Chapter 5: Blood God
A ripple of crimson light tore through the fabric of the air itself, as though reality had been sliced open by an invisible claw. From the wound stepped a figure—tall, cloaked in robes that seemed woven from congealed blood, his presence heavy enough to bend the light around him.
Vabon froze mid-motion. Sweat poured down his face in rivers, soaking his collar. His breath hitched violently in his throat, and his knees buckled beneath him as if the bones had turned to water.
"Ah—!"
His eyes bulged, whites showing all around.
"M-my god!"
Without hesitation, he threw himself face-first into the dirt, pounding his forehead against the blood-soaked earth again and again—frantic, reverent, begging forgiveness for sins he hadn't even committed yet.
"Why… why is my god here?" His voice cracked, barely audible over the wet thuds of his brow against the ground.
"Be joyful, my servant," the Blood God replied. His voice was ancient, layered—like a thousand throats speaking in perfect unison. His eyes were vast abysses, reflecting fractured realities no mortal mind could endure without shattering. "I will grant you power—power far beyond your feeble imagination."
"The Blood God is merciful," Vabon whispered hoarsely, tears mixing with the dirt on his face. Overwhelmed, trembling, he dared a glance toward Dax—and terror strangled the air from his lungs. "I… I accept."
"Good."
A demonic smile split the god's face, too wide, too sharp.
In his palm materialized a small seed—black, thorn-covered, glistening with fresh, dripping blood that steamed in the cool forest air.
"Raise your head."
Vabon obeyed instantly, neck straining upward.
The seed descended gently, almost tenderly, onto the crown of his head.
Then it sank.
Skin parted without resistance. Bone yielded like soft clay. The seed burrowed deep, vanishing into his skull.
"Be baptized in death."
Agony erupted.
A searing, white-hot torment exploded in Vabon's chest, as though his heart had been set ablaze from within. His eyes flew wide in horror.
"Lord… something is wrong with me—"
He looked up, pleading.
The Blood God only smiled wider.
Solos.
Flap.
Flap.
Wings beat the air—vast, drenched in blood. An angel descended, but no hymn accompanied him. Only the wet drip of crimson from his veil and robes. With every downward stroke of his wings, fresh blood sprayed outward, painting the trees, the ground, the very air itself.
The earth recoiled beneath his landing—soft, graceful—yet the impact trembled through the forest like a distant earthquake.
"Kneeling," Solos intoned, voice cold and ceremonial. "Valiant Father."
"You know what to do, Solos."
Vabon's trembling arms stretched wide, palms open to the sky. Acceptance settled over him like a funeral shroud—peaceful, final.
"I see," he whispered, voice steadying. "This is my end."
A faint, broken smile touched his lips.
"To die by my king's hand… I am blessed."
"And why," Dax said calmly, his voice cutting through the reverence like a scalpel, "do you think I can't see you?"
He pointed directly at the Blood God.
The deity froze—just for a heartbeat.
"Blood God," Dax continued, a small, unsettling smile playing at the edges of his mouth.
Confusion flickered across the god's ancient features—quick, unguarded—before the mask slammed back into place.
Instead of answering, the Blood God turned to his angel.
"I want his head."
He pointed at Dax.
Then he faded—slipping out of reality like smoke through fingers.
But not before one final, lingering glance.
In that brief instant, greed consumed him entirely.
I want those eyes.
"This world…" Dax whispered to himself, lips curling slowly until laughter threatened to spill out. Madness danced bright and sharp behind his gaze.
He tilted his head, savoring the taste of the moment.
"Dax… the you before me saw this world as a curse." A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "But I? I see a playground."
His smile widened, feral and delighted.
"I'll enjoy it—for the both of us."
Meanwhile, Solos moved with ritual precision.
He extended one blood-drenched hand over the pools of crimson spilled across the earth. The blood responded—lifting, defying gravity, flowing backward in impossible streams. It poured into Vabon's open wounds, his mouth, his eyes—reknitting, reshaping, rebirthing.
Thud.
A single, monstrous heartbeat thundered through the entire forest.
The aura that erupted from Vabon's body shook ancient trees to their roots. Leaves rained down like green snow.
His body convulsed violently. Flesh peeled away in thick, wet slabs—revealing raw, glistening muscle beneath. Hair burned away to ash. Not a single scream escaped his lips.
It was a silent nightmare—beautiful in its horror.
Then pale flame ignited across his exposed form, licking hungrily at muscle and bone.
When the fire died, pristine white robes cloaked him—spotless, veiled, hiding the monstrosity beneath.
He clutched his chest, back arching in agony.
With a sickening, wet tear, two massive wings burst from his shoulders—bloody, feathered, dripping.
A crimson aura unfurled like a rising tide, sweeping across the Plains of Vabos until the sky itself seemed stained red.
"Blood World," Solos whispered, voice laced with satisfaction.
Dax sensed it immediately.
The shift in reality. The domain asserting itself.
"What a strange skill…"
He narrowed his eyes, focusing—trying to pierce the veil.
But for the first time, something resisted.
His vision struck an invisible wall around the angel. He could not see through Solos—no mana threads, no blood flow, no hidden mechanisms.
Troublesome.
His gaze shifted to the priest, Kakarai—and clarity snapped back instantly. He saw everything: the corrupted blood currents, the twisted mana, the strange, hungry flame burning eternally in the madman's chest.
But even stranger…
Kakarai hadn't fled.
He stood motionless, staring directly at Dax—with naked, worshipful reverence.
A moment later, he dropped to his knees.
"Oh?"
Dax's brows lifted in genuine surprise.
Solos appeared behind the kneeling priest in a flash, a blade of condensed blood forming in his grip—long, cruel, humming with malice.
"Condemned thing," the angel hissed.
"Die for me."
The blade plunged downward—
—and struck only empty air.
The ground detonated, a fifty-meter crater blooming where Kakarai had knelt.
The priest was gone.
"You came for me," Dax said casually, now cradling the madman effortlessly in one arm like a child, "so why kill your own man?"
Such precise control. Such ruthless efficiency.
Solos turned slowly. For the first time, his gaze held no dismissal—only cold, calculating wariness.
Before the angel could respond, Dax glanced down at the priest again.
"Madman," he said softly, voice almost gentle. "Your insanity intrigues me… but it is not enough."
He pointed south, toward distant horizons.
"I advise you to head to the House of Fall. You will see me there."
Then, with a casual twist of telekinetic power, he hurled Kakarai skyward—launching him like a living projectile across the kingdom.
"Voooos!" Kakarai's joyful scream echoed as he vanished into the distance. "My lord awaits! Hahahaha!"
Dax's smile deepened, dark and knowing.
"Oh, the gift I have prepared for you…"
He exhaled once—slow, deliberate—and straightened.
His stance shifted.
The air grew heavy. Murderous intent rolled off him in visible waves—black mist coiling from his skin, chilling the blood-warmed ground.
"Come to me, Cil."
Reality shattered.
The sky screamed.
A crimson greatblade tore through a rupture in space—humming with bloodlust, alive and eager. She landed lovingly in Dax's waiting hand, edge singing with delight.
"My baby," Dax whispered, fingers tracing her flat with reverent affection. "I've missed you."
He raised the blade toward the angel, eyes gleaming with predatory joy.
"Let's go, partner."