Kisss of the vampire (volume 2) " The Girl with the Sharp sword!"
Mission 10: Beast that Got Lost in time!
The wind howled through the Crimson Palace like a wailing ghost—but it wasn't the wind that made Catherine pause.
It was the sound that followed:
A crack. A thunderous, splintering crack, like glass fracturing under divine pressure.
Then—
Boom.
The dome shuddered.
Catherine's eyes flicked toward the air above—just as a jagged rupture split across the blood-stained sky.
Something was forcing its way in.
> "Impossible," she whispered.
Another boom. Louder. Closer. Then, like a meteor falling from heaven, a figure crashed through the frozen firmament—shattering part of the dome like it was cheap glass. Blood-light exploded outward in a halo, snowflakes hissed into steam, and the cathedral of ice trembled with shock.
From the falling storm of shards—
Deyviel landed.
Hard.
The floor beneath his boots cracked from the impact, sending spiderweb fractures along the glass-like surface. His rusted sword rested across his shoulders. Blood dripped from a fresh cut over his brow. But his eyes—those wild, defiant eyes—locked straight onto Catherine like she was the only thing in this cursed world.
> "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Traffic was hell."
Maya froze.
Her body still burned from the fight. Her lungs were fire. Her hands still trembled from pushing past the memory-fueled horrors. But as she stared at him—at Kael's face reborn in a storm of shattered light—her heart forgot to beat for a second.
Catherine took a slow step back, cloak trailing frost.
> "You..." she murmured. "You shouldn't exist."
Deyviel tilted his head, gave her that lopsided grin that cut through centuries.
> "You first, Elsa."
Maya almost choked on a laugh.
It was him.
Not Kael.
But somehow, still Kael.
The Blood Dome reacted instantly. Tendrils of frozen crimson shot toward Deyviel like spears, the environment itself rejecting his presence. Catherine's will tried to erase him before he could take root in her realm.
But Deyviel didn't flinch.
He moved—not with elegance, not with centuries of training—but with instinct. Raw, reckless instinct.
He ducked under the first strike, spun through the second, and shattered the third with a reckless swing of that rusted blade—sparks flying as metal screamed against conjured frost.
Catherine's eyes narrowed.
> "This isn't your stage, child."
Deyviel stopped beside Maya, breathing hard. He glanced her way. Smirked again.
> "You look like hell."
Maya stared at him, panting.
> "You jumped into a Progenitor's Blood Dome… alone."
> "Yeah, well," he shrugged. "You looked like you needed a plus one."
And then—
The Blood Dome shifted.
Not fully.
But enough.
The mist recoiled. The sky above flickered. For a split second, the air hesitated.
Maya's eyes widened.
> "You're affecting it," she said.
> "Affecting what?"
> "Her control."
Deyviel blinked. Looked around. The dome had stopped adapting. The illusions had faded. The clone army had vanished. It was like the space itself didn't know what to do with him.
> "Huh. Cool."
Catherine's voice was low now, furious.
> "You carry something… someone… that shouldn't be possible."
She raised her hand—and the frost gathered like a tidal wave.
But this time, Maya stood first.
She stepped forward, blade raised, eyes locked.
> "You said this place feeds on memory?" she growled. "Let me show you mine."
And Deyviel, behind her, grinned wider.
> "Let's turn this bitch's snow globe upside down."
And together—
They charged.
Steel and fire. Ice and blood.
And for the first time in 300 years—
Catherine wasn't smiling.
The moment Deyviel pulled the Red Queen from his back, the dome reacted.
Not with fear.
But with a low, resonant hum—like a heartbeat echoing through ice.
The blade wasn't elegant. It was jagged, raw, and pulsed with unstable energy. A rusted edge along its spine sparked red with each movement, like the weapon wanted to burn something alive.
> "She's hungry," Deyviel muttered, twirling the sword into a reverse grip.
Catherine raised a brow.
> "That relic? Against me?"
The next second, Deyviel was gone—a red blur across the frost.
He lunged, slashing diagonally.
Catherine twisted, cloak billowing, narrowly avoiding the strike. The frost cracked behind her.
He followed—one step, then another, building momentum. Each swing of Red Queen came with a roar, a short burst of flaming aftershock that split the air.
Horizontal swipe—ducked.
Overhead arc—parried with a frozen arm conjured mid-air.
Spin-kick—landed! Catherine stumbled back, heels skidding across the glass floor.
But her expression remained calm.
> "You think rage and speed will save you?"
She flicked her fingers—and spears of frozen blood launched from all directions.
Deyviel leapt, flipping in midair, slicing two clean through. The third caught his shoulder—pierced—but he gritted his teeth and yanked it out mid-spin, landing on one knee.
> "No," he spat blood. "But they'll keep me entertained."
He charged again.
This time Maya joined him.
While Deyviel engaged her front, Maya dashed behind—her katana slashing at Catherine's blindside. The two synced like they'd fought together for years.
Strike—parry.
Feint—redirect.
Frost exploded under their feet.
Deyviel feigned low. Maya came high. A perfect combo.
Catherine's foot slid—and for a moment, she was open.
Deyviel spun Red Queen—revved it—igniting the blade in a red surge.
> "Devil's Reap!"
He brought it down with all his weight.
But—
Clang.
Not frost. Not blood.
But something deeper. Older.
Catherine blocked with her bare hand.
Except it wasn't just her hand anymore.
In that instant, something emerged from the depths of her soul. An artifact made of blackened bone and shifting metal. It shaped itself into a violin-shaped blade, humming a silent song that made the dome vibrate.
> "Let me show you... a weapon from the time before blood."
She raised it.
> "Nevan: The Screaming Elegy."
Deyviel stepped back, the Red Queen flickering like a candle.
> "What the hell is that...?"
She moved once.
Just once.
The air screamed.
A slash of black light cut across the field—silent and instantaneous. The impact came after the swing, like reality was catching up.
Red Queen shattered.
Right down the middle. The jagged sword burst into a dozen flaming fragments.
Deyviel staggered. Looked at the stump of his sword. Looked at Catherine.
And for the first time—
He hesitated.
> "Oh shit."
Catherine stepped forward, Nevan humming low.
> "You brought a knife," she said coldly, "to a primordial requiem."
She slashed—Deyviel barely dodged.
The blade cleaved through frost, stone, and memory alike. The Blood Dome itself sang with the vibrations.
Maya yelled, rushing back in to intercept.
> "Deyviel, move!"
He rolled left. She blocked a vertical slash, but Nevan's pressure blasted her back like a cannonball—her feet dug into the glass floor just to stop the recoil.
Deyviel coughed. Blood spilled from his mouth. No more sword.
But still standing.
He looked down at his empty hand.
Then grinned.
> "Okay," he wheezed. "That's cheating."
He clenched his fists.
> "Guess I'm doing this the old way."
Catherine raised her blade again, calm and unbothered.
> "With fists?"
Deyviel charged.
No weapon. Just raw speed.
He slid under a horizontal slash, closed the distance, and punched Catherine straight in the face. The impact cracked the air like thunder.
She staggered.
Her eyes wide—not from pain, but surprise.
> "You punched me."
Deyviel wiped his mouth.
> "Yeah. And I'm just getting started."
Catherine's eyes burned with contempt as she raised Nevan, the primordial blade crackling with a chaotic storm. The air turned white with pressure. The clouds above the dome twisted into a vortex of lightning.
> "Begone."
She brought the blade down.
A spear of divine lightning exploded from Nevan, surging toward Deyviel like judgment itself.
He didn't have time to dodge.
His sword—Red Queen—was already broken, a ruined hilt still clenched in his fingers.
> "Deyviel!" Maya screamed.
Without hesitation, she drew Yamato from her back. Her fingers bled from gripping it too hard—but she didn't flinch. She pulled it from its scabbard with a single clean motion, then threw it like a javelin straight toward him.
Time seemed to crawl.
Deyviel turned his head at the last second—eyes wide—as the black katana streaked toward him, spinning, singing through the air.
He reached out—
GRAB.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, something clicked.
His body tensed, not from fear—but power.
Energy surged into his limbs, coursing through his veins like wildfire. The Yamato recognized him—not as Kael's successor, but as a kindred soul, a wild force meant to wield it.
The lightning struck—
> CLANG!
Sparks exploded as Yamato parried Nevan's divine lightning.
The shockwave shredded the floor beneath him, but Deyviel held his ground, one knee braced, blade angled just right.
The energy scattered around him like shattered glass.
He looked up, grinning.
> "Man, this is cool!"
Catherine's eyes twitched. Her lips pulled back.
Deyviel didn't wait.
He launched forward, Yamato humming as it moved. A black slash tore through the air—Catherine barely sidestepped, her crimson aura flaring as she retaliated with Nevan in a wide arc.
> Ting! Ting! WHANG!
Steel and lightning clashed mid-air.
Deyviel ducked, rolled under her strike, then came back up with an upward slash that forced her back. He wasn't just faster—he was precise. Every motion the sword made, it was as if it moved on instinct with him.
Maya watched from the distance, breathing heavy, blood on her lips.
> "Good… it accepted him."
And now—
Catherine wasn't facing a broken fighter anymore.
She was facing someone who could cut through storms.
And Deyviel?
He was just getting started.
The Blood Dome quaked.
Deyviel blitzed forward, Yamato in a reverse grip, body low, feet skimming the cracked floor as he closed the distance. Catherine swung Nevan diagonally, its blade still crackling with storm-charged wrath.
> CLANG!
Sparks erupted as Yamato met Nevan again, the shockwave forcing the air outward in a concussive burst.
But this time, Deyviel didn't let the clash drag out.
He sidestepped mid-lock, twisting Yamato at a sharp angle, redirecting Nevan's weight and slipping past her guard like water slipping through fingers.
> Slash—!
He cut across her thigh. A clean hit.
Catherine hissed, blood spraying in a tight arc, but she didn't stagger. Instead, she vanished into mist—reappearing behind him in an instant, Nevan raised high.
> "Kneel."
Lightning surged downward—but Deyviel rolled, twisting his wrist mid-motion and slashing upward to meet the descent.
> FLASH!
The explosion lit the dome like a dying star. Thunder cracked. Debris lifted.
He slid back, heels digging into the bloodied stone, then disappeared again—Flash Step!
Behind her.
He aimed a piercing stab at her spine—but Catherine spun just in time, parrying with the flat of Nevan. Her eyes blazed.
> "You think a borrowed blade makes you my equal?!"
> "Nah," Deyviel grinned. "I think it makes me dangerous."
Their blades clashed again. Yamato's speed against Nevan's power—slash for slash, parry for thrust, dodge for counter. Deyviel ducked under a horizontal swing, slid between her legs in a low dash, and sliced upward, forcing her to leap back.
As she landed, Deyviel threw Yamato.
A blur.
She deflected it by instinct—but it was a feint.
He was already in her face, having followed the throw, fist cocked back—and he punched her square in the gut.
She coughed blood, stunned.
> "Yamato ain't just sharp," he muttered, catching it in mid-air as it came spinning back to him like it was on a string. "It's smart."
Blood poured from Catherine's mouth. She roared, eyes glowing red as Nevan absorbed lightning from the dome itself. The blade extended, turning into a storm halberd, jagged and volatile.
She launched at him.
The ground cracked under every step as she thrust, swung, and twisted Nevan with relentless fury. Bolts of lightning tore apart the walls of the dome. Ice formed in her wake, jagged and furious, slowing Deyviel's footing.
But he adapted—using the ice to slide, to pivot, to redirect force.
Deyviel ducked under a sweeping arc, Yamato carving an afterimage in the air, then countered with a spinning slash that sent a shockwave toward her ribs.
Catherine was forced to block with her arm, flesh tearing.
They both skidded apart.
Breathing hard.
Sweat. Blood. Cracks in the dome.
Then, without warning—
Deyviel smirked again.
> "Round two?"
He pointed Yamato forward, blade humming.
Catherine narrowed her eyes, fury shaking the sky above them.
> "I'll bury you in your own arrogance."
The rematch began.
Catherine launched forward like a spear of lightning, Nevan now a savage extension of her wrath. The halberd hummed with a storm's heartbeat, crackling as it carved through the air with inhuman speed. The temperature dropped. Frost chased her steps. Even the air seemed to tremble.
But Deyviel was already moving.
He vanished in a blink—Flash Step—and reappeared above her, inverted in mid-air, Yamato glowing faintly blue.
> Klang!!
She spun mid-charge, catching his blade with the halberd's haft. The force of the impact cratered the ground beneath them, shattering stone like glass. Deyviel kicked off her shoulder and landed in a crouch, skidding back.
Catherine didn't let up.
She spun Nevan and hurled it like a javelin, lightning spiraling behind it. Deyviel raised Yamato—
> CRACK-BOOM!!
The impact sent him flying, tumbling through a blood-stained pillar. He groaned but didn't lose grip. The sword pulsed in his hand—Yamato responded, feeding energy into his limbs, accelerating his healing, sharpening his senses.
He stood, eyes gleaming.
> "Okay… that actually hurt."
She was already closing the distance, hand raised to call Nevan back to her. It zipped through the air, returning to her palm like a thunderbolt.
> "You are persistent, I'll give you that," she sneered. "But you're not him. You're not Kael."
That made Deyviel pause for a heartbeat.
Then he smirked.
> "Nope. I'm the one who'll surpass him."
With a deep breath, he twisted Yamato around and entered a defensive stance—low, weight balanced, blade tip pointing upward at a diagonal. His aura condensed, focused. A whisper of wind circled him.
> "Let's end this."
She howled and lunged, sweeping Nevan in a deadly wide arc. Deyviel ducked, then sidestepped the follow-up thrust, dragging Yamato across her shoulder in a quick, shallow cut.
She kicked him in the gut.
He staggered, but Yamato flared—and Deyviel vanished again, reappearing behind her mid-spin.
> SLASH—!
A clean hit across her back.
Catherine screamed, twisted, and slammed her elbow into his jaw, then brought Nevan down with both hands in a hammering strike.
Deyviel caught it on Yamato—but the force cracked the ground in a ten-meter radius.
> This woman's strength is monstrous!
He gritted his teeth, digging in his heels—then twisted Yamato at the last second, redirecting Nevan's weight and using her own force to spin her.
As she staggered, he launched a rising upper slash, Yamato cleaving a glowing blue arc in the air—
> SLASH!
Blood sprayed from her chest.
For a moment, Catherine froze.
Then lightning exploded from her body, wild and uncontrolled, screaming outward in every direction. The Blood Dome itself pulsed, crimson fog swirling with frost and thunder.
Deyviel crouched low, Yamato across his body, bracing himself.
> "Tch… This is getting serious."
Suddenly, from outside the dome, a faint voice echoed—
> "Deyviel! Keep pushing her! We'll back you up soon!"
Maya.
Her voice cut through the chaos like a lifeline.
Deyviel chuckled under his breath.
> "Right. I'm not alone in this."
He raised Yamato.
And charged again.
BOOM!!
A blood-red shockwave exploded as Deyviel and Catherine clashed again, Yamato ringing against Nevan like thunder battling lightning. Sparks ignited between their blades, each blow laced with killing intent.
Catherine raised Nevan for a lightning-charged finishing strike—
> "Yo, hothead incoming!"
A blur of orange light zipped past.
CLANG!
A twin gleam of obsidian-black metal intercepted Nevan mid-swing.
Catherine's eyes narrowed.
> "Tch."
Denver stood firm, his dual short swords locking against Nevan. The blades pulsed with black flames, licking and hissing like sentient fire. His aura surged—raw, wild, and scorching.
The blades—Infernas Fang, soul-forged weapons bound to his very essence—blazed brighter with every heartbeat. Unlike ordinary weapons, they weren't forged by steel, but shaped by Denver's soul and honed by his will. When he fought, they responded like extensions of his instincts.
> "You look surprised, Ice Queen," Denver smirked. "Didn't think a brute like me had finesse?"
He spun, his left blade swiping low in a crescent slash while the right burst into a black flame arc, aiming to cleave through Catherine's side.
Catherine dodged, but the flame caught her wingtip, and the cursed fire hissed along her blood-wrought feathers. She snarled and retaliated with a frost bolt—only for Denver to twist and absorb the hit with a flaming spin.
> "Not just steel and heat," he growled, ki pulsing through his veins, "but soul and fire, baby."
Deyviel, standing beside him with Yamato in hand, chuckled.
> "About time you showed up."
> "What? Thought you'd keep all the fun for yourself?" Denver grinned, spinning Infernas Fang with effortless flair.
> "Well, she is swinging a god-tier lightning trident."
> "Even better."
Together, the two rushed Catherine—Deyviel's strikes fluid, almost dance-like, Yamato singing with wind and steel. Denver's movements were explosive, each short sword slash igniting bursts of flame, forcing Catherine on the defensive. The black fire from Infernas Fang ate away at her frost barrier, forcing her to adapt on the fly.
For every graceful dodge Deyviel made, Denver hit hard. One was a flowing river; the other, a roaring volcano.
They began to push her back.
---
Outside the Blood Dome, the battlefield had devolved into a war zone.
Beowolf, primal and savage, clashed with Ben Rayleigh in a brutal contest of strength. Every hit felt like a cannon blast. Blood and fur flew, trees snapped in half, and craters formed with each slam.
From beyond the hills, the air rippled with pressure.
Vargan, the Fang Tyrant, emerged—twice the size of any man, muscles like coiled boulders, fur of obsidian steel. His glowing crimson eyes scanned the field with disdain, the fanged crown on his head marking him king of the beastmen.
> "I smell fear," he growled. "And broken resolve."
His warriors—beastmen bred for war—surged forward, howling.
Maya, injured but defiant, stood tall.
> "Not today."
With a burst of strength, she raised her hand. A volley of spectral swords erupted around her. Beside her, Princess Lyra summoned a blinding glyph field to ward off the incoming horde.
> "We hold this line," Maya shouted. "For Deyviel. For the world."
> "For the future," Lyra added, eyes glowing.
Vargan grinned, cracking his knuckles.
> "Then allow me to bury the past."
---
Inside the dome, Catherine let out a shriek, her frozen blood wings exploding outward in a burst of crimson frost. But Deyviel and Denver didn't stop.
Not anymore.
The flames and steel of soul and sword clashed with divine lightning in a battle that threatened to tear reality itself apart.
The blood-mist curled across the battlefield like living smoke. Screams and metal rang through the haze as the clash between two worlds raged on.
At the heart of the chaos, Trese stood her ground. Her sinag baton crackled with spiritual light. On either side, Crispin and Basilio flanked her, backs against a phalanx of elven warriors in enchanted armor.
They were surrounded. A tide of grotesque aswangs twisted in midair, ghouls dragging blades like butcher knives, and armored beastmen snarling with the fury of wild predators.
The elves fired a volley—arrows of light and flame cutting into the darkness—but it only thinned the swarm.
Trese narrowed her eyes. "Don't give them an inch."
"Too late for inches," Crispin said, vanishing into a shadow and reappearing behind a ghoul. His blades carved a clean X across its back.
Basilio slammed his kampilan down like a judge's gavel, splitting two aswangs in one mighty swing. "Come on, you lechon rejects!"
The battle was brutal. But worse than the horde… was the roar.
It wasn't human. It wasn't beast.
It was ancient.
Beowolf.
The Primordial Guardian of the Hell Gate, bound in blackened bone and volcanic muscle. His body glowed from within—like magma sealed in a living furnace. Fire-veined limbs pounded the ground as he lunged and struck with crushing weight. A mane of bone and hellfire trailed his massive frame, and his eyes burned like the pit he came from.
And locked in battle with him—
Ben Rayleigh.
Coat tattered. Knuckles cracked. A quiet smile on his face.
Beowolf circled him, claws carving trenches in the stone.
"Still breathing, Ben of the East?" the beast growled, voice like molten gravel.
Ben spat blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You got uglier, old friend."
"You got older. But did not change one bit. It's left me thinking are you immortal?"
Ben's eyes sharpened. "nope I just a dude who's desten to watch this all And I'm still faster than you." wink
Beowolf lunged, claws flashing. Ben dodged by a breath, spinning low and slamming a fiery uppercut into the beast's chin. The blow echoed like thunder. Beowolf staggered, then laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that shook the blood dome.
"You'll break before I do."
"I've broken before," Ben replied, stepping forward. "Didn't stop me then either."
Their clash exploded again. Fist against fang, fire against primordial wrath.
Trese watched from the sidelines as an aswang lunged at her. She turned, her baton a blur—smashing its face into the dirt. "Whatever history they've got… I just hope he wins it."
To be continued...