Reborn as a Vampire in a Dying World: Blood, Power, and Pleasure

The betting didn't last long.

The moment the mercenary moved, he became a whirlwind of slaughter—an angel of death among predators. His blades cut arcs of silver through the air while his wings fanned out behind him, scattering gusts of wind strong enough to rattle the hanging lamps above.

With every strike, the corruption in his eye deepened. The once faint glow of violet now blazed like a brand, veins of unnatural light crawling outward across his face. His power surged, raw and unstable, pushing him toward a dangerous peak.

SLASH!

In less than a blink, he was at the far end of the hall, his sword cleaving clean through the neck of a vampire before the creature even registered the threat. The sound of the cut was wrong—wet, distorted, almost like tearing through a different kind of fabric altogether.

"Sick bastards!" he snarled. The mercenary wasn't a man of noble ideals, but he was still human. He bled, he aged, and unlike the immortal leeches before him, he still had the fragile morality of a mortal.

"We've got a straggler!" the host on stage barked, voice sharp as he fished a small bronze bell from his pocket and rang it.

The sound was a summons.

From behind the stage, the floorboards shuddered as a pack of massive hounds burst through. Their eyes glowed crimson, saliva sizzling as it dripped from their fangs. Dark miasma curled off their bodies like smoke, coating the air with the stench of brimstone and rot.

Hellhounds.

The vampires weren't simply prey either—they countered, striking with a precision honed over centuries. These weren't sheltered nobles; they were predators that had survived countless hunts, wars, and rivalries. Every one of them carried themselves with the confidence of killers who had tasted too much blood to be intimidated.

SLASH!

Two vampires fell at once, bisected cleanly before they could blink. The mercenary pivoted, barely avoiding the snapping jaws of a lunging hellhound.

THUD!

He planted his foot square on the beast's skull, the impact sending it sprawling into a knot of vampires. The crash toppled them like bowling pins, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

"Shit! I underestimated how many there are!" he spat, retreating another step. A faint, unnatural glow began radiating from his throat—sickly green, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Then came the scream.

A raw, high-pitched frequency tore through the air, vibrating the very bones of the cavern. The sonic boom hit the vampires like a hammer to the skull, their heightened senses turning against them in an instant. They screamed, clutching their ears, some dropping to their knees. Even the hellhounds yelped, rolling on the ground in agony.

The mercenary's shoulders heaved. "That was close…"

He glanced over his shoulder—and froze. Corven was still standing where he had been, unmoving, eyes heavy with something darker than rage.

"I genuinely don't understand him…" the mercenary muttered under his breath. The weight of his borrowed power pressed harder now, every beat of his heart a reminder of the deal he'd struck.

"Shit… feels like my soul's being crushed…" He coughed up blood, spitting it to the side. "I need to end this!"

Wings flaring, he shot forward. The rush of air as he took flight knocked over chairs and scattered loose parchment. He slammed into the host with the force of a battering ram.

BANG!

The crack of ribs was unmistakable. The host crumpled, airborne for several meters before landing in a heap. The other human—the one who had been dragging the cages—was already gone, fleeing before the tide of battle turned.

"Coward," the mercenary spat, his gaze snapping to the iron-barred cage still sitting on the stage.

He crouched before the bound woman inside, his tone uncharacteristically careful. "Are you okay?"

For a heartbeat she didn't respond—her eyes wide, as if her mind couldn't quite process that the chaos outside the bars was meant for her rescue. Then, her lips trembled.

"Please! My child—she's still alive! They captured her… I don't know where—"

Far across the chamber, Corven's ears twitched. He heard every word. Even with the crowd's panic, her voice cut through, her desperation searing into him like a blade.

The moment he registered that the child was alive, his jaw clenched. Fangs pressed into his lip until blood welled up. His claws extended, his frame trembling with something primal.

[Abnormal Vampiric Ascension Activated]

[Condition: ???]

SPLAT.

His back burst open in a violent rush of blood, wings—massive and bat-like—tearing free from his flesh. The roar that followed shook the cavern, deep and guttural, reverberating through stone.

The mercenary and widow both froze at the sound, but the widow's reaction was sharper. She squinted, eyes narrowing at the silhouette in the shadows.

"I-Is that… him?"

Recognition struck like lightning. Memory followed—her husband's death at Corven's hands, the promise of protection that never came, the betrayal of his absence.

"Bastard!" she screamed.

Corven felt it. Not just the sound—he felt the raw emotion in her blood. It was a weight, a brand on his conscience.

'If that child is still alive…!'

His legs coiled.

BOOM!

He launched forward, wings spread wide like the shadow of some ancient beast. In a single breath he was at the stage, ignoring the mercenary entirely.

The host was still alive, crawling feebly across the floor, smearing blood in his wake. "P-please… have mercy!"

Corven's answer was wordless. His fangs sank deep into the man's neck, drawing not just blood but memories.

[Echo of the Drained Activated]

Flashes filled his mind. A different city, not far from Urzen. A child locked away, deemed too young to be auctioned. The host's accomplices waiting for her to grow, their plans festering in the dark.

"Boss…?" the mercenary called out, unsettled by Corven's form—more monstrous now than anything resembling human.

"Take care of her. I'll find the child." The command rolled off Corven's tongue with the weight of authority, his voice heavy enough to make the mercenary clutch his head.

"G-Got it!"

Corven's wings flared. The ground beneath him spiderwebbed with cracks as he launched skyward, tearing through the cavern ceiling in a shower of stone.

BOOM.

He burst into Underzen's airspace, his beastly silhouette framed against the dim glow of the subterranean city. Every eye turned—citizens, paladins, silver guards… even Aisha.

"W-what!?"

Gasps spread. To them, it was like watching a god awaken.

[Class: The Archivist (Overdrive)]

His codex pulsed in response, recognizing the suicidal path he had chosen.

BOOM.

Again, he tore through stone, emerging into Urzen above. The sun greeted him with merciless fire, searing his flesh instantly.

"Agghhh!" he growled, skin blistering in seconds. But the Archivist's resilience kept him alive for the precious moment he needed.

And when the humans of Urzen looked up, they saw not a man, but a blazing silhouette in the sky—wings of fire cutting across the heavens.

Corven had surpassed the sun's curse, if only for a fleeting heartbeat.