Deacon exclaims, his voice filled with exhilaration. "I am on the verge of greatness! My era is about to arrive!" As his words fade, his body is swiftly engulfed by the blood, swallowed entirely into its surface.

The Voodoo Queen finally halts her chant, closing the ancient book with a weary sigh.

"Do you think it will work?" Racquel steps forward, her voice tinged with curiosity as she stands beside her.

"I am not sure... it should, at least in theory, according to the book. That's also why we're conducting this experiment, aren't we, my little white rabbit?" the Voodoo Queen replies with a playful wink.

Racquel rolls her eye at her words "It better work. I have worked my ass off for this ritual," she mutters, exasperated. She exhales a tired sigh before asking, "How long will it take?"

"Shouldn't be more than a few minutes, maybe half an hour at most," the Voodoo Queen says, pondering for a moment.

Before Racquel can respond, the heavy metal gates of the hall swing open with a loud screech. A vampire thug bursts through, panic evident in his voice. "T-the base is under attack! There are intruders outside!"

The two women exchange a sharp, concerned look, their brows furrowing in unison.