The sky was shrouded in clouds, a deep purplish hue marking the transition to night. The stars threatened to reveal themselves, but the moon had yet to make its appearance. The visibility was near non-existent, with torrential rain beating down relentlessly, making it impossible to see more than three meters ahead. Elliot stood in an alley between house numbers 10 and 12, the water pouring down from above with such force that it felt like a high-pressure washer. The relentless stream washed away the blue blood on his skin, and his body trembled from the force of the downpour and the cold winds. Yet, he held his ground.
Though he had only just entered the alley, his eyes were sharp, scanning the environment for something specific—a black suitcase, containing three vials of black blood. His eyelids narrowed, the worsening conditions blurring his vision. But there, ahead of him, he saw it. The suitcase. Finally. 'My black blood. I'll take one and a half for myself, and leave the rest for Ren. With Edwin and Samantha dead, I'm no longer bound by any contract. I'm free.'
Elliot glanced over at his bag, both it and he drenched, the water rising around his legs. In the distance, beyond the alley, a figure loomed—cloaked in black, its silhouette imposing and large, but barely distinguishable against the downpour. Elliot continued forward, his shoes and socks soaked, the rest of his body just as wet. He held his bag and the suitcase above the rising water, his strides long and determined. The water came up to his shins, but his pace quickened, his steps sharp and forceful, as though he were wading through thick mud and hopping over small obstacles.
The darkness around him felt impenetrable. The light from the stars had vanished, swallowed by the winds that churned the air. It was as if he were running through a void, moving without sight or sound, his mind singularly focused. His body pushed through the water, faster than most people could run. He appeared like a man racing against time, the look on his face grim, eyes cold as the sea. It wasn't just running anymore—he was leaping from the water, his muscles contracting painfully, veins surging under his drenched clothes.
'I must be faster. Faster, to Ren! What time is it? Where am I?'
The sharp taste of iron filled his mouth as he bit into his inner cheek, the blood mingling with the sensation of urgency building in his chest. His pupils were wide, but the rain had rendered his senses numb and his vision blurry. But then, there it was—he was under a roof now, rain less intense but still pouring, the water around his legs almost up to his knees. He held his bag with one hand, but the suitcase remained pressed to his side.
Quickly, he opened the suitcase to confirm that the black blood had arrived safely. The contents were as he expected—dark as the night, difficult to see but undoubtedly present. He pulled one vial out carefully, leaving the others behind, and swiftly closed the case. With the vial now in hand, Elliot pressed it to his lips. He twisted the cap off, consuming the black blood in one motion, as if it were a shot of whiskey.
His teeth, yellowed by the constant exposure to harsh elements, now turned black, blending into the dark surroundings. The rain continued to pour down, drenching him further. As the black blood coursed through his veins, his insides seemed to burn, hotter than any fire, but this fire was from within, consuming him from the inside out. His eyes rolled back, and his fingers stiffened, dropping both the suitcase and the bag into the rising water. His body was consumed by spasms, his muscles convulsing violently, veins popping under his skin as if they were about to rupture.
His knees buckled, and he sank into the water. His whole body, from his calves to his neck, was frozen in a painful rigidity as his veins darkened and expanded, overtaking his limbs and torso. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The pain was excruciating, but he couldn't stop. His body had betrayed him. He twitched and jerked, his vision flickering, until a blow to his nose brought him back to reality.
'Splash!'
Elliot fell to the ground, his body wracked with violent tremors, his muscles locking up even more. He struggled to regain control, his limbs moving without coordination. His hearing was filled with the rushing of dirty water, muffled sounds distorted by the torrent. All he could focus on were the footsteps—heavy, powerful—getting closer. Then, the voice.
"I didn't know the black blood was in here. I was curious, but I didn't want to take any risks. But a weakling like you, receiving black blood... Are you the son of a king, little one?" The deep voice of the figure, cloaked in black, laughed. The sound sent a chill down Elliot's spine as the figure grabbed for the suitcase.
But then, a light. A blinding light—orange and yellow, so intense that it was almost unbearable. Elliot could barely see, but the man who had been standing over him shrieked in agony, his vision stolen by the burst of light. His body stumbled back, clutching his eyes as though they were burned.
"Holy shit!" the man cried, his figure staggering. But Elliot, still struggling, murmured weakly, "Ren… I need to get to Ren…"
Before he could continue, the light faded, and with it came a flurry of red strikes. Elliot felt himself being dragged away from the water, his body wet and trembling. He could hear more strikes, the sound of fists landing, but everything around him was muffled and white. Yet, in mere seconds, four figures appeared above him.
It was William, Elton, Chris, and Elisia—standing tall, dry, their appearances unchanged. They looked down at Elliot, their smiles forced, their eyes troubled.
"What happened? Where have you been?" William and Elton shouted in unison, their voices filled with panic and frustration. Their gazes turned to the large, burly man, who had entered the headquarters of the Blue Sharks.
"Did you kidnap Elliot?" William demanded, his voice rising, blue veins pulsing along his neck.
"Kidnap?" The burly man laughed, though it wasn't the laugh of a jovial person—his face, marred by scars, twisted into a cruel grin. "You're one to talk. I was just curious."
The man, his face obscured by a hood, stepped forward, his color-shifting eyes narrowing, the blue deepening. The moment their gazes locked, a strange orange hue began to seep into his pupils, signaling something dangerous. Without warning, the man lunged.
William and the others were forced onto their knees, their bodies convulsing as their veins bulged under their skin, a response to the threat that loomed before them. Elisia, undeterred, cut her palm with a swift motion, stepping back as Chris positioned himself in front of her, his revolver aimed at the burly figure.
William, taking cover, shouted, "We need time! Chris, cover us!"
"On it!" Chris shouted, sprinting toward a nearby cupboard. Meanwhile, Elisia circled the burly man, while William and Elton charged at him, but the man moved with blinding speed, pulling out two short swords that resembled machetes from beneath his cloak.
Elton froze for a moment, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide.
Elton watched in horror as a short sword was driven into William's cheek and then plunged into his throat. Blue blood mixed with the cold water as William collapsed. He gasped, his face submerged, his blonde hair clinging to the water's surface, his eyes flickering weakly. He clutched at his open wounds, more blood than usual spilling out, the blue blood flowing first, quickly followed by red, merging with the water, drifting toward Elliot.
Elliot could only stare in terror, his eyes wide as he watched William reach out toward him. But Elliot recoiled, unable to move, William's faint, desperate attempt at speech fading into the stillness. 'No, no! This can't be happening!'
Elliot's eyes shimmered with tears, his trembling hand hovering uncertainly over William, but it was too late. William's blue eyes stared unblinking into the abyss, the pale fog of morning surrounding him, unmoving.
Elton screamed, his voice hoarse with rage, more powerful than ever before. "You damn bastard!" His fury tore through the air as he lunged toward the strong man, gripping him desperately, but the powerful figure shook him off, two short machetes embedded deep in Elton's legs. Blue blood sprayed out, staining the water. Elton bit down on his lips, his voice breaking, "Elisia, now!"
Elisia raised her hand, her own blue blood staining the murderer's cheek, her eyes filled with anguish as her teeth ground together in determination. The strong man froze, as if he could not move, even as Elton collapsed, his body flailing as he fell into the shallow water. Elliot, still frozen, could only watch, his entire body trembling in shock.
He saw Elisia standing there, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, but Elton's blood continued to stain the water. In the corner of his vision, Chris was reloading his revolver, his eyes glancing quickly at the clock on the wall.
'16:02. 16:02?! Only 18 minutes left! 'Elliot rubbed his eyes frantically, his gaze darting between the clock, the bodies around him, and back to the clock again.
His body trembled, his thoughts in chaos. His eyes flicked to the open door, his heart hammering. "Damn it, I have to go." His inner curse was drowned in a flood of grief, his tears continuing to mix with the rain. His gaze shifted to William's lifeless form, his body hunched with quiet, bitter sobs. Then, as if a spark had gone off inside him, Elliot stood fully upright.
For a moment, everyone's eyes were on him. But he paid them no mind. He searched the water for something, his hand grasping for his bag and his suitcase. Shaking, he clutched his things, then moved with purpose toward the door. His legs trembled with each step, his body unable to steady itself, but he walked on. The strong man, scarred and dangerous, watched him silently, his body unmoving.
Then, the strong man's body twitched, as though waking from some deep slumber. A guttural, silent scream poured from him, his veins bulging as if they might burst. His skin took on a blue hue, gradually shifting to a sickly orange. The transformation was slow, but his hands began to move, followed by his mouth, then his joints. He was waking up.
Elliot had already crossed the threshold, stepping out into the storm. The darkness enveloped him like a thick cloak, the rain slashing down in torrents, each droplet adding to his grief. Behind him, he could hear the others. The muffled sound of Elton's broken sobs, his body kneeling in the water, clutching at his bleeding legs. But Elliot did not look back. He had already slipped away into the shadows, his silhouette fading into the night, disappearing into the storm.
Inside, the strong man was slowly regaining control of his body. But Chris fired again, his aim sharp despite the panic in his eyes. The gunshots rang out, four rounds, each one sinking deep into the strong man's flesh, but he kept moving.
'Pow! Pow! Click!'
The revolver fell silent. Chris's eyes widened in horror as the weapon misfired. "No!" Elisia screamed, lunging toward the powerful man in a final, desperate attempt to stop him.
The sounds of chaos were drowned out by the storm, the world spinning as Chris stood helplessly, his body trembling with shock. A warm, wet sensation spread over his hands and clothes. Blue blood, sticky and warm, soaked into his skin. Elisia's blood.
The strong man had driven his two machetes into her back, the blades digging into Chris's clothing, slicing through the fabric just enough to cut into his abdomen, though they didn't go deeper. The pain was unbearable, but Chris didn't move, his eyes fixed on Elisia.
"Chris…" Her voice was faint, barely a whisper. Her pale hands clung weakly to his shoulders as her eyes fluttered. "I'm cold…"
Her words were barely audible as she coughed, more blue blood staining her pale skin. Chris watched, helpless, as she continued to tremble in his arms. Her breath grew shallow, her body becoming more fragile with each passing second.
"N-no, you'll make it," he muttered, his voice hoarse. He gently brushed the damp strands of her hair out of her face, his hands trembling as he wiped away the blood from her brow.
But Elisia's eyes began to flicker, her breaths shallow and ragged. Her body swayed, her lips parting to speak, but all she could manage was a faint whisper, "I love you…"
Her voice faltered, and her body collapsed forward, her fragile frame leaning against him. Chris's arms tightened around her, pulling her close as her heart slowed, her breath growing still. The room was filled with silence, broken only by the sound of rain and the soft lapping of the water around them.
Elisia's body, like William's and Elton's, joined the others in the cold water, her eyes wide and glassy, her lips parted as if she still wanted to say something. Her last words lingered in the air, haunting, as her body pressed against Chris's trembling form.
He stared at her, unable to speak, unable to understand what had happened. His gaze shifted to the outside world; his eyes locked on the endless night. The storm raged around them, the darkness pressing in from all sides. He didn't blink, didn't move. His world had shattered, and all he could do was hold her as the rain continued to fall, his teeth grinding together in silence.
Origins of Blood has been republished due to a new contract. From now on, all upcoming chapters will be uploaded to the republished version of the novel. Thank you so much for your continued support, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
Don't forget to add Origins of Blood to your collection!
Your support means everything!
The underbelly of Trüben-City had long since been swallowed by water. It reached up to Elliot's waist, cold and unrelenting, its icy grip numbing him to the bone. His teeth clattered like loose stones, and the howling storm churned the floodwaters into restless waves, splashing as high as his chest with every step. The air smelled of wet earth and decay, the oppressive darkness broken only by flashes of lightning.
Elliot trudged onward, his body steady as a boulder against the relentless tide. Filthy water mixed with the relentless rain, drenching him thoroughly, his clothes clinging like a second skin. His head tilted forward, his arms raised above the waterline to safeguard a satchel and a small leather case.
'I'm sorry, William. Truly, I am.'
His lips moved soundlessly; his voice swallowed by the roar of the storm. His eyes, heavy with regret, fixed on the horizon where the Wellington and Fernen streets would intersect. Somewhere beyond the chaos lay that familiar junction—a beacon in his memory. He couldn't afford to stop.
Minutes stretched into eternity, yet Elliot's thoughts remained fixed on his colleagues—his friends. William's face haunted him, the moment of his death replaying like a cruel specter. The gleam of the machete as it struck, the red and blue blood cascading down William's throat as life drained from him. The image seared itself deeper into Elliot's mind, the guilt eating away at him like rust on metal.
'It's all my fault…'
The mantra repeated in his head, each step into the murky depths carrying the weight of his sins. The storm howled louder, the wind whipping his soaked hair into his eyes. Blind to his surroundings, Elliot pressed forward. He was deaf to the screams of the world around him, yet the storm seemed to echo his inner torment.
Then, amidst the pitch-black despair, a light emerged.
It was faint at first, a flicker barely noticeable—a candlelight in a basement, a lantern against the endless void. Elliot's breath caught; his body froze mid-stride as his eyes adjusted to the distant glow. A figure materialized in the distance, illuminated by the harsh glare of lightning.
A young man with disheveled blond hair was struggling against the current, his legs churning through the water, his every movement frantic yet determined.
"Ren…"
Elliot whispered the name, his voice trembling, his shoulders sagging under an unseen weight.
For a moment, he stood rooted in place, the storm battering him from all sides. But as the realization hit, his legs found strength once more. He pushed forward, each step a Herculean effort against the rising tide.
"Ren!" he shouted, his voice a mere croak lost to the cacophony of the storm.
The figure moved farther away, unaware of Elliot's presence. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and Elliot caught another glimpse of him. Ren's silhouette stood stark against the dark, the storm carving his outline into the chaos.
"Ren!" Elliot cried again, desperation shredding his vocal cords. The wind swallowed his words whole, waves crashing over him, forcing water into his lungs.
The storm was merciless.
Another wave surged forward, this one massive enough to rival buildings. It bore down on Elliot with the force of an avalanche, dragging him under and tossing him like a rag doll in its wake.
"Ren!"
Elliot's scream was muffled beneath the water as his body was lifted by the wave, propelled forward. His legs strained, black veins pulsing under his skin as he drew on reserves of strength, he didn't know he possessed. He leapt as high as he could, water cascading off his form as he reached for the surface.
The light grew closer now, Ren's silhouette more distinct. Elliot's heart pounded against his ribcage as he tried to call out again, but no sound escaped his lips. His limbs grew heavier, his body sluggish as if weighed down by invisible chains.
The surface seemed within reach—only a meter above—but no matter how he thrashed, he couldn't breach it. His arms clawed desperately, his suitcase and satchel long lost to the abyss.
Darkness encroached.
His vision narrowed until there was nothing but black, an oppressive void swallowing him whole. For a moment, there was no sound, no feeling—only emptiness.
Then, a light pierced through the gloom.
At first, it was no larger than a pinprick, but it grew rapidly, shaping itself into a hand. A strong, steady hand. It reached out to him, cutting through the watery haze like a lifeline.
Ren.
Ren's figure became clear, his teeth gritted as he strained to pull Elliot from the depths. Veins bulged along his arms, his soaked shirt clinging to him as the effort took its toll.
Elliot gasped as he broke the surface, coughing violently, water spewing from his lungs as oxygen finally flooded back in.
"Ren!" Elliot rasped, his voice hoarse and raw. His eyes darted wildly, his face wet with a mixture of rain and tears.
"I've got you, Elliot," Ren's voice came, distant but firm. It was a voice Elliot hadn't heard in what felt like a lifetime, a voice he had feared he would never hear again.
"Ren?" Elliot's teeth chattered as he struggled to focus, his body wracked with shivers. "Is it really you?"
Ren gave him a small, lopsided smile, his wet blond hair plastered against his face. "Yeah. It's me."
…
In a dimly lit room, the storm's wrath raged outside, rattling the windows and threatening to tear them from their frames. The orange-red glow of oil lamps and flickering candles cast shifting shadows on the waterlogged floor.
Eriksson stood leaning against a closed door, water seeping through the cracks and pooling around his boots. He stared into the dim reflection of the candlelight in the puddle below, his expression unreadable.
"This… This is no ordinary storm," a man's voice broke the silence. It belonged a lanky figure with sharp black hair and a prominent nose. He dabbed at his nostrils with his sleeve, his voice thick and nasally.
"I'm Markus, by the way," he added awkwardly, his attempt at a smile faltering under Eriksson's icy gaze.
"What do you think is happening here?" Markus's voice cut through the tension, but once again, no answer came.
'This Hank had spoken of a dangerous individual—could they be responsible? Or was it something greater? A deity, perhaps? A golden one? The God of Creation? '
Eriksson's thoughts churned as he stared into the shimmering reflection of the warm light on the water's surface.
Markus broke the silence again, dragging a sleeve across his long nose, smearing snot in the process. "Whatever's going on here, it's bad. Real bad," he muttered before exhaling sharply and glancing at Eriksson. "But let's talk about the journey to the Underground instead."
His voice trembled as Eriksson's piercing green eyes met his own. "A-are you sure about going there?" Markus stammered. "I mean, the place is crawling with Browns, not to mention the war zone between demons and angels up on the surface. Sure, there are areas where the fighting's contained, but even there, low-blooded folk like us won't be treated kindly. We'll be seen the same way Reds are treated here—like fools dancing to someone else's tune."
Eriksson's gaze didn't waver, his pale green eyes cold and unyielding. "Then so be it."
…
In the Rosenmahl Estate, the rain lashed against the windows like an endless volley of stones. Some of the grand, ornamental panes, more for show than function, burst open under the assault, welcoming the deluge into the opulent halls with an unsettling intimacy. Outside, the storm howled, an unrelenting symphony of thunder, lightning, and wind. Inside, the household carried on with its celebration of the new temporal calendar, honoring Astarion, the sovereign of all golden gods.
Aston sat alone in his chamber, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows across the room. His gaze was distant, fixed on the droplets racing down the glass of the nearest window. "Elisia, I can't do this anymore," he murmured, his voice heavy with resignation. "Why must my father and brother be so stubborn? Why do they hate the Reds so vehemently? We were once the family that cared for them—protected them."
Elisia, draped in a flowing azure gown that seemed to shimmer in the dim light, sat gracefully on the edge of his bed. Her orange hair cascaded down her shoulders, resting softly against the fabric. "It will get better, Aston," she whispered, her amber eyes meeting his cerulean ones with a tender, unwavering gaze.
The storm outside raged on, the periodic crack of thunder punctuating the steady rhythm of rain. Yet here, in the warmth of Aston's chamber, their breaths mingled, the heat of their proximity warding off the chill of the tempest. Slowly, she leaned closer, her lips—a soft orange hue—hovering near his own. The warmth of her kiss left a delicate imprint on his lips, a fleeting mark of solace amidst the storm.
"I love you, Aston," she whispered, her voice trembling with sincerity.
"And I, you," he replied, his tone soft yet resolute.
As they exchanged breath and warmth, Elisia's gaze drifted, her smile faltering slightly as her eyes locked on a portrait resting on the far wall. It depicted Aston and his mother, their expressions immortalized in serene happiness. Yet her lips curved upward again, a subtle, knowing smile taking form as she focused intently on the image. Aston, oblivious to her distraction, kissed the nape of her neck, his affection unbroken.
…
Elsewhere, in the heart of Trüben-City, a darkened room lay half-submerged under the storm's wrath. Rainwater poured relentlessly through the broken doorway, flooding the floor, and surging ever higher. Elliot and Ren stood back-to-back against a crumbling wall, their breathing steady despite the chaos around them. Their eyes were closed, faint smiles playing on their lips, masking the deeper emotions that churned beneath the surface—grief, guilt, and regret.
Elliot's face, damp from both rain and tears, glimmered faintly in the sparse light filtering through the shattered window. He stared out at the tempest, his trembling hands betraying his attempts at composure. His stomach growled audibly, but he ignored it, lost in the weight of his thoughts.
'Please, let them have survived. Please…' Elliot tried to piece together the events in his mind, but it only made him shake his head and let more tears spill down his cheeks. Still, a faint smile tugged at his lips as his gaze shifted to Ren, standing by his side.
"I love you."
It was the first time such words escaped Elliot's mouth. Ren, however, replied with his head lowered, his voice almost a whisper. "I love you too..."
For a moment, they barely looked at each other, and yet, it felt as if they saw more of one another than ever before. It was strange, a connection both profound and unsettling.
The steps ahead were damp, the first two submerged in water. Only further up did the stairs grow drier, though droplets from their soaked clothes still fell and darkened the stone. Ren trailed a couple of meters behind Elliot as they ascended.
"How did you survive that shapeshifter, anyway?" Elliot asked, his voice breaking the rhythm of their steps. "All I remember is hitting the ground..."
Ren didn't answer immediately, his boots creaking against the aged wood of the stairs. When he reached the top, he turned left into an empty room. The rain battered against the walls, the wind howling like a wailing spirit, while thunder roared in the distance, shifting the world between blinding white and oppressive black.
"How did you survive the attack?" Elliot repeated, turning back with one final step.
But the only thing he saw was a silhouette illuminated by a flash of lightning. Blonde hair, eyes glowing a piercing azure, and clothing drenched, water dripping steadily from the figure's chin and nose. The figure grinned—a wide, unnerving grin.
In the fleeting moments between light and dark, it was difficult to make out the details. Yet something was wrong. Where his teeth should have been, there was... nothing.
Elliot's eyes widened, his body instinctively stepping back.
"N-no. No!" he stammered, his pulse quickening as his knees buckled beneath him. He scrambled back further, his gaze locked on the figure, his mind reeling.
"Where's Ren?! What have you done to him?!"
The figure tilted its head slightly, its voice cold, laced with mocking amusement. "What I've done to Ren?" It chuckled, a sound that grew darker with every note. "I 'am' Ren, lil brother."
Ren's grin widened further, his laughter bursting forth, uncontrollable and deranged. Lightning illuminated his face again, revealing blackened teeth as he dragged his tongue over them, smearing a tar-like substance. He kept laughing, his hand motioning toward the other as if inviting a twisted joke only he understood.
Elliot stared, frozen, his breath hitching. His body trembled, every muscle refusing to obey as he pressed himself against the wall.
Ren's voice cut through the storm. "You probably have a lot of questions, don't you, Elliot or shall I address you as the golden Reaper?"
As he spoke, his body began to twist and distort, his features shifting like melting wax. His hair turned white and gray, his face wrinkled and sunken, his stature hunching. He looked almost identical to the old man who had revealed Ren's location to Elliot.
Ren bent forward, clutching his lower back with an exaggerated groan. "Ah, it hurts, it hurts so much," he mocked, laughter bubbling up again. "What's the matter, golden Reaper? Crying already?"
Elliot's tears spilled freely; his shimmering blue eyes filled with despair.
"Shall I blow on your wounds, like I used to when we were kids? Put a little plaster on them, perhaps?" Ren cackled, his tone dripping with cruel sarcasm.
But as his features morphed back into their original state, his laughter ceased, replaced by a sharp glare. His brows furrowed in fury, his teeth clenched, and his voice dropped to a venomous growl.
"You don't know what it means to suffer. You've never had to! You're so stupid—always thinking you're something special! Those visions of yours? Don't make me laugh."
Ren stepped closer, his face mere inches from Elliot's, the rancid heat of his breath washing over him.
"Did it never cross your mind," Ren hissed, "that I might have visions too? Perhaps even more extensive ones than yours? In one moment, I've lived every agonizing second of my future life."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before breaking into laughter again. His hand reached out, brushing away the tears from Elliot's face as if savoring his pain.
"That's it," Ren whispered, his grin widening once more. "The sweet taste of revenge. Golden, golden Reaper. I've waited five long years for this moment. To take everything from you in one fell swoop. To leave you hopeless and utterly alone."
Ren stepped back, pulling a knife from his belt. Its blade glinted in the dim light as he pressed it against his own finger, slicing it deliberately. Green and red blood welled up, dripping slowly to the floor.
"You want to know about the shapeshifter?" Ren smirked. "I killed it myself. Cham, though... well, that was unfortunate. But breaking you is worth so much more."
His voice dropped into a low, taunting whisper as he leaned in close once more. "Now, Elliot, you have the honor of giving your blood to me. Your 'great', 'honorable' brother."
Elliot's chest heaved, his body trembling violently as he tried to process the horror unfolding before him.
Ren chuckled, his gaze drifting upward. "Go ahead, look up, golden Reaper," he said mockingly. "Oh wait, you can't. Silly me."
He tilted his head back as if admiring the empty air above, his laughter filling the storm-battered room. "There's nothing there."
'Slash!'
The knife plunged into Elliot's stomach.
His breath caught, a ragged gasp escaping his lips as pain erupted through his body. Blood—red, tinged with faint streaks of blue, yellow, and black—gushed from the wound. Ren's hand, steady and unyielding, twisted the blade deeper.
Elliot's legs buckled, his face ashen, but his eyes remained locked on Ren's. The storm outside raged on, thunder illuminating Ren's maniacal grin, his teeth smeared with dark, viscous blood.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Ren whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. "Your blood, your despair—it's perfect. Everything I dreamed of."
'Slash!'
'Slash!'
'Slash!'
Again and again, the blade descended. Elliot's body jerked with every strike, his blood pooling around them, mixing with the stormwater flooding the floor. His breathing grew shallow, each exhale weaker than the last.
Ren stepped back, his laughter bordering on hysterical, as he admired his work. Elliot stood there, his body trembling involuntarily, his knees threatening to give way. Tears continued to stream down his hollow, lifeless eyes, merging with the kaleidoscope of blood dripping from his wounds.
"Goodbye, golden… Reaper," Ren whispered, his voice softer now, almost tender.
Elliot's vision darkened, the flickering storm light fading into an endless void. The warmth of life, the flicker of hope that once resided in his heart, was extinguished. His final breath escaped him in a shallow whisper, and his heart gave one last, futile beat before surrendering to the abyss.
The storm outside roared, relentless and unforgiving, but within Elliot, there was only silence—a silence that stretched into eternity.
Origins of Blood has been republished due to a new contract. From now on, all upcoming chapters will be uploaded to the republished version of the novel. Thank you so much for your continued support, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
Don't forget to add Origins of Blood to your collection!
Your support means everything!
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